Page 39 of Let’s Make a Scene

Somehow, she makes it sound like a threat.

Chapter 14 CYNTHIE

The pranks continue over the next week, with each side drawing in new recruits. My personal favorite effort is when Hilary, in the costume department, agrees to let out the seams on Jack’s sleeves by an almost imperceptible amount, and then makes a (carefully scripted) innocuous comment about his arms getting skinnier. That evening I catch him doing hundreds of press-ups and I cannot contain my glee.

In retaliation, Jack manages to get the team at craft services on board, and Hannah and I show up one morning to find my entire trailer has been wrapped in clingfilm. This act of disloyalty really stings—betrayed by the same people who have been lovingly feeding me bacon sandwiches every morning.

I feel like Michael from the second Godfather movie.

“I know it was you, Pam,” I say sadly to the guilty-looking woman inside the food truck. “You broke my heart. You broke my heart.”

Jack snorts from his seat at a nearby table, where he is busy wrapping his mouth around a sausage sandwich with what looks suspiciously like extra sausages inside.

I turn to glare at him, but he only shrugs. “Just wondering if Pam should be worried about finding a horse’s head in her bed.”

“Eh?!” Pam looks startled.

“That was the first film,” I say, my tone withering. “You’re confusing your Godfathers.” I turn to Pam. “And I would never do anything to hurt you. I know you were taken advantage of by a heartless charmer.”

“I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse,” Jack says, doing an irritatingly good impression of Marlon Brando, and I have to swallow my answering gurgle of laughter.

“He’s just such a nice boy,” Pam says, clearly the victim of a vicious delusion. She smiles fondly at Jack, before turning back to me. “And he did say that you’d propped a bucket of ice water over his trailer door the day before…”

“Mmm.” I take a moment to relive that particular incident while Jack observes me sourly. His shrieks of outrage were so delicious.

For the rest of the cast and crew, the practical jokes are a fun way of blowing off some steam. Everyone has joined in with cheerful enthusiasm, and Jasmine and Logan seem to have adopted a benevolent “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. For Jack and I, however, this isn’t a game—it’s war.

Despite the fact that my costar and I are still at each other’s throats on a regular basis, I have to say that the filming has been going well. Every day I feel more comfortable, more confident. I make mistakes, of course I do, but they no longer feel like they’re going to bring the whole film crashing down around me. It’s like Hannah said: as time slips by, the whole process starts to feel less overwhelming, more manageable. I’m learning an insane amount, and the work leaves me buzzing. I feel, for the first time, like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

Or, at least, I did… until they put me on a horse.

“IT’S REALLY QUITE HIGH UP, isn’t it?” I say breathlessly to Hattie, later that morning, while she looks utterly at ease. She’s resplendent in a blue riding habit with a lot of gold frogging, and smiles at me from under her bonnet.

“You get used to it.”

“Okay,” I murmur doubtfully, as my horse—Domino—tosses her head about in a way that indicates she knows precisely how incompetent I am, and she is doing me a tremendous favor by not simply shaking me off her back.

“A filly needs to know who’s in charge,” Rufus says with a leary wink. “Horses are like women: they need a firm hand and a good hard ride every so often.” He laughs loudly at his own joke while I smile wanly and Hattie rolls her eyes.

Rufus might look like a gentleman right now, but I’ve been warned by several female members of the crew to make sure I’m not left on my own with him. I believe handsy is the euphemism.

We’re currently waiting for the crew to finish setting up for the shot, and thankfully, Domino seems content to stand still. I’m not sure what I would do if she decided she wanted to go off exploring because I don’t think she’s buying the idea that I’m in charge.

“Honestly,” Hattie continues in the mellow, musical voice that has made her a star in the world of audiobooks, “I’ve been making period dramas since long before you were born, and you spend an awful lot of time up on these lovely animals. The trainers are wonderful, and they only use very well-behaved horses. Plus, they’re shooting all your galloping bits using a stunt double, so it’s going to be very sedate. Just sit back and try to think of her as an armchair with a tail.”

“This chair has a mind of its own,” I say. “Literally.”

Domino makes a huffing noise that sounds like agreement.

“See,” I exhale, tentatively patting her neck. “Clever girl.”

“I’ll admit it’s tricky getting the hang of side saddle.” Hattie looks amused. “But in some ways it’s better that you haven’t ridden before; this way you don’t have to get used to the difference.”

“I suppose,” I reply, still nervous. “But it would be nice to have a bit more of an idea of what I’m doing.” The couple of training sessions I squeezed in between working with the choreographer and the movement coach passed in a blur. Also, then I was wearing jeans and—crucially—a helmet. I doubt my fetching little bonnet is going to do much to protect my fragile skull if I fall off. Oh god, don’t think about falling off.

“Nothing to it,” Rufus reassures me heartily.

We’re interrupted then by the appearance of two other riders who are clearly not having the same crisis of confidence. Simon, the actor playing my fiancé, looks as at ease as Hattie—he sits, tall and lean, an elegant figure on a dappled gray horse, but I barely glance at him.