Page 34 of Hollywood Crush

Cameras were readied and the camera assistant ran into shot with a clapperboard. “When I callAction, I want you to run forward toward the camera. Do you understand?”

I nodded. It wasn’t like I hadn’trunon sets before. It was just swords, moving vehicles and explosions I didn’t particularly like getting involved with. They were for the experts to deal with.

“Action!” Roland called out, and several things happened very quickly.

On my first step, I noticed Roland was still holding the explosives remote firmly in one hand. Before I could stop, on my second step, I noticed the heavy anchor chain of the parked boat running along the sand. My foot connected with the chain, I heard a sickeningcrackas I started to tilt forward.

The last thing I saw before my face hit the sand was Roland’s stubby little fingers pressing the button. And then everything went black.

???

There was a horrible ringing in my ears that just wouldn’t go away. I vaguely swatted at the air in front of me to get rid of it, whatever it was. Opening my eyes felt painful so I kept them shut. But thatbloody ringingjust wouldn’t go away. I felt around me. Cold sand, but then - a warm leg, a hand stroking my head.

“Tudor, is that you?” I asked. The hand stroking my forehead and moving damp hairs back feltstrong and assured. I tried pushing myself up but a burst of pain in my ankle stopped me from making any kind of significant movement. “Hurts,” I muttered. Another hand, a softer one, took my hand and squeezed it gently.

I tried once again to open my eyes, just so I knew what was going on. I managed to, and everything seemed so bright. But it all seemed to dim a little again when I realised it wasn’t Tudor stroking my hair, but Patrick. And there was a gaggle of press and photographers taking pictures.

“It’s OK, we’ve got you,” said Patrick. “Ambulance on it’s way.”

“Ambulance?” I asked. He still wasn’t completely in focus, just a shock of red hair and freckles and blue eyes. I could see why anyone would be honoured to be seen on his arm. “Look, Patrick, I have something to tell you…”

“Do you really think this is the right time?” Another voice, not Patrick’s. Stacey, close by. Another squeeze of my hand. Things were coming more in to focus now, and I looked at where she sat on my other side. “Two secs.”

“Right, if you can all piss off now!” she said to the assembled photographers and journalists. “As you can see, Mr Ellison is in no position to make a statement. If you could all head towards the tent, a very spiky-haired lesbian is ready to take any and all questions you have. Go on, scramble. She has some great juicy gossip on exactly how the set forthis show is being run.”

The assembled mass all moved off in the direction of the white tents in the distance and leaving me, Patrick and Stacey alone. “How are you feeling?” asked Patrick.

“Fine I don’t know what-” I tried to move away from him and was assaulted instantly with pain to my head and ankle, my head a low throbbing ache and my ankle stabbing pains. “Fuck, ow.”

And then it came back to me. The stuntmen. The running. Roland’s greedy little eyes as he pressed an explosive button he really should not have pressed.

I moved my head slowly from Patrick’s lap to look down at my feet. One was twisted at a ninety degree angle to the other and lay limp on the sand. Though my foot was still covered in a slipper, the ankle was deep purple and swollen.

“Oh God, gross.” I couldn’t help but keep looking at it even as it made me want to be sick.

“Yes, quite.” Patrick’s voice sounded faint.

“Ah, wusses. It’s just a scratch,” Stacey joked. I laughed weakly with her. If I didn’t try to move it, the pain lowered to a dull throb. So I laid as still as possible.

After I didn’t know how long, the sound of sirens permeated the air, and Stacey waved some people over.

A friendly face entered my vision. A handsome paramedic leaning over me with a gentle smile. “Hi, Mr Ellison. We’re here now. Everything is going tobe OK.”

“With a face like that, I don’t know how it won’t be,” Stacey replied, and I chuckled again.

“We can’t get the ambulance down to the beach at the moment so we’re going to have to move you. I’ve got some painkillers on hand here and we’ll be as gentle as we can. Is that OK?”

“Yeah, sure, anything.” I waved a hand and then looked at Stacey. “Has anyone told Tudor?”

“Hotel guy?” Patrick interjected before she could reply.

“Yes, that one.”

“Why?” he asked. “Actually, not important right now. Once the paramedics have you loaded up on the stretcher I’ll run up and tell him what’s going on.”

“He might have your guts for garters,” I replied. “Not sure you’re the best person to talk to him.”

“Oh.” I still didn’t want to crane my head to see Patrick’s face more clearly, but the sound of realisation was enough to know the penny had dropped for him.

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