Mickie
“Best idea ever,” I breathlessly told Dawson after we landed—safely—on the ground.
“Yeah,” he said. His voice was lighter than it normally was. Not as dark and serious. “I have to say, I even impressed myself with this one.”
I threw my hands up in the universal sign for stop. “Hold up. Did Dawson Cruz just make a joke?”
He rolled his eyes. “You know, I don’t remember you being this sarcastic the other night.”
I tossed him a sly grin. “And I don’t remember you making any jokes the other night. So, we’re even.”
After we were released from our harnesses and returned our helmets, we made our over to the sidewalk and started to walk.
“You want to go to dinner?” he asked.
He’d said it like he was preparing himself for a rejection.
Little did he know that I would have gone anywhere with him.
“Let’s do it,” I replied. “I like anything. Although I challenge you to find a decent pizza place around here that can even compare to Fabrizio’s back in Jersey.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you insane? Have you not heard of The Pie Guys?”
I tutted my tongue. “Well, since I haven’t, they must not be very good.”
He clutched his chest as if he were in pain. “You wound me, woman.”
I chuckled. More jokes. It was nice to hear.
Now, if I could just get him to wear something other than black.
“Is your entire family full of non-pizza-converts, or is it just you?” he asked.
We stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. It gave me a chance to look up at him, which was apparently the same idea he had. He was already watching me with curious eyes.
“My aunt and uncle are devout Fabrizio addicts. And my sister Margot has never lived outside of Jersey, so she doesn’t really know any different.”
“What about your parents?”
I had to clear my throat to work out the lump that was forming. Just when you think you’re over some things…
“I wouldn’t know,” I said in a quieter voice. “I didn’t grow up with my parents. They’re both in prison.”
There was a long silent pause that told me he had no idea how to respond to that.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “That must have been tough, growing up like that.”
The light changed, and we started walking again. Though I noticed he was standing closer to me now.
“More for Margot than for me,” I replied. “She remembers them more than I do, so it affected her differently. She even visited them for the first few years they were inside, but she eventually stopped. I haven’t seen them since I was four.”
“What did they get locked up for?”
Being low-life scum.
“They were career criminals, I guess you could say. They got caught for everything from bouncing checks, to counterfeiting money, to even robbing a bank.”
“Jesus,” he said under his breath. “And I thought my family had problems.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head whip around. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
I waved him off. “No, don’t worry about it. That’s not even all of it. Maury isn’t Margot’s real dad. Margot’s dad got our mom pregnant and then bailed just before she met Maury. So, he’s the only dad Margot’s ever known. We’re technically half-sisters, not that it’s ever made a difference to us.”
“And Margot wanted to stay in Jersey?” he asked.
The smell of food wafting out the doors of the many restaurants we were passing was ramping up my hunger about ten levels. Please, stomach, don’t growl again. It was so loud last time, he probably thought I was anorexic, or something.
“She didn’t have much of a choice back then,” I answered. “She got pregnant when she was in high school, and her boyfriend left her high and dry. She had to drop out of school and get her GED. So, she became a single mother at seventeen, living with our aunt and uncle, and now she’s just trying to work her butt off and get by.”
His hand flew to my arm and abruptly shoved me to the side. “Careful,” he warned.
I looked down and saw a manhole with the cover slightly askew. There was a long cord running out of the hole, so I assumed somebody was doing work on it.
I almost stepped into that hole.
And I would have had Dawson not stopped me.
“Assholes,” he growled. “They didn’t even put any cones or tape up. I should report them.”
I patted his arm reassuringly. “It’s okay. Thanks for that, though.”
He grunted a response and we continued walking. “Sorry to interrupt you. I think we were to the part where you told me what brought you down here.”
“Academic scholarship,” I said. “Our aunt and uncle basically drilled it into us that we shouldn’t want to wind up like our parents. That we needed to educate ourselves. Stay in school, study hard. And after Margot got pregnant, they put even more pressure on me to go out and make something of myself.”
He bumped his shoulder against mine. “Looks like you’re doing it.”
“I’m definitely trying to.”
I was about to ask him about his family when a voice on a megaphone cut through my thoughts. “I need all the extras over here right now for the doomsday shot!”
I peered down the street and saw what looked like an entire block cordoned off by traffic barriers. I could see wrecked cars and debris littering the ground and even a small fire.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Not sure.”
“Let’s go see.” I took off and heard him follow seconds later.
I neared the barriers and saw a large crowd of people facing the person standing on a platform with a megaphone. There was camera and lighting equipment on both sides of the street, and dozens of people with black headsets around their necks.
I tapped one of the people on the other side of the barrier on the shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on?”
The man looked to be in his mid-forties, with glasses and a receding hairline. “We’re extras in some post-apocalyptic B-movie. We’re supposed to run down the street in a panic like the world is ending. Cool, huh?”
“Really?” Intriguing. “What did you have to do to become an extra?”
“I just filled out a form and they made of copy of my ID,” he said, smiling. “I’ve been off-Broadway, but I’m trying to make my transition to film. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?”
With an idea forming in my head, I glanced around at the crowd. There were over a hundred extras, maybe close to two hundred. Surely, no one would notice if two extra people were suddenly running down the street with the rest of the crowd. Would they?
Dawson leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Mickie, what are you doing?”
I turned back to the guy with glasses. “What do you have to do in this shot?”
He waved his arm toward the other end of the street. “We just have to run straight down the street and freak out like it’s the apocalypse. The director wants us to scream and flail our arms and act all terrified.” He leaned in close as if he were sharing a secret. “If you need motivation, I suggest pretending zombies are chasing you. Godzilla works, too.”
I patted him on the back. “Thanks.”
I turned to Dawson with an expectant smile to find him already shaking his head. “No way,” he said adamantly. “I am not doing that.”
“Yes, you are,” I said firmly and grabbed his arm.
I checked our surroundings to make sure none of the crew was watching. When I saw the coast was clear, I ducked under the barrier and pulled him along with me. Once on the other side, I stepped in front of a few people to ensure no one recognized us as unofficial cast members.
“We can’t do this,” he hissed. “We’re not supposed to be here.”
“Come on,” I chided. “Live a little. Ten years from now, don’t you want to be able to say you were in a movie?”
“But—”
“Just pretend you’re being chased by zombies and you’ll be fine.”
“Mickie—”
“Quiet on the set!” the voice boomed over the megaphone.
Dawson kept whispering into my ear. “This is crazy.”
Exactly.
And that’s why I wanted to do it.
“Ready…and…action!”
Everyone around us started screaming at the top of their lungs and took off at a sprint.
I glanced up at Dawson with an expression of challenge on my face. “Catch me if you can.”
I started to run.
And scream.
And wave my arms around like a looney toon off her meds.
“Oh, that’s how you want to play, huh?” came Dawson’s voice from beside me. Guess he was faster than I’d given him credit for. “Fine. If you want crazy, I’ll give you crazy.”
He let out a thunderous roar, startling me, and zig-zagged through the hoard of people running for their lives. I watched with rapt attention as he leapt over piles of trash and debris, effortlessly dodging other extras as if he knew exactly what he was doing.
I started to crack up but immediately schooled my features. The cameras were rolling, and I had no idea where they were focused. Laughing would not be appropriate in a scene like this.
I continued to follow my fellow cast members down the street when all of a sudden, I saw Dawson standing on top of a car, pounding his chest like Tarzan.
I halted in my tracks, causing a few people to bump into me. He bent over a small fire and lit the end of a two-by-four on fire. Holding it up like a torch, he turned to face the crowd, many of whom had stopped to watch him, apparently forgetting their roles.
“We will not be oppressed by tyranny any longer!” he bellowed, the volume of his voice easily carrying through the staged chaos. “We will not live under persecution! Rise up and join me, and we will destroy the evils that subjugate us!”
Silence.
What the hell was he saying?
We didn’t even know what this movie was supposed to be about. Though it didn’t really matter. Everyone’s eyes were glued to Dawson, transfixed to his fierce, warrior-like stance, the fire held above his head. Even the crew members were frozen in place.
Then…battle cries.
The crowd erupted in cheers and shouts, and everyone once again stampeded down the street.
I just stood there, shock and awe locking up my muscles. The whole thing was so out of character for him.
I think I had just fallen in love with the man.
So what if I’d only known him about seventy-two hours.
When he took on a challenge, he went full-force, no-holds-barred.
You held onto a man like that.
So, I joined in with the raucous shouting, savoring the brief moment where I could be someone—anyone—else.
After I reached the end of the street and the director yelled, “Cut!” I found Dawson leaning against a building with his arms crossed, a smug grin stretched across his face.
“I’m officially impressed,” I said.
He looked back toward the set, a dreamlike expression covering his features. “I always dreamed of having a Braveheart moment.”
If only he’d ripped his shirt off.
When he turned back to me, he looked far more serious than before. “Thanks for that.”
My pleasure.