Part 16 (1/2)
Her mother's face froze and then fell as if smacked. Meredith felt a familiar hand squeezing her guts.
”Well, it is obvious. I only meant, isn't this near where you sit? Since, isn't it your job to sit with the director all day?”
”Yes, Mother, sorry. It is near where I sit.” Her irritation softened into a feeling of embarra.s.sed grat.i.tude for Irma's interest in her job. How surprising her mother would remember something like that. Especially when she hadn't remembered Meredith's ninth birthday...or her twelfth. Or her twenty-fourth.
”Listen, Mum, I'm going to take you over to the tea cart and get you a cup of tea, and then I have to meet with the director and go over the day's schedule. Do you think you'll be okay on your own for a bit?”
”Of course, dear. You know I'm famously independent.”
”I don't care if he doesn't have a tri-band connection. My question is, where the h.e.l.l is he? Do you hear me, Andrea? This is completely unf.u.c.king-acceptable. He was supposed to be here by now, and now they're saying we start shooting the first scene in half an hour, which means-and I know you know what it means but let me vent anyway, would you?-Dr. Sh.e.l.lman says it's good to let my emotions surface-which means I'll be busy all day long and won't have a free second until tonight, by which time I'll be completely exhausted and need a drink. Did you manage to find any of that organic French vodka I asked for, by the way? That was at least three days ago, you know.... No, I told you, I read about it in Harpers & Queen not Harper's Bazaar. Of course I don't know what issue. Do you think I write down every f.u.c.king issue number of every f.u.c.king magazine I happen to read something in? Anyway, that is not the point. The point is, I am flying the man over here at my own expense and he isn't here yet. Do you know if he even got on the plane in-Where was he flying from again? Right. Well, at least there's that. Have you made sure the plane didn't crash? Or get rerouted? Or-I don't f.u.c.king know-hijacked? Could the plane have been hijacked? Have you made absolutely sure? Well then, how can you be sure? How can you not know? He was supposed to be here OVER TWO HOURS AGO.”
As she reached the pinnacle of her tantrum Swain's voice snagged and cracked into a sob. The makeup girl buried her face in her hands as Swain-half-dressed in bloomers, sports bra and petticoat-collapsed into a flood of tears that sent her eyeliner streaming down her face. Mish took a box of Kleenex from the shelf and placed it on Swain's lap, but the actress shook her head and pushed it to the floor.
”Silk hankies,” whispered the makeup girl, producing one from her pocket and handing it to Swain. ”Better for dry skin.”
Mish settled into rest.i.tching a bit of lace on the bottom of the petticoat. Now that Swain would need her makeup redone, there seemed no point in hurrying. Swain had stopped crying and was speaking into her cell in a hushed, girlish voice.
”I know, I know. It's just these hormones. I think they're making me really...I don't know...something like that. And this movie. I just feel so lonely all the time. I just want to go back to L.A. and see Joel and Evie. I miss them so much. Are you sure we can't get around those silly quarantine rules? Yeah, I know. Oh, thanks. Oh, honey, you're too sweet. Do you really think so? Really? I mean really really really?” Swain glanced up at Mish and the makeup artist and frowned. ”Look, hon, I've got to go. They want me on set soon and we have some fiddling to do. Okay, I will. I promise. 'Kay, bye.”
Two hours later the crew was still setting up for the first shot. It was a night scene, so all the windows had to be draped from the outside. The lighting crew was moving a cherry picker around in the outside garden, attempting to nail blackout blankets into the stone facade of the house. This upset the owner, who threatened to shut down production should another nail penetrate his ancestral masonry.
”As the custodian for the next generation, I must insist you stop that immediately,” he implored the technicians, who shrugged at him mutely as if their headsets prevented them from communicating with anyone other than one another.
Eventually, the crew were forced instead to take down the blankets and tape black plastic garbage bags over the windows. By this time the cherry picker was stuck in the mud and had to be towed out with the help of a van, which caused the old man to begin howling again, this time in defense of his historic perennial beds. Luckily Richard Gla.s.s was as smooth as his name. Within moments of chatting at the tea cart, the poor old earl was soothed.
”That fellow certainly has a way with people, doesn't he?” Irma said, sipping her tea, looking at Richard.
Meredith shot her mother a withering glance that was meant as a silent indicator that she really ought to stop talking about the director immediately in case anyone overheard her.
”So what's the story, then? Is he single? What's his relations.h.i.+p history?”
”I have no idea, Mother. All I know is he directed a couple of BBC literary adaptations.”
”Ooh, really? I love those. He didn't direct anything by Jane Austen, did he?”
”Not that I know of.”
”Prime Suspect?”
”I'm pretty sure not.”
”Love in a Cold Climate?”
”I don't know.”
”The Forsyte Saga?”
Meredith turned to her mother in a state of irritated disbelief. ”If you're trying to make me lose my mind at work, you're doing a good job.”
”Well, darling, I was just trying to-”
Thankfully Mish whizzed over to where they were standing. Her arms were filled with half a dozen pairs of lace-up vintage boots.
”Can you believe none of them fit her properly? Apparently the Victorians didn't make half-sizes.”
”Mich.e.l.le, darling, how marvellous to see you again!” Irma cried, kissing Mish on each cheek.
”And you as well, Irma. Meredith mentioned you might come for a visit. You're looking fabulous. Love the hat.”
Irma put a hand to her cheek and smiled. Not for the first time, Meredith noted that flattery worked on her like beef jerky on a golden retriever.
”So did you get that e-mail from Elle?” asked Mish.
”About what? I haven't checked mine for a couple of days.”
”Her little sister is getting married.”
”Nicky? You're kidding. To whom?”
”Some doctor guy named Michael she met at Elle's tennis club.”
”She actually met someone there?”
”I think she actually knew him vaguely from high school or something. Or Elle did-it wasn't clear from the e-mail. But anyway, the cool thing is they're having a really big wedding in Italy in July and we're both invited.”
”That's cool. Where in Italy?”
”Not sure. Apparently his family has a holiday place but they're having it at a hotel in Florence. So now it's a challenge.”
”How so?”
”For us to find hot dates by then.”
Meredith snorted. ”Speak for yourself. I'm not actually dating, remember?”
”Oh, right, you're more like...genes shopping.”
”Exactly.” Meredith smacked her lips in a wicked way. ”You might even say I'm looking for the perfect fit.” This cracked them up so badly they failed to notice that Irma had slipped away. But before long Meredith felt a creeping anxiety, as though she had forgotten something, and swiveled her head around to see her mother standing half-concealed behind a huge rack of lights, deep in conversation with (who else?) Richard Gla.s.s.
”Oh G.o.d. I'd better go separate them before she decides to show him her scorpion tattoo.”
”Your mother has a tattoo? Wicked.”
Meredith started over, but Mish grabbed the sleeve of her cardigan and tugged her back. ”Oh, just leave them. She's fine. She's hilarious. You're way more bothered by her than anyone else is.”
Meredith emitted a closed-mouth growl.
”Which is perfectly natural, since you're her daughter and it's your job to be insanely irritated by every single thing about her. Besides, I want to talk about this wedding thing. Do you think I should invite the key grip?”