Dirty Movies (4 page)

Rachel grinned and pulled out her cigarettes.

‘Well
, there was the time when he refused to go on set because his leading actress turned up in a car bigger than his. He locked himself in his trailer for two hours that day. Then there was another occasion when he shut down the entire production because the Grips had hidden his Director’s Chair as a joke.’

Polly started giggling. ‘Why
do the sexiest men have the most out-of-control egos? Do you fancy him?’

Rachel choked on her brownie. ‘
God, Polly, i’d rather sleep with Freddy Krueger! Besides, I’m not his type. He prefers big boobs and blond hair to match the brain-dead interior.’

‘A blondie zombie!
Bet you can’t wait till Morocco…’ murmured Polly, enviously, changing the subject as she gazed at the rain pelting the pigeons outside. ‘Just think of the tan…’

‘Not likely
,’ scoffed Rachel. ‘The sun will prove more elusive than a size 10. I’ll be stuck working eighteen hours a day in some non-air-conditioned dust bowl in the middle of nowhere again.’

‘Don’t you like working on location?’ asked Polly in surprise.

‘Not with this shoot shaping up to be another nightmare.’

‘What’s so tough about this one, Rach?’

Rachel sighed and rolled her eyes skyward. ‘Well, first off, the script hasn’t been ‘locked’…it means finalised, ready for action,’ she explained quickly, as Polly looked blank. ‘And no one can decide on the lead actress so everything’s going to be a last minute logistical headache. Plus, the Sahara’s going to be boiling hot which will only encourage Vincent to lose that horrible temper of his even more than usual.’

‘No bonuses at all then
, besides the fat pay check and five star hotel luxury?’ teased Polly.

Rachel thought about it for a moment. ‘Well
, I suppose there’s always Joe…’

‘Joe De Vries?
The 1st Assistant Director?’ asked Polly, recalling his name from the crew telephone list she had spent all morning photocopying. ‘Hang on, but isn’t he Stephen’s brother?’

‘Yeah, but don’t let that put you off, Joe’s a saint. He keeps everyone saccharine sweet
, including Stephen most of the time which is no mean feat’ she warned her. ‘Oh Polly, I’m sorry to sound so down about it all but I’ve done these shoots for the last ten years now and they’re all the same; utterly exhausting and about as glam as working as a tranny’s bikini waxer. If I were you I’d be counting my lucky stars I’m staying put. Between you, me and the last brownie that keeps winking at me from the top of the counter over there, I wish to god I was joining you.’

The hour was creeping up to five am as Joe De Vries pulled up to a huge
, deserted, dusty-brown film studios on the edge of town. Since arriving in Morocco two days ago, he had been blown away by the intensity of the desert temperatures and he preferred to get the bulk of his work out of the way before the heat of the midday sun melted his brain cells. Besides, the complexities of Vincent’s latest schedule revisions gave him a bad enough headache anyway.

Grabbing his laptop
, he opened the jeep’s door as a number of stray dogs surged forward from the shadows to greet him with energetic barks and wagging tails. Picking his way through the flea-bitten welcome committee, he entered the Production Office for
A Desert Affair
, better known to him and the rest of the crew as a crumbling shack that reeked of rotten wood, and struggled with the window shutters behind his desk. Eventually the swollen latch gave way and the rose-tinted hues of early morning flooded into the room.

Joe yawned and rubbed his eyes. He needed coffee and he needed it fast. Spying the ancient kettle in the corner of the room, he weaved his way t
hrough an odd assortment of mismatched furniture and launched himself at the power switch. It was far too early for a triple macchiato, but Joe never felt fully awake without the familiar, spicy rush of caffeine pumping through his veins.

Unlike his illustrious older brother, Joe had never hankered after the same headlines but he adored the industry just the same. Whilst Stephen was off schmoozing and screwing his way to the top, Joe had quietly carved himself a very successful
career and at the age of thirty-two was widely regarded as the best First Assistant Director in the business. He was a born diplomat, with a flair for handling any situation with great tact and compassion, and was always on hand to diffuse temper tantrums, a regular occurrence in an industry that has a tendency to mollycoddle the frailest of egos. 

With
a permanent shadow of stubble and a head of messy dark curls, Joe had the sort of likeable, easy-going personality that endeared him to everyone. No task was ever too much trouble and he was universally adored from the Heads of the Departments right down to the lowliest of camera assistants. The same couldn’t be said for his brother however, but, like a soldier blinded by the guiles of patriotism, Joe was unshakably loyal. This tended to cause great consternation with the crew. Not even his closest mates could fathom his devotion to a man as detested as Stephen, particularly after the director locked himself in his trailer after someone pinched the last of his gold-plated coffee beans shipped over from Kenya at eye-watering expense. Stephen had a reputation for throwing more tantrums than his leading actors but Joe was always on hand to ease the tension with a wink and a smile.

Later that morning, he glanced up as a new email from Vincent pinged into his inbox. Skim-reading the contents, he resisted the urge to delete it immediately and blame its waywardness on the great big empty vortex of the ether. Vincent was still insisting they shoot the principal fight scene in a ridiculously unachievable amount of time and such tight-fisted obstinacy had the potential to bugger up his entire shooting schedule.

Joe raked at his stubble as his second-in-command, Danny O’Connor, plonked a steaming hot brew down next to his laptop. He grinned up at him gratefully.

‘You read my mind Danny boy!’

‘Best I can do at 10am I’m afraid. The bar doe
sn’t open for another few hours.’

‘Just as well.
I’m one more offensive Vincent email away from booting my laptop across the office. With a couple of beers in me it’ll end up USB stick-side down in the dune outside.’

‘Well try and hold off on the fit of vandalism if you can. I’ve got Janie on the line and she’s fre
aking out about something
again
.’ Danny made a face and passed the phone over. He didn’t approve of hysteria in the workplace.

Joe held the receiver up to his ear and braced himself.

‘Hi Janie, what’s up?’

‘Your fucking brother’s gone AWOL again, that’s what’s up!’ fumed Janie. ‘He’s missed his flight and
I can’t track him down anywhere! Any ideas whose
Agent Provocateur
knicker-elastic he might be twanging this time?’

‘No idea
,’ said Joe truthfully. ‘Leave it with me and I’ll call round a few places.’

‘Thanks Joe.
If he’s not in Morocco by Friday to head up the big production meeting, all hell will break loose. Walt Wilson’s already pissed off about his rant in
The Sun
after Global confiscated his private jet.’

‘
Can’t believe he’s so shocked.’ Whenever Stephen felt particularly aggrieved about something he liked nothing better than shouting his mouth off about it in public.

‘Tell that to Wilson. I’ve been up half t
he night appeasing him. Ban Ki-moon’s got nothing on my peacekeeping skills.’

‘GBA, t
he anti-UN,’ mused Joe, ‘their goal is to start conflict, not end them.’

‘Too
bloody right. Usually, i’d laugh it off but it’s hard to maintain a sense of humour on three hours sleep. There’s been another development with the GBA runner situation as well. Bella handed in her notice in last night. I think she was crying but that perpetual scowl was having a little trouble adjusting.’

‘Oh dear
,’ said Joe, trying not to sound too elated. ‘Oh dear, oh, dear, oh dear.’

‘Quite. Rachel was so upset about it she was dancing round the photocopier at 11pm. If I was a cynical bugger I’d say Stephen’s ditched her in anticipat
ion of some hot Moroccan action.’

‘Another one bites the dust, or
rather
sand
in this case,’ he murmured, sweeping a few stray golden grains off his desk. ‘Is it back to the catwalks of Milan then?’

‘According to Rachel s
he wants to re-train as a nurse.’

Joe grinned. ‘I don’t fancy her bedside manner much
.’

‘Would you like this bedpan stuck under your arse or
up it
, Sir?’ snorted Janie. ‘Look we’ve had another runner start in the office so I’m sending her out on the afternoon flight. Would you mind organising to have her picked up? It’s her first time on location so tell your boys to play nice. I need her to stick around for at least twenty-four hours. For my sake more than hers…’

‘She another groupie?’

‘Nope. Stephen hasn’t even met her yet which is probably why she’s still got her underwear and not her P45. She’s just out of film school so a bit wet behind the ears but keen enough. Rachel’s impressed. Thinks she’s as smart as hell.’

‘A GBA r
unner with a brain, eh? OK I’ll send someone out. What’s her name?’

‘Polly Winters
.’

Polly
Winters. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue.

‘I hope to god she works out
,’ confided Janie. ‘Stephen and Vincent have been appalling to work for recently.’

‘I know
, sweetheart, just hang on in there.’

‘Oh I will. I always do. It just winds me up when critics use
words like, ‘supremely talented’ and ‘pioneering’ to describe the bastards, when ‘cantankerous’ and ‘pig-headed’ are far more appropriate.’

Joe laughed. ‘I take it you don’t fancy an all expenses break to Morocco for the next few months then?’

‘Are you insane?!’ she shrieked, ringing off immediately.

Joe passed the phone back to Danny
. For a fleeting moment he wondered why Janie stayed so loyal to Stephen in the face of all the trouble he caused.

‘How’s our transport captain booked for this evening?’
he asked Danny.

‘Booked, w
e’ve eighteen costume fittings already,’ came the reply, as the 2
nd
AD shared his chocolate digestive with a dirty white studio stray. The pooch’s stubby tail was wagging so fiercely it was pumping out more breeze than his desk fan.

Shit
, thought Joe, chucking his own digestive to the dog. He would have to collect Polly himself now. That left precious little time to track down his brother.

Right then Stephen, he reflected wearily, picking up the receiver once more. Where the hell
are you this time?

Many miles away, in a beautifully decorated, fully air-conditioned room, Stephen De Vries was lying flat on his back, stark naked, enjoying the delights of a post-coital cigarette. Besides him, and equally as exposed, lay his much younger, impossibly beautiful leading actress, Maisie Peach. At twenty-four, and with a little help from Stephen’s determination to cast her in four of his last five box-office hits, she had recently achieved superstar status and was luxuriating in every last golden minute of it.

Reaching out to take a sip of champagne, Maisie squealed as the director grabbed her breasts and pulled her back into bed.

‘Stop Stevie, the sheets,’ she wailed, as the spilt booze stained the delicate ivory satin a sludgy beige.

‘Fuck the sheets
,’ growled Stephen, a lit cigarette clamped between his teeth.

She started giggling again. ‘Your ciggy’s sticking out at the same angle as your
erection, darling.’

‘Then i’d prefer it if you lavished your attention on the considerably larger of the two
.’

Maisie plucked the cigarette from him, curled her tongue suggestively around the filter and flicked him a wicked grin.

‘Like this you mean?’

‘Bitch!’ he hissed as his handsome face creased into a sn
arl. ‘Give me back my cigarette.’

‘No way!’

‘Come along now Brittney,’ he sneered, ‘give it here…’

‘You asshole
!’ pouted Maisie, chucking his cigarette straight at his chest. ‘You know I hate it when you call me that.’

‘Good thing I made you change it then. What on earth was your mother thinking?’

‘Blame the midwife, she named me. My mom couldn’t be bothered.’ She glanced out of the enormous window of Stephen’s Knightsbridge penthouse. Her mom had a postcard of that very skyline stuck to the fridge in her trailer. When Maisie had bolted, aged eighteen, she had scrawled her farewell note across the front of it.

Gone to LA. Back Never.

Within weeks, she was working in a bar on Sunset. Within months, GBA Development Executive, Michael Wilson, had walked through her door. Maisie had recognised money and opportunity the moment she laid eyes on him, an opportunity that was blushingly requesting two Mojito Crillo’s with more heat in his face than a furnace. Still, it was only after he introduced her to up-and-coming director, Stephen De Vries, at an industry shindig the following year that she finally knew in whose bed her destiny lay. Within hours of meeting, the treacherous couple had embarked on a torrid, clandestine affair that had endured these past few years.

‘Shall we tell Vincent the good news?’ drawled Maisie, kicking her black lace bra off the foot of the bed. Earlier that day
, she had used her considerable leverage, as Michael’s girlfriend, to convince him that she was the best choice for
A Desert Affair.
The poor bastard had been fair game as soon as she had licked her lips and dropped to her knees.

Stephen
nodded and picked up his Blackberry.

‘Vince, it’s me
.’

This was met with a long distance howl of fury
. Stephen promptly drowned it out with a well-placed satin bolster. Vincent loathed being cooped up on airplanes for hours on end with only a handful of beleaguered flight attendants to bully. Having just arrived in Morocco, he would be itching to scream at someone who wasn’t dressed in Polyester-blend.

‘Calm down you stupid fucker, you’ll give yourself a
nother heart attack,’ chided Stephen, calmly retrieving the receiver. ‘I’ve got some good news. Maisie’s in the movie. The silly fuckers backed down. Get Gillian to clear some more space on that bookcase pronto, looks like we’ll be having a few more awards heading our way.’

Hanging up, he gave Maisie a lingering kiss, cuppi
ng her breasts in his hands. He should be in Morocco as well, but the lure of a naked Maisie had been far too tempting to pass up. If only poor, cuckolded Michael could see us now, thought Stephen, triumphantly, removing his left hand and sliding two fingers upwards.

Unlike his dalliances with groupies and celebrities, Stephen had done everything in his power to keep the details of their liaison leaking to the gossip-frenzied press. Indeed, only a chosen few within his inner, inner circle were even
aware of its very existence. This wasn’t to spare Christine’s feelings, Stephen couldn’t have cared less if she thought he was humping the entire cast of
A Desert Affair,
including the camels, but he
did
care what tittle-tattle Global Studio Boss, Walt Wilson, was privy to. Walt happened to be Michael’s father, so in a move more MI6 Operative than movie director, Stephen had persuaded Maisie to carry on her relationship with Michael, all the while meeting up with him for explosive trysts on the sly.  In an unexpected twist, she had turned out to be quite a talented little actress and Michael was still oblivious of their deception.