Page 12 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane, Part #4

Fraser nodded, taking his position beside the X marked on the studio floor, summoning up his opening line. Turning discreetly, he checked his breath in his cupped hand. The last thing he wanted to do was breathe coffee fumes over his possible co-star.

But Priscilla hadn’t moved. ‘I need the script,’ she said, her tone flat. ‘I can’t do this off book.’

Minelli looked surprised. ‘You haven’t learned the scene?’

She tapped her foot impatiently. ‘I haven’t had time. And I’m hardly going to learn the lines when I haven’t been offered the part. Be reasonable, Marco.’

Fraser fought the urge to stare. Plenty of actors struggled with lines, especially when there were a lot to remember.

He’d always been lucky – the words had stuck after one or two read-throughs and reappeared like magic when he needed them.

But he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard someone admit they hadn’t bothered to learn them at all, not least at a studio screen test with Hollywood’s biggest director.

That took a special level of entitlement.

But Minelli simply nodded. ‘Someone get her a script.’

Krystal hurried over, a sheaf of paper in her hand. She gave it to Priscilla, who glared at it as though it was a personal insult.

‘It’s not open to the scene.’

Fumbling with the pages, the assistant found the right one and handed it back.

When she passed Fraser, he saw two spots of colour burning in her cheeks and felt a surge of indignation on her behalf.

But this wasn’t the time to rock the boat and he suspected Krystal would not thank him for speaking out.

Forcing down his misgivings, he replayed the scene in his head and got into character.

Bash was confident, maybe a little arrogant, and he thought he didn’t need any help. Delores was about to prove him wrong.

After a moment, Priscilla came to stand within view of the camera. She held the script aloft, her gaze scanning the page as she took in her lines. Fraser tried not to let her lack of preparation irritate him further, but it was tough. Had she even read the bloody thing before today?

‘Quiet on set,’ Minelli called. The noise levels dropped. Someone held a board in front of the camera, whisking it away a second or two later. ‘And action!’

‘Who the hell are you?’ Fraser glowered at Priscilla, his lip curling in disdain. ‘Don’t tell me you’re the cleaner.’

Chin jutting in defiance, she matched his scorn. ‘O’ course ah am. Here to sweep up your mess.’

The accent was so unexpected, so different from her American drawl, that Fraser had to battle to maintain Bash’s trademark scowl. ‘You’re going to need more than a dustpan and brush to fix this.’

‘Then it’s a good thing I brung ma team.’

‘Cut!’ Minelli was gazing at Priscilla, his head cocked. ‘Let’s lose the accent.’

Priscilla scowled at Fraser. ‘Why does he get to do one when I don’t? I trained for this, Marco. I can do Scotland.’

Fraser kept his eyes on the floor, determined not to react. If she’d read the script, she’d know Delores was a Londoner. But there was no way he was going to point that out and it seemed the director wasn’t going to mention it either.

‘Fraser gets to do a Scottish accent because he’s from Scotland,’ Minelli explained. ‘That’s his natural voice. So can we go from the top? Quiet on set.’

This time, they managed to complete the scene before Minelli cut them off.

Fraser wasn’t sure if the humiliation had heightened Priscilla’s furious performance but she spat the words at him like bullets and made his ears ring with a slap that had very little stagecraft and a whole lot of venom to it.

His cheek burned where she’d struck him and he suspected he now had a red hand mark imprinted on his skin.

Checking the screen, Minelli nodded with what appeared to be satisfaction. ‘Act Four, Scene Four – the elevator scene,’ he instructed.

Krystal appeared at Fraser’s side, holding a small blue and white square. ‘An ice pack,’ she murmured. ‘For your cheek.’

He took it gratefully and pressed it to his face. ‘Thanks.’

‘This is the scene where Bash and Delores view each other as equals,’ Minelli called. ‘Fraser, I want newfound respect and unexpected attraction. Priscilla, you’re seeing him as someone you can trust, maybe even admire. I want sparks between you. Let’s go.’

It would be easier if she wasn’t continually glancing at the script, Fraser thought as he growled his way through the scene. And then she held up a hand.

‘Does he have to loom over me like that?’ she asked, glancing at Minelli. ‘It’s distracting.’

Fraser shook his head, wondering if she had ever undertaken a screen test before. ‘It’s in the stage directions. We’re in a lift – an elevator. I’m supposed to stand too close.’

She gave no indication that she had heard. Her extraordinary eyes remained fixed on the director, who eventually inclined his head. ‘Give her some room, Fraser. Happy, Priscilla? Then let’s try again.’

It took two more attempts to get through it.

On the second run-through, Priscilla complained that Fraser wasn’t giving her enough eye contact and it took all his patience not to point out that he would stand a better chance if she looked up occasionally.

His own performance had grown more sardonic as the interruptions and complaints stacked up; he wasn’t sure he was managing to convey respect or attraction.

Minelli called over the studio executives to view something on the camera screen.

They nodded as he murmured to them, then looked up to study the two actors.

‘Act Five, Scene Twelve,’ Minelli said at last. ‘Bash and Delores finally admit their feelings. I want passion. I want tenderness. I want to believe. Places, please.’

Fraser squared his shoulders. He’d done plenty of stage kisses before and passion had always been the last thing on his mind.

But at least in the past he’d liked his co-stars – had been reassured that they were invested in making the scene work.

He was not sure he could say either was true of Priscilla.

Script in hand, she sidled close to him. ‘Keep your mouth shut for the kiss,’ she hissed.

He couldn’t help himself. Widening his eyes, he stared at her in mock astonishment. ‘What, no tongues?’

Priscilla leapt away from him, her exquisite features contorted with horror. ‘Marco!’ she shrieked. ‘I cannot – will not – work with this… this Neanderthal any longer.’ She threw the script to the floor. ‘Either he goes, or I do.’

The director ran a weary hand over his face. ‘It’s probably time to take a break,’ he said. ‘Krystal, why don’t you show Priscilla to the green room? Fraser, you stick with me.’

Once the room had cleared, Minelli gave Fraser a long look. ‘I know. She’s a pain.’ He reached for the camera, swinging it round so Fraser could see the viewer. ‘But she lights up the screen. And you look great together.’

Fraser did not agree; most of the time, all he could see was the top of Priscilla’s glossy head.

But as the action progressed, he grudgingly accepted that Minelli was right about one thing.

When Priscilla did deign to look up, she looked amazing.

‘Obviously, she’ll be better once she’s off book. She draws energy from being on set.’

Given these pre-requisites for performance, it was astonishing Priscilla had been cast in anything, Fraser thought.

But then he glanced at the viewer once more and knew exactly why.

What was less certain was whether he could work with her, or she with him.

There were plenty of sparks, but he suspected they were the kind that would trigger an explosion.

Minelli appeared to read his mind. ‘Just finish the screen test and have some lunch. Juno will be here this afternoon – she’s another one who knows how to work the camera. If the two of you hit it off, we might just have your co-star.’

Fraser could only hope Juno was less of a diva than Priscilla, or at least better prepared.

And in the meantime, he had a screen test to finish.

He was tempted to go and find some garlic to eat so that his breath smelled revolting, but there was an outside chance that he might have to make an entire movie with the wretched woman.

Better to grit his teeth and get through it with as little fuss as possible.

With that in mind, he delivered his lines opposite Priscilla, did his best to convince those watching that Bash had fallen for Delores.

But as the moment of the kiss approached, Fraser’s stomach began to churn.

His mouth seemed to be working independently, delivering the words even as his insides roiled.

He took a breath, hoped he didn’t look as clammy as he felt.

The camera was bound to pick up any beads of sweat and even Minelli might lose his enthusiasm for Fraser if he threw up on a potential co-star.

Priscilla had turned towards him now and he could see in her eyes that she loathed the idea of this as much as he did.

Briefly, Fraser closed his eyes to gather himself for the task and an image swam unbidden into his thoughts, of Maura raising her face to his, inviting him to kiss her.

Of course he had pulled away, even though he’d been tempted.

That temptation was long gone now but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make use of the memory.

If he could somehow transport himself back to that moment and channel the fight between doing what was right and giving in to feelings he was trying to suppress, he might just be able convince the camera that Bash and Delores were perfect for each other.

With a Herculean effort, he summoned up Maura’s face and reached out a hand to caress her cheek.

He closed his eyes, determined to hold on to the illusion as he dipped his head to deliver the kiss.

But just as he was sure their lips would meet, he heard Minelli’s dispassionate yell.

‘Cut!’