Free Scar Flowers by Maureen O'Donnell Page A

Karen?”
    Relief rose in Leah’s chest, but she suppressed it. Careful; stay with it.
    Karen’s face flushed. “I’m not sure it would work.”
    “ Let’s walk through it. Leah can show us what she means.”
    By the end of rehearsal, Victor and Simon found the choreography inspiring enough that Karen said she would do it.
    As she stepped out into the sunlight, Leah felt Simon’s voice between her shoulder blades: “Good work today, Nadia. Everyone making you feel at home? I hear you haven’t been showing up Friday nights at Fischer’s.” His hand grasped the strap of his backpack. Smooth hands and arms, marked with the finest white ghost lines of scars. He stood close, as close as Karen had stood to him earlier. Her knees had gone weak as water, but exhil-aration kept her strong. Sympathetic connection. She knew this state, knew how to guide both their reactions.
    “Everyone’s been very gracious.”
    “I hear that you’re with—” He cleared his throat and let the words trail off.
    Before Simon could continue, John the second-unit director appeared.
    “Simon!” John swirled his travel mug and sipped. “Say the word and I can get you a new fight choreographer. Someone with more experience. No offense, Nadia.”
    “I told you yesterday I choose my own team,” said Simon. “What’s such a problem that you couldn’t wait for me to get back to you?”
    “Her moves for the brawl scene yesterday were pedestrian, just standard TV-episode stuff: punch-block, punch-block. The film deserves better, and I thought—”
    “Do you have a specific example of substandard work?”
    “No . . . I filmed my choreography, not hers.”
    “I’ve seen Nadia do good work, and I expect you to work with her. Do we need to discuss this further?”
    John shook his head as he walked away.
    Simon turned to her. “Don’t worry about John. He’s gunning for a promotion.”
    She nodded. Success! A small one but definite. He had come to her defense.
    Simon called to the intern to make a note about Julia’s wardrobe, already intent on his next shot.
    “Where’d you learn that razorblade trick?” Karen appeared at Leah’s elbow.
    “ From studying fight choreography.”
    “Oh, yes. Of course.” Karen smiled and turned to follow Simon.
    Leah stayed a discreet distance behind. Simon and Karen went behind a hedge and descended the stairs toward the south parking lot, which allowed Leah to get close enough to hear their conversation.
    Karen said, “ But what about that razorblade bit she suggested? I knew I’d heard it before, from my friend who researched prostitutes for a role. It’s a streetwalker trick. Funny how she came up with it right off the top of her head like that—don’t you think?”

Chapter 7
     
    Friday, June 2, 6:00 a.m. Day 10 of shooting.
    Simon lay staring at the pattern on the drapes. It’s light; I’ve overslept. He felt for his cell phone and sat up against a bank of pillows. No phone in sight, no laptop. The bathroom door stood ajar, and the shower ran full blast.
    He was in a hotel room. His clothes lay heaped on the floor, and a pair of lace panties hung on the back of a chair. A telephone trilled nearby and the water stopped, followed by the sliding of the shower door. A woman hummed as drops of water fell.
    Last night . . . Something about a rehearsal and a dream he had had of a woman who towered above him, a bright projection of light, until he touched her skirt and she faded and darkened into human shape. In the dream, her hair was long and red, twisted into a braid. No, not red; blond.
    Karen.
    He sat up, pulled his jeans on. Last night after work he had been in his trailer, watching the dailies with the sound turned down, Karen’s face flickering on the screen. Blurred, pale skin and out-of-focus, poppy-red lips. His Julia. How had Karen and Nadia come to know her so well? To play the role, Karen had to use her own failings and idiosyncrasies. To choreograph it, Nadia had to have the