the staff might have scurried to serve the boss, but those lounging near the control board knew better. 'Made it myself, Ms. Thorton,' E.J. told her as she poured. 'It won't taste like the battery acid these two cook up.'
'I appreciate that, E.J.,' she said dryly. Just the scent of it revived her. Claire inhaled it, telling herself only an old fool thought she could dance until three and still function the next day. Ah, but how nice it was to feel like a fool again, she thought with a slow smile. 'I'm told that the shoot went well, with no major problems.'
'Smooth as silk,' E.J. stated. 'Wait till you get a load of Parks knocking that sucker over the fence.' He grinned reminiscently. 'I won ten bucks off Brooke with that hit.' His selective memory allowed him to forget that it had been his ten dollars in the first place.
Claire settled into a chair with a quiet sigh. '.'Is Brooke in yet?'
'Haven't seen her.' E.J. began to whistle as he recalled Brooke leaving the location with Parks. Accustomed to his habits, Claire only lifted a brow.
'Are you set up, Dave?'
'Ready to run through it, Ms. Thorton. Want to see it from the top?''
'In a moment.' Even as Claire checked her watch, she heard Brooke's voice in the corridor.
'As long as you understand you have absolutely no say in what gets cut and what stays in.'
'I might have an intelligent comment to make.'
'Parks, I'm serious.'
His low chuckle rolled into the editing room just ahead of Brooke. 'Morning,' she said to the group at large. 'Coffee hot?'
'EJ.'s special,' Claire told her, watching Brooke over the rim of her mug as she sipped. She looked different, Claire thought, then slid her eyes to Parks. And there was the reason, she concluded with a small smile. 'Good morning, Parks.'
Her face remained bland and friendly, but he recognized her thoughts. With a slight nod, he acknowledged them. 'Hello, Claire,' he said, abandoning formality as smoothly as he reached for a cup for himself. 'I hope you don't mind me sitting in on this.' Taking the pot, he poured Brooke's coffee, then his own. 'Brooke has a few reservations.'
'Amateurs,' Brooke said precisely as she reached for the powdered cream, 'have a tendency to be pains in the-'
'Yes, well I'm sure we're delighted to have Parks join us,' Claire interrupted over EJ.'s chuckle. 'Run it through, Dave. Let's see what we've got.'
At her order, he flicked a series of buttons on the large control panel in front of him. Parks watched himself appear simultaneously on three monitors. He could hear Brooke's voice off camera, then the little man with the clapboard scooted in front of him announcing the scene and take.
'It's the third take that worked,' Brooke announced as she settled on the arm of Claire's chair.
'Casey at the bat didn't like the first pitch.'
Her remark earned her a grin from Parks and a mild exclamation from Claire. 'The lighting's very good.' Claire studied the second take through narrowed eyes. 'The new boy, Silbey. He's got a nice touch. The clothes sell it.' Brooke sipped while gesturing with her free hand. 'Watch when he sets for the swing…
Yes.' She gave a nod of approval. 'Nice moves, no apparent restriction. He looks comfortable, efficient, sexy.' Intent on the screen, Brooke didn't notice the look Parks tossed at her. 'This is the one I want to use.' She waited, silently, watching the replay of Parks's home run. The test swings, the concentration, the connection and follow-through, the satisfied grin and the shrug.
'I want to keep in the last bit,' Brooke went on.
'That gee-whiz shrug. It sells the whole business. That natural cockiness is its own appeal.' Parks choked over his coffee, but Brooke ignored him. ' 'As I see it, this segment is pretty clear-cut. The next I'm not so sure about. It's going to be effective…'
Cupping his mug in both hands, Parks sat down. For the next two hours he watched himself on the screens of the monitors, listened to himself being weighed, dissected, judged. Though the latter disconcerted him initially, he found that watching himself didn't bring on the feeling of idiocy he'd been certain it would. He began to think he might find some enjoyment out of his two-year stint after all.
Though he'd heard himself picked apart and put back together countless times over the years – coaches, sports critics, other players-Parks couldn't find the same level of tolerance at hearing Brooke speak so matter-of- factly about his face and body, his gestures and expressions. All in all, he thought, it was as though he were the salable product, not the clothes he wore.
They ran the film back and forth, while Claire listened to input and made occasional comments. Yes, they would have to work in close-ups in the next shoot, his face was very good. It would be smart to fill another thirty- second spot with action to exploit the way he moved, showing the durability of the clothes as well as the versatility. They might try tennis shorts if his legs were any good.
At this Parks shot Brooke a deadly glance, half expecting her to offer her personal opinion. She caught it, then smothered a chuckle with a fit of coughing. Over Claire's head she gave him an innocent smile and an unexpectedly lewd wink. The quick response of his own body caused him to scowl at her. She was dressed like a waif, in baggy chinos and a sweater, her hair braided back and secured with a rubber band. From across the room he could smell the elusive, promising scent of her perfume.
'We taped his voice-over this morning,' she told Claire. 'I think you'll find his voice is good, though how he'll handle real dialogue remains to be seen. Do we have the graphics for the tag-on, Lila?'
'Right here.' She flipped a series of switches. On the monitor now was the de Marco logo of a blackmaned lion against a cool-blue background. The signature line cartwheeled slowly onto the screen until it stopped below the cat. It held long enough for impact, then faded.
'Very classy,' Brooke approved, 'then it's agreed? The third take from the first segment, the fifth from the second.'
'We saved you guys from a lot of splicing,' E.J. commented as he toyed with an unlit cigarette. 'You should be able to put this together with your eyes closed.'
'I'd appreciate it if you'd keep them open,' Claire said as she rose. 'Let me know when it's cut and dubbed. E.J., a splendid job, as always.' 'Thanks, Ms. Thorton.'
She handed him her empty mug. 'On the camera work, too,' she added. The editors snickered as she turned toward the door. 'Parks, I hope you didn't find all this too boring.'
'On the contrary…' He thought of the objective discussions on his anatomy. 'It's been an education.' She gave him a mild smile of perfect understanding. 'Brooke, my office, ten minutes.' As an afterthought she glanced at her watch. 'Oh, dear. Perhaps you'd like to join us for lunch, Parks.'
'I appreciate it, but I have a few things I have to do.'
'Well then.' Patting his arm, she smiled again. 'Best of luck in the play-offs.' She slipped away, leaving Brooke frowning after her.
'I probably won't get any lunch now,' she muttered. 'If you'd said yes, she'd have made reservations at Ma Maison.'
'Sorry.' Parks drew her out in the corridor. 'Did that wink mean you approve of my legs?''
'Wink?' Brooke stared at him blankly. 'I don't know what you're talking about. Winking during an editing session is very unprofessional.'
He glanced at the door she had closed behind her. 'The way you all talked in here, I felt that I was the product.'
With a half laugh, Brooke shook her head. 'Parks, you are the product.'
His eyes came back to hers, surprising Brooke with the flare of anger. 'No. I wear the product.'
She opened her mouth, then closed it again on a cautious sigh. 'It's really a matter of viewpoint,' she said carefully. 'From yours, from de Marco's, even from the consumers', the clothes are the product. From the viewpoints of your producer, your director, your cinematographer and so forth, you're as much the product as the clothes you wear because we have to see that both of you are salable. If I can't make you look good, what you're wearing might as well be flea market special.'
He saw the logic but didn't care for it. 'I won't be a commodity.'
'Parks, you're a commodity every time you walk out on the diamond. This really isn't any different.' Exasperated, she lifted her hands palms up. ''You sell tickets to Kings games, baseball cards and fielder's caps.
