Page 5 of Holly Jolly July

Ellie

After a full day of blocking, going over the script, more blocking, photography, adjusting lighting and camera angles, and

more blocking, we’re finally done for the day. Everyone is pooped and we haven’t even shot anything yet. Filming a movie has

so much behind-the-scenes preparation that by the time they shout “Action!” you’re already spent. It’s a lot of work to keep

energy levels up, but it’s a task I take on with pleasure.

There’s still a lot of day-one adrenaline and excitement between cast and crew, but as time goes on, more of the burden of

keeping the Christmas spirit alive will fall on my shoulders. I’m prepared for it.

“Whoever wrote this script, I’m buying them a drink,” Julia croons while removing her fake eyelashes.

“Whoever cast you as my co-star, I’m buying them a drink,” Oscar remarks, leaning close to Julia.

Julia laughs her musical laugh, and the rest of the team joins her. I laugh along too, because it’s just that contagious.

Marlene grips both of their upper arms with her talons. “First round is on us. We’ll bill the marketing department.”

“Oh yeah, party on, Garth!” I shout while doing a fake guitar solo in tribute to Wayne’s World .

The group looks at me, pauses, then turns back to their conversation.

“The place down the street has great pizza, but stay away from the chicken wings,” Jimmie cautions, having grown up near here

in Squiala First Nation.

The group moves en masse toward the stairs, me caught somewhere in the back, until we pile out onto the street.

It’s midafternoon and still extremely hot, which makes my sweat -dampened Christmas sweater even more uncomfortable.

I pull the neckline away from my chest and blow air over the girls.

The group heads right, but my car is parked left.

“See you tomorrow, team!” I shout as they begin walking away while I wait for the lights to change. “Don’t party too hard,

we have work to do!” They’re too caught up in their conversations to notice me, but that’s okay. We’ll all be together again

tomorrow.

I should be going with them so we can bond, but unlike them, I can’t walk to my lodgings, and finding my way to where I’m

staying in the dark and after a few drinks is a bad idea.

Everyone else is staying at the Royal, an old downtown hotel, but not me. There weren’t enough rooms for all of us, so the

crew and lesser actors were moved to a different hotel several blocks away. When Marlene had called to notify me of the arrangements,

at least I didn’t have to maintain a smile over the phone. She’d said she knew if anyone would understand being shifted around

it would be me, so of course I did.

It’s not like I’m a lead.

Instead of being constantly reminded that I’d been punted from the fancy hotel where the cool kids are staying, I split the

cost difference with production and booked a cute little Airbnb: a cozy cabin out in the woods.

This will be great.

Almost like a little mini vacation.

Plus, I won’t be distracted networking during my downtime and hobnobbing with the other talent. I can focus on my character

and really get into my method acting.

To the others this may just be another movie, or maybe to Oscar it’s a step down from some of the more serious roles he’s

played, but I’m still an up-and-comer with a lot to prove. I need every ounce of my attention on the two weeks ahead. I can’t

be distracted by Julia and Oscar and bar drinks and questionable-but-tempting chicken wings.

After crossing the street, I plop myself into the front seat of my green Subaru and toss my purse onto the passenger side, cranking the AC. “Jingle Bell Rock” blasts from my Christmas CD. I bop my head and hum along as I buckle my seat belt, then throw it in reverse.

I sit up a little higher to see over the mountains of boxes piled up in my back seat. Check-in to my Airbnb wasn’t until four

o’clock, so I had to leave everything in my car when I got in from Vancouver this morning.

I plug the address into my phone and follow Google’s directions down to the highway, heading east and singing Christmas karaoke

the whole way. The city quickly fades into farmland, and the mountains to my right are still capped in snow despite the heat

we’ve had these past few weeks. Ahead and to my left are more mountains, the Fraser Valley slicing through them like a river

of green paradise. I can already feel the tension in my shoulders and neck relaxing as I take it all in.

I exit the highway and after a few more turns am thrust into a forest while scaling one of the mountains I’d seen in the distance

ten minutes ago. I turn down my music so I can better read signage, the one I need appearing a few minutes down a winding

road.

I turn onto the narrow, bumpy dirt driveway and after about five minutes of my car jiggling so much I’m worried a bolt will

come loose, a cabin appears. The tiny wood-beam cabin is tucked beneath the shade of towering evergreens and nestled between

colourful shrubs.

I wiggle in my seat. It’s perfect!

I park and get out, immediately met by an orchestra of insects, tiny forest creatures, and the breeze through the treetops.

Seriously, they could record this sound and play it at a spa.

After locating the key in a hidden rock, I unlock the front door. The smell of old wood greets me, wafting out of the house

along with a draft of cool air from the portable AC unit humming away in the corner. I close the door behind me and clench

my fists tightly, squealing in excitement as I check the place out.

The front door opens into the living room, which has a wood-burning stove and an old floral-pattered love seat, as well as a small desk and swivelling computer chair that don’t quite fit with the rest of the rustic aesthetics.

The kitchen is just as tiny, taking up the other half of the room with just a countertop peninsula as separation.

Two barstools are tucked next to it, where I’ll be eating all my meals since there isn’t a dining table.

The cabinets look like they’re straight out of someone’s parents’ photo albums, all dark wood and old bronzed handles.

The countertops are yellow laminate, with a circular spaghetti stain to the right of the stove.

At least the appliances look new-ish, and I’m pleased to note there’s nothing in the fridge except an open box of baking soda.

I duck my head into the bathroom, which is similarly old and yellow but has everything I need. The bedroom is just as small,

with floral-patterned bedding, doilies on the dresser, and old landscape paintings on the walls. The alarm clock next to the

bed looks like it belongs in a museum.

This place is so eighties-chic it makes me wish I had a handlebar moustache and a mullet. It’s even better than the pictures!

Next step: hauling in all my crap. Box after box makes its way in, getting stacked in the living room. Once it’s all inside

I open the first one to reveal Christmas decorations.

Inhaling deeply, I revel in the nostalgic smells, colours, and textures of my childhood. Red and green twinkle lights, garland

and tinsel, ornaments and knickknacks, remnants of past pine trees—it’s all here. I’m so glad Mom let me borrow everything.

I rummage through the tree-decorating box. At the bottom, beneath all sorts of keepsakes my siblings and I have made for the

tree over the years, is our VHS player and tapes. Over time we’d replaced several with DVDs, then got rid of those in favour

of streaming services, but these last few in the box have more sentimental value than actual worth, and they’re kept with

all the Christmas stuff because that’s when we watch the old movies.

Well. We used to.

Luckily, the TV in this cabin seems to be the same age as the VHS player, and all the cords plug in the way they should. I

go back to the box and pick up tape after tape, not sure which one to start with. A plain one catches my eye and I lift it

to the light to inspect it. Romeo & Juliet 2006 is written on the white sticker in black sharpie. I roll my eyes and drop it unceremoniously back into the box, choosing

an old classic instead.

Jingle All the Way plays in the background, Arnie and his Austrian accent filling the tiny cabin with nostalgic bliss as I untangle strings

of Christmas lights. I thought ahead and brought a bunch of 3M hooks so I won’t damage anything. Before the movie is over

there are lights along every ceiling, over every door, and even wrapped around the stovepipe of the fireplace—since there

is no way in hell I’m going to be lighting a fire during this heat wave, no matter how cozy and Christmassy it would be. Method

acting does have its limits.

The last thing is a mini blow-up Santa with mechanical movements, which usually goes outside but would be perfect in the corner,

on top of the desk. I crawl underneath to find the last available plug, reaching as far as I can and—

Everything goes dark.

I bump my head as I crawl back out. Dammit. I must have flipped a breaker. I should have been more careful with plugging things

in with an old cabin like this. Thankfully it’s still only about five o’clock, and plenty of light gets in through the windows

for me to see. After searching each room twice, then taking a walk around the outside of the building, I give up on finding

the breaker box and open my Airbnb app to contact the owner, who has no profile picture—just a photo of a fox.

Thankfully, there’s still cell reception. Stroke of luck!

Ellie: Hello! This is Ellie. I’m staying at your cabin. There seems to be a problem with the electrical. Not sure what to do.

Joseph: hey! No worries I’m only ten minutes away and just headed out. I’ll be right there.

Ellie: okay thank youuuuuu!

Sitting still has never been one of my talents, so I take the next ten minutes to unpack my suitcase. Without that little

portable AC unit buzzing away, it gets hot quickly, nearly to the point of me removing my sweater. Thankfully, I don’t have