Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [31]
“I'll keep in touch,” Monty promised, as he let Brenna out at her cottage that evening. “Let me know if there's anything you need,” he said cheerfully. “And don't let Dominic work you too hard. He has the reputation of being something of a slave driver.”
In the weeks to come she was to look back with grim amusement at that warning from Walters. She soon discovered that she had as much chance of following that advice as to change the path of a hurricane. Jake Dominic trampled over obstacles as if they did not exist. In his ruthless drive for perfection, he spared neither himself, his crew, nor the cast. Brenna found herself on an exhausting merry-go-round from six in the morning till eight in the evening, and sometimes even later.
Then she would hurry home and spend a few precious moments with Randy, before settling down to work on her lines and blocking for the next day's shooting. If the pace had not been so killing, she would have enjoyed the filming itself. All the members of the cast and the crew had a friendly professionalism that made them a pleasure to work with. And if Dominic was demanding, he was also both stimulating and inspirational. There was no limit to the help and time he was willing to extend to get the results he wanted. Her admiration for his ingenuity and directorial genius grew with every passing day, as the pressure mounted and Dominic labored to bring the film in on schedule.
Because most of the scenes still to be completed were those that had to be reshot with Brenna replacing Tammy Silvers, Dominic's demands were focused almost exclusively on Brenna. When she arrived back at the cottage, she was too weary to do anything but go over her lines and then fall into bed in total exhaustion. She was often too tired to bother to eat, and, always slim and fragile looking, her appearance soon became positively ethereal.
It was this fact that caused Dominic's tightly leashed temper to explode one morning with all the accompanying fireworks, just two days before production was due to be completed.
They had barely begun shooting that morning when he called a strident “cut.” He strode angrily toward Brenna, his face darkening ominously. “Wardrobe!” he bellowed furiously. “Dammit, get me someone from wardrobe! What the hell are they trying to do to me?”
Brenna stared at him in confusion as he took her by the shoulders and spun her around swiftly, cursing steadily beneath his breath. “My God! They've made you into a damn caricature!”
Sandra Stafford, the dark, plump wardrobe mistress, scurried hurriedly onto the set, her eyes anxiously fixed on Dominic's angry face. “Mrs. Stafford,” Dominic said sarcastically, “perhaps you weren't aware that Miss Sloan is not supposed to be a holocaust survivor from a concentration camp, but a cosseted daughter of an affluent family.” His hand tugged angrily at a loose fold of material. “In short, Mrs. Stafford, her gowns are supposed to fit!”
The wardrobe mistress stared in horror at Brenna's green gown. Though Dominic's condemnation had been exaggerated, the gown was undoubtedly ill-fitting and cumbersome looking.
She cast a frightened look at Dominic's forbidding countenance and said nervously, “I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Dominic. We'll correct it right away.”
“In the interim the entire cast and crew sit around cooling their heels,” he said caustically.
A flush of anger tinted Sandra Stafford's cheeks pink, as she answered defensively. “I said I was sorry, Mr. Dominic, but it's not really wardrobe's fault. That gown was a perfect fit when we made the final alterations four days ago. Miss Sloan must have lost weight.”
“She's right, Jake,” Brenna put in quickly. “The dress did fit on Tuesday.”
Dominic's displeasure was immediately directed toward Brenna. Turning his back on the relieved wardrobe mistress, his dark eyes went over Brenna critically. “For God's sake, Brenna, you must have lost ten pounds in the last three weeks,” he said explosively,