well, I’m afraid they didn’t,” said Jane, squinting as a bright light blinded her.
“Sorry,” said the girl who was positioning the lights behind Ant.
They were in Jane’s living room. Jane was seated on the couch, anxiously watching Ant come perilously close to knocking over a ceramic figure of a badger that had been given to Jane in 1908 by Kenneth Grahame as a thank-you for convincing him to change his lead character from Miss Slug to Mr. Toad. When Ant turned his back Jane retrieved the badger from the side table and placed it safely under the couch.
“Like I told you,” Ant said. “We’re shooting scenes for the DVD extras.”
“The DVD?” Jane said. “But they haven’t even made the film yet.”
Ant snorted. “Tell me about it,” he said. “But they want this stuff done earlier and earlier.” He pulled a roll of duct tape from one of the bags and unrolled about six inches of it. “If you ask me,” he mumbled, tearing the tape with his teeth, “it’s because they want to get the interviews when everyone’s still excited about the project and doesn’t hate each other.”
He applied the tape to the side of the video camera while he continued to talk. “We used to do the DVD stuff six months, sometimes a year after the movie wrapped. But then you run the risk of losing people for one reason or another.”
“Losing them how?” Jane asked, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.
Ant shrugged. “Costars who fell in love on the set break up,” he explained. “The director has a falling-out with the studio. Someone is in rehab and can’t film.” He laughed. “Well,
that
always happens. Anyway, if you get this stuff done before shooting even begins, you’ve got it in the can and ready to go.”
“That seems prudent,” Jane remarked.
“One film I worked on a couple of years ago, the leading lady got divorced after the film wrapped,” said Ant. “She dealt with it by eating everything in sight and blew up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon. When I went to shoot her interview for the DVD we could only shoot her from the chest up. Even then her face was so fat she looked like one of those bodies that wash up on the beach a week after a plane crash. Every time she talked I kept waiting for a crab to come out of her mouth.”
Jane put a hand to her cheek.
Do I look puffy?
she wondered. The girl working on the lights was also the makeup person, and she had put powder on Jane’s face fifteen minutes earlier. But suddenly Jane felt sweaty. She started to ask if the girl could refresh her makeup, then stopped herself.
You don’t want to seem demanding
, she reminded herself.
“You ready to go?” Ant asked the girl, who was still fussing with the lights.
“Almost,” she said just as one of the bulbs in a light popped. The girl swore loudly.
Ant rolled his eyes and sighed wearily. “Let me guess,” he said. “You don’t have a spare.”
“I think there’s one in the van,” the girl told him. “I’ll be right back.”
With the girl gone Jane took the opportunity to ask Ant a question that had been on her mind. “I understand why they might want interviews with the stars of the film,” she said cautiously. “Or with the director. But why me?”
Ant nodded. “It’s weird, right? I mean, you’re just a writer. You didn’t even write the script.” He shook his head. “That’s Julia Baxter for you.”
Jane’s interest grew with the mention of the film’s director, whom she had yet to meet or even speak to. “Julia Baxter asked for me to be included?” she said.
“No offense, but she thinks people actually give a crap about who wrote the book a film is based on,” said Ant. “Like anybody reads
books
anymore.”
“Imagine,” Jane said. “The idea.”
She eyed Ant with growing dislike. She was already annoyed with him, ever since he’d arrived at her bookstore that afternoon and immediately started bossing her around. As she hadn’t been