Page 10 of Between Takes
Shaun crossed his arms and widened his stance. He glared at me, his eyes promising retribution.
“They all know you’re an arse, but they also know you’re hurting. They make allowances and give you space. You snap at Brian, but he’s too nice to tell you to fuck off. So, consider me their human shield. Leave the fucking crew alone, Shaun, or I swear you won’t have to worry about a young runner slipping milk into your coffee.”
As threats went, it was lame, but if he was really concerned about ruining his movie-star image by shitting himself in front of the crew, I’d happily help that anxiety along.
“You work for me,” Shaun said, invading my personal space until our faces almost met. His breath reeked like a distillery.
Drunk. He’s fucking drunk on set.
I was sure he’d been sober when he arrived. Where had he gotten it? A problem I’d deal with at another time.
“Only for six months,” I reminded him, “and I have a very clear mandate for that time. You can’t fire me, so show me your worst! But if you so much as scowl at another runner, I promise you’ll wish you’d never met Sherry. I will make your life a living hell.”
We glared at each other, neither of us willing to break eye contact or back down.
If I were a less intelligent woman, I’d think that light in his eyes was appreciation. I knew better.
