Behind the Scenes(62)

I can think of a dozen other words to describe the set, all of them much more than a notch above “good.”

Miles is going on about logistics and time count, but I’m not listening. More of the crew is trickling in, arriving back from lunch, and I watch the frenzied activity with awe.

Someone puts their hand on Miles’ shoulder and speaks softly to him.

“All right,” he says, his voice and expression serious. He reaches over to shake David Mulroney’s hand again. “It was great seeing you. Stick around for some takes if you like. We’re only a few minutes away from starting.”

I hold my breath while I wait for Mr. Mulroney’s response. When he agrees to stay, I nearly shout with glee. Finally, after weeks stuck in the office, I’m on the back lot. I can’t just mosey away without watching so much as one take.

I slink off to the side, to where the golf cart that carried us over is still parked, but Mr. Mulroney motions for me to follow him to video village. Nervously, I trek behind him. People press in all around me — so many people I can’t imagine there can even be enough jobs for them — and Miles comes and begins a low conference with the director of photography.

The two actors are brought to set. Along with Devin Gaughen, there’s the female lead, Marissa DeLisle. She’s smaller than she always looks in movies and pictures — so fragile, actually, that it seems like if a slight breeze were to come along, she would be done for.

The assistant director calls for quiet and the scene begins. I’m torn between watching it on the monitor and watching it play out in front of me in real life. The entire shot is the two actors hurrying up to the plane wreckage. From contextual clues — such as their tattered wardrobes — I pick up that they are returning to the scene of the crash in search of something. Cut is called, and everything reset. They do the action several times more.

I could watch all day, but David Mulroney is clapping several people on the shoulders and making his way through the small group gathered under the tent. He nods to where I stand at the back edge of the blue canopy and I follow him back out to the golf cart. We leave in between a take while the actors are being touched up by makeup artists and the director and cinematographer are talking about what needs to be changed.

Back in the SUV, I clasp my hands in my lap. “That was amazing,” I sigh.

I don’t care about acting cool and pretending being on that set didn’t blow my mind. I highly doubt I could hide my enthusiasm if I tried.

“The process still holds some of its appeal even sixty years later,” Mr. Mulroney says.

“That can’t be when you started working here.”

“That’s when my father first brought me to a set. I was five.”

“Wow,” I breathe, trying to imagine growing up in the world David Mulroney — and Simon — did. “How come you’re not still here?”

“I am, in a way. Just because I’m not physically present and my names aren’t in every credit roll doesn’t mean I don’t still make a lot of decisions.”

“Oh.” I clamp my mouth shut, wondering if my question was too invasive. I look around. We’re almost back to the office.

“Did you bring Mr. Mulroney to set when he was a kid?” I ask. “Like your dad did with you?”

His brows push together, like he’s trying to remember but can’t quite get a clear picture. “Simon didn’t have the same interest I did,” he says, then guffaws. “He liked television shows.”

“Star Trek.”

He looks at me in surprise. “Did he?”

“That’s what he told me,” I say, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Perhaps I’ve just given away a tidbit that will prove to be too revealing of mine and Simon’s relationship.

“I miss being like you,” Mr. Mulroney muses.

Glancing back at him, I ask, “Really? In what way?”

“I wish I could wake up every day and say ‘wow, that was incredible.’”

I giggle. “You can.”

“It changes the older you get.”

My laughter dies off. I hate how much I suspect he’s right.

“Being twenty-two isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I argue. “It can be pretty confusing. Sometimes it’s like being caught in the middle of a hurricane.”

He chuckles. “I haven’t forgotten about that part of it.”

The SUV comes to a stop and I go to open my door. My fingers slow down, curling snail like around the handle when I catch sight of the familiar sports car parked near the building’s front door.

“Look who’s here,” David Mulroney says, nodding at the car.