Comedy of Erinn (14 page)

Erinn had run into Carlos and Gilroi at the bottom of the stairs. Carlos high-fived her.

“Dude,” he said. “Thanks for taking the Betsy Ross shoot. I owe you one!”

Erinn was confused. She decided to ignore Carlos.

“Gilroi, the Betsy Ross shoot is yours, if you want it.”

Gilroi looked at her, a small, sweet smile on his face. Then he burst into braying laughter. Carlos joined him. Doubled over, the two men—boys, as she now thought of them—headed off to parts unknown . . . without her . . . gasping for breath.

Erinn continued to flip through the notebook. She was happy she had done all the extra research on Betsy Ross. It had always given her confidence to know all the facts . . . she felt it gave her an edge. She stared down at the pages. Although she knew the facts by heart, she read through them again. Betsy Ross was born Elizabeth Griscom into a Quaker household in Philadelphia on January 1, 1752. She was the eighth of seventeen children. When she finished her schooling, her father secured her an apprenticeship with an upholsterer. At this job, she fell in love with fellow apprentice John Ross, who was an Episcopalian. They eloped. The interdenominational marriage caused a split from Betsy's family and meant her expulsion from the Quaker congregation. The young couple soon started their own upholstery business and possibly had two children—although Erinn found some historical dispute about that.

Erinn's research revealed that Betsy Ross might or might not have actually made the first flag and probably didn't make it in the house in which they were about to shoot. Moreover, Betsy might or might not have ever lived in “the Betsy Ross House,” although it was one of the most visited historic places in the city. She closed the notebook and gathered her gear. She lumbered, laden with equipment, toward the stairs. She told herself that she should not clutter up her mind with regrets and humiliation. She had to be on top of her game today. This would be her first day of being in control of a shoot, and she had a lot to prove.

G
ilroi and Carlos were already in the lobby when Erinn made her ungainly entrance. She did her best to make her trip down the stairs look easy—as if shouldering a load of equipment that would have felled a football team was the most natural thing in the world. Gilroi leaped up when he saw her and grabbed a bag.

“Let me help you with that,” he said.

Erinn just nodded. She wasn't sure if she could speak. Her lungs felt as if they were about to burst. In days gone by (
back in the day,
she reminded herself), she would have insisted on carrying everything herself. Clearly, Carlos was trained by an old-time feminist, as he sat, trying to feign casualness. But today, she was grateful to the Gilrois of the world, who insisted that men were stronger than women and, therefore, should carry heavy things. Erinn knew that Massimo certainly had that old-world gentility and would have carried all her gear if she'd let him.
I wonder what Jude would do?
she thought.

Caring what Jude would or would not do in a given situation was not a good sign. She had to stop thinking about him!

Erinn dropped her gear and collapsed on the sofa with the other two producers. Sturdy blue boxes were piled high around them, since no good producer would ever let even a box of tape out of his or her sight. It was as if they'd built a little fortress in the middle of the well-appointed lobby.

Erinn looked at her watch.

“Jude will be here any minute,” Carlos said, apparently reading her thoughts. “He's at the gym down the street. He always works out before we start shooting.”

Erinn thought about her morning, filled with details and lists and strategies. She silently begrudged Jude his leisurely morning at the gym. Not that she would have gone to a gym if she'd had a leisurely morning at her disposal, but that wasn't the point.

“Jude will show up and say ‘Ready when you are,' like we've been keeping him waiting. Happens every time,” Carlos said, shrugging his shoulders.

Erinn was surprised that neither Gilroi nor Carlos seemed to have any problem with this.

At that moment, Jude burst through the front door, sweating copiously and wearing a ripped T-shirt, threadbare sweatpants, and orange Nikes.

“OK, guys, ready when you are,” he said. “Let's bounce.”

“You can't go to the Betsy Ross House like that!” Erinn said.

Jude looked down at himself as if he'd just noticed he had a body.

“Like what?” he asked, sweat dripping into his eyes.

“You're disgusting.”

“Disgusting is in the eyes of the beholder.”

“You are part of a production company with a stellar reputation. Do you really think they'd appreciate you showing up as their representative in your workout clothes?”

“Do you think a production company whose slogan is ‘Go APE' gives a shit?”

“Look, we don't really have time to argue. We've got to go,” Gilroi said, putting his arm around Erinn. “Don't worry, he'll dry.”

“OK, let's do it,” Jude said. “I've already asked the parking guy to call a couple cabs.”

“Cabs?” Erinn asked. “Oh my gosh, I forgot to follow up with Hertz about the accident.”

“No worries,” said Jude. “I took care of it last night. There's a new SUV in the garage.”

Erinn opened her mouth to speak. She wanted to say that the car was her responsibility, and who did he think he was usurping her job? But before she could formulate her words, Jude continued.

“I felt like you'd been through enough.”

The guys, working like a well-oiled machine, started gathering up gear. She joined in, lifting as many boxes as she could carry without staggering. She contemplated Jude's thoughtfulness.

Or was it a power play?

Or was he thinking that she couldn't have casual sex and be absolutely fine with it?

She tried to focus on the business at hand.“But, Jude,” Erinn said. “If we have cars, why are we taking cabs?”

“It's cheaper to take cabs in the city than to park the cars. Plus, who knows if there is even parking anywhere near the location?”

Erinn reddened. She realized that she, as the producer of this shoot, probably should have checked that out. Another lesson learned. Another lesson that neither Jude, nor the other men, were throwing in her face.

She followed the men toward the cars. When she got outside, she was relieved to see the sky was clear. At least the weather was on her side. She looked over at Jude, who was sniffing his armpits. Carlos pretended to be bowled over by the smell. “Heterosexual men,” Gilroi said to Erinn, shaking his head. “You can't live with them and you can't turn them.”

Luckily, the trip to 239 Arch Street was uneventful. Gilroi was quiet, and Erinn used the few minutes in the cab to gather her thoughts. She was paying the cab driver and pulling her gear out of the cab when a tall woman in a shocking-pink down parka loomed over her.

“You the producer?” the woman asked.

“I am,” Erinn said.

Gilroi took the camera bag from Erinn as the unsmiling woman introduced herself as Rita, the makeup-and-wardrobe person. She had a clipboard full of questions to discuss with Erinn. With that, the woman turned and climbed into a small trailer with a hand-lettered sign that read
BATTLEready!
Erinn turned to Gilroi, who kissed her on the cheek, told her that he'd start getting the equipment set up, and gave her a little shove in the direction of the trailer.

Erinn stood in front of the trailer, staring at the two metal steps, and swallowed hard. What could this Rita possibly want with her? Hadn't Erinn made sure the trailer was there? She looked back at the boys, who were easily joking among themselves as they set up equipment. Why couldn't she be working with the camera right now, instead of having to deal with . . . a person? People were just not her strong suit. Rita stuck her head out of the trailer door and stared at Erinn. Erinn climbed the stairs, feeling as if she were on her way to the guillotine.

Once inside, Erinn caught sight of a tall man in a Revolutionary War costume adjusting a ratty-looking wig in the mirror. The man was Lamont Langley, whose face split into a grin when he saw her.

“It's you!” he said, picking Erinn up and spinning her around in the confined space. “I saw the name Erinn Wolf on the call sheet last night, but I figured it had to be another Erinn Wolf.”

“No . . . one and the same,” Erinn said.

Rita stared stonily at them as Erinn regained her footing. Lamont went back to fitting his wig.

“How the mighty have fallen, eh, Erinn? How the mighty have fallen.”

Erinn wasn't sure if he meant her or himself. He was the one trying to get a hideous old wig to sit on his head. But he was an actor. As long as he was in front of the camera, he was probably happy. So he must mean she was the fallen one! She was the producer of a History Network show about the Revolutionary War, she said to herself. . . nothing to be ashamed of. Or, she admonished herself, nothing of which to be ashamed. She was getting sloppy around these kids. Erinn didn't have time to dwell on it. She turned to Rita, trying to appear authoritative for Lamont's sake.

“You have a question, I believe?” she asked her.

“Yeah,” Rita said. “Where's Betsy Ross?”

Erinn stared blankly. She looked frantically around the trailer.

“She's not
here
,” Rita said.

“Then . . . where is she?” Erinn asked.

“You're the producer,” Rita said. “You tell me.”

Erinn tried not to panic. She dimly remembered that the actress's name was Mary O'Donahue, but could remember little else.

“Well, where are the other actors?” Erinn asked.

“Don't
you
know?” Rita said. “They're all in the second trailer. I only work with the principal actors, George Washington and Betsy Ross. And I've already checked the other trailer. She isn't there.”

There was a short knock on the door and Jude stepped in.

“Everything going OK in here?” he asked.

He gave Rita a kiss—obviously they had worked together before—and shook hands with Lamont.

“Betsy Ross is MIA,” Rita said.“What did she say when you talked to her last night?” Jude asked Erinn.

Erinn felt her stomach flip. She was supposed to call all the actors and check in with them the day before the shoot, and she had forgotten.

“I . . . I . . .” Erinn stammered.

Her cell phone jangled in her pocket. She looked at it, and saw it was a local Philadelphia number. Perhaps it was the missing Betsy. She indicated that she had to take the call and snapped open the phone.

“Erinn Wolf here,” she said. “Oh, yes, Mary! We were just wondering where you were! Oh . . . oh? . . . oh . . . I see. Well, thank you for calling again.”

Erinn pressed the End button and saw the “missed call” icon at the bottom of her phone. Apparently, not only had Erinn forgotten to call Mary O'Donahue, but Mary had called her and she'd missed it.

“So what's the deal?” Jude asked, reclining against the wall.

“It appears Mary burst her appendix. She won't be joining us.”

Sensing that Lamont was her only possible ally, she tried to make eye contact with him in the mirror. She was alarmed to see him taking a nip out of an old-fashioned flask, before quickly stowing it in his lace cuff.

Rita rolled her eyes.

“Now what?” she asked.

Jude looked at Erinn.

“I'd rather not call the company about this,” he said to Erinn. “They'll be pissed. You're the producer. Got any ideas?”

“I wouldn't ask her, if I were you,” Rita said.

“You're the director,” Erinn said to Jude. “Don't you have any ideas?”

Jude strode over to the clothes rack and looked through the dresses. He pulled one out and examined it.

“You have a corset around here?” he asked Rita.

“Of course I do,” she said. Then, looking at Erinn: “I know how to do
my
job.”

Jude walked over to Erinn, handing her the dress.

“Here,” he said. “Stuff yourself into this. You're our new Betsy Ross.”

He turned and left the trailer. Erinn, costume in hand, flew after him. She grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

“I can't play Betsy Ross!” she said. “Who will produce this if I don't?”

“Dude, we're in a big mess. You get that, don't you? The way I see it, Gilroi or Carlos can produce this. Neither one of them can play Betsy Ross.”

“Gilroi would love to play Betsy Ross.”

“If we f-up this shoot, we're in serious, serious trouble. Somebody could get fired. So, let's just do what has to be done.”

“But I'm not an actress.”

“Erinn, you know as well as I do that there are no lines. This is just a reenactment.”

“But—”

“Dude. You're doing this.”

“Do your duty today and repent tomorrow,” Erinn said. “Mark Twain.”

“I'm always willing to endure humiliation on behalf of my characters,” Jude said. “Ben Stiller.”

He walked away. Erinn hugged the costume to her chest, praying for deliverance. When none came, she turned around and went back to the trailer.

Lamont, sprawled out in the makeup chair, looked blearily at Erinn and gave her a lopsided smile. He saluted her with his flask. Erinn turned and looked at Rita, who was holding an eighteenth-century-style corset. She tossed it to Erinn.

“Go put this on in the back room. I'll help you with the stays.”

Erinn undressed, berating herself.
How could I have forgotten to call the principal actors last night?
she asked herself as she tried to figure out the corset. Rita came into the back room uninvited and silently went to work cinching Erinn into the stiff undergarment.

“I know you must feel terrible about screwing up this shoot,” Rita said. “Is this your first gig or something?”

“I've . . . I've just changed careers,” Erinn said.

“That makes sense,” Rita said, while lacing the corset tightly up the back. “You seemed a little long in the tooth for somebody just getting started.”

Erinn was too humiliated by the events of the morning to think of anything to say to defend herself.

“This isn't really the right corset for Betsy Ross,” Rita said. “But then you're not the right Betsy Ross, so who cares, right?”

“What's wrong with it?”

“Working-class women had corsets that opened in front because they had no servants to help them dress. We've only got a corset that laces up the back.”

“Betsy Ross wasn't working class,” Erinn said.

“Give me a break. If she was sewing for a bunch of soldiers, she was working class. She was probably a low-life whore.”

Erinn was shocked! Who was this woman defaming one of the greatest names in American history?

“As a matter of fact, she was part of a huge middle class that was flourishing during that period,” Erinn said.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Rita said, giving the corset a sharp tug, which dug the steel boning into Erinn's rib cage. “All those middle-class women, hanging out, having fun. Just like we do today.”

Erinn reached for the dress, but Rita stopped her.

“Oh, no you don't,” Rita said. “You've still got to put these things on.”

She held up a pile of billowing undergarments.

“Miles of underwear to go before I sleep,” Erinn said, submitting to Rita.