The hanging around isn’t all bad. Lorenzo has made friends with some of the other actors. Clive and Andy have small parts as the guards of the brothel which Lorenzo’s character is meant to run. There is Jenina, with whom he also shares scenes. She’s playing an old prostitute who is now more of an administrator. He’s also friendly with the women who play the many and various whores, but most of them keep themselves to themselves. They stand naked in the background of scenes, lounging around or pretending to perform sex acts. They have facilities in a different part of the building and are only brought into the filming area at the last minute and are taken away again at the end.
There is also Eddie Kettering. Eddie Kettering is a star. He has a leading role. He is a hero, a love interest, a talent, a body, a face, a sensation, a phenomenon. Lorenzo has a couple of scenes with him. Yesterday they had lunch together in the canteen.
“Big day tomorrow,” said Eddie as he slid into the seat opposite Lorenzo with his lunch on a tray.
Lorenzo nodded.
“You ever done any sex scenes before?” Eddie asked. He spoke with an affected East London accent, though Lorenzo and everyone else knows he went to Harrow.
“Not like this one. When I played Othello, there was a sort of sex scene with Desdemona, but it was—you know—more abstract, kind of behind some net curtain things. And then those net curtains were used as her handkerchief later on when Othello finds the handkerchief.”
“Oh right,” said Eddie. “Hot.”
Lorenzo laughed blankly. “Yeah,” he said.
“They’re okay,” said Eddie. “Sex scenes, I mean. I’ve done a few. It depends on how fit the girl is, and not for the reasons you might think. I mean, first off, there’s nothing sexy at all about doing a sex scene, and actually you probably want to be doing one with someone on the less hot side in case of accidental boners. But also, if you’re doing one with a super-hot girl, it’ll go on for ages. All of the techies and producers come along and find ways to make it last for as long as possible so they can get a proper look.”
Eddie acted as though he was telling a joke, so Lorenzo responded with a laugh.
“Fuck only knows what today will be like. I’ve never done an orgy before. Not on film anyway.” Eddie didn’t actually wink but the look he gave Lorenzo had a similar meaning. “It’s not with any big-name girls though,” Eddie continued. “Just with a bunch of extras. I bet the crew will still want to make it last though. You’re just watching on, aren’t you? Your character, I mean.”
“Um yeah, I think that’s the idea.”
“Love it. What a pervert!” Eddie chuckled to himself. Later in the conversation, however, he did say something of interest to Lorenzo. “Hey, I had a chat with my agent this morning. The showrunners are already thinking of commissioning another season. You should get your agent onto that early. I see your character being a real fan favorite. You should have a lot of bargaining power next time around.”
“That’ll be good, I guess.”
Lorenzo folds away the newspaper and goes to pour himself another coffee. He hasn’t eaten any breakfast. He’s trying to lose weight, contrary to the instructions of the show’s producer, as it was potentially affecting the continuity and also they wanted Lorenzo’s character to be “a bit chubs.”
Lorenzo goes into the shower and has a wank and a wash then dries and dresses and goes out to the pub in the village. He’s meeting Eddie there so they can walk over to the studios together.
It’s a short walk. The ground is firm from a week of frosts. He passes a freshly painted postbox and sees that it’s embossed with the GR of one of the Georges but he doesn’t know which. He likes noticing that kind of thing. There’s a wide, open village green and a couple of people have dogs off lead. Lorenzo is a little afraid of dogs and one’s a ferocious looking husky, only larger. He crosses the green but gives the dogs a wide berth. The pub is called the Queen’s Cushion. A climbing rose covers half the front wall, at this time of year all thorns and dead wood and lofty aspirations and biding its time. The pub has a large porch with a pointed roof and slate floor, and a place for putting muddy wellies. There is no stereo, but a fire crackles a primitive tune.
Lorenzo orders a pint of Black Sheep and pays close attention as the brown liquid splashes to the bottom of the tall glass and collects into a froth. When he was in London he drank lager for speed and ease, but on a day like this and in a pub like this it’s only right to have something bolder. The barmaid places the bitter on the counter and takes Lorenzo’s coins. The liquid settles slowly and Lorenzo takes his first sip while still at the bar.
“You up here on holiday?” she asks him.
“Actually, I’m here for work.”
“Only I’ve seen you a few times now and I thought it was getting to be a long holiday.” She chuckles to herself, though Lorenzo didn’t realize she was making a joke.
“Ah, no, I’ll be here for a little while yet. I’m in a cottage up the hill.”
“Oh, aye,” she says.
She doesn’t ask him about his work. He’s been led to believe people in the North are extremely friendly but so far he hasn’t found that to be the case. It’s not that they’re cold. They just say what’s needed to be said and leave it at that.
Lorenzo leaves the bar and goes to
