Fuck. Lake. Effect.
These thin mittens are a cruel joke for this nighttime walk along the Chicago River. She had to fight for them, too. In order to have continuity, they aren't supposed to be dressed entirely for a Chicago winter evening. It's supposed to be the end of the cold season, when things begin to warm up. But it isn't. It is dead center of a Chicago winter and Sandra can't feel the tips of her fingers. I guess it could be worse, she reminds herself, watching Bill's bare, purple fingers as he gestures during their conversation.
He is funny. All of his expressions seem to include varying degrees of a boyish grin, even when he is irritated. He is handsome, but always appears to be just on the edge of an epic dad joke.
She hasn't laughed this much on set since...well, ever, really. She and Sylvester Stallone couldn't stop joking and pranking each other while filming Demolition Man, but it was more of a brotherly spat type of banter. Bill Pullman is just...funny. Her sides hurt all the time, and he matches her impromptu wit well.
She enjoys him. She enjoys working with him. She enjoys spending time off with him and the rest of the cast, too. She certainly does enjoy him, just, not quite as much, or in the same way that he enjoys her.
She can feel it. He isn't obvious but she can tell. His hand will rest on her arm a little too long, or he'll find a reason to pull her in for a hug where none exist. Ever the gentleman, though, he remains professional and respectful.
*Jack: You need a better coat.
Lucy: It's my dad's.
Jack: Ah, he's probably freezing.
Lucy: He passed away.
Jack: Sorry.
Lucy: It's not your fault. He passed away last year. I don't even remember my mom.
Jack: Well, what was he like?
Lucy: A lot like me. Dark hair, flat chest...
Bill snorts. It's not the most becoming sound, but it fits and is endearing. They don't have the fire of physical desire, but they definitely show the length of companionship. Of safety. Comfort. *They reach the plexiglass ground covered in manufactured snow, the place that thrusts their characters together physically for the first time, and, quite literally so: they're meant to slip on an icy sidewalk and fall into each other's arms in true rom-com style.
*He reaches for her hand, then pulls away, several times, expertly. It's the perfect set-up from this seasoned actor. Underneath Sandra's trench-style coat lie layers of padding in anticipation of a fall on the ice. They take a few steps. She is the one to slip first, with Bill grasping to steady her. Then he starts to fall, but somehow lands with his arms wrapped firmly around her hips and his face planted into her chest. Her character's laughter is as authentic as his character's developing affection.
When they return to their seats after the take, the assistant producer wraps a fuzzy blanket around them both while the set crew manufactures more snow. He turns to her, and his eyes grow still. His gaze covers her like the blanket and is so piercing she has to look away. When the notorious Chicago wind stirs up, wisps of her hair fly into her eyes and sink into her lip gloss. She wiggles in her seat, trying to peel wet yarn from her frozen fingertips to brush the hair away without smearing her makeup. Never breaking his eye contact, he reaches up, slowly pushing them out of the way for her, his cool touch lingering on her cheek.
"Thanks," she mutters with an embarrassed grin. "Wouldn't want to bother JoAnne with another touch up."
"Ah, you don't need it," he coos, "You're perfect."
She drops her eyes again, unsure how to respond.
He isn't brazen. He has never crossed a line, professional or otherwise, but he makes himself available just the same.
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning
Fanfiction"Come here," his voice is gentle again. She gives in, placing her small hand in his. Lifting the cloth, he sees her blood spill out from her palm. He inhales sharply through his teeth and presses the rag back down. They sit there like that for abo...
