|AIR DATE 2011.08.14|
|Location:||West Hollywood - San Vincente Blvd.|
|Synopsis: A coffee (cigarette, whatever) break during an on-location shoot.|
|WHERE THERE'S SMOKE…|
A movie set is easy to spot. Cables snaking every which-way, security guards, trucks, camera tracks, paparazzi pushing their lenses between cracks in fences. Everett stands just outside the barricade at the far end of the street. He's smoking a cigarette and tapping something into a Blackberry. Somewhere inside the barricade, there's a rather large explosion, but the man in the well-tailored suit continues to type-type into his phone.
Caught off guard as they fuss with newly bought T-shirts and postcards, a passing couple starts at the sound and fury, eyes wide with alarm as they stare up at the smoke. "That's not real, is it?" "Has to be! They wouldn't shoot something like that out here, that's what they have sets for." Not sticking around to be corrected on the matter, they turn and hightail it in the opposite direction, the husband clipping Simon's elbow in passing. "No, wait, they—" he starts, then just shakes his head and continues on his way. "Better not do anything stupid like run out in front of a car," he mutters to himself once they're safely out of earshot.
"It's absolutely real. Run on back to your hotel now, darling. Go on, then. You see, here in Los Angeles, we don't bother with special effects, we just set up cameras in bad neigbourhoods and wait for things to happen." Everett's words are dripping with sarcasm. The only indication that he's actually addressing the couple is that his eyes lift fromn his screen towards the end. A moment later, he's sliding his phone back into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He watches the couple move off, then nods to Simon. "I'd check your pocket if I were you. Wouldn't be a first time that pickpockets posed as clueless tourists."
Arching a brow in concern, Simon pats his right front pocket, then shakes his head. "Good point, but no, no posing going on there." As he looks back, they're indeed running across the street, but at least they did wait for the light to change first. "So you working on the shoot," he asks Everett, returning his attention to the cordoned-off area, "or just waiting to pull your car out?"
"I have a client inside. A rather fussy and high-maintenance once." Everett nods towards the set area. "She's well-known enough that she won't come outside the barrier looking for me. Call it my coffee break." He looks at his cigarette, then nods to it. 'Coffee,' right.
"I can imagine," replies Simon, shaking his head. "That'd be the opposite of an explosion— everybody running up to get a look at the Famous Person so they can tell their friends a little story later. They're all just that little bit sociopathic, I think." As he talks, he glances further down the street, toward a line of cars parked on the wrong side of the barrier. Maybe he's one of the stuck ones himself. "Where do you get a decent coffee around here, anyway?"
There's the sound of phone vibrating against cloth from inside Everett's pocket, but he ignores it. "It is an excellent practice to be unreliable about returning text messages. Otherwise you find yourself obligated to be constantly available. And you drive yourself to drink." Everett takes a drag of his cigarette, even as his jacket continues to buzz away. "Well, there is decent coffee inside. Is your car trapped or something?"
Simon nods, gesturing off into the distance. "The gray one down at the end. And you're right, you have to train people— they tack on a 911, it'd better damn well be an emergency." He eyes the nearest storefront dubiously, but shrugs and steps inside, continuing to idly watch for another action sequence as he drops in an order. "I assume you're saving the food trucks for opening night."
"Oi, the coffee there's left on a burner for 5 hours, I have on good authority." Everett motions to Simon to step back out of the shop. "What do you want, then? I'll have one of the kids go and fetch something inside. I'll find out when you'll be able to get to your car while I'm at it."
Hmm? Oh, inside inside. "Smells more like 10 if you ask me." Simon doesn't bother getting out of earshot for that one; what's he care if a lousy place knows it's being called lousy? "I don't know, something with hazelnut, I suppose. And as long as it's within the hour— I'm supposed to be back on shift by then. Just as soon not have to dick around with a cab."
Everett makes a sharp whistling sound and flags down a 20 year old wearing a headset and a utility belt that looks like it weighs more than she does. He exchanges a few words with her and points out Simon's car. The girl, wide-eyed, nods and trots off. "Shift? A doctor, then? You don't look like the factory type."
"That's right, down at UCLA. Sometimes someone really can't make it in, but 'it would be awfully inconvenient' tends not to fly." Leaning back against the wall, Simon tries to look less impatient than he really is; British is doing him a couple favors, after all. "What about you, staff wrangler, looks like?"
Everett finishes off his cigarette and rests one hand in his pocket. "I'm a talent agent. Actor-wrangler." The production assistant is either new, eager to please or knows who he represents - or all three. She returns after not too long with a slip of paper and a large coffee. He exchanges a few words with her, then he steps over towards Simon and hands off the mug. "Dark roast, shot of hazelnut syrup, and a promise that you will be escorted onto the set by security to retrieve your car within the next fifteen minutes. They're just finishing a scene."
Simon hefts the mug, eyeing Everett, but directing the gesture toward the assistant. Whatever her motivations, he appreciates it equally. "Sounds good to me. I'll have to go see it whenever it comes out, see if I can pick out this scene when it comes up." Whatever 'it' is.
"They should have posted signs earlier about not parking in this area. Happens all the time. Kick up a bigger fuss if it ever happens again. Otherwise they're usually content to make people wait." Everett's pocket buzzes again. He reluctantly pulls it out and checks the messages. He frowns. "All right. Coffee time is over. Good luck, doctor. I do hope the coffee is all right and that you get your car soon."