Page 19 of When We Were Enemies
“That’s fine. As long as we can stay on schedule. Conrad, change the names on the release.”
“Will do.” The young assistant rushes through the cluster of crew members and out of the office while Mac leans against the desk, checking his watch.
“So, this Father Patrick—will he be available to shoot today? We had the first meeting on the schedule I sent over that you and your bishop approved.”
“Yes, yes. He was out on a call, but I think I saw him come in. You have to understand—our first priority is our parishioners. I want that to be very clear.” He holds up a warning finger, swollen and spotted with age.
“We completely respect that, and I promise to be careful with your time and Father Patrick’s time.” Mac nods, answering like he really understands, but I can see he’s insincere. Once he realized Father Ignatius wouldn’t appear on camera, he stopped really listening to him.
Mac glances at his watch again and calls me over and points to one of the chairs across from the desk. I wish they’d remove the empty chair where Hunter should be sitting.
“Sit on down, and we’ll check lighting. Do me a favor and look over at Ben. Thanks, darling.” He flips a chunk of my hair over my shoulder and then takes a look into the screens on the cameras to my left that will catch my profile.
“Ben, pull the desk this way a little.” The desk is relocated with a screech.
Father Ignatius intervenes. “Wait a moment. Please don’t move things. I didn’t say anything could be changed in the room. I didn’t give permission for that.”
“Sorry, the lighting is better this way. We can put it all back after. I promise we won’t disturb anything permanently,” Ben explains in his slight New York accent.
“I ... I ...,” the elderly priest stutters, growing more overwhelmed. “I don’t know about that ...”
Mac straightens up, running fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair.
“Well, ifyoudon’t, then could we speak to Father Patrick? Perhaps you could locate him for me?” The tension in the room is growing by the second, and I wonder if we’ll get out of here without a godly lightning bolt of retribution striking one or more of us dead.
“How can I help?” a voice from the back of the room chimes in. I don’t have to turn around to know who’s speaking. It’s the man from before. The production assistant or whatever.
“Oh, thank the Lord,” I hear Ben mutter as he adjusts a light behind me. I try to take a quick glance over my shoulder.
“In the camera, please,” Mac corrects and then whispers over my shoulder to one of the crew. “The other priest is here. Get him miked and lit fast, and let’s get moving.”
After a momentary scuffle, I can hear the priest’s footsteps crossing the floor. I sit up a little straighter. He crosses my line of vision, but I don’t get a good look with everyone flocking around him.
“What do you think? Does he need any powder? Do I need to call Lisa?” a production assistant asks Mac.
I peek at the priest. I expected a slightly oily middle-aged clergyman. Instead, I lock eyes with the azure gaze I became acquainted with in the nave.
“Hey! It’s you,” I blurt out.
Production assistant Ben gives me a look that I translate as “Shut up; we’re running behind.” The friendly man sitting across from me, wearing a priest’s collar, raises an eyebrow in my direction but doesn’t say a word.
Damn it.He’s the priest.I smile with tight lips. I told this priest I think cathedrals are pissing contests. And I swore. Right in front of him—I swore.
But I don’t get far in my regret spiral before Mac settles into his chair. It’s positioned off to the side with a fourth camera filming his reactions.
With the crew in place, Mac turns to me and with his camera voice makes the introduction official.
“Elise, this is Father Patrick Kelly. Father Patrick, Elise Branson. The bride.”
“Nice to meet you,” he says from behind the desk.
“You too,” I say, pretending we’ve never met.
The assistant director steps forward with a black-and-white slate with digital numbers across the top and other information written on it in grease pencil. He holds it in front of Father Patrick’s face, waiting for confirmation from the cameramen, and then calls out:
“Vivian Snow: Bombshell, Father Patrick, Take One.”
And we begin.
