A Place Beyond The Horizon

15. ANTS

Mara is striding across the floor of the expansive foyer, high heels clicking loudly on the polished stone. She's wearing a leather trench coat that flares open to reveal a short, figure-hugging white dress. Her hair is coiled up in a tight bun and her make-up is immaculate. People cross her path, but she's making a line directly for the reception desk. Aidan's just behind her, lock step with a burly Japanese guy, in a suit that doesn't quite fit. A Japanese man approaches, eyes fixed on her, and reaches behind his waist.

Aidan slips his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and feels the weight of the gun. He slides it out. Mara stops, raising a hand to Aidan without facing him. The stranger opens his fist to reveal a small black memory stick.

"You took your time," Mara snarls at him.

Hearing this, Aidan lowers the gun and begins to relax, but at that moment another man, stocky with a riot of blonde hair and square glasses, comes in from the side. He's waving his hands wildly and Aidan turns towards him, unsure.

"No, Hideo. Gotta be higher. It's a three-quarter shot. Your hand needs to come in from chest height. Okay? Okay, let's go again."

Mara turns, looking at Aidan now. She's smiling, arching an eyebrow as she passes him. Aidan slips the gun back into his pocket and follows behind, returning to the entranceway. Mara stops, fussing with her trenchcoat, getting the fall of the material just right. The burly Japanese man takes up his position at her other shoulder. Behind them, everyone is in motion again, the crowd retracing their steps back to first positions, the last thirty seconds running in reverse, like they're rewinding time.

"Going good," Mara murmurs, her eyes on the director as he organises the camera back to the start of its track.

"Is that a question?" Aidan rumbles under his breath.

"No, statement of fact. You're good at this."

Aidan grimaces, shifting his shoulders. He can feel the bullclips pinned to the back of his jacket, gathering the material more tightly around his torso.

"Not comfortable?"

Aidan shakes his head.

"Don't worry. The camera's only looking at the front. You look good from that angle."

Her eyes are twinkling with mischief. She's enjoying his predicament.

"Yeah," he grumbles, "It's just that when I woke up this morning, I didn't think I was going to be spending the day as a henchman."

Mara tuts at him, shaking her head.

"Ah, no. It's henchperson these days. It's equal opportunity, we're allowing female thugs."

"That just sounds awkward."

"What would you like to call yourself instead? Person of hench?" she grins, then her expression becomes sly, "Hired muscle?"

"Mara, I...."

He's interrupted by the director.

"Okay, places. Quiet. Let's go again."

---

Aidan hangs the suit back up on the rack, alongside a dozen identical suits. He feels better now, back in his t-shirt and jeans, running his hands through his hair, ruffling it back up. He uses a moist wipe, cleaning the make-up off his face, glad to be looking more like himself again. He doesn't know how Mara does it, turning into a different person each day, doing it for a living, the endless fussing with hair and wardrobe for an hour and then standing around for half a day, all to produce thirty seconds of film time. The sheer amount of effort involved is staggering. He hangs back, standing between the costume racks, grateful for the moment of quiet.