Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Kimmydonn Week 60: Taking Time


Picture 1

Picture 2

Kimmydon's Choice: both

Taking Time

Tim and Geoff were moving around the set. This was Lisa’s first film with Burton and she was thrilled. Not only because she got to work with one of the directors she admired, but because they were filming in New York, less than an hour from her parents’ place.

“You look remarkably laid back for someone who can’t get her work done until these two stop messing around.” Ford said, handing her a bottle of water that she sipped from gratefully.

“You don’t rush art,” she said with only a touch of sarcasm. In one way it was true - the shadows from the stones of the wall, the pieces on the set, they all worked together to give the impression, the mood that Tim wanted. It was up to Geoff to light it properly. In some ways, Lisa had the simplest job, perform on the stage they set.

Lisa knew what Ford meant, though. More than enough directors pushed and rushed, forcing the actors through scenes they weren’t prepared for, weren’t ready to perform. Lisa was quick to respond, hitting her marks regardless, a trait that made her sought after. She appreciated this care to detail, the time given to make it all just so. It really did make her job easy.

“Alice,” Tim called, beckoning her.

Lisa chuckled and handed the bottle back to Ford. A makeup woman adjusted her wig before Lisa stepped under the lights. Tim knew her name, but he’d never forgiven his casting manager for not finding her to play Alice in his version of Alice in Wonderland. She was flattered, but thought it was a bit silly to keep calling her that.

Barely acknowledging him, Lisa took her place and prepared for the call. “Action.”

Ford was only a little surprised when Lisa bounced into the car after work instead of flopping into the seat.

“What’s up?”

“You know,” she complained, rolling her eyes. “Step on it.”

He chuckled and drove her to her parents’ house.

“Mr. Guinness, Mrs. Guinness,” Ford greeted them both, turning for the car as Lisa ran up to hug her dad.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lisa’s mother asked, snagging his elbow. “You are staying for dinner,” she declared.

Lisa laughed and hugged her mom. “I’ve missed you.”

“We’ve missed you, too. Hard day?” Tenderly, she swept the blond strands out of Lisa’s face. “You look tired.”

“I feel great,” Lisa assured her. Then she yawned. “Probably could do with more sleep, though.”

“Well, perhaps your own bed will help with that.”

“You’re welcome to stay, too, Clifford,” Lisa’s father assured him. The large man gaped a little.

“Uh... I already have a hotel booked.”

“Cancel it!” Lisa demanded. She burst through the gate into the backyard, kicking off her flip-flops to run through the soft dirt and grass and jump onto her swing, the one tied to her tree. It was so good to be home.

“Please consider it,” Mrs. Guinness insisted squeezing Ford’s arm before following her daughter and joining her on the long seat. “Feel old?” she asked looking up at the tree that had been small when Lisa left home for her first role.

“A little.”

“How is she?” Mr. Guinness asked the burly bodyguard. “She keeping you hopping?” He watched the pair of women on the swing, each looking so much like the other – the younger seeming so much older and grown up, the older seeming young as she laughed and grinned.

“Not a bit,” Ford answered with a chuckle, watching Lisa carefully. “If anything I wish she did. She seems lonely.” He frowned and felt Lisa’s father move to stand beside him.

“She chose a lonely life, constantly on the move, most connections fleeting. I could wish she’d never dreamed bigger than this.” His gaze took in his neat yard, his white house. Ford understood. Her father could wish his daughter had married someone local, stayed near home, gone to a regular college instead of tutors.

“You don’t,” Ford said with certainty. He didn’t know the Guinnesses well, but he knew they both supported Lisa. They were happy that she knew what she wanted and had the determination to work for it despite all the costs.

“No, but I could,” he said again. “I worry when I see all those girls and boys behind the ropes at premiers, when I bring in the mail and see letters addressed to her.”

Ford stiffened. “Anything-”

Mr. Guinness stopped him. “Nothing worse than bad poetry.” His tone was light but his face still sombre. “You’ll keep taking care of her? I need someone to watch over my little girl.”

Ford clenched his jaw against the tightness in his throat, the tightness he heard in the father’s voice. “I will. Nothing will happen to her.”

Mr. Guinness clapped Ford’s shoulder and turned for the house. “Good. I should keep an eye on the grill so the ladies can enjoy themselves.”

Ford stood watching a while longer.