Silver Screens, Silver Bells

*Hey, it's Eve. Sorry for being intrusive, but I got your number from Jason. If you're up for it, I'd like to thank you with a drink at the bar. It's the only one in town. And it's all done up like Santa's workshop. Can't miss it.*

She ended the message with a few Christmas elf emojis, which got a slight laugh out of me despite my predicament.

Shit. I didn't really want to go out but I also didn't want to just waste away in that Christmas-themed room. And I also didn't want to disappoint Eve.

*On my way*

I rose and got dressed, and chided myself for my poor packing choices. I'd brought warm clothes for the winter, gym clothes in case I had time to work out, with nothing really suitable for a drink with a woman like Eve. The warmest shirt I had was a ridiculous red hoodie covered in Star Wars characters wearing Christmas hats. It hadn't seemed right to shoot a holiday movie withoutsomething Christmas-themed in the wardrobe, and it was the only holiday attire I owned.

It was perhaps the absolute worst thing to wear when going to visit a woman I was starting to get a crush on, but given the cold I didn't have much choice. After changing and then donning my heavy coat, I made my way out into the brisk mountain air, and walked up the main street, hustling past the Christmas tree where I'd been fired, and then to the bar.

As Eve had said, it was decorated like Santa's workshop on the outside, with hand-painted elves on the exterior walls, wrapped presents piled beside the door, and handmade wooden toys all set up like they were part of an assembly line. Admittedly cute, but a bit over the top.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside, and murmured with relief at how warm it was inside. Given how small and sleepy the town was, I'd expected only Eve and a few locals to be there. Instead, I was shocked to see Chris, Ernest, Jason, and a dozen other members of the cast and crew.

Eve was seated at the end of the bar, a bashful look on her face as I entered.

Chris whooped and raised his half-empty beer glass, and Eve scurried from the bar over to the door, taking my coat.

"Sorry, sorry," she muttered. "They showed up a few minutes after I texted you. This wasn't intended to be some sort of surprise party or anything."

"Of course not," I said with a snort, nervously eyeing the others. "What would the party even be about?"

"Your agent didn't talk to you?"

"I was dodging her calls and texts. Avoiding it until morning."

Eve cracked a grin and tucked my coat onto the rack, then took me by the arm and guided me over to the bar. Chris whooped again and downed the rest of his beer, and I gave him and the others a baffled stare.

"She doesn't know," Eve said with a soft laugh at the others, before looking back to me. "Drew got fired."

"What?" I asked, eyes widening.

"Yeah. Directors on these things are pretty replaceable, given how straightforward the shoots are supposed to be. Ernest threatened to walk and it sort of inspired the rest of us. Chris and I followed suit, and then so did Jason and a lot of the other cast. That spooked the producers: you can replace a single actor or you can replace a director, but you can't replace the leads. Not on a shoot as short and chaotic as this one. Everyone's been sick of Drew since before the shoot began, and today was the last straw."

I looked over at the old man, my heart warming at the thought of him sticking his neck out for a stranger like that. It took considerable effort not to break into tears, but no effort at all to cross the room and give him a quick, warm embrace.

God, what a rollercoaster of a day. From giddy butterflies at the thought of working with Eve to the breakdown on set and my firing, and then getting right back into the saddle.

"Ernest, you didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did," he said with a wry grin as he took a sip of his water. "You stuck up for Eve, so I stuck up for you." He nodded over at Jason. "Jason here is taking over from here." He wagged a wrinkled finger at the young man. "And he'd better treat our cast and crew with more respect than that little shit Drew."

The others laughed, and Jason gave a respectful little bow of his head.

"Damned right I will. I don't want this old cowboy coming for me."

"Drink?" Eve asked, sliding the menu my way.

Of course, everything on the menu was Christmas-themed, so I picked a fruity cocktail called 'Mrs. Clause's Secret Sauce.'

"My treat," Eve said, sliding her card towards the bartender. "And whatever else you get tonight. Least I can do." She frowned, stared down at the bar. "Should have said something when Drew laid into you. You backed me up, and I didn't return the favor."

"It's fine, it's fine. I shouldn't expect you to risk a job for a stranger."

"You risked yours."

"Just kind of happened. Blurted it out. Wasn't really thinking straight."

"Well," Eve smiled as the bartender arrived with our drinks, each of them adorned with candy-cane straws, with the glasses adorned with tinsel. "I'm glad you weren't thinking straight. Worked out for everyone."

She rested a hand upon mine.

"And thanks. And sorry, again. For screwing up. If I'd kept my focus..."

"It happens. You just need a director who knows how to work around the mistakes. But I meant what I said before, if you needed anything from me. Adjustments, changes to the line reads, run-throughs without the cameras."

"Run-throughs without the cameras, yeah. That helps." She toyed with the candy-cane straw. "Fuck, that cut deep, though."

"His comment about the Dawn-Chant adaptation, you mean?"

"Yeah. It's cool, though. We don't have to talk about it. Got a good mood going."

"If you want...maybe if it gets something off your chest, it could make the next day of shooting easier."

She took a sip of her cocktail and tucked an errant dark curl behind her ear, but she'd missed a few. Guided by the same instincts that had made me stand up for earlier that day, I reached out and tucked the curls she'd missed alongside the other ones.

Tension seemed to flee from her shoulders at that, and she took a longer sip.

"The Dawn-Chant shoot was rough. We were in the middle of nowhere in Poland for months and months, and it was really difficult shooting scenes with stand-ins for CGI characters and monsters, and I had to lose a bit of weight for the part so I was cranky and exhausted from the workouts and dieting. And then there was the pressure of being part of a franchise I loved so much. And to make things even worse, the woman I was seeing dumped me because of the stress of trying to maintain a long distance relationship. So everything just sort of came crumbling down and I had a big breakdown on set.

"Thankfully we got it sorted the next day and finished filming the season, but then of course the studio turned out to have botched the distribution rights, so the whole production got shuttered about six months from release. And Drew's comment about it just cut so deep, you know? I think that's why I didn't say anything. Was just...stunned that somebody would go that low."

"Sorry you had to deal with that, and sorry for Drew's bullshit."

"But now that Drew is gone and now that I've got that off my chest, maybe tomorrow will be easier."

She rotated her stool a little, then raised an eyebrow, and pointed to my shirt.

"But more importantly: are we going to talk about this?"

Laughing, I looked down at the ridiculous sweater.

"What's wrong with it? I thought you liked elves. That's what this guy is, right?" I pointed my finger at Yoda, complete with a festive hat upon his green head and a candy cane in his gnarled little claw.

"I'm not doing this again. You were driving me nuts when you kept calling Teyvessa one of Santa's little helpers, I will not stand for you calling Yoda an elf, too."

"So what is he, then? A goblin? A ghoul? A little orc or something?"

Of course, I knew full well who Yoda was; I'd seen the original Star Wars trilogy about a hundred times growing up. It was just fun to be a little brat about it.

"He's a...well, it's complicated. Depends on which version of the canon we're talking about. He..." Her words trailed off and she gave me a lopsided grin, then jabbed an accusatory finger against my shoulder. "You're having a laugh, aren't you? Just teasing me."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just curious about who this little goblin guy from Star Trek is."

"Star Trek? I swear, I'll need something stronger than Mrs. Clause's Secret Sauce if I'm gonna be putting up with this shit," she laughed, then waved down the bartender. "Shots?"

"Hell yeah," Chris said, thumping his palm against the bar.

"I'm only paying for Ariane, not you. Not getting paid enough on this shoot to keep up with your drinking habits."

Chris brushed off the joke and paid for the next round. Once everyone got their drinks he raised his shot glass high.

"Hey, hey, hey! To Ariane, for getting that asshole fired!"

"No, no," I said, shaking my head and raising my glass. "To Ernest. He did all the work."

The old man grinned and took a sip of his water as we all downed our shots, then I looked back to Eve.

"So how'd you get into all this?" I asked, shivering at the lingering fire from that shot of whiskey. Most actors I knew had an amusing or poignant story as to how they'd gotten their start. But instead of going into an emotional tale about the powerful impact of some play or movie she'd seen, Eve instead slumped her head against the bar.

"God, I hate this question."

"You must get it a lot, though. In this industry everybody always wants to know how people got their foot in the door."

She raised her head and gave me an exasperated look.

"I'll tell you. But if you laugh, I'm not buying you another damned drink."

"A giggle? A chuckle? A smirk? Are those okay?"

"Smirks are acceptable. But a laugh, a chuckle, a giggle? No way, Ariane. Do that, and you're cut off."

"Deal. Tell me the story, then."

I slurped down the last of my cocktail and ordered another, wanting to get another free drink in case I burst into laughter at her story.

"So when I was eighteen, back home on break from college, I needed cash to get through the summer. And the local government was putting together a road safety commercial, with reminders about hazards and driving laws, and things like that." She raised a finger. "Now remember what I said."

Giddy with anticipation, I nodded, and she continued.

"And as part of this commercial, they wanted to show the dangers of kangaroos, and how they can cross roads seemingly at random, putting themselves and drivers at risk. But they didn't want to wrangle an actual kangaroo for the footage..."

My eyes widened, sensing where this was going.

"Desperate for cash, I signed on to dress in a kangaroo costume and hop across the road for this safety commercial. And the costume was just wretched: tattered and ratty and way too big for me. And to make things worse, they added in some sound effects. Little 'boing boing' noises as I hopped across the road."

My jaw clenched, my neck straining with the effort of holding back a snort of amusement.

"As if that wasn't bad enough, they wanted to make it dramatic, and have the car actually hit the kangaroo. Of course, they weren't gonna actually do that, so they did an absolutely horrid visual effects job, took a single frame of me in the kangaroo suit, and used that frame to simulate the kangaroo getting hit and spinning through the air."

I was so, so glad that I was just hearing the story rather than seeing the actual video, because there was no way in hell I'd have been able to hold my laughter in. Clamping a hand over my mouth, I let out a faint snort, then took a deep breath.

"Okay," I said, smirking but holding back my laughter. "That may be the most Australian thing I've ever heard. But uh, that's a hell of a way to get into acting."

"Impressive work holding that laughter back," she said, giving me a clap on the shoulder. "Anyway, turns out the cameraman felt bad for me for how ridiculous that was, and pulled some strings to get me into a commercial for a local restaurant chain, which in turn led to bigger things. Wasn't long before I dropped out of college, went to acting school, and here I am: in rural New York, drinking Santa-themed cocktails, with a woman wearing the sexiest sweater I've ever seen."

I took another deep breath, and did everything I could not to imagine a customed Eve hopping across a busy Australian highway.

"How about your start?" she asked, thankfully giving me a distraction to fend off my amusement.

"I told you about myMacbeth obsession already. That got me started with the theater clubs in middle school and high school, but things really shifted after I played one of the witches in a community theater production during my senior year. And then I wanted to make a career of it. So not quite as amusing a story as yours."

"No, but now you've got me thinking about an all-kangaroo production ofMacbeth."

I laughed so hard I nearly spit up my drink, and snatched up a napkin to wipe up the few drops that had escaped my lips.

We spent the next few hours at the bar, sipping fruity drinks, swapping horror stories about asshole directors and co-stars, sharing tips for upcoming scenes, and griping about the confusing production process for the current project. Our topics danced back and forth between professional and personal ones; she shared a few stories about her life growing up in the Australian outback, and her summer spent as a lifeguard on the coast. I told her all about the antics I got up to with my friends to amuse ourselves in suburban New Jersey, and the countless nights where we'd catch a train to Manhattan and wander the streets, desperately trying to find tickets to Broadway shows or movie premieres.

"Now, in all this conversation," I said when the bartender announced that he was about to close up. "You still haven't told me how you ended up obsessed with the Dawn-Chant Saga."

"I was a kid, still coming to terms with the fact that I liked girls and not really fully understanding that. And so I was trying to look for role models or representation or anything, really, and I found out that the author of the Dawn-Chant Saga was a lesbian. So I dove into the books. I was disappointed that the books themselves didn't really feature much romance, let alone romance between women, but I still got hooked."

"Huh. Here I was hoping for another ridiculously Australian explanation. Like a koala bear dropping a copy of the book on your head while you were out for a hike."

"Damn, yeah. Should have gone for that story instead." She closed her tab and we waved farewell to the others as they headed for the door. "You all right if we stop by the Christmas tree real quick? Now that I'm relaxed and a bit tipsy, might be a good chance to run through those lines without that dickhead getting in our way."

"Sure," I said. Though I loathed the thought of being out in the cold again, it might give me an excuse to lean in close to her for warmth. Clichéd, of course, but it could work.

We stepped out into the night, shivering at the cold but I nonetheless enjoyed the glow from the Christmas lights sprawling across the sleepy little town. It really did look like the perfect setting for the movie, but I wondered how much was decoration for the production and how much of it was genuine décor from the locals.

As the other tipsy actors and crew wandered back to their lodgings, we headed for the Christmas tree at the center of town. Once there, we ran through the lines, with me messing up a few times on account of my tipsiness and the shivers from the cold, but Eve nailed all of hers.

"Okay, yeah. Better. Especially without Drew around."

I paused, looked around her at the empty, idyllic, glittering holiday streets. Candy cane lampposts, wreaths on every door, wooden reindeer adorning the roofs, quaint little shops.

"God damn it," I muttered.

"What's wrong?"

"I just realized. We're in one. We're in one of those silly TV holiday movies."

I turned back to grin at her, and tucked the hood of my parka a bit more tightly around my face to ward off the cold.

"Oh no," she said, leaning her head back and groaning. "You're right. I could see this as some sort of meta-commentary on the genre. Two actors playing rivals, who end up pining for each other on set. And they have to juggle the demands of the job, and trying to keep their emotions compartmentalized so their burgeoning feelings don't compromise the movie..."

"And then they start messing up their lines and telling each other how much they like each other, when the script is supposed to have them at each other's throats. And the Christmas magic permeates everything, and warms the hearts of both the characters they play and the actors..."

"Very meta. Maybe a bit too high-concept for a studio like the one producing this movie, though." Eve bit her lower lip and looked up at me. There was a sudden need in her eyes that nearly forced me back a step. "I mean, this is not really like one of those movies, though, is it? Because there's some stuff they just won't show."

"Oh? What do you mean?" I muttered, my heart pounding as my gaze darted back and forth between her lips and her eyes.

I knew what she was talking about, of course, but I wanted her to show me.

And by God, she did.

Her gloved hand reached out and gently cupped the back of my neck, and she pulled me down. Warmth exploded between us as our lips met, banishing the frigid mountain air. I murmured in approval at the taste of her, and then again as her tongue teased mine. God, she tasted just like that delicious fruity cocktail, with a hint of whiskey from the shots we'd taken. Both of my hands settled upon her hips, pulling her closer as we gently explored one another. Of course, the thick coats didn't really allow me to caress her curves all that much, but I was perfectly content to just relax against her, flitting my tongue against hers.

"Yeah," I murmured against her mouth. "They never show stuff like that. If there ever is a kiss in one of these movies, they're always chaste."

"Plenty of other stuff they don't show, either," she said, her dark eyes staring at my lips, not drifting up to meet my gaze.

I swallowed.

"I, uh, I'm kind of a mess. Hair is all frizzy, makeup is still a mess from all the crying I did, and I'm still wearing this stupid Star Wars sweater..."

"Well that stupid Star Wars sweater is very much part of the appeal, so I don't know what you're going on about," she said, her soft laugh echoing across the snowy town square. "But I don't care. You can always freshen up or shower at my condo first." She grinned and stepped back. "Or if you just want to take it slow, all fine by me."

Damn. Was I really doing this? I'd only slept with a co-star once before, and it had been a while since I'd hooked up with someone so quickly. But the energy between us, the flickering warmth...

Not the Christmas magic, though. Definitely not that.

"Okay," I muttered, then kissed her again.

We walked hand in hand through the town, to a row of condos tucked behind a small park a few blocks from the main street. As I stood behind her and waited for her to unlock the door to her rented condo, I realized that I didn't want to wait to clean up properly.

That would take too damned long.

The moment she opened the door, I lunged, gently pushing her inside. Laughing, she stumbled a bit, and I slammed the door shut behind me, and tore off my thick, burdensome parka. Eve removed her own coat as well, and when she looked at my stupid Star Wars Christmas sweater, she gave a coo of approval.

"Oh yeah. So sexy."