Quiet on Set – Part 2: Wrap

She directed him through take after take. Stand. Turn. Kneel. Hold. She watched through her rectangle of fingers, corrected the slightest tilt of his head with a murmured again, and began the scene once more. She had him say a single line a dozen times, a plain sentence of obedience she had written herself, until every inflection was exactly right. She sat beside him on the chaise and told him in the cool, level voice of a woman who had never once been disobeyed on a set precisely what she wanted from his face, his shoulders, his breath. She put one finger under his chin and tilted it to the light.

It was strict, theatrical and deeply absorbing, and the empty set rang with her voice.

Every half hour: "Do you wish to continue, Mr Hart?" "Yes, Director." "Say it clearly." "I do. Thank you."

"Do not thank the Director. Take it again."

By three, the line came out perfect. She watched him say it, once, and did not interrupt. A long silence followed. The work light hummed. The whole warehouse seemed to hold its breath.

"Print," said Leonora, very softly.

She set down the megaphone. The coat came off and was thrown over the back of the chair. She stood, walked across the set in her stockinged feet and sat on the chaise beside him, close, with her shoulder against his.

"Cut," she said. "That's the word. Cut."

It was the safe word, and also the end of the scene, and he understood that she had chosen both on purpose. His chest unlocked. A breath he had been holding for years came out of him in a long shaking sigh.

"How are you?"

"Printed," said Ben, laughing and wiping his eyes. "A perfect take."

"Perfect." She put an arm round him. "You were extraordinary."

"Will there be a second day of shooting?"

"The schedule is very tight." She smiled at the painted fireplace. "I have a great many notes."

"I'll take every one, Director."

"I know you will," said Leonora, and she kissed his forehead under the stars of the studio lamps.

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