Naked in Dangerous Places - Cash Peters [86]
“Jeez, he's going to throw them at us. Run.”
If it's not oranges, then it's fresh cake, or mint tea, or succulent dates, or a hundred other treats. So many choices that you don't know where to start. You're just sure it won't be with the oranges.
“HEY! WHAT DO YOU HAVE AGAINST MY ORANGES? SIR! SIR?”
Of course, such a dizzying blizzard of hyperactivity is irresistible to Kevin's restless cinematic eye. One look at the confusion, the ghostly corona of smoke circling the hurricane lamps that hang from stalls frying chilies and shrimp; the men with orange lampshades on their heads dispensing fresh water from an urn for pennies; the entertainers; the bums; the pickpockets; and he's inspired to shoot a time-lapse from the restaurant balcony, capturing the multitude, and, beyond them, a panoramic backdrop of finger-thin towers that skewer the clouds like kabobs. As the sun, a shimmering dollop of honey, slithers down behind them and twilight creeps stealthily into night, these towers, along with the entire horizon extending as far as the hills, magically fade to black against a hot curried sky.
The shot will take an hour to play out. Once it's set up, Kevin is free to relax, joining us for a delicious meal of roasted chicken, couscous, bastillas, and lamb.
The Moroccans, same as the Greeks, same as almost everyone else in the world, it seems, enjoy food cooked, basted, fried, tossed, bathed, or drizzled in oil, which again makes it hard to find anything I can eat. In the end I settle for a small salad and a chicken drumstick. Though that's only after I've fussily scraped the glistening marinade off it with the back of my knife, a move that draws a brief but obvious Crew Look.
Their mood tonight is noticeably downbeat, and in obvious diametric contrast to our frenzied surroundings. Off to one side, Mike sits alone with his phone, locked in another of his long-drawn-out negotiations with an airline booking agent, trying to wangle a favor. A less punishing route home maybe? Bulkhead seats? Better yet, an upgrade. But as smoothly seductive as his efforts are, for once they come to naught, and he hangs up, stymied and miserable.
“Dude, this is freakin’ nuts. It's the holidays. Everything's booked up. I don't know what else to do.”
The others fall into restless contemplation.
Tasha has zoned out, and remains quiet for the longest time before making a confession. “I can't do this any more,” she says solemnly, letting the words slip out unobtrusively between mouthfuls of couscous. “There's too much hassle.”
I know how she feels. Even the best of road warriors grows weary of battle sometimes.
“It'll be okay,” I reassure her. “Everybody's tired. We'll be home soon.”
“Sure. But… still…” Another mouthful of couscous.
Still?
I guess my disappointment is etched into my facial expression, because, having dropped this terrible bombshell, she immediately rushes to lessen its impact—“I'm sorry. I mean, don't get me wrong”—or at least to head off accusations of desertion. “I've had an amazing time making the series, I love everybody, and it's been great…”
“Okay.”
“… but I …” Her lips are smiling, her eyes are not. She can't hide anything. “I want my life back.”
Well, who doesn't?
Truthfully, Tasha has better reason than most to jump ship. Got engaged not long ago to an Emmy-winning TV editor and misses him like crazy; says so regularly, sometimes with tears in her eyes. There's also her upcoming wedding in Florida to plan. Hard to do on the road from Morocco or New Zealand or Alaska. So the writing was on the wall all along. As hard as it is to accept, one of our gang has reached breaking point and is about to dianaross our supremes.
Nothing personal, of course. I know that. She's not angry at me, or with anything I've done or said. It just feels that way.
My show, my crew, my friends, my fault if they leave.
She's right about one thing: this schedule, it's eating us alive. If we're not dog tired, we're annoyed and snapping at each other; if we're not annoyed we're in pain; if we're not in pain we're homesick; and