The Ex Factor Read Free Page B

again. And I’ve got to spend the next six weeks working one-to-one with this guy.
    Am
I going to be okay on set? Am I really?

2.
    ‘Ohmigod! Look at all the lights! Wow! Is that the catering truck? There are so many people! I wonder what they all do? Ooh, there’s one of those fancy motorhomes. D’you reckon Mitchell Pyke’s in there?’
    My head is spinning and it’s not from lack of sleep. Or the three espressos I’ve had to try to cancel out the lack of sleep. It’s not even because
that
name has come up again for what feels like the hundredth time today. Although the mention of Mitchell Pyke may have something to do with the way my heart is thumping like a kick drum in my chest. (Then again, that could be the caffeine, too.)
    No, my poor brain is reeling because the woman squirming like a sugared-up toddler as we pull up to the
Solitaire
set has not stopped talking since she heaved her corpulent frame into the passenger seat of my van an hour ago. She literally hasn’t paused for a moment, not even to draw breath. It’s really a wonder she’s still alive.
    ‘Where do you think the dogs go? Do you need to, like, check in with someone? Are there other animals in this movie? Oh, I hope there are no rabbits. Or reptiles. Zulu just goes
crazy
at the sight of scaly skin.’
    It’s Martha McGuire’s first visit to a movie set, and she’s really, really excited about it. She thinks she’s keeping a lid on her glee. She’s not.
    ‘Oh, my giddy aunt! Look at the size of that camera!’
    I arrange my face into a tight smile. ‘Sorry, Martha, could I just have a little bit of quiet for a sec? These places are like mazes and I need to concentrate on where we’re headed.’
    Martha mimes a lip-locking movement and drops the imaginary key in her shirt pocket. I wish I could grab it and stuff it in an imaginary landfill, never to be seen again. It’s not that I want to rain on Martha’s parade; I understand her elation. I know it’s not every day that a fifty-five-year-old dog breeder gets to rub shoulders with A-listers like Mitchell Pyke. And I remember how thrilled I was when I turned up to a film set for the first time six years ago. Even now, with a dozen feature films and more than a hundred TV shows and commercials under my belt, I still feel a little buzz every time I’m booked to train or supervise the canine cast members on a new project. There’s just something eternally alluring about ‘the business’, even though I know the reality is often about as far from glamorous as it’s possible to get, especially for the weirdo whose job is to hang out with dogs all day.
    So I know where Martha’s coming from, and she’s a perfectly nice – if slightly hysterical – lady. My problem is that Martha is here at all. When it comes to my work, I definitely prefer to be a solo act. Behind the scenes of a movie is a unique type of semi-organised chaos. It’s a demanding work environment for anyone, let alone someone who also has a gaggle of excitable dogs to wrangle. Some people find it hard to get their pet dog to sit on command – try persuading a hyperactive hundred-kilogram English Mastiff to drool on cue thirty-six times in a row while fifty cast and crew members look on. The fewer distractions I have to contend with, the better. And something tells me Martha’s going to be a
big
distraction.
    Slowly, I inch the van through the crowds of people and narrow alleyways that crisscross the set. In Hollywood movies, film sets always seem to be neat and ordered, with ample parking and helpful security guards ready to give out useful directions. In Sydney, at least in my experience, not so much. If the movie’s being shot at the city’s main production facility, Fox Studios, it’s just a ramshackle collection of warehouses with about three parking spaces for a cast and crew numbering in the hundreds.
    But if the movie is shooting on location, like this one, the set is inevitably even more haphazard.