There are no words to describe how gross Viv feels, and no expletives strong enough to give a fair account of her mood. Not that she’d use them in front of the crew and Victor. But when she gets to her trailer for a long overdue break she shakes with rage. They’ve only been in the desert for five days, and Viv knows the next six weeks will be the worst of her life.

Flopping into the nearest armchair she groans. “Get me an iced soda water,” she snaps at Stef, who’s been inside the trailer all morning, looking fresh as a daisy. Victor doesn’t like having nonessential crew hang around when the cameras roll, so Stef gets to spend her days inside the city of tents and trailers they’ve erected on the rocky desert ground next to the set.

A display for a thermometer mounted on the outside of the trailer is affixed to the wall by the door. It reads one-hundred-and-three. Viv likes to think of herself as European, and she tries to remember what that is in Celsius. Forty degrees. Christ!

“D’you…d’you want your lunch now, too?” Stef asks as she hands Viv the soda with trembling fingers, glass dewy with condensation. “It’s just that the kitchen said we have to let them know. They can’t take the salmon out until just before steaming it, or it’ll spoil…”

Viv sighs. Why does she have to tell everyone how to do their job all the time? “Yes, you silly goose. It’s lunchtime,” she says slowly so the girl can keep up. “Victor will be here any minute now.”

Stef scurries for the exit. “Oh,” Viv calls, “Get them to put the champagne on ice, too. And bring me back some of that frozen watermelon.” That’s what she’s subsisting on out here, frozen fruit and Veuve Clicquot.

As the trailer door closes behind Stef, Viv sinks deeper into the armchair. It’s so nice and cool inside the trailer. She’s still in one of Empress Cassilda’s robes, but the one she wears today is made of loose, see-through silks which feel like a caress against her heated skin. Before she left set the costume team took off the Empress’s elaborate crown, and Viv leans her head back and closes her eyes with a sigh.

“Vivienne!”

Victor’s angry shout startles her, and Viv jerks upright, staring at her husband in the doorway. Did she fall asleep? Why’s he yelling at her?

He strides across the carpeted floor, making the trailer shake. Viv yawns. “What’s wrong?” She tries not to let it show that he gave her a fright. Maybe he’s cross because she looked to be asleep when she should be waiting for him to come in for lunch.

“How dare you just walk away?” Voice still much too loud, he stops right before her chair, glowering.

“What? We were done….” Viv is more than a little bemused by this outburst. “The crew already moved stuff around for the afternoon scene.”

“Christ, Viv,” he bellows and starts to pace. “This is work, you know? You get paid to do as I say. You’re not actually the Empress, in case that wasn’t clear.”

That stings. “Yes, Victor,” she says through clenched teeth. “I’ve worked on movies before, remember? I know the drill.”

He huffs and stops pacing. “Do you now?” His voice is low and mean. “Doesn’t seem like it, most of the time.”

Tears of anger prickle in the corners of Viv’s eyes. “Why’re you yelling at me? What’s wrong, Victor?” It can’t just be her leaving his sight without permission; he’s not that petty.

“Everything!” he shouts, making Viv jump again. He runs his hands through his thinning hair and lets out a long puff of air. “Those fuckers at the Valley of Fire park office say our paperwork’s not valid,” he continues in a calmer voice, sounding more upset now than angry.

“What?” Viv sits up straight. “But that was all done weeks ago, and we’ve shot for four days already!”

“They sent some asshole park ranger to deliver the message. He arrived when the cameras were still rolling. Didn’t you notice me talking to the guy?” His eyes are hard like flint, but then he sighs, shaking his head. “I made him give us a couple days to sort it out.” He rubs his face, looking very tired. “I’ll have to go back to LA, meet with Harlan, and kick someone’s ass at the studio.”

Viv is aghast. “Why do you have to go yourself, though? Can’t Harlan sort it out, send the papers on?” They can’t shoot without Victor, he doesn’t let anyone else be in charge.

Victor throws her a dismissive look, like she’s slow and stupid. “It’s my fucking gig, Viv.” He turns to face the window at the back of the trailer. At least he’s no longer yelling. “I can speed things up if I go myself. Kiss the right backsides, you know the kind of thing. We’ll have to resubmit the entire application.”

Viv wipes tears from the corners of her eyes, angry with herself for becoming emotional. This is just what Victor is like. He didn’t mean to shout at her. Sometimes his temper bubbles over. It’s best to ignore it. “When are you leaving?”

“Right now.” Victor gives a deep sigh. “I have to go to the State Parks office first. Tracey got me on a flight at eight tonight, I hope I’ll make that. At least that ranger office is en route.” It’s an hour and twenty minutes’ drive into Las Vegas.

“Are we just gonna hang around and wait for you to come back?” Viv asks. If that’s the case maybe she can go with Victor. Then she could sleep in her own bed tonight.

Victor shakes his head. “Bob will carry on while I’m away. We can’t afford to waste the time. The next couple days are all mapped out. It’s pretty easy stuff. The only real issue is that it’s Damien’s first day tomorrow.” He sounds upset about that. “I’ll call him; we can talk through any questions he might have.” He shakes his head and rubs his face again. “Shit.”

Viv is no longer angry, and feels a little sorry for her husband. She makes to get up and go to him, but before she can get to her feet his cell buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and glances at the screen. “My car’s ready.” He turns toward the door, then glances back at Viv. “I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow. Don’t be a diva, okay?”

With that, he’s gone from the trailer. Viv sinks back in her armchair, tears stinging her eyes again. “I’m not a diva,” she shouts, just when Stef hurries back through the door, carrying a bucket with the champagne and a plate of frozen fruit.

“What?” the girl asks, confused.

“Nothing,” Viv says, wiping her eyes. She motions at a small table by her side. “Put that here and bring me a glass. Then go and tell the chef we don’t need any lunch.”

Stef stares at her but doesn’t ask any questions. Viv takes a piece of frozen melon and nibbles it without enthusiasm. Her appetite is gone.