The gates to the Greetings Channel lot opened before the car came to a complete stop, no security guard leaned out of the small booth or knocked at the window. There was something unnerving about the smooth automation of it all, as if invisible servants were opening the castle doors just for her.
Stevie pressed her nose to the car window like a little kid as the car wove through the lot.
They paused to allow a cart of giant nutcrackers to be wheeled across the narrow space between the buildings. Stevie's mouth was hanging open and she didn't care.
Marnie was on the phone, her eyes glued to her wristwatch. Phone minutes must be getting tight without the Label's unlimited calling company plan. Stevie couldn't avoid the small twist of guilt when she considered what Marnie was risking to take care of her during her reinvention.
"No, I haven't told her yet," Marnie muttered sotto voce. Stevie's ears immediately pricked up. "We will be there soon - - he is? Will he be in the meeting?"
Stevie leaned even closer to Marnie, her eyes locked on her manager's profile. Marnie was shooting daggers from the sides of her eyes as she tried to shrug Stevie off. Finally, she hung up closing the phone with a decisive snap.
"We're at the studio," Stevie hinted.
"We are."
"There is a reason you aren't telling me who they cast."
"Because you are being impatient."
"I am always impatient."
"Why does it matter who your leading man is? Will you walk?" Marnie asked, pointing at the brick of a contract. For better or for worse, Greetings Channel all but owned Stevie for the next thirty days.
"I need to be prepared. What if his British accent is bad? What if he has tabloid-worthy halitosis? What if he has frosted tips?" Stevie started counting reasons on her fingers. Marnie covered Stevie's hand with her own, giving a reassuring squeeze.
"None of that will be a problem."
"How do you know?"
Marnie rolled her eyes and dropped Stevie's hand back into her lap. "You are nervous enough. I am not going to make it worse."
"This is worse. Not knowing is worse," Stevie groveled. "How bad is it? I can't take this."
Stevie snatched for Marnie's tote, catching one of the shiny black handles and pulling it open. She began rummaging for the crumpled pack of cigarettes Marnie hid inside.
"Hey, hey," Marnie chided. She tried to tug the bag back into her lap. "You quit, remember? Christmas Miracles don't have Lucky Lites? Joe Camel isn't invited to the snow sculpture hot chocolate ice skating festival?"
"Then tell me who they cast so I can stop freaking out," Stevie moaned, refusing to let go of the handle.
"Fine, fine," Marnie conceded. She looked Stevie in the eye, holding her gaze like a tractor-beam. "Lionel Thelwell."
Stevie went whiter than a sheet. Her stomach dropped out of her body and rolled across the asphalt. Marnie immediately regretted her decision as Stevie started darting her eyes back and forth like a spooked horse.
Marnie swore under her breath. "Hey, stop the car for a second," she called up to the driver. They jostled as he tapped the brakes. "Breathe. Kid, you have to breathe."
"I'm going to puke," Stevie muttered, dragging Marnie's tote closer to her body.
"No. No, I will murder you if you puke in there. It's Moschino."
"It's fake," Stevie croaked around the rising bile.
"A good fake. Do it outside," Marnie reached for the car door handle. She shoved Stevie out.
Stevie half fell, half scrambled out, running towards a garbage bin near a soundstage door. A faded sign over the door read 'No Outside Food'.
It had been hours since she had ate anything, but her body heaved anyway. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge; the lip of the can was the only thing keeping her upright.
"Bloody Hell." The door crashed open beside where Stevie was bent head first into the garbage. Behind her, Marnie was scrambling out of the car door.
"Michael Fast," Marnie called. She was using her professional voice, energetic and friendly. Stevie's head shot up to look at the shadow beside her.
Fast was looking down at her, his hands tucked into his pockets and his ginger eyebrows arching toward his hairline. She tried to grin, aware this is the worst possible way to introduce herself.
There was a gasp as a woman appeared over his shoulder. "Oh my," she said, the colour drained from her face. Stevie hoped she wasn't a sympathetic puker.
Marnie was on Stevie like a hawk, one hand clawing into her shoulder, dragging her upright while the other pushed a lukewarm water bottle into her hands.
"You must be Mei," Marnie persevered, her megawatt smile distracting from the wet wipe she was swabbing across Stevie's face.
"I am," the woman nodded. She pushed her round frame glasses up her nose. "Are you okay?"
"I am fine," Stevie murmured, stepping away from Marnie's fussing. Fast was staring at her, his eyes hard. She felt like she was under a microscope.
"Too much reading in the car," Marnie lied, reaching to brush a blunt peroxide bang out of Stevie's eye. That was one of Marnie's skills as a manager, channeling the proud stage mom; it had smoothed over a lot of bad behaviour in the past.
"I am very excited about the project," Stevie smiled. Mei smiled back, Fast looked skeptical.
"We work hard play harder around here, but the shoot comes first," Fast said. His accent clipped his words, giving them a musical rhythm. "That's why we lock you in, in every sense of the word. Have you been to the dorms yet?"
Stevie shook her head, "we needed a detour."
"The bags can go ahead, I want to meet now before Thelwell starts pulling the prima donna act." Fast lifted his hand and signalled the car to go forward with an efficient wave.
Stevie swallowed. "Do you think that will be a problem?"
Fast started walking, hands back in pockets. The three women fell in step behind him. Mei looked green around the gills at the mention of Thelwell's name. Maybe Stevie's nerves were contagious?
"I haven't the foggiest. I know his type. They don't mesh well with our way of doing things."
"Oh." Stevie's gut twisted. A major star like Lionel Thelwell should have been a blessing, but Fast seemed annoyed at the casting. If Thelwell was unwelcome then there was no way Fast was happy about her being there.
Fast stopped walking, focusing on Stevie. She paused awkwardly, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Fast was examining her, taking in her body language. She could see the calculations running behind his eyes. Did he comfort her or tell her to buck up?
"Do you know what I mean?" he asked, his head inclined toward her and his voice dropped to a confidential whisper.
"Uh," Stevie hesitated.
"Why are you here, Astra?" Fast started walking again. Stevie wasn't even sure where they were going.
"I loved the script-"
"Bull." Fast interrupted her. Stevie's lip curled and she bit down on her temper.
"It's not."
"Really?" Fast whipped around, getting into her space. Stevie stuck out her chin.
"Yeah, really."
His eyes searched hers, the dark blue had flecks of grey. They were intriguing, their intensity made Stevie stand a little straighter.
"If you're deadset, Astra, I need you to know right now this isn't going to go the way you think."
"What do you mean?"
"We move fast, too fast. And we change lanes with no notice. This isn't art, it's not even a craft. It's a sprint to the finish and the Studio has final say. I am not going to go in and plead for nothing. They want a change, they get it. They want a do over, it's done. We live and breathe on this set and then we start all over again with a different one."
His words were intimidating, and did nothing to comfort her but Stevie grit her teeth and gave a single nod.
"Good." Fast seemed satisfied because he started walking again. "It's not that different from your label. Hell, if we went far enough up the chain we're probably all one company."
That wasn't comforting and Stevie wasn't sure it was meant to be. A stroke of a pen had broken up her band, the word of an exec she wouldn't know on the street. She had left that way of living behind only to step back in through another door.
Mei caught her eye and smiled, it was sweet and joyful. "I wrote the script," she whispered.
---
Fast wasn't lying about the Studio. Greetings Channel was a subsidiary of a larger corporation which was, in turn, part of an even larger conglomerate. Their control seeped through the lot, looming over Fast and the crew. Not to mention the three other Christmas movies being filmed on the lot.
Production had been delayed, an almost unheard of phenomenon, due to a bottle neck in the schedule. Too many scenes trying to use the 'Home Town Diner' set at once had started an all out war between directors. Tensions were high and extra HR forces had been deployed. The lot was full to bursting with suits 'from corporate', they were like the many heads of a hydra. As soon as one was dodged, another two seemed to spring forth.
They were as stressful as they were annoying.
Stevie had become adept at hiding from them.
Today it was by climbing into the rafters in the prop warehouse. Beneath her was the little pieces of magic that made Greetings Channel movies what they were; fulfilling fluff, where sleigh rides were always cozy and Christmas trees were always perfectly decorated in two-tone metallics.
She had made it into the rafters by climbing onto a tractor then walking up the sloped roof of an ice skating hut she was certain she had seen in at least eight movies. From there she could tuck onto one of the fat beams that crossed the old converted barn.
She just wanted to be alone. She wanted to read her script and try to stomp the nervous butterflies that were currently trying to choke her. She had been avoiding her co-star for the same reason. She was not an actor, she was a star, there was a difference and she knew it. Her co-star was the real deal. Lionel Thelwell had more acting talent in his pinky than she contained in her whole body. She wanted him to like her. She wanted to learn from him. And he terrified her.
She flipped back to their first scene together. She liked the story. It wasn't fresh or exciting. It was comfortable. It was familiar. It was a little silly. It was everything she wanted to live inside.
Her character, Mae Bright, was a Christmas tree decorator who landed a contract decorating all the Christmas trees in a fancy hotel. Where she meets the dashing and romantic British Prince who is laying low for the holidays. And the usual love affair ensues.
If she saw the description in her TV guide when she was fourteen she would have dropped everything to watch it. She would have recorded it on a cassette and burnt it out with rewatching.
Twelve years later the world was different but it was also the same. She sighed as she tried to picture standing across from Lionel Thelwell and saying these ridiculous things to him.
Below her she heard the heavy doors open.
"Well where the hell is she?" Fast the director was talking to someone. Stevie thought she recognized Marnie's footsteps. "She better not be pulling some malarky."
The delay had turned Fast into a snorting, impatient beast. Charming, but with claws. Stevie had been dodging him too, in case he tried to make her rehearse with Thelwell. She couldn't face that particular humilitaion just yet.
"Stevie's a professional what happened in Beijing was not on her," Marnie interjected. Stevie's stomach flipped. Fast knew about Beijing. Of course, he did. She thudded her head back against the post. Everyone knew everything. There was no escape. She chewed her cheek. "I'll call her."
Stevie panicked scrambling for her phone as it started to ring. She pressed it to her stomach trying to deaden the sound. She could hear Marnie and Fast looking around for her. She waited until their voices faded and she slipped down from the rafter. She slid down the pitch of the roof and began to angle her body towards the hood of the tractor.
"Set Insurance doesn't cover broken necks because you were up in the ceiling."
Stevie froze her body awkwardly hanging off the eaves of the hut. She knew that voice. Everyone knew that voice.
She dropped, wincing at the thud of the tractor hood denting. She turned in her crouch to look at him.
"I thought you'd be taller," she blurted out.
Lionel Thelwell's eyes widened and his lip twitched. He looked down at his shoes for a moment before walking over to her. Stevie tried not to panic. He was handsome in real life. The kindness in his signature green eyes was not a camera trick.
"So you're Stephanie Astra," he observed looking at her up and down. It made her spine tingle even as she bristled at the mangling of her name.
She was not 'Stephanie Strada' the brunette captain of the East Bay debate team any more than she was 'Stevie Astra' blonde scratchy-throated frontwoman of the biggest band for girls in their teens through mid-twenties. She wasn't a gimmick or a demographic. She didn't know who she was, but that person was in a winter freaking wonderland.
"I prefer Stevie," she said coolly. She ignored that he offered her his hand and slid off the hood on her own.
"What were you doing up there?" He tucked his hand into his pockets. It never got cold in California but there was something about the Greetings Channel compound that made people cozy up.
He was wearing corduroy pants and a loose navy sweater. Stevie's pyjama pants had giant winged hearts on them. He looked like a professor, refined and relaxed. She looked like an American teenager who thought PJs outside were the height of rebellion. She fiddled with her black plastic bracelets.
"Learning my lines," she shrugged. She tried to look him in the eye. He nodded thoughtfully.
"Why bother?" he said at last.
"Excuse me?" She straightened her shoulders.
"It's drivel. Why worry about it?" He looked her up and down slowly. Shots fired. A wave of anger moved over, lapping at the wall she tried to build around her temoer.
"Isn't that what actors do? Learn their lines?"
He hadn't even introduced himself. He just assumed she knew who he was. She was wrong about the kindness. It was disinterest.
"Are you an actor?" He leaned into her a little. He whispered it into the air as if it was a secret they shared, that she didn't belong here.
"I got the part, just like you," she narrowed her eyes at him.
He turned away from her walking along the lines of fake trees. Even walking, he was fascinating. He looked like a lovable single father at a tree lot. He would be excited his daughter would be coming to his hometown for the holidays.
Or the charmed and befuddled big-city academic who was about to learn the true meaning of Christmas.
And Stevie was no one. She was just observing the scene. Her edgy haircut and scowl didn't belong wherever he was.
"I don't remember auditioning," he said nonchalantly. Was he bragging? She hadn't really auditioned either. She had thought they wanted her.
"Yeah well if their cheque cleared maybe you should try," she raised her eyebrows. He stopped looking at the massive fake ice sculpture and turned to her, something unreadable behind his eyes.
"You're right. No need to be unprofessional," he took a step closer to her. "Is your room comfortable? I heard the accommodations are top of the line. Every room has a fire extinguisher."
Her heart stuttered. She could smell the acrid stench of burning plastic, a wall of smoke as dark as night pressing against her mouth.
She snapped back, focusing on his self-satisfied grin. "Well, you know studios. They love to babysit. Make sure everyone behaves. No photos, no rumours."
It was his turn to narrow his eyes at her.
"There you are," Marnie called out emerging from between two giant Candy canes. "Fast wants to go over the schedule. Sounds like there has been a truce in the battle for the Honky Tonk Bar set and we can start for real. Don't forget tonight is the crew dinner, you need to drop by." Marnie paused in her rapid fire update to look Stevie up and down. "And change. What are you wearing?"
"Clothes," Stevie muttered. Marnie moved her eyes to behind Stevie.
"Good, you two have met."
"Yeah, we met." Stevie grabbed Marnie's arm and started dragging her out of the warehouse while she protested, twisting in Stevie's grasp, trying to keep Thelwell in her sights.
"I guess we'll see you later," Marnie said helplessly trying to communicate with her eyes that Stevie was acting crazy.
"I'll know my lines and everything," Stevie called out. Nothing was going to ruin this for her. Not even a British Grinch is corduroy slacks.