May 11, 2015

Having driven past Crespi Carmelite High School nearly every day of her marriage to The Cheater, Nataley knew the route by heart.  Oh, she'd never been inside the building until she and the Late Late Show Lighting Designer, Hugo Myles, had scoped it out to create the lighting plot for this particular skit being filmed.  For the most part, the established lighting in the gym would be sufficient.  For a few scenes, they needed to set up additional lighting, and Nat knew that she would be the one climbing the ladders. As the newest member of the team, she always was assigned the shittiest of shit jobs.  Not that she minded.  After all, Hugo had been incredibly forthcoming about his plans to train her to take over in a few years' time as he approached retirement.

The production vans blanketed the parking lot, and Nat was required as always to display her CBS credentials to get onto the set.  Scrambling to find the identification wrapped in its hard plastic shell, she finally was able to produce it for the guard at the gate. With a grimace, Nat glanced at the clock on the dash. Praying that Hugo wouldn't be too upset with her, she parked in the first available spot, grabbed her toolbelt, clipped her ID badge to her shirt, and hustled towards the school's entrance. 

After all, it hadn't been her fault that Noah had cried and sobbed, refusing to get out of his car seat at his grandmother's house.  Only a threat of no electronics and the promise of a cookie managed to coax him inside. It was always this way after a weekend with his father: Noah came home frustrated and angry at Nat for leaving him in that foreign place with his father's newest playmate. The judge had been clear, though.  Joint physical and legal custody were 'essential to raising a resilient child in California'.  Easy for the judge to say when he wasn't the one living with a cranky three year old.

Whatever. 

Nataley didn't have time to lambast the legal system.  Not when she was already -- another peek at the clock -- 12 minutes late.  Stuffing her keys in the front pocket of her jeans, her sneakers squeaked on the pavement as she scrambled inside the high school and towards the gym.  Her phone began ringing in her front pocket, and she whipped it out, eyes focused on the flashing name of her boss.

Which is why she didn't see the long-haired musician rounding the corner, pulling the hem of his shorts down in a useless attempt to cover his muscular thighs.  Her shoulder collided with his, and they both went reeling, her tool belt flying from her hand and sailing down the hallway, ejecting the gadgets of her trade in a dozen different directions.

"Sorry," she mumbled, scurrying to grab the pliers, screwdrivers, light meters, and other equipment strewn about the hallway like lost children. "Fuck."

Her whispered curse reached Harry's ear at the same volume of a dog's whisker scratching a pillow. 

"Let me help."  Bending over, he picked up a few of the items. The red shorts outlined his butt in ways that Nat would have loved to study if her time hadn't already run out.

Her face coloring somewhere between a light-pale red violet and a rouge, Nat politely thanked the man, clearly part of the day's skit.  "Thanks.  Uh...I'm sorry."

"You said that," he murmured.  "And it's fine."

Standing as she wrapped the toolbelt around her waist, she stuffed the last roll of electrical tape into a pocket.  Knowing nothing would be in its correct place, Nat already dreaded the additional time it would take to find what she needed in the moment.  Buckling the belt, she used her shoulder to muscle into the gym area where she found Hugo growling at Nat's counterpart, Ivan. "The backlight is supposed to be shining between their shoulders!"

"I've got it, Hugo!" Twisting in place, Nat returned to the entry doors where now the big boss was standing with the four members of the boy band being featured for this story.  "Excuse me," she muttered to James Corden. The mumbled words had little effect, and Nat attempted to pass on his right, only to be blocked by the blonde one, his hand on Corden's shoulder. Sometimes the invisibility cloak of a stage worker was too successful. 

Touching the technician's elbow, the man she'd bumped into in the hall indicated with a slight head tilt that she could pass.  With a grimace and a nod of gratitude, Nat slipped between the star of the late night show and the long-haired tattooed musician, not noticing that the latter's eyes followed her progress as she set up the ladder before climbing up and reaching both hands overhead to tussle with the lamp. Reaching for a spot on her toolbelt, Nataley cursed when the screwdriver she needed wasn't within its usual pocket.  Shifting hands, she patted down the items in her toolbelt, finally landing on the one she thought she wanted. Whipping a Phillips screwdriver over her head in triumph, the technician tightened the rigging, scurrying quickly down the ladder to find the same man watching her, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.

"That was efficient," he commented as she slammed the screwdriver into its correct spot on her toolbelt.  "Kind of hot how you did that." His eyebrow was cocked on one side.

Shaking her head ruefully, Nataley folded the ladder and moved to carry it past him. "Just doing my job, sir." Honestly, these celebrities either ignored her completely or flirted as though she owed them something! She'd been approached multiple times since joining the crew months before.  Usually her polite, cold, distant behavior was sufficient for them to take the hint.  Hoping that was the case this time, Nataley returned to Hugo' side to ensure that the light was accurately set.

What commenced next was vast silliness as Nat observed the shenanigans with the dodgeballs.  Then again, if she wanted mature scenes, this wouldn't be the show she would have chosen for her career.

After filming the dodgeball scenes in the school's gym, the director called "Lunch!"

Standing next to Hugo, Nataley asked, "Do you want me to break down the lights here or go back to the studio and set up for the locker room scenes?"

Scratching his head and twisting to glance at Ivan, Hugo quietly and calmly responded with "Studio. I'll help Ivan here. I trust you to set them up according to our plot.  See you over there."

A flush of pride blossomed from her toes upwards, and Nataley suppressed her grin nearly all the way to her car but then it broke through with all the power of the Kool-Aid Man bursting through a brick wall.  If there were an added little skip and jump in her walk, no one could blame her.

"Hey!" A British voice called to her, and Nataley spun around with all of her interior glee on display. "Can I catch a ride back to the studio with you?"

Oh.  Damn.  She couldn't really turn him down, could she?  The grin on her face simmered to a careful neutral.

"I suppose." Hoping the shrug and tone of her voice were sufficient to deter him, Nataley unlocked the driver's side door and pressed the unlock button with a solid, doomed click. Opening the back door, she carefully placed her toolbelt on the floor, conscious that she'd have to reorganize it that night. Dammit. That task would have to wait until Noah was asleep.  Otherwise, he would want to play with everything.

"I'm Harry," the man said, climbing into the passenger seat.  The way he said his name gave her shivers, but no way was Nat getting seduced by a sexy accent.  "How old?" Harry asked, jerking his head quickly to the side.

Did he have some weird tick?  Was he ill?  On drugs?  And why should she tell him how old she was? 

"Old enough to drive," she curtly and primly responded, twisting the key in the ignition. After adjusting the mirror, she placed both hands on the steering wheel and began to back out.  He hadn't changed out of his costume for the sketch, and she could see the edge of a tattoo on his upper left thigh peeking through the hem of his red shorts.

A torrent of laughter burst from him, and her attention was momentarily stolen by the dimple that formed on his left side like a sudden sinkhole swallowing her breath. "I meant your child," he laughed. "Or sibling?" He gestured towards the car seat in the back, and Nataley chuckled without any joy attached. Perhaps the sight of a car seat would dissuade him from flirting with her?

"Sorry. I'm Nat."

With the introductions over and because she didn't want to chat with the celeb (especially about the car seat), she flipped the radio onto her favorite country music station and started singing along to the first song.  "I've got a girl crush..." She sang. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry wince, so she took a deep breath and warbled louder. While her vocals might not win any awards, raising her singing voice alongside the radio while in the car was one of her time-honored traditions of freedom.  When Noah rode with her, they sang along to a lot of Raffi, but the kid was pretty good at some of her favorite country songs too. 

With what appeared to be a wary glance back at the car seat and then a sigh of resignation, Harry opened his mouth and began belting out the words too.  Probably to try to drown out Nat's singing voice, but honestly, she didn't care.  Singing in her car with this stranger somehow felt like the best possible outcome in the circumstances.

As she turned into the lot at CBS Studios, she waved her ID badge at the guard who allowed them entrance.  As the strains of "Dirt" by Georgia Florida Line shifted from the chorus to the second verse, she pulled her 2007 Toyota Corolla into a parking spot, noticing for the first time that Harry's gangly legs were rather cramped in the small car. 

Why hadn't he said something?

Tempted to apologize, she decided it was his own damn fault for not speaking up. For crying out loud, most of the celebrities she had ever met in her role at Late Late would never have deigned to enter her tattered vehicle with the right rear child lock that's been broken for years, the gas gauge that no longer works, and that one windshield wiper that always shrieked like a dying cow on the rare occasions it rained. They certainly would have squawked loudly about the seat being too far forward.

What is this guy's deal? Was any celebrity truly this nice?

"Thanks for the ride," his smooth voice drifted across the top of the car as they both stood.

Nat ducked her head into the back seat, grasping her toolbelt with one hand and preparing to fasten it around her hips.

"Welcome," she muttered.

"Shall we?" Harry gestured to the studio's door. Reluctantly, not having an excuse to say no, Nataley walked by his side.

As they approached the glass door of the lobby, Nataley could see Ben Winston, the executive producer of the Late Late Show, pacing in front of the door. 

"Fuck," she whispered. What kind of trouble was she in this time?  Had someone reported her for being late?  Fucking Ivan probably. The ball of anxiety in her gut curled more tightly, churning like a milkmaid attempting to make butter from water. If he fired her, Nataley would have to move home with her mother, and as much as she loved her mom, living in a cramped two-bedroom house with Noah and Debra sounded like hell on earth.  What would Nat do with her dog Chuck? Her mom was mildly allergic.

Harry's head swiveled her way quickly at the curse word, examining her face.  Biting her lip, Nat grasped the door handle, prepared to do the expected and hold the door for the celebrity.  Maybe the gesture would keep her from getting more than a reprimand for her tardiness.  But no. The goddamn kindest guy on the planet reached over her head to grasp the door, signaling her to enter first.  Fuck.  Her one chance to show that she's a team player, and this fuckwad snatches it from her. Who the hell does he think he is?

Glaring at him, she prepared herself for the wrath of Mr. Winston.

"Harry! I sent a car for you, but my driver said you'd already left.  I was worried sick."

"Sorry, Ben.  Nat was nice enough to give me a ride over. My apologies to your driver. Lunch?"

Wait.  What?  The executive producer wasn't waiting for her?  She wasn't going to get scolded? What had just happened? Deciding she'd dodged a bullet, the lighting technician hustled down the hallway to set up for the locker room scenes.  As she bustled away, she heard Harry call to her. 

"Thanks, Nat!"

His tone implied a relationship and friendship that didn't exist, and Nataley blushed, pondering her unusual reaction to this man. Shaking off the feeling, she proceeded to set up the lighting for the upcoming locker room scenes.  It didn't matter how he made her feel since he would never remember her the next time he appeared on the show.  Celebrities rarely paid attention to the crew except to boink them.