Devon goes over some of the basics of finding the active camera, how to sit and stand at proper angles for good shots, and explains that while they will record sound as they go, most likely I’ll be going into a recording studio in a week or two to say again all the things I say tonight so they get good sound.
“It’s hard to get good clean recordings at some of these places,” he says, peering out the window.
He still hasn’t said where we’re going.
“You look beautiful,” Jessie says.
“You do,” Devon says. “Cecilia and Gigi did good work. Kendra will be pleased.”
“Kendra?” I ask.
“The stylist,” Devon says. “There are going to be a lot of people with you. It won’t feel very private. Just do the best you can to focus on Blitz and not all the activity.”
My stomach is a wreck. Lunch has passed and I didn’t eat anything. I press my hand to my belly.
“I have fruit, nuts, and whole-grain crackers in the bag,” Jessie says, attentive as always.
“Maybe a cracker,” I tell her.
She passes me a couple, plus my water.
I try to eat them, but they taste like sawdust. I work harder to drink a little. Hydration is more critical than food.
The driver of the limo rolls down the glass between the front compartment and the back. “We are approaching,” he says.
Devon rubs his hands together. “The success of this short season really hinges on this date,” he says. “Livia, just let things flow between you and Blitz.”
I pass the water back to Jessie. She looks so young in her blond ponytail and black T-shirt. “I’ve never been on a shoot before,” she says.
“Just watch out for your girl,” Devon says. “Make sure she has what she needs.”
We roll to a stop in front of a gate. There are other limos here, and a few vans.
“Pull on up,” Devon says. “You can’t park on the street here, it’s a right-of-way.”
The driver nods and we turn up a drive.
At first I can’t see where we’re headed, then I realize — it’s a castle!
“What is this place?” I ask.
“The Stimson House,” Devon says. “Beautiful atmospheric house. Lots of movies and shows have been shot here.”
We pull up and stop, but Devon holds his hand out. “We need to get Blitz’s location before you are seen.”
The limo door opens, and a young man with a headset peers in. “Here’s your set,” he says, passing an earpiece and a small electronic box to Devon.
Devon clips the box on his belt and fits the earpiece to his head. “Big D on site. Can you hear me?”
After a moment, he says, “Location of Blitz.”
Then “Move him to the dining room. We’re going to go up.”
He nods, as if the person he’s listening to can see him. Then he looks at me. “Okay, all clear. We’re heading in.”
He leads the way out of the limo. I follow, then Jessie and Gigi.
The house is enormous and breathtaking. Large blocks of orange-red stone make up the exterior, sweeping up three stories, with a towering four-story round turret.
A wide stone staircase takes us up to a porch that could hold my parents’ entire house. Devon looks around, nodding to himself, as if feeling assured that he chose the right place.
“What will happen here?” I ask.
“It will all unfold as it should,” he says.
We go inside the heavy doors. Smooth round columns as big around as tree trunks separate the sections of the main floor. A wooden staircase goes up, light filtering in through stained glass windows inset in the wall.
“Let’s go on up,” Devon says.
I try to spot anyone else, but the main room is empty. Doors and halls branch off every direction. There is no telling where Blitz is in this maze.
We head upstairs. The rooms are amazing, wallpaper framed by ornate carved wood corners and baseboards.
“I’m going to deposit you ladies here,” Devon says. “I need to check on the set.” He takes off.
We look around our room. It’s empty other than a couple chairs in one corner.
“You go ahead,” Jessie says, and plops down on the polished hardwood floor.
I lower myself tentatively on the hard-backed chair.
“Let me check your lips,” Gigi says. “Once we start shooting, you will only pretend to eat and drink. Don’t actually do it.”
“Okay,” I say. I hope I can keep all these instructions straight.
She brushes more color on my mouth.
Then we wait.
And wait.
I’m tempted to get my phone from Jessie and text Blitz to see what is going on, but he probably doesn’t have his phone either.
At least a half hour passes. Gigi checks me every so often and scolds me not to bite my lips.
I stand up and look out the window at the grounds of the castle. It’s beautifully manicured, big green trees and boxed hedges, even in February.
Finally a woman comes in. “Livia, ready?”
I take a deep breath. It’s time.
When I get out on the landing, there is barely room to walk. Devon is there, cameras, lights, a whole crew of people.
“I want B roll of her feet, the skirt, her back,” Devon says. He turns to me. “Livia, we’re going to have you go up and down the stairs a few times.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Hand on the rail, lightly,” Devon says. “Go down gracefully. Like a ballerina.”
I nod and touch my fingers to the wood banister and start to go down. I’m anxious to see if Blitz is below, but once I’m halfway, the only thing I see are more cameras, more lights, more crew.
“All right, Livia, back to the top,” Devon says.
We repeat this a few times.
“All right,” Devon says. “Let’s move on.”
I’m back at the top of the stairs. There is a sharp turn in them near the bottom, so I can’t see around the bend until I make it most of the way down.
“All on the face,” Devon says. “Long, medium, and tight.” Then to me, “Livia, come on down. This time, he’ll be waiting.”
My chest relaxes out of its tightness just knowing I get to see him. I touch my hair, then place my fingers on the banister as before. Everything feels heightened, the light beaming in through the stained glass, the gloss of the wood, the shimmer in the moiré pattern of the wallpaper.
I take each step carefully, with intention, as if I’m a ballerina coming out onstage. I can sense everyone’s interest in what I’m doing, the cameras rolling, crew members sliding their rigs along a smooth track.
When I make the turn, I see him. My breath catches. He wears a white shirt and a black vest over dress pants. He’s perfect. I’m as swept away as the first time I saw him.
His eyes dance as they light on me. My focus is only on him as he holds out his hand to me. Now I feel like I’m floating.
The cameras slide farther back as I take the last few stairs. At his feet are a blanket, a picnic basket, wine glasses, and cheese on a china plate.
“You look beautiful,” he says, “like a princess.”
I feel my cheeks heat up. “Is that why you chose a castle for our date?” I ask.
I hear the quiet sighs of the crew. They are thrilled with our exchange. I have the sense that this moment is both real and unreal, scripted and spontaneous, planned yet still ours.
I reach him, and he takes my hand to kiss my fingers as he always does. “I could think of no place more suitable.”
I look around. “It’s very fancy.”
He pulls my hand to his chest. “You want to look around?”
I sense that this move has been suggested to him, but I nod and play the part. He leads me to a fireplace, then to a dining room, and we exclaim about the details of the woodworking, the ceilings, the intricacies of the space.
Soon we’re back at the blanket and the wine and cheese. I kneel down and he sits with me.
This time, Devon interrupts.
“Let’s place them for the lights,” he says.
Blitz grins at me. “They let us go longer than I thought they would.”
I look around. There are so many people. A dozen at least. Gigi rushes in and powders my face and shifts one side of my hair behind my shoulder.
An older woman in a bright tunic and tights comes forward.
“Blitz, you should be here,” she says, tapping the corner of the blanket. “And Livia, I want you more here.” The center.
Devon also comes forward. “See that camera there?” He points at one dead ahead. “That’s our primary angle. Make sure you don’t block each other from that one.” He points up. “Jerry, get that shadow off Blitz.”
A photographer snaps a few stills as we rearrange.
“Now that you’ve got the position,” Devon says, “let’s take it back to the dining room, walk in, and take it straightaway.”
I nod. Blitz helps me up and we head back to the dining room.
Now the spontaneity is truly gone. I remember a scene with Blitz and one of the early girls on his sofa, kissing. Did they do this then? I lean in. “Will they be there telling us how to have sex?”
Blitz chokes back a laugh and starts coughing. “They record every word we say,” he whispers. “Take it easy.”
“You didn’t answer the question!” I hiss.
He shakes his head. “That part is just for us.” Then he pauses. “Unless that turns you on.”
“No!” I squeak. We’ve made it to the dining room.
“Roll that footage for continuity,” Devon says. “Let’s get him in place.”
The woman stares at a screen partially hidden by a hood. “Switch places, guys,” she says.
She’s right. I was on the left before. We move back into position.
“Close enough,” Devon says. “Let’s move.”
We walk back to the picnic, this time settling in the predetermined spots.
But as soon as we’re down, Devon stops us again.
“Kendra,” he says.
The woman in the tunic hurries forward. She adjusts my dress, shifts my ankles, and frowns when she sees my shoes. “She’s in the flats!” she says.
Devon shrugs. “We already have too much footage of her feet,” he says. “Leave it.”
Kendra is seriously miffed, but she adjusts my hair, Blitz’s vest, and shifts the plate a little closer to us.
“And rolling,” Devon says.
Blitz reaches for my hand and kisses my fingers again.
“It’s becoming a habit,” I say.
“Because you’re delectable.”
It’s such a Blitz thing to say, on his show, not to me normally, that I can’t help it, but burst out laughing.
“What?” Blitz says.
“It’s me now!” I say. “Or is there a real me and a show me?”
Blitz nods, his expression thoughtful. “You’re right. I was acting. I’ve been acting, on this show, with all those girls. But I don’t have to be that way with you.”
I bite my lip, then stop, remembering Gigi’s admonishment. It’s hard to fight my awareness of the cameras, imagining how they’ll zoom in on my face, then shift to our joined hands. I can picture the people watching, breath held, waiting for me to respond to this confession.
It’s us, but not us. We’re here, but not here. It’s intoxicating. I feel so important, like what I say and do matters.
“You know what is best about us?” I ask him.
“What?” he asks.
“When we’re together, it’s not just about us. It’s about all the things we love.”
“Like your wheelchair ballerinas,” he says.
My expression falters for a moment. I can feel it. Gabriella. I miss her already.
“We’ll be back to them soon,” he says. “And you’re right.” He pauses, and I get the impression that it’s so they can cut the scene here if they want to leave out the part about the ballerinas. “I love our life.”
“Together,” I say.
Blitz lifts one of the glasses of wine and hands it to me. Then he takes the other and clinks mine. “Together.”