Fade To Black

The guy that stood before me was weighed down with a huge script casing, several bungee cords wrapped around one arm and a tray of sodas balanced on the other. ‘This is a closed set, chief,’ he said, cocking his head to one side and wiping the perspiration from his forehead onto the sleeve of his T-shirt. I fumbled around in my back pocket until I found the laminate the security guard had given me and held it up. ‘Sorry,’ I replied. ‘I guess I should have been wearing this.’

He peered at the press pass and his face broke into a smile. ‘Ah, no problem. Who bothers with that crap anyway.’ He juggled the sodas onto the other arm and held out his hand. ‘Jamie Selkirk, production assistant.’ We shook hands and he thrust the tray of cans in my direction. ‘Give us a hand with these and I’ll sort you out.’

If you’ve never been on a movie set before you’d be surprised at the level of inactivity that seems to be occurring. Of course that’s not the case, but even so, it appears to the untrained eye that most people are standing or sitting around doing nothing waiting for someone else to bark instructions. That was the impression I got now as I followed Selkirk away from the set and into another corridor that was the start of a maze of offices that the production team of Daredevil had commandeered for their use. I passed glass windows separating rooms full of designs, storyboards and people hunched over drawing boards until we reached a tiny office that was quite obviously a dumping ground for all the other crap that no-one wanted in their own space. I placed the tray of sodas on the edge of a desk that was overflowing with paper while Selkirk sorted himself out. He cracked one of the cans and tossed one to me, which I accepted gratefully, breaking the seal and pouring half of it straight down. Selkirk upended his own can, crunched and then threw it across the room into an already full wastebin and belched loudly.

‘Listen, you can use this to work in,’ he said, already collecting new items to carry and heading for the door, ‘and as long as you wear that pass you shouldn’t have a problem around the crew. Holler if you need me.’ He threw me a small salute and was away up the corridor before I even had chance to thank him.

There was a bathroom to the rear of the office, and I used the handbasin to freshen up and pushed water through my hair to get it looking somewhere near acceptable. Although I was late on set I knew from experience that nothing major ever happened before lunch, and with the full access that I seemed to have been given my mood started to improve considerably. I returned to the office, drained the soda and stored my laptop and phone in a secure place. All I needed with me was a dictaphone, and I checked the battery and tape while standing infront of the rotating fan that was managing to reduce the heat in the office to somewhere around ninety degrees. I was ready.

**********

When I arrived back at the main stage there was still very little happening except for more people standing around doing nothing. I kept my distance and walked around the edge of the city mockup, marvelling at the detail involved and starting to feel the first twinges of excitement that I always do when I’m on a movie set. I might have been working, but I was still a major film fanatic - after all, that was why I got into this line of work - and the thrill of being back amongst the Hollywood machine was more than enough compensation for my shitty flight and the scorching weather.

Someone must have noticed the grin on my face because it didn’t take me long to become heavily involved in conversation with one of the crew. This was the way I liked to work. Nothing too intrusive, just chat and observe and grab chances with the major movers and shakers when possible. I spent a very pleasant next couple of hours being shown around the different sets and through the costume design until I finally managed to sit down for a conversation with director Mark Johnson, who gave me all the usual lines about retaining the spirit of the comic strip and how they were trying to come up with new visions and ideas. I’d heard it all before and no doubt it was Johnson’s practised line, but I’ve got to admit he had a real, almost fanboy enthusiasm for the material, and the structure of the article started to take place in my mind. I thanked him for his time and once more stood on the sidelines making verbal notes on the dictaphone. But as entertaining as Johnson was, to the standard movie going public he was a virtual unknown, and I needed something more substantial. Something along the lines of Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner. Trouble was, in the time I’d been there I hadn’t even seen anything being shot, yet alone any major stars plying their trade.

And then, as if my thoughts had been transmitted around the set, Affleck came ambling around the corner wearing the kind of outfit that would have been out of place anywhere but here. I knew enough about the comic book, and had seen the production sketches, to know that he’d nailed the look of Daredevil successfully. I primed my tape and made my way through the snakes of cables and lighting before presenting myself infront of him.

I’d heard rumours that he was rude and off-hand to journalists; luckily that proved not to be the case. He answered all my prepared questions with good humour and left me with some cracking anecdotes about the shoot and the difficulties he’d had getting used to wearing a suit that might have seemed more at home in a leather bar that had regular S&M nights. I was getting some good stuff. He was about to excuse himself for a lunchbreak when I noticed a large, ugly looking bruise wrapped around the bicep on his right arm. I indicated to it and asked him how it had happened. He looked down and stroked his thumb across the deep yellow skin.

‘That was from Jennifer,” Ben grinned, looking for all the world like the Hollywood star he was. “She hits pretty hard.”

I whistled softly. “I can see that. So the two of you square off in the movie then?”

He nodded. “Yep. I’m really proud of what we’ve done so far. Even though she’s continually kicked my ass.” He stood, the deep red of the superhero costume creaking around him as he did so. “Good to talk to you, but I’ve gotta get some lunch. Ask her how many times she beat the shit out of me.” He laughed out loud as we shook hands, and I watched him walk away towards the catering areas. Seemed like a decent guy.

Thoughts of lunch made my stomach rumble, and I realised that the last meal I’d had was the unrecognisable lumps of food on the plane, and that must have been... Well, the jet-lag was kicking in fully now, but I knew for sure it was a long time ago. It would have been easy to get a free feed from the on-set catering, but experience had taught me that the quality of the food they served was relative to your on-set status, and visiting journalists ranked further down the chain than even the lowliest grips. I decided to wait until I got back to the hotel; truthfully it wasn’t all that hard a decision.

If I could just get an audience with Jennifer Garner, especially now I knew that she’d given Affleck a regular beating; that was a story I wanted to hear. How it usually works on movie sets is that you have to wait for a publicist to introduce you to the star that you want to interview. That’s all well and good, but it generally means that you’re sitting around for hours to get a simple five minutes. It’s dull and depressing, and as I’ve already said, not how I like to operate. Just give me a bit of freedom, let me off the reins for a while, and I’ll keep out of the shot and still get the story. Daredevil was one of the most relaxed shoots I’d ever been on, and I decided to keep my low profile and see where it led me. With any luck, it would lead me straight to Jennifer.

I took a final quick scan around the set, saw no-one important, and made my way back towards the overflowing office that Jamie Selkirk had shown me to earlier. I’d noticed a set of double doors at the far end of one of the corridors, and I now made my way towards them after stopping in the office and grabbing my laptop and phone. If what I was planning was frowned upon by security I could very easily get kicked off the set, and the last thing I wanted was to have to fight to get my gear back.

I pushed the doors open and delighted in around four seconds of fresh air before my lungs realised it was actually as hot outside as it was in. Just as I’d suspected, the doors led to the back of the lot, and I was immediately rewarded with what I’d hoped to see; a long line of wide, fat trailers in a static procession against the side of the soundstage. These grand looking trailers were used for everything from extra wardrobe space to makeup facilities, but more often than not they were occupied by actors who transformed them into personalised refuges while they were waiting out the long hours before being called to set. At least, that was what I was banking on. I hadn’t seen Jennifer inside, and I knew from the pictures I’d called up from the web that there was no way I was likely to miss her. So chances were, see was sitting in air-conditioned luxury out here waiting for her cue.

I fanned my shirt against my skin, which gave absolutely no relief at all, and started to trot along the line of trailers, my eyes scanning the small plaques bolted to the doors. Some names I didn’t recognise, and some didn’t have names at all. But the further I went, the larger the temporary homes became, until I saw Ben Affleck’s name attached to one that was possibly larger than my apartment back in London. I moved on, the roadway now thrown into blessed shade, and passed Colin Farrell’s name. And then finally, right at the far end and totally engulfed in shadow, was a white trailer raised slightly on metal stilts with a silver door. And on the door were the two words I’d been looking for.

After taking a quick look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching me, I jumped up the couple of small steps and rapped gently at the door. There was no reply, and after a moment I heard music from inside. I knocked again, three hard beats this time, and this time a voice rose over the music and told me to come in and I never hesitated.

The first thing that struck me was the cool chill of filtered air, instantly causing the perspiration to shrink against my skin. Next was the music, The Clash blasting out ‘Janie Jones’ at a level loud enough to reverberate off the walls and right back in my face. Third and finally were the two women at the far end of the large room. The first was standing with a large powder brush in one hand and a fistful of hairclips in the other. The second was sitting infront of a mirrored makeup counter, a magazine in her hands and a pair of the longest legs I’d ever seen propped up before her. Both stopped what they were doing and looked up as I entered.

Under normal circumstances the makeup girl would have been enough to have turned my head if she’d passed me on the street; long blonde hair and big blue eyes will do that to a guy. But by placing herself next to Jennifer Garner she was relegated to nothing more than ordinary. I’d rarely, if ever, laid eyes on a more beautiful woman. A wave of dark auburn hair flowed across her shoulders, the pale skin of her face was flawless and a contrast to her full crimson lips, and her eyes, surrounded by carefully applied dark shades of colour, were deep enough to fall into. She was in costume, a leather outfit much like I’d seen Affleck in earlier, but on her body it was a true work of art. A bodice that held her waist tightly and pushed her breasts up into a gorgeous cleavage that almost made my head spin, and trousers that gripped every square inch of those impossibly long legs. Her bare feet were crowned with neatly painted toenails. I almost had to shake my head clear to stop myself from staring at her.

When she smiled it changed her whole expression from dark to brightness in a single moment. ‘Yes?’

I managed to push my eyes back into my skull and gave it my best grin. ‘Wondered if you could talk for a few minutes?’ I said. Unfortunately my question was in direct competition with Joe Strummer’s screaming vocals, and as such was lost in a wall of late seventies punk-rock. Jennifer looked at me blankly for a moment, smiled again and then twisted in her seat until she could reach the volume button on the stereo that was on a shelf to the left of her. As she did so the leather trousers stretched tightly, and I saw that her butt was a cute as the rest of her.

After the music had gone she looked back at me. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘Don’t apologise, that band has to be loud,’ I replied, taking a further step inside.

‘Totally agree,’ she nodded, and looked me up and down as I stood in her doorway. Just a wild shot in the dark, but I can guarantee she wasn’t giving me the same visual appreciation as I had to her. Her next question confirmed it. ‘You don’t appear to have a pizza on you?’

‘They’re not standard issue for journalists I’m afraid.’

Her smile faded. ‘I should have guessed.’ I didn’t know if she based that statement on my appearance or my wiseass attitude. Probably a combination of both. ‘How did you get down here?’

I jiggled my pass where it was pinned to my shirt. ‘I am actually supposed to be here. I was just hoping to ask you a few questions while you weren’t on set.’

‘I’m sorta getting this make-up done,’ she said, indicating to the girl standing behind the chair.

I resisted the obvious line about saying how she didn’t need it, and instead pulled out something I knew might work. In my experience actors love getting one up on each other, and I now recalled what I’d been told earlier. ‘Okay, but I was just interested in hearing how you gave Ben Affleck a major ass-whupping.’

Her expression softened and I saw a trace of the smile reappear. ‘Is that what he said?’

‘Actually, he said you kicked the shit out of him.’

Both she and the makeup girl cracked up at this, and as Jennifer laughed her breasts shook within the confines of the bodice and her hair fell across her face. She brushed it away and looked at me with those deep, dark eyes. Jesus, this girl was gorgeous. The pictures I’d seen and the small clips I’d viewed in anticipation of this meeting hadn’t done her justice at all.

‘He’s being kind,’ she giggled, swinging her legs down and reaching for a bottle of water on the shelf.

‘Is he?’ I said. ‘That’s not the impression the bruises on his arm gave me.’ There was a pause as she contemplated me over a swallow of water, and I saw a tiny dribble of liquid escape from her bottom lip and slide it’s way over her chin. Just watching that moisture made me feel hotter than ever, despite the air-con. She wiped her mouth delicately and smiled again. ‘So, how about a few minutes of your time?’ I continued.

Jennifer glanced up at the make-up girl. ‘Are you about done with me, Amy?’

Amy nodded as she packed various brushes and items back into a large case. ‘Not totally, but I need to go and get a few things anyway. I’ll be ten minutes easily.’ Her voice was soft and coloured with a southern accent. She snapped the case closed and stood. ‘Just try not to get messed up, is all.’

‘I won’t move a muscle until you get back, I promise,’ said Jennifer, watching Amy as she picked up her gear from the long couch along one side of the trailer and move towards me. I nodded at the pretty make-up assistant as she passed, and in return I got a coy smile that was all blue eyes hidden beneath long eyelashes. A second later the door snapped shut behind me, and myself and Jennifer were alone inside the cool room.

She eased herself out of the chair and when she stood I once again had to stop myself from staring. She was tall, almost as tall as me, and her body was lean and devoid of anything except all the right curves. Bare arms that had just the lightest definition of muscle, and I could instantly see that she was fit but without losing her femininity. And of course, all that leather just looked incredible on her.

‘Do you want something to drink?’ She asked, turning and crossing to a fridge that was set into the wall. ‘This heat is getting ridiculous.’

‘I know, even makes me wish for my own British weather,’ I said, and thanked her as she tossed a bottle of mineral water to me. ‘At least you’ve got the air-conditioning in here. It’s like the tropics over on the set.’

She gave me that eye-watering smile once again. ‘Tell me about it. Try running around wearing this costume.’

‘Must be torture,’ I said, taking a long swig of water, and watching her as she sat back down.

‘You bet. I just have to keep peeling all this stuff off between takes and taking a cold shower.’

Somehow, I managed not to choke on my drink and keep an even expression. A dozen thoughts ran through my mind, and it took me about half a second to construct an image of Jennifer ripping the leather trousers from her legs to reveal sweat soaked skin, before a cool stream of shimmering water slid over her body as she let the shower chase the heat from her body.

‘So, can we start on some questions?’ I said, somehow managing to remember that I was a professional.

‘Sure’, she replied, leaning back in her chair, ‘Just don't be too hard on me, okay?’

**********

Once we settled into talking things went well, and infact Jennifer turned out to be one of the best celebrities that I’d interviewed. She was funny and full of enthusiasm for the project she was involved in, and after she started talking it was difficult to get her to stop. That wasn’t a problem though, and I let my tape catch all her thoughts concerning the high level of training she’d had to take on for the role and working alongside more established stars such as Colin Farrell and Affleck. True to what he’d told me, she had kicked his ass on several occasions, but admitted that she was more used to physical action due to her time on ‘Alias’. I confessed that I was yet to see the show and she pulled a stern face, then broke into a laugh that affected me in several places other than my ears. I promised to see it as soon as the season run started back in England, and she followed this up with telling me that a second season was scheduled to air in the States in the fall.

‘So with the show and this movie, you’ve got your work cut out,’ I said, finishing my water and tossing the bottle into a wastebin across the room.

She nodded. ‘Yeah, but I can’t complain. I spent enough years wiping tables and waiting for my break. Now it’s here I’m gonna enjoy it.’

‘What about an the possibility of an Elektra spin-off project. Would you consider it?’

‘Well, I’ve heard rumours’, she replied, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms above her head and yawning gently. This caused her chest to lift up against the strains of the leather bodice, and I let my eyes trace their way down her neck to where a good portion of her breasts were on display. If she’d have coughed I’d have almost certainly seen a nipple, and I had to shift in my chair slightly.

‘Regardless, after ‘Daredevil’ you’ll be the girl of choice for all the comic book boys.’ I said.

She lowered her arms and grinned. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.’

‘Well, if the work dries up you can spend your time doing the guest thing at conventions,’ I said, returning her grin. ‘Plus, they’ll be dozens of websites in your honour. Probably already are.’

‘Actually, there aren’t,’ she said, and levered herself out of the chair quickly, causing her hair to spill in streams around her neck and making the black leather bend and creak around her legs. I stayed seated and watched as she moved across to the mobile air-conditioning unit that was bolted solidly to the wall of the trailer. She placed both hands on either side of the unit and leant forward, and the jets of cold air circulated around her, making her shoulders shake as she shivered. She turned to look at me, and the combination of dark eyes, deep cleavage and windblown hair ensured that my dick was now rigidly hard.