NOVEL NEXT Chapter 30: Getting Lei’d
Chapter 30: Getting Lei’d
Hilo, Hawaii. September 2007.
The ballistic storm battering Kaua’i was ready to ebb. In around another week, there’d no longer be thunder over the tropics.
After anything and everything involving jungles, animals, stunts, and explosions had been completed, Ben had relaxed and basically dispersed the crew into a few smaller teams to now, at the end of our filming schedule, shoot the opening of the movie.
We wrapped photography in our pretend war zone, and in-between sound stages and locations around Hawaii, the crew had all been parceled out to shoot our respective fake movie trailers.
Donald Glover would get his first taste of being Childish Gambino as he filmed the mock music video for Alpa Chino and Booty Sweat.
Ben had it the easiest because he’d just be in a small studio in front of a green screen, striking a single pose with a few lines of dialogue.
On the other end of the spectrum, though, Jack Black was going to be pulling his best impression of Eddie Murphy by stuffing himself into several fat suits, costumes, and wigs as he played the stereotypical, lazy, gross-out comedy by comprising an entire cast on his own. The only advantage he had was that they’d be using the banquet hall in the hotel that he was staying at to film the whole thing, so he was free to continue his family vacation.
RDJ was who I would have loved to hang around while he filmed his bit since Tobey Maguire had graciously come down for the day to film their allusory version of Brokeback Mountain - but with a Catholic priest twist. Satan’s Alley had entirely different uses for prayer beads than an average monk.
Pure Oscar (mastur)bait.
Barnaby Cunningham was a character that I portrayed to satirize those British actors who explode onto the Hollywood scene after they’re discovered by thirsty American housewives through British period movies and dramas. Think Orlando Bloom, Hugh Grant, Jude Law, the list sort of just goes on. I’m sure given a few more years, the general public would repeat this phenomenon once Benedict Cumberbatch bursts into your wife’s bedside cupboard after Sherlock. Pretty boy antics and prettier faces burrow rather deep into lonely hearts.
When Ben and I scribbled down the script for this, we were certain of the type of movie Barnaby would get his big break from. A quintessential British period drama in the vein of Jane Eyre and Pride & Prejudice was ideal.
Naturally, I couldn’t play this role by myself since I needed someone’s bodice to rip.
Jane Austen had her Emma, and likewise, I had my own.
Security check cleared; I sat impatiently in the passenger seat of the car that the resort provided. The driver followed the signs towards the secluded runway where the private jet I’d chartered for Anita and Emma had arrived.
She’d only just finished filming her part for Cloverfield a couple of days back, so thankfully she hadn’t had to go out of her way to accept my request for this cameo.
Anita, being both our agent also probably helped speed up the entire process by a verifiable margin.
The ground crew was hard at work, guiding both the jet and us into place. Once I saw the cabin door open and the stairs hitting the tarmac, I grabbed the floral garlands off my lap, jumped out of the car, and waved the leis alongside the airport crew’s lightsabers.
I was a poor substitute for actual tourist welcomes. But what I lacked visually, I hope I made up for with enthusiasm. “Aloh-oof!”
Emma beat me to the punch.
Before the lei was around her head, she took her handbag and jammed it into my gut. Oh Dae Su had clearly put her through her paces. My hand reflexively cradled the deceptively heavy leather Chanel purse - no doubt a freebie from her endorsement deal, if she’d so carelessly stuffed it with whatever bulky thing was inside. Wasted effort on my part though, because Emma just as quickly trapped it between our torsos when she flung her arms around my neck.
“I take it you enjoyed your flight, then?” My voice sounded choked, but it wasn’t because I was feeling overly emotional or on the verge of tears. Girl had a gorilla’s grip.
“Don’t be a prat, Bas. I know it’s not inherently in your nature, but is it really so hard for you to just say ‘I missed you too?’”
“Don’t bother Emma. You’re asking a fish to climb a tree.” Said the shark chasing my poor tailfin up it.
If we were at a carnival, I would have totally won that cheap plushie at the ring toss kiosk. I flicked my free hand and frisbeed the ring of purple plumerias around Anita’s gills. “Welcome to Hawaii.” No doubt the lifeguards would have to announce a shark warning when we got to the beach.
Their junk safely packed in the car’s trunk; we taxied out of the airport.
By law, as the big boy, I sat shotgun. I swerved in my seat when a manicured nail slithered through the gap in the headrest and poked me in the back of my neck. “So, what’s on the agenda?”
“Yeah, you made it sound as if we literally like have no time at all to film this.“
“Like? Literally?” My eyebrows raised to the same altitude that the strange new cadence in her voice had. Since when did Emma finish her sentences on such a high note? “LA sunk its claws into you, huh?”
Whap! Her hand clamped over her mouth. “Don’t you start. I’ve heard enough complaining from my family about it. It’ll go back to normal once we return to England.” How could I forget teenagers were basically formed from plasticine?
My pupils darted without the rest of my head moving and burned into Anita’s. “Lots of tongues around her ears, I assume?” It was very much my intention to garner the same uncomfortable reaction that the usage of the word moist might manifest.
Disgust.
Which is precisely what I’d feel for my agent if she’d been unable to ensure that the only hands molding any clay were hers and hers alone.
The car seats were incredibly comfortable, but you’d never guess it with the way Anita was shifting in hers.
“E-even if a few slipped through the cracks, I had enough Q-Tips in my pocket to clean out her ears afterwards.” No holes in the net.
“Honestly, you two. Haven’t I heeded your advice and stuck to Anita this entire time?” Good little remora. “In fact, this conversation is the only one I’ve heard discussing my orifices this entire year. I assure you I’ve had them plugged.”
“Good, that’s good. I like a girl with thick ear wax.”
Blech! Hopefully Emma could keep it in. I’m not sure how calm the driver would remain if she vomited. Would be a terrible shame to lose that new car smell so soon.
Shipman House, Hilo. September 2007.
The island hopping that the location scouts got to do served a greater purpose than merely an extended snorkeling trip. During their tropical excursion, they’d successfully sourced and secured a historic Victorian style manor for our on-location shoot.
Production had rented out the entire bed-and-breakfast for the next couple of days, so we’d have a pretty comfortable experience.
“The Lady Garden?” Incredulous - it wasn’t typically a word suited for normal conversation, but it very much fit as the appropriate adjective for Emma’s interpretation of the script. “You can’t be serious.”
“You’re lucky we’re not using the original name we’d come up with. Trimming Bushes. Given the context, we thought it’d be a little bit too on the nose. Literally and figuratively.”
“Must you really stoop so low?” I wasn’t called Barnaby Cunningham for nothing; only the linguist was missing.
Parodies aren’t exactly meant to be high art, are they?
“Very well.” She gestured for the costume designer. “Bring on the corset.” That deep sigh she just took? Probably the last full breath she’d be getting until we finish this.
[The scene opened with a wide-angle shot of the stately Victorian manor that was Shipman House. Editing would later add soft colouring and lens flare to make it look era appropriate and to give it an exaggerated sense of grandeur.
“In a world where corsets are tight and manners even tighter...” the trailer style narration blared.
The camera faded to Emma dolled up in a Victorian walking dress complete with bodice, petticoat and puffy sleeves. She trailed her fingers through a line of bushes as she strolled through the gardens. The camera panned over her shoulder, revealing me in her line-of-sight pruning said hedges. It continued to turn until her face was shown, displaying a mischievous smirk.
“Oh, Alejandro! I do so love a man who knows how to handle his... roses.”
Caught off guard, I stiffened at the supple body abruptly pressed on my back and the pair of hands winding their way over my bare, sweaty torso.
“Lady Belinda, this isn’t proper. You must cease your exploring lest you find your hands pricked by thorns.”
“I care not if I bleed.”
“But when romance blooms in the most unexpected places...” The narration returned.
Smash cut to Emma, sitting at a desk with a fountain pen in hand, gliding across the pages of a vintage-looking journal. “I fear that I have taken a liking to more than just the garden variety.” She spoke as she wrote.
To which the narration responded. “A young woman dares to sow the seeds of budding passion….”
Still inexplicably shirtless, in the darkness of midnight with only streaks of fake moonlight streaming in through the corridor windows, I reached a door and knocked on it. With a groan, Emma, holding a wax candle, hair undone, and dressed in a floaty chemise, opened the door and brought her glistening gaze to meet my own heated leering.
She kept her eyes relentlessly on me, but brought her candle up to her mouth and blew it out. “I’m afraid of the dark.”
I leaned in dangerously close. My lips were near enough to her ear that my provocative words sent a ripple of goosebumps across her skin. “Then shall I light your fire, my lady?”
“Winner of the highly prestigious Tween’s Choice Award for Steamiest Sex Scene!” The narrator’s voice got slightly more guttural.
Obviously, we weren’t going to expose any amount of skin (on Emma at least), so we would imply the sex through some clever camera work. In her dimly lit bedroom, the camera was framed to only show my hand as it slammed onto a rocking headboard, which was immediately followed by Emma’s slender digits running over my tensed forearms until they intertwined with my fingers. The sound was deliberately exaggerated, with the wooden bed creaking loudly and the headboard thumping rhythmically against the wall.
“Oh, Alejandro! Plow my fields!”
“Prepare for rain, my lady!”
“Experience the award-winning romance that has audiences of all ages swooning and steady yourselves for a romp through the hedgerows of love, lust, and a lot of stiff upper lips in... The Lady Garden”]
Zip! After we compiled and sent the scene for review, we relaxed on the beach until Ben gave us his final approval. I heaved my fully packed suitcase off the bed, pressed the release button, and put my luggage in trolley mode.
“Are you packed? Anita and Mrs Fine are already in the van.” Emma was sent to hurry me up. I never flew without spending a final few minutes on the porcelain throne.
“Just call her Cadbury already. And yeah, just about. Only last checks left.” Spectacles, testicles, wallet, and phone. I ritually frisked my person. “Yup. Everything’s in place. Let’s go.”
“By the way, I thought you might want to read this as inflight entertainment.” Emma dug inside her purse and pulled out the paperweight that had likely made it so heavy. She passed me a fresh copy of the recently released Deathly Hallows. By virtue of living in my LA home for the last few weeks, she had been reduced to becoming my personal mailman. “I came in the mail for you from Jo Rowling personally.”
Odd considering I’d already read every version of the manuscript from the first to the final draft. “Thanks bu-”
“She told me to tell you not to skip the acknowledgements.”
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