Page 11 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane, Part #4

Mindful of the need to adjust to the time difference as soon as he could, Fraser lasted until eight o’clock that evening before he fell into the pristine white bed linen and closed his eyes.

He awoke nine hours later, spent a fruitless hour trying to get back to sleep and then gave up and got dressed. The doorman nodded as he crossed the lobby and offered to summon him a cab, despite the early hour. Fraser declined with a smile. ‘I’m going to watch the sunrise,’ he explained.

‘An excellent plan, sir,’ the doorman said. ‘If you turn left and walk for around ten minutes, you should get a good view of the hills from the park.’

Even before dawn, the heat hung heavily and Fraser’s T-shirt was stuck to his back within minutes.

This was why everyone drove, he reminded himself, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead.

He wouldn’t last long doing walking tours around these streets.

But he’d needed to stretch his legs and get some fresh air – the day ahead would be exhausting and almost certainly spent indoors.

And there was something magical about watching the sun rise in a new place.

The palette seemed different, for a start, but perhaps it had more to with taking the time to appreciate it – something he rarely managed at home.

Finding an empty park bench, Fraser settled down to wait.

At first, it promised to be glorious. A thread of deep crimson laced the horizon, blossoming into oranges and reds as the sun’s rays banished the dark.

But although the tangerine glow spread as far as Fraser could see, it didn’t split into the sumptuous shades of amber, pink and gold he was hoping for.

A dull mauve curtain seemed to creep over the sun as it climbed, muting its brilliance and shrouding it in gloom.

The overall effect was dramatic, but not as spectacular as Fraser had anticipated.

He took a few photos, sending one to his mother and to Sam.

Then, after a moment’s consideration, he sent it to Maura too, with the words Living the dream .

Leaning back, he waited on the bench for another fifteen minutes, until it became obvious there was nothing more to see, then made his way back to the hotel to shower and find some breakfast. His driver was due to collect him at eight o’clock and he wanted to read through the scenes one last time before then.

It was impossible not to be overawed as the car drove through the tall studio gates and onto the lot.

Fraser took in the combination of low, rose-pink buildings and vast warehouses, watching the open-topped buggies zipping between buildings as they transported everything from employees to background panels.

It was exactly how he’d expected it to be, and yet he couldn’t shake a sense of unreality.

It felt as though he was on the set of a movie – a movie about movies, like La La Land or Singin’ in the Rain .

It scrambled his brain if he thought about it too much.

Krystal met him in the reception area of one of the offices.

‘I have good news and some not-so-good news,’ she said, after checking there had been no problems with his flight or hotel.

‘The not-great news is that Priscilla has been held up, so she isn’t here yet.

The good news is that rather than leave you kicking your heels for a few hours, Mr Minelli has arranged for a studio tour so you can get a sense of how things work.

’ She regarded him anxiously. ‘Does that sound okay?’

‘It sounds great,’ Fraser said, delighted that he was going to get a coveted glimpse of everything that went on behind the scenes. ‘I mean, I’m sorry Priscilla had been held up. I hope she’s alright.’

Was it his imagination or was Krystal’s smile slightly strained? ‘Perfect. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll send someone to pick you up. Oh, and I need to take your lunch order. What would you like?’

Fraser shrugged, assuming there would be a canteen or a catering truck. ‘What’s on the menu?’

Krystal eyed him with some puzzlement. ‘Whatever you’d like. The chef will make you something fresh. All you need to do is tell me what you want to eat. Or we can order in – Priscilla usually gets something delivered from Gordon Ramsay’s place.’

Fraser was no stranger to dining in expensive restaurants but he’d never considered that they might do deliveries. His usual on-set experience encompassed overcooked stews or tepid burgers, and it took him a moment to adjust to the new possibilities. ‘Uh. I don’t know. Pizza, maybe?’

Instantly, he wanted to die. Did Gordon Ramsay even make pizza?

But Krystal simply made a note. ‘No problem. And toppings?’

He reeled off his favourites.

Krystal jotted them down. ‘And perhaps a green salad? A smoothie of some kind?’

He shouldn’t be surprised; this was health-conscious California, after all. At breakfast, he’d overheard the man at a neighbouring table order an egg-white omelette and wondered what possible enjoyment he would get from something so bland. ‘Sounds good,’ he told Krystal. ‘As long as it’s not kale.’

She flashed her perfect white teeth. ‘Understood.’

Fifteen minutes later, Fraser was sitting in one of the buggies he’d observed on his way in.

A blond-haired, tanned young man called Zachary was driving, pointing out the various buildings and explaining their purpose.

‘There are fourteen studios in total, of varying sizes. Three of them have green screens and one is set up as a permanent courtroom.’ He glanced across at Fraser.

‘I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the movie All Rise but that was filmed here. ’

Fraser smiled politely. He had seen it but hadn’t been blown away by the lacklustre performances. ‘Impressive.’

‘Standing sets are stored in the warehouses at the back, near the workshops where the carpenters and set painters hang out,’ Zachary went on, slowing to allow a forklift truck to cross in front of them.

‘We have six wardrobe departments, four make-up rooms and two private lounges for the talent to use.’ Seeming to remember who he was talking to, he blushed.

‘I mean, for the big-name actors to use.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Fraser said, grinning. ‘We’re called that in the UK too. I’ve learned not to take it personally.’

Zachary pulled up next to an enormous roll-up door that led into a vast warehouse space.

‘Studio Three,’ he said, climbing out of the buggy.

‘They filmed Death Star in there. Built the whole lost city of Oribi, complete with catacombs and the famous cantina where the final shootout between Lord Ringwald and Endymion takes place. Let’s take a look. ’

There was so much to see that before long, everything began to merge in Fraser’s mind.

His most vivid recollection was the bejewelled golden sarcophagus in the centre of a studio laid out as a dusty Egyptian tomb.

Maura would love the intricate detail; he could imagine her frowning at the urns and jars in professional appraisal, offering suggestions on size and decoration technique.

He took special care to chat with the make-up artists and wardrobe crew, which was something a much more famous actor had recommended early on in his career – it paid to be nice to the people with the power to make him look better in front of the camera.

By the time Zachary deposited him back at reception, the early morning start was catching up with Fraser again. He was in need of a substantial caffeine fix.

‘Of course,’ Krystal said when he asked her. ‘Priscilla is here now – she’s in make-up, so there’s time for you to refuel before we get you ready too.’

Fraser didn’t know much about the two actors vying for the female lead in the film, beyond the usual online gossip and bland PR interviews put out to promote past projects.

The characters in this film didn’t become romantically involved until the final scenes, but they did need to strike sparks from the first moment they met.

He supposed that was why the chemistry screen tests were needed; both actors had a number of high-profile successes behind them but Minelli wanted to see who worked best with Fraser.

It was the kind of test that needed to be done face-to-face and, up until now, he hadn’t been nervous.

But adrenaline was fluttering in his stomach, despite the fact that the part was already his.

Sipping his coffee, he read through the scenes again.

He’d done his preparation, he reminded himself. And he didn’t need to impress anyone.

When Fraser finally met Priscilla, he was startled to realise she was even more beautiful in real life than on the screen.

Her dark hair shimmered under the lights, her wide, full-lashed brown eyes reminded him of Princess Jasmine from Aladdin and her skin glowed as though lit from within.

Where some actors were washed out by the overbright studio bulbs, Priscilla seemed to blossom under them.

He could see why the camera loved her. But her smile upon meeting Fraser had been a disappointment – perfunctory and lacking warmth.

Perhaps she was saving its brilliance for the performance, he thought.

Or perhaps she simply hadn’t liked the look of him.

She was used to working with much bigger names, after all.

Minelli was standing behind one of the cameras, muttering instructions to its operator as he peered at the screen.

Other studio executives watched from the wings; Fraser had been introduced to the casting director when they’d first entered the studio but he didn’t recognise the others.

Apparently satisfied, Marco glanced up to nod at Fraser and Priscilla.

‘We’ll try Act One, Scene Three first. The one where Bash and Delores meet after the bank job goes wrong. ’