“I always thought you were insane to go straight back into the show. You literally took no time off.”
“It was easier for them to work the storyline, though. They didn’t have to rush it. We got out of there with good feelings all around, instead of straight-up breaking our contracts. And best of all, they killed both our characters in a really no-doubt-about-it way. So nobody ever asks oh, are you going back to the show.” Tanith snorted. Victor glanced at his watch. “Ah dammit. I’ve got to get over to the studio.”
“What is it this time? Something about Countdown? Is that why the mustache?”
He laughed. “No, the hair situation is, well, it’s me and Andy being goofballs. This is a new thing. Everybody knows I’m not taking any kind of movie project before we go to Europe, but there’s always something. This time it’s about a guest role that would be happening in May, for a streaming series that shoots here in town. It would only be a week of work. I asked Andy and he said sure. It’s a good problem to have,” he said, smiling. “Never thought I would be here.”
“I never thought my little play would turn out to be such a talent farm, either. Get on out of here. When shit starts happening, I swear I’ll put it on the shared calendar.”
“You do that. Give my regards to Sid.” Victor gave her a hug and a kiss, and headed out to the next thing. By the time he was on his way home, he’d gotten a text from Andy saying that dinner was underway and it would be only themselves and Reggie. Victor didn’t even know for sure how long the
guy was staying. He supposed it didn’t really matter, unless they hated each other in person.
Andy and Reggie spent most of the afternoon reviewing photos for the Shakespeare shoot. Reggie didn’t want to see only the gallery selections: he wanted to see everything. “These are really all friends of yours, are they?” He sat back, scrubbed a hand over his face, stifled a yawn. It had already been a long day.
“Either friends, or friends of friends. I’ve lived in L.A. a long time.”
Andy regarded Reggie for a moment, undecided about something.
“What?”
“Well, there was one more shoot. I haven’t selected one for the show yet, much less done the processing. This could wait, though. You have time for a nap before dinner.”
“If I close my eyes they won’t be open again for nine hours. What’ve you got?”
Andy opened the last folder. “Margaret of Anjou.” He glanced at Reggie, by this time expecting his guest to know exactly who that was.
Reggie leaned forward again, frowning a little. The person playing the role looked somewhat familiar. There was no obvious makeup. The costume was a sleeveless quilted tunic much like the ones Niall Phelps and Red Warner had worn for their Macbeth swordfight, over leggings and knee-high riding boots, with gloves. “What’s the line?”
“‘I am ready to put armour on.’”
“Well, so she appears to be.” The expression was resolute. A long black braid was draped over her shoulder. The model was holding a blade; not a broadsword, but a swept-hilt rapier. In the pose Reggie liked best, she held it at an upward angle across her body, with the blade resting in the palm of her gloved left hand. “That’s a real sword?”
“Borrowed it from Red. He loaned me a few things for this whole project. The model’s five foot six, it was the biggest one that was safe to handle.” Andy was watching Reggie, counting down till the penny dropped.
“Wait a bit. Is that … the boots! Is that Rowena?”
“His real name is Ronald Gallo. Rowena is his drag name.”
Reggie looked delighted. “Oh go on, what’s the rest of it.”
“Rowena Canoe.” Reggie laughed, as Andy expected. “I have a real problem with him, though.”
“Why? Seems perfect for your collection.”
“The problem is I want him to play all the fucking queens now.” Andy shrugged. “He’s a great model. We tried a bunch of different lines, you know Margaret’s in four plays. He never bitched for a minute about all the costume changes. I might have to just do it someday, for a mini-show like I did for the Tempest photos. Obviously this is a straight reading of the line, it’s only the fact that he’s a he that makes it twisted.”
“And even then it’s only the way Shakespeare would have done it,”
Reggie said. “Well, of all things. Found yourself a queen at the boots shop.”
“I wish we were all going to be in town for the Cabaret’s December show. I told my friends there to hold a couple of tickets for Ro. But I know you can’t stay that long.”
“No.” Reggie was regretting it for more than one reason. “Already promised me mum I’d be with her next week. Thanks for letting me have a look at everything.”
“Still think it’ll fly in London?”
Reggie gave him a look that said ‘are you serious.’ “What I like about what you’ve done,” he said, “quite apart from the overall stupefying gorgeousness of your models, is it re-imagines the characters in a way that will send people straight back to the plays. They’ll think, what else did I miss. It’s brilliant.”
“Thanks.” Andy was pleased. That’s what he and Victor thought, but they weren’t English. He made a quick copy of the image Reggie had liked best, re-naming the file for future reference, then shut everything down. The dog was waiting at the top of the studio stairs. “And speaking of queens, Molly says it’s time to go outside.”
Victor and Reggie didn’t hate each other. The Englishman had many things to say about Victor’s hair situation. He complained at length about the cruelty of putting him in a guest room decorated with
