Tommy’s weather-wise arm, and the long-range
meteorologists, had been right. Thick black clouds boiled across
the sky just before dawn. Dust devils swirled up and down the
beach as the quickening winds, like a fretful child, tossed handfuls of
sand into the air.
This particular scene was
only one tiny segment of the entire movie, but it promised to be one of
the most dramatic. No one wanted to miss watching the filming.
So Marty and Paddy supervised erecting several big interconnecting tents
near the lower cave, while Jimbo headed the team that dismantled Set
Two’s equipment and moved it to the long beach. It took every
available crewman to fasten everything in place, and erase their tracks
from the well-traveled beach, before rain started pelting down.
Darkness was blanketing
the island hours ahead of schedule. Paul was determined not to
waste a single minute. Even before all the remote lights and
cameras were in place, he had Alex and Allie running up and down the
beach, spitting out wind-driven sand as they shouted each other’s names.
In reality, they were
only staggering toward each other down a narrow forty-yard corridor.
That was how far their high-powered lights could penetrate through the
wind and driving rain.
Several different cameras
would be tracking each of them. On the first take, they’d
deliberately pass each other without glancing aside. Skillful
editing from multiple angles would foster the illusion that they were
frantically searching the entire island for each other.
If the first pass was
successful, they’d return to their original places and struggle through
the storm-tossed darkness a second time. Only this time, they’d
manage to locate each other at a predetermined midway point, and stagger
together toward their nearby firelit cave.
Kayla wanted to snicker
as they paced through their practice runs. She knew that the
finished movie would be magnificent. But right now they just
looked ridiculous, urgently shouting for each other when they were only
an arm’s length apart. How on earth did they keep from bursting
into hysterical laughter?
The buffeting wind
suddenly turned cold, and everyone dashed for the billowing tents.
A few moments later, darkness descended as if a switch had been thrown.
The powerful spotlights kicked on. Icy rain began pelting down.
Kayla’s heart lurched
into her throat as brilliant blue-white lightning flickered across the
sky. Suddenly the beach seemed very dangerous and terrifying!
Was she insane, to have written a scene that might get someone killed?
Alex was at the
corridor’s northern edge, facing into the driving wind. One long
arm shielded his eyes as sand whipped into his angular face. Allie
was at the other end, bracing her feet as heavy gusts threatened to hurl
her face-first into the nearest shifting dune. Rivulets of water
were already dripping from their hair and battered clothes.
Paul’s voice thundered
through the speakers, and they lurched into motion. Every
cameraman followed their movements with extreme care, so that the scene
could be completed as quickly as possible.
Something crashed nearby,
shaking the ground. Allie jolted, and flung up an instinctive hand
to ward off the danger. Her face looked sheet-white as another
bolt of lightning sizzled overhead, far too close for comfort.
Then she gathered her wits, and awkwardly staggered on.
Other monitors showed
Alex’s stumbling progress. A huge broken branch sailed over his
head, then vanished beyond the spotlights. He ducked to avoid
getting gashed, and fell forward on his knees. Booming thunder
drowned out his urgent shouts as he staggered up, and lurched forward
another few steps.
He wasn’t acting now.
The storm was fighting him every step of the way. Kayla knew it,
could feel it, with every labored breath he sucked in. She
clutched Tommy’s comforting hand so hard that his fingers went numb.
Part of her wanted to whirl away, to bury her face against his chest
until Alex was safely inside the cave. But she couldn’t force her
dilated gaze away from the glowing monitors.
Ropes were stretched
across both ends of the corridor, out of the spotlights’ range, so he
and Allie would know when to stop. Alex stumbled into his, and
breathlessly staggered to a halt. Paul’s shouted commands were
almost drowned out by another crash of thunder.
Time to head back to his
starting place, at the other end of the corridor. Alex let the
shrill wind propel him along. Icy gusts whipped at his light
jacket. Normally he and Allie would have sauntered by each other,
exchanging light banter or taunting jibes. Not tonight. He
felt sorry for his plucky co-star as she fought her way back to her own
mark. It was one thing to face into the storm himself, another
thing entirely for her to endure it.
At least this time,
instead of deliberately passing her halfway, he’d be able to grab her
hand and race for the sheltering trees.
He was barely in place
when the lights flashed twice, their signal to start running again.
Bellowing "Conners!" at irregular intervals, he put his head down
and imagined barreling through an entire football team. The tiny
microphone clipped inside his shirt might or might not pick up his
frantic shouts. If it didn’t, they’d be recreated later, in a cozy
little sound booth. That was the least of his worries right now.
His skin felt like a
thousand fiery needles were being driven bone-deep. Was it
possible to be scoured raw by wind-driven sand? Wouldn’t that
look great on the cover of People Magazine!
Why in hell was he out
here, anyway, battling the raw elements? This was insane! He
should have listened to his parents and become an accountant, or maybe a
pro baseball player! There were a thousand safer ways to make a
living!
Then he saw his partner
staggering through the driving rain. That brief moment of doubt
vanished like the dazzling lightning over his head. He’d been born
to act, born for just such a challenging scene! And by God, he’d
make their hearts lurch with terror and relief!
Something whipped
fiercely past Allie’s legs. He caught her just before her knees
buckled, saving her from a painful fall. "You okay?"
Allie was soaking wet,
ghostly pale, and exhausted from battling the storm. Her fingers
felt like ice. Every muscle in her body ached as if she’d fought
ten rounds with the reigning champ--and lost.
She’d never felt so
gloriously alive!
She managed a vigorous nod as
Alex curled a protective arm around her shoulders. The audience
would love that spontaneous, unrehearsed gesture.
Her answering shout was
carried away on the wind. Turning, she pointed toward the warm
firelit cave. Alex nodded and changed direction with her, dodging
airborne missiles with uncanny instinct.
Thick mud had turned the
slight hillside treacherous. They slipped and slithered, clutching
at trailing vines and each other, then burst through the low cave
entrance with heartfelt sighs of relief.
The golden, crackling
fire beckoned. Alex thought he’d never seen anything more warm and
welcoming. He and Allie weakly collapsed beside it, panting for
breath. The sudden silence made his ears ring.
Allie glanced up first,
and the line she’d been about to quote was forgotten. "Mac, you’re
bleeding."
Alex gingerly touched his
abraded chin, and frowned at the specks of blood on his fingertips.
"Looks like I won’t need to shave for a while," he quipped, forcing a
wry grin. "Could have been a lot worse. You okay, Conners?"
"Sure!" She managed
a breathless laugh, raked both hands through her sodden hair, and
remembered her lines. "No problem! Next time you decide to
do an Indian rain dance, warn me first, will you?"
Inside the sheltering
tent, Kayla sank down into the nearest chair. Her knees were
shaking with reaction.
They’d made it.
They were safe. The storm had tried to kill them--and the storm
had lost. She wanted to cry with relief.
Alex suddenly broke out
of character, and looked straight at the nearest camera, a devilish
gleam in his dark eyes. "If you make us reshoot that scene,
Jerry," he warned, pitching his voice to carry clearly through the
remote microphones, "I will have to kill you. Very slowly and
very unprofessionally. And I will enjoy every moment of it!"
Behind him, Allie
laughed, and dramatically sprawled on her back. "Well?" she
demanded, shaking a finger at the hidden camera. "Is that a wrap?"
Director and producer
exchanged a quick glance. Both looked smugly satisfied.
"That," Paul said into his microphone, "was the most incredible piece of
acting you’ve ever done. And I never, ever, want to have to
endure that again!"
"Who was acting?"
Alex’s rich drawling laughter echoed through the flapping tent.
"That was a gen-yu-wine death struggle!"
Tommy wiped sweat off his
forehead, and sank down beside Kayla. No one could have predicted
that the storm would turn so violent, so fast. But what an
incredible scene! It would bring the critics to their knees.
It had damned near brought him to his, when Allie had almost been
knocked flat by that flying branch!
The set crews had been
avidly watching the monitor arrays over his shoulder. A palpable
wave of relief swept through them as Jerry and Paul gave their official
approval. Triumph filled the wind-battered tent like heady
perfume.
Beers were cracked open,
and lifted in noisy salutes, as the gale howled outside. Kayla sat
in the thick of it, and absorbed the excitement like a growing flower
absorbs sunlight.
Like her two beloved
friends, she’d never felt so alive, so vital, in her entire life.
• • • • • •
The dramatic impact still hadn’t dimmed when she watched the playback
monitors, three days later. Every time Mac stumbled, or Connors
jolted at a burst of lightning, Kayla’s heart lurched into her throat.
She’d never been so scared before. And she never wanted to feel
that way again.
She could have lost him.
It hadn’t really sunk in before. When he’d nearly slipped on the
cliffs, he could have been smashed to pieces on the rocks far below.
During the storm, he could have been hit by lightning, crushed by a
tree.
He could have been
killed. And it would have been all her fault, because she’d
written the script, and she’d insisted that the movie be filmed here.
Just like she’d insisted that Patrick accompany her to the pub that
fateful last night.
If something had happened
to Alex, she would have been to blame. Could she live with that?
Did she have any choice?
The career he’d chosen had
created and shaped him, just as he’d created and shaped the character he
portrayed. It was who and what Alex Matthews was. If she
couldn’t accept that, and the occasional danger that went with his
demanding job, she had no business caring about him in any way.
Which brought her right
back to the original dilemma. She did care. Far more than
she should.
So what was she going to
do about it?
• • • • • •
More hot sultry days slid by, blending smoothly together until, quite
unexpectedly, another whole month was gone. Kayla looked somberly
at her daily calendar, and knew that her time in this delightful island
paradise was running out. There were only a few scenes left to
shoot: Conners’ cautious exploration of the island’s dank eastern
catacombs, the final showdown between Mac and Bryce Spencer, a few
miscellaneous food-gathering and spear-fishing clips.
Back on the mainland,
post-production crews were already sifting through their initial
completed footage. The plane crash scene, filmed nearly five
months earlier, had required a clever mix of high-tech studio sets and
open-ocean photography. Jerry’s skilled sfx teams were already
tweaking it into a nonstop hair-raising sequence guaranteed to perch the
audience on the edges of their seats.
Over thirty hours of
footage had been filmed on the island itself, because so many scenes had
required multiple camera angles. The real key to making a
successful movie, Paul had told them, was being able to pick out the
very best angles, ruthlessly cull out everything else, and then let the
special effects crews work their own special magic. The result
would be a feature movie worthy of the series’ excellent reputation.
Traditionally, cast and
crew held a boisterous party after each season’s final episode, followed
by a well-deserved vacation at Club Med or various private retreats.
Then, pampered and rejuvenated, they’d regroup at the studio to begin
filming again.
Since this movie was
being filmed between two seasons--"squeezed between the cracks," as
Tommy laughingly phrased it--there would be no luxurious vacations after
the filming ended. This week they’d be wrapping up on the island,
packing, returning to the mainland. Next week, they’d be back at
the studio, starting work on Season Eight.
It was a brutal schedule.
But no one was complaining. Not out loud, anyway. They were
an experienced crew. They understood that surviving Hollywood’s
capricious whims meant going extra lengths to stay ahead of the
competition.
Jerry could be an
unreasonable tyrant when the situation demanded, but he understood the
need to maintain high morale. So when he ordered supplies for this
cast party, he pulled out all the stops.
Jimbo’s team had already
begun disassembling Set Two, and packing equipment into big shipping
crates. Huge cargo helicopters from Fiji began to arrive every
evening, disgorging exotic party supplies. The heavy crates were
loaded aboard in their place, and returned to the mainland, where they
would eventually be shipped back to L.A.
Every day for a week, the
‘party pile’ grew. Special generators kept the refrigerated boxes
cold. Insulated beer and wine casks were piled in the shade, and
surrounded on all sides by massive food crates. "To keep us all
honest," Alex quipped, as he helped Roland manhandle one of them into
place. "You’d think Jerry didn’t trust us!"
Kayla had half-expected
the pace to slacken a bit during the final days. Yet if anything,
it seemed to her that the crews were even busier than before.
Dozens of extra stand-in and action scenes were re-shot, just in case a
different angle was needed. After all, they couldn’t very well
return for last-minute retakes once they’d returned to L.A.
And then, quite suddenly,
it was all over. The filming was officially done. The booms
and lights and cameras were all safely stored away. Only the upper
cave set remained intact, to be disassembled after the big party.
Kayla watched Marty and
Dean supervise the cooking and decorations with mixed emotions. On
the one hand, it would be a fine rollicking night. A dozen long
tables were filled to overflowing with delicious food. Sparkling
wine and beer kegs were plentiful. A well-known rock band had
flown in on the last chopper, and the musicians were busy testing their
instruments. Brief snatches of music echoed along the shore and
across the curving bay.
Kayla’s wheelchair ramps
had been cannibalized, and rebuilt into a wide dancing stage. And
as a special surprise, Jerry had even flown in the crew’s various
girlfriends, who were even now giggling and flirting outrageously with
their men instead of helping with preparations.
Of everything, Kayla was
most looking forward to the dancing. Maybe she wasn’t yet up to a
two-step or a jig--but she could dance! She could hardly
wait to kick up her heels, and prove to the world that she was finally
cured!
On the other hand...
Tomorrow evening, the magic was
finally ending. They were heading home. Alex would be flying
back to L.A., with all its bright lights and bawdy entertainment.
Her quiet little home was on the opposite end of the country.
Oh, she’d see him again,
at the movie’s premier, or when she flew out to work with Jerry and Paul
on several new Season Eight episodes. She was already brimming
with excellent ideas for the season-ending cliffhanger.
But that would be weeks
away. She’d gotten so used to seeing his handsome face every
morning, noon, and night. How could she ever survive being alone
again?
You won’t be
alone. You’ll still have Patrick.
Yes, she’d still have
Patrick. She would never truly be alone, as long as he was still
with her. And how she loved him, even now!
But after falling in love
again, and deliberately walking away...would that be enough?
