Improvised Hollywood - Feat. Odalie

A cemetery was not a place where you’d expect to see a gathering, with exception, of course, of the regular morose funerals filled with weeping relatives. This part of town, even though well known by tourists, was normally calm and respectful of the dead, the frost on the memorials at this time of the year inspiring an eerie atmosphere that none would dare to disturb. Today, however, there was no silent widows to be seen, nor tears or solemn speeches; between the tomb stones were standing a panoply of cameras, tents, and filming material of all sorts. Behind the closed iron gates delimiting the cemetery perimeter were pressed dozens of curious citizens, murmuring to each other speculations about the event : some thought it was going to be an action movie, others were convinced they were going to see Chris Pratt, or even that it was the next secret Tarantino project. They were in facts all wrong, but the excitement of seeing a production of that importance take place in the Vieux-Carré was eclipsing all notions of true or false in their minds, only caring about having their dose of excitement and wonder during the day, their phones held in the air like beacons, ready to capture some familiar faces to later share on social media. Milo was not that much interested in all the fuss bubbling around the scene, just trying to pass through to get to the supernatural shelter he was lately volunteering at. December was a good time to offer help in this kind of field, the cold pushing more and more persons to seek some hot food or a warm bed to lay in, filling most of the shelters beyond capacity; some additional hands to help manage the extra work was always welcome, and the young man did not need to be asked twice.

Shivering in his second-hand winter coat, Milo looked at his phone, making sure he was still in time. Not a usual problem for a zouwu, but he usually tried to not overuse his powers in front of untrustworthy eyes, trying to get used to the human way of living as his mother always told him to do: walking, calling taxis, taking the bus. In short, looking normal. Looking normal was primordial if you didn’t want to get caught by hunters. His family had learned that the hard way, and he made sure to remember. However, most streets in the area were blocked because of the filming, and the detours taken by buses and taxis would take infinitely longer than simply walking to his destination. He was a fifteen minutes’ walk from the refuge, but looking at the crowd occupying the street, he guessed it would take longer. With a resigned sigh, he stopped for a minute in front of the cemetery, rubbing his frigid hands together to warm them before composing a number on his phone. « Hey, it’s Milo. Sorry I’m late. They’re filming something in the cemetery, the streets are blocked, might take a while to get to you. » A voice answered something comprehensive on the other side of the line. « Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll stay safe. See you later ». He pressed the little red icon in the corner and, before he even had the time to put away his phone in his back pockets, he heard a masculine voice shouting at him from the other side of the fence.

« Hey! You! The boy with the red scarf! Come over here! »
The young zouwu started to mumble something along the lines that there was a mistake, that he didn’t had anything to do with the movie, that he was in a hurry, etc., but the man kept on insisting, and he finally approached the fence, the crowd making way for him in a both jealous and mesmerized way, eager to see what was going to happen next. Maybe it was scripted, a girl suggested to her boyfriend. The man that called him looked exhausted; his nose rendered a bright pink by the cold air. « Take this and change quick, we need you for scene 12 in five minutes ». He threw 18th century clothes in his arms before he could protest further, the little handwritten label on the fabric reading « Dracula: A Love Story ». The gate opened for him, the man dragging him inside, before he stopped and shouted at another person, a young woman passing by. « You! Come here! ». He pushed a dress in her arms and looked at them both, his breath shaky by the apparent stress he was under. « Our extras are late, and we can’t wait for them to finally bring their sorry asses on set. You’re playing a cute couple that is about to get killed by vampires, go, go! We’ll talk about your money later! ». Both pushed inside the cemetery by both the crowd and the crew member, Milo and the woman did not have any other choices but to follow the little anxious man on set.

Milo had never been one for conflicts.
One would say that it was something to be expected from someone of his race, and they wouldn’t be wrong, but it could sure come off as a surprise for a rebellion leader. However, even with his strong beliefs and dreams of liberty, he would always prefer to avoid direct confrontation when possible. When he was little, he would always prefer to share his toys or even give them away when other children asked for them, or he would keep his little auburn head down when scolded by his parents, simply nodding and going on his own in his bedroom. Now that he was older, he was more assured and less passive, but there was still that personality trait within him; that’s why he did not argue when the set technician shoved a Victorian-style costume in his arms. Truth be told, Milo had no acting skills or experience whatsoever, but the man seemed desperate and he did not have the heart to refuse. Already blushing with embarrassment under his scarf at the mention of a couple’s part, he did regret not walking away when he had the chance, but his own feelings were less important in comparison to letting someone down, even a stranger. Torn between arriving late at his shift and telling « no » to the little mustached lumberjack in front of all these people, he simply went along with the role he was assigned to, unsure of what to do.

The young zouwu didn’t see the woman that was also shouted at until he opened the cold metal gate to enter the cemetery. She seemed as confused as he was, not entirely sure why they were chosen amongst all the others, but the ambiant pressure of the set seemed to wash over them as well, and without questioning it further, they both entered. He quickly glanced at her, his chin kept down in his scarf, and he immediately felt intimidated. She was objectively beautiful, her brown eyes vivid and the attitude of someone who knows how to rule stuff emanating from her. Hell, if he definitely WASN’T comfortable playing a boyfriend of some sorts with a stranger (being a boyfriend at all, actually) it felt even worse that it had to be with a woman like that. She would think he was an idiot for sure, a dumbass who wasn’t fit for anything. Actually, the only role he ever had gotten was a mute tree in an elementary school play. Aaaaand he cried on stage, calling for his mom. Her, she looked like she could already be an actress. Maybe she was, and there was just some terrible error and he wasn’t supposed to be there. He tried to smile at her, but really, he felt like he was dying inside.

« Hi. I’m Odalie. Er … did you know about all of this ? »

Milo shrugged slowly and swallowed. He felt like everyone was staring at them as they were crossing the set, which was technically the truth: both the grumpy crew members and the jealous crowd watched every of their movements like waiting predators. A cameraman even followed them with his huge camera.
« Hi, er.. No, actually. I was just trying to get to work ». He was about to say that he didn’t know the city very well, but it occurred to him that it would sound strange to work at a city that you don’t really know... For non-zouwus, anyway. It was always better to keep a low profile. As to keeping low profiles, he noticed that she didn’t gave the same name to him and to the crewmember. She said Amelia, something like that. Now Odalie… He wondered why. Would it be better to use his second name to introduce himself? Damn it, there was so many questions going through his head…

« I’m… Milo, by the way », he finally chose to say, nervously squeezing the costume in his hands. They arrived at an old trailer, where it was made clear that they had to change in. He froze for a second, already uncomfortable at the idea of changing in front of her. He laughed it off in his head, but even in his thoughts it sounded a bit forced.

« Do you think we’ll have to kiss ? »

The zouwu looked at her with wide eyes, the surprised look on his face everything but faked. He couldn’t help but blush again, regretting his inability to say no to people with every fiber of his body. The last person he kissed was… was… he didn’t want to think about it. It’s just acting, he tried to tell himself, it won’t feel the same. But the uneasy feeling continued to spread in his mind, with the familiar pinching of the fear of being rejected again. He cleared his throat.

« Er… No, I mean yes, I mean… Not if you don’t want to », he added while looking somewhere else, trying to straighten his back in an attempt to look less imbecile, but the color on his cheeks were telling no lies. He gestured towards the trailer to change the subject.

« Ladies first? Be careful not to catch tetanus in there… it looks kinda… nasty. »

His back leant against the rusted, beaten up old trailer, Milo was reconsidering his life choices.
An eye on the set while waiting for his improvised partner to put on her costume, he thought that it was obviously going to be hell of a day. At this very hour, if he just had said no, thank you he would have been at the good ol’ shelter serving breakfast to people. Regulars there were easy to understand, easy to deal with; he knew them like the back of one’s hand. There was old Martha and her comfy scarfs, Pimento and his crazy stories, Danny and her dreamy projects. Always the same, predictable. This… this whole new situation, these Hollywood people with their tight schedules, their cameras and their mics, this striking young woman and her words with double, triple meanings… For him it was hell. Even if he was leading a secret revolution, it was in the shadows cast by skyscrapers and in steady lines of code, not parading on TV like Tom Cruise. « Maybe I want to », what is this even supposed to mean? What if she was just as embarrassed as him, and wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss? That « maybe » was really confusing, she was acting confident and all, but was it really just a show? He hoped the mustache guy wasn’t planning to force her to kiss him, that would be a hundred times worse than his own overall shyness. He could get over being uncomfortable but making someone else uncomfortable was stuff of nightmares. He’d feel it throbbing from her like a headache and he’d feel even worse, true story. Talk about the fun of being a hyper-sensitive, hyper-empathic supernatural guy.

He hid his nose in his bright red scarf - almost as red as his cheeks minutes before - blowing some steam in the cold winter air. He could feel this whole thing was going to be longer than planned, so he grabbed his phone to text the shelter, told them he wasn’t going to make it today after all, but the screen remained black as he clicked the power button multiple times. Shit. Well, looks like he was stuck here for good. Speaking of being stuck, what was Odalie doing back there? It has been a while since the zouwu heard anything… Trying to turn around, he tripped on a loose wire at his feet and caught himself in extremis, but his elbow hit the trailer, right on the nerve, making the old bendy metal resonates all the way into his bones. Milo gritted his teeth. No way she didn’t heard that.

There was a silence, and then he heard a call from inside.
« Milo ? » rubbing his aching joints, he answered between his teeth, trying to sound normal. « I’m struggling with my dress. Could you come in and help me, please ? » a new wave of color rose to his face. Of course the damned dress had to be stuck, he assumed somewhere between a dirty nail, some wood splinters and a needle full of HIV. Could this day get any worse? The young zouwu crossed his fingers hard that this was the last shenanigan of this adventure. The whole situation was weird enough already. Gently knocking on the trailer’s door, the only thing he could think of while turning the knob was please don’t be naked. Please don’t be naked. Please don’t be naked. When the door finally gave in he semi-closed his brown eyes in a squint, not wanting to violate her privacy in case she was indeed naked. The chaotic pile of fabric was a blur in his obstructed vision, but so was the color of her very exposed skin. He didn’t have any choice, he had to open them, but kept his gaze off of her the better he could. Milo felt the weight of her own eyes on him as she repeated with an innocent face: « I need help with my dress … ». He couldn’t help but think that this was just like the beginning of a bad porn video, but to take the thought out of his mind, he forced himself into remembering his grandma’s face. He might be bad at receiving signals and understanding most of romantic interactions, but he was not blind either. At least, the grandma trick worked, and he could bare to look at her without blushing too much. He helped her the best he could, trying to guess where all the folds were supposed to go, laced her back, and finally he saw she seemed to struggle with a necklace. « Let me help you with that », he said while untangling the small water bottle from the lace, keeping his hands well far from her chest and his eyes up. The silence began to feel uneasy, and the weirdness of the whole situation kept him from discerning accurately her emotions, so he casually tried to revive the conversation: « So… you’re a mermaid, huh? ». It certainly wasn’t very common to walk around with a water bottle around your neck, except if you were part of the sea people, of course. The thought of the possibility she had to manipulate him with her voice made him feel ill-at-ease, but he tried to brush it off. She wouldn’t, would she?

While she finished preparing herself, he grabbed his own costume, a silly-looking fancy coat and puffy pants that had fallen out of fashion at least 200 years ago. He was about to send her out, but he felt bad; if the trailer was freezing in itself, outside was way worse, and her dress didn’t look exactly warm. Swallowing, he cleared his throat and gently asked her to turn around, gesturing a circle motion with his free hand: « You mind? »

“Yes! A mermaid. The mermaidiest mermaid in all the mermaidy undersea.”
Milo gave a hint of a smile at her formulation. At least he had been right with that guess, and, not to fall in stereotypes, but all of her… character explained itself very well with that answer, at least to him.  He didn’t know many mermaids, but the ones he did know were proud creatures, very much conscious of their power and potential, and he could only imagine it was the same with this one. However, guessing what she wanted with him was a whole other story. She seemed to be amused by how uncomfortable she was making him, pushing his limits always further and further – truth be told, he really felt as if she was playing with him, a cat toying with its prey before burrowing its sharp teeth in the fragile flesh -, but he didn’t know what the catch was. Did she have something else in mind, or did she just enjoy seeing him all flustered and stuttering? He couldn’t help but feel as he was in the wrong, the inappropriate one lacing a dress on a half-naked girl, but she had been the one calling him for help in the trailer, hadn’t she? Confused and awkward, poor Milo had just half-asked for her to turn around, afraid she would be offended by the demand, while he struggled to change too. Shivering as his clothes fell on the ice-cold ground, he wasn’t even sure she wouldn’t look, trying his best to keep his intimacy by turning his back to her. Milo had never been especially self-conscious about his body, and he’d normally have no second thought to, for example, walking in a swim suit by a pool or at the beach, but now it was different : he felt watched, detailed, autopsied, no bit of his anatomy left unseen by the striking young woman. He felt small and insecure in comparison to her, proud, daring, slightly provocative. He thought he had found a nice conversation topic about their respective species, but evidently enough, she had other plans: “You know, Milo… I’m glad we’re in this together. As I have seen so far you are, by far, the cutest guy on this set”. The zouwu didn’t know if he would have had preferred the uneasy silence to another of her bold sentences. Struggling with the itchy, weird pants that made him want to scratch his skin off, he brushed off the compliment quickly before feeling even worse. His face felt sunburnt, radiating heat as he drowned in embarrassment. “Huh… I’m glad too. I mean… there isn’t much fierce competition outside, that must be why”. Milo didn’t really know if he was cute, or handsome, but it was not very difficult to outdo the weird crew on set. He thought about the small mustached man and wondered if he had someone waiting for him at home. He selfishly hoped not, before regretting the thought. If even that lumberjack dwarf could have someone special, that would make his own single life more than pathetic.

He hadn’t even finished to dress when she turned around, the beige ugly shirt they gave him still wide open on his chest, waiting to be buttoned, leaving his athletic silhouette well in her sight.  A smile bloomed on her cheeks as her piercing gaze ate him alive. Milo’s heart jumped in his chest like a caged bird, desperately clawing and stabbing its way out in his bones, in his lungs, in his flesh. She walked towards him, circling around him like a vulture, and he discreetly wiped his sweaty hands on the worn-out fabric of the costume. “But you’re not a “guy”-guy, are you, Milo?”. Following her dance with his eyes, his brows slightly frowned, he felt he couldn’t say a single word. “You knew about the water people, didn’t you? Are you… Supernatural?”. The last word was whispered in his ears, her delicate hand placed on his chest like it belonged there. There was no way she couldn’t feel the cardiac panic under his skin, which was incredibly warm regardless of the ambient cold. Not sure if he was afraid or aroused, he doubted for a moment that she was really a mermaid, and the idea of being trapped with a hunter ate its way in his mind. What if all of this had just been a set-up to kill him in the old trailer? A body wouldn’t really spoil the overall atmosphere of the interior, he thought ironically, but even humor couldn’t shake off the anxiety flowing in his veins. Fortunately, a loud knock on the metal door made him jump before he had to find a response to her weird game, shouting at them “lovebirds” to get out. When Odalie detached her hand from him and started to gather her clothes, he finally exhaled while realizing he had been holding his breath. His hands a bit shaky, he finished to button up his horrible suit-like piece, swearing silently that he’d never, ever would be stopping again on the side of the road to help some Hollywood-guy out. What the fuck was even all this? The movie thing was already so weird, so out of character for him, and now that? He was definitely not the kind of guy to do this. He was not even sure what the mermaid -if she even was one - wanted from him. It’s not… that he didn’t like it, he kind of did, but somehow it felt wrong, as if Sol’s shadow was still watching him from a distance, whispering that he was a horrible boyfriend. Odalie’s perfect voice made him get back to reality before she stepped outside. “Don’t worry, if you are, it would make you even cuter”. He decided not to answer. They would get back to that later or completely forget it, which felt like a better alternative. For now, he had bigger problems.

Everyone looked at them when they got out, as if they were waiting for them for too long, or that people had the wrong idea seeing them both in the trailer at the same time. The zouwu thought he heard a cameraman chuckle, and it didn’t take long before he understood the general vibe on the set; everyone was both amused and tense. They definitely thought they slept together in that dirty van. Sometimes, on days like this, Milo truly hated having empathy powers. He could just had done his part and left, and here he was, extremely flustered, stuck to deal with everyone’s wrong idea of him and a wild, shameless young woman he couldn’t escape from. He let the assistants guide him to the desired site and loosely place him and the mermaid, next to some tombstones. “You, girl, lay on the tomb just there. I want your boyfriend on top of you, and I want you to kiss, it shouldn’t be hard for you two am I right?”. Moustache addressed them a dirty smile and continued, twisting his outrageous facial hair between his sausage fingers. “You can show a bit of skin, the general idea is to have you there getting all hot with each other, and the vampire is going to find you and kill you”. Milo could have been dead already; if he was red before, he was now white as a sheet. “On top… of a tomb?”, he whispered in an exhausted and disgusted tone. How the hell these guys had a permit to film anything here? These weren’t props… these were actual dead people’s tombs. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this”.  He knew artsy people could be weird, but this was plain unacceptable. He looked at Odalie in panic, desperate for a little help... but maybe she was as crazy as them.

The voices of both the Hollywood guy and the feisty mermaid faded in an audio blur. Milo felt as if he had his head underwater, incapable of discerning anything from what was said, incapable of breathing, the air thick as liquid in his struggling lungs. He felt the pressure of all the hungry eyes pressing themselves on the cold iron bars, looking at them like a vulture would look at a sickly animal, amused by the scene and thirsty for dramatic pictures to post on social media. He felt the pressure of being the rock between the cogs, the only thing that stopped the movie from being filmed, the smell of lost money every second they passed standing on the frozen grass. He felt the pressure of the half dozen cameras riveted on them, spying their every movement with their yawning, ugly plastic mouths. He felt pressure. Pressure building up in his torso, in his throat, in his face, clenching his airways tight and pushing too much blood under his skin. The tungsten lights pointed at them seemed suddenly way brighter than before, their hotness almost unbearable even in the freezing winter air. Had the ground started to move? The zouwu felt as if he was about to throw-up, or faint, or both, and it took every fiber of will left in him to fight it. He just wanted to go home. To get in his pajamas and cuddle his big goofy dog on the couch, watch old Doctor Who episodes and open a huge ice cream tub that he’d eat all by himself before passing out of a sugar crash. But he didn’t faint, a strong grip closing on his arm and leading him away from the mustached pervert, the crowd, the cameras, and the tungsten lights. He didn’t faint; and as they were walking away, the brisk wind gnawed again on his face, and Odalie’s voice ranged in his ears loud and clear. “Come on, Milo. Let’s get out of here”. He couldn’t agree more but couldn’t utter a single word, confining himself to simply follow her raging gait on the crisp cemetery ground. They were going back to the old trailer.

“Ow”. The sound faintly escaped his lips as he realized how hard she had been pulling on his arm. She was incredibly strong, way stronger than she’d seem at first glance. The young zookeeper couldn’t help but think that anger really changed people, for the better or for the worst, and he was slightly afraid of what the mermaid would do next. He didn’t remember the last time he was really, properly angry himself. Anger wasn’t that much a zouwu’s cup of tea. He was used to be annoyed, or sad, or grumpy sometimes. But angry? Furious? He wasn’t so sure. Maybe that’s what they needed, in the end. Anger. The spark that would light the flame of any true revolution. Today, at least, if it didn’t overturn the world, it helped them get away. The mermaid slowed down a bit, as if she suddenly realized how fast she was going, and the good ol’ trailer stood a few steps in front of them, its bendy structure almost calling for them to get back inside. Milo never thought he would miss that creepy pile of rust, and yet here they were. They stopped for a few seconds, and he rubbed his arm gently where the mermaid had been squeezing. He was waiting for her to say something, but for the first time, she seemed to be at a loss for words. Only outrage emanated from her, fury and shock stealing her voice like fire silence whole forests. It took a few moments to let her cool down, and of the first ashes emerged a single sentence. “I’m not their fuckin toy”. The color had started to come back to Milo’s face, and he raised his cinnamon eyes to meet her gaze. This had been a hell of a day for both of them. If at first, he had been uncomfortable with her and her sugar-coated words, he was now feeling sorry for her. Sorry she had been stuck with him in this nightmare, sorry they didn’t pick someone else to play their sick games. Sorry he was such incapable of standing for his own skin and say something. Beneath his auburn locks and his clueless baby face, burned the glowing embers of disappointment. He made the error of wanting to help, and it only blew in their faces: he missed a day of work, got publicly humiliated, and almost fainted of embarrassment as he needed someone else to speak out for him. He let out an empathetic sigh at her words. “You’re right. It’s not your fault. We couldn’t have known”. He wanted to say that he was sorry he was such a pussy, that she had to dealt with these rapacious men alone, but he was too tired to add much more, and didn’t want to seem like any more of the half-man he was. He made a gesture towards the creaky door they had pushed some time before.  “I can’t wait to get out of these rags. I can guard the door if you want some privacy. I don’t think they will come after us, but we never know”. The last thing he wanted was some more whispers about lovebirds or some other bawdy jokes, and he wasn’t so sure if lumberjack in charge of the filming wouldn’t come running after them. They were after all the very last-minute replacement for their actors, and even if they weren’t paid or hadn’t signed any contract, he felt like the crew might not let them go that easily. A glance behind them confirmed what he thought; some of the men looked proper furious, gesticulating towards them, and for a moment, he feared one of them might even take some more serious manners of getting them back on set. “Go. I’ll deal with them if needed”.