Ronan got to the NBS building early, well ahead of when he needed to be. The reason was simple: he had a new car, and a new car begs to be driven. His first one, at that. He’d taken the long way over for no reason but the feel of the wheel under his hands.
By the time he found the right office, Henry and Jenny were already inside, seated, heads bent together over something.
But the one who caught him was the third person in the room. She sat with her arms folded and her legs crossed, composed as a noblewoman holding court.
Ronan’s chest went tight.
’Dear lord. That’s Jane Kingsley, in the flesh.’
Even at rest she pulled the whole room toward her: that soft, old-fashioned beauty the camera had already carried around the world, the kind of face and figure that put a hitch in any man’s step.
He eased the door shut behind him and came in with careful steps.
Henry and Jenny were so deep in whatever they were working through that neither of them clocked him coming in.
Jane did, though. Right away.
Her eyes went over him, the casual clothes, the way he’d just wandered in, and she pegged him at once for one of the staff. "There you are. Be a dear and refill this for me, would you?" She lifted the mug an inch off her knee. "I’ve gone and finished the whole thing without even noticing."
Ronan only stared. That Jane Kingsley, a fellow actor, would take him for the help and send him off for coffee.
"...You want me to refill it? The coffee?" He pointed at himself.
Jane made a small show of turning her head, taking in the empty air on either side of him, then came back to his face. "I’m fairly sure you’re the only one I could be talking to. Unless you’d rather I put the question to the wall behind you. And I don’t make a habit of talking to walls."
’Is this really how the big stars carry themselves?’ Ronan thought. ’That kind of arrogance just comes standard?’
She let the mug hang there in the space between them, her expression all patient common sense, as though he were a touch slow for not already moving. "Well? Sometime today would be lovely."
Something in Ronan was amused and a little stung at the same time. Lowly actor or not, he had his own dignity, and being ordered around by his own soon-to-be co-star didn’t sit easy on him.
"Good grief. You’re not planning to stand there rooted to the floor all morning, are you? Go on." Jane tipped her head, warming to the lecture. "You are staff, aren’t you? The girl before you took one look and just did it, no drama about it. That’s the whole job. So what’s the trouble?"
That was when it landed for Ronan: she’d taken him for a staffer this entire time. The amusement won out over the sting, and he was reaching to take the mug from her when Henry finally looked up and spotted him.
"Ronan! There’s the man himself. You finally made it, my boy. Get in here."
Jenny caught it too, glancing over at Ronan and Jane squared off across the coffee mug. She got to her feet. "Oh, Jane, this is Ronan. The one we’ve been going on about all morning. He’s your Elijah. The male lead."
At that, Jane went still. A stammer got into her voice. "O-oh. So this is... Ronan Mercer? I, um. I didn’t expect him to be quite so much younger than—"
Henry chuckled. "He’s nineteen. Young as they come, this one."
Jane gave an awkward little laugh. "Ha. Right. Of course he is." She rose, set the mug back down on the table faster than she needed to, and put out a hand. "Hi. Ronan. Jane Kingsley. So good to finally meet you."
Ronan could see exactly how flustered she’d gone, and some small part of him took a quiet pleasure in it. But then her eyes came up to meet his, and under the polite smile they’d turned hard and cold, a plain enough warning to play along and act like none of it had happened.
He kept his own smile to himself and took her hand.
"The pleasure’s mine, Jane Kingsley. I’ve been a fan of yours for years, honestly."
Her grip came down firmer than it strictly needed to. It didn’t hurt him, though. If anything it only registered as the warm softness of her palm. After a long few seconds, she let go.
"Well, now that the two of you have finally met, why don’t you take a little time, get to know each other?" Henry glanced at Jane. "And you’ve got to be curious how the kid acts, haven’t you? Put him through his paces at rehearsal later, once the rest of the cast is in. See for yourself."
Jane’s nod was all business. "Oh, I fully intend to see how he does."
Henry and Jenny both laughed at that. "Good," Jenny said. "Then how about we leave the two of you to it while you wait on the others to show for rehearsal? That work for you?"
"That’s perfectly fine."
Henry and Jenny gathered up a few papers and headed out.
Leaving two new co-stars alone in a room to find their footing was nothing out of the ordinary in this business. The leads most of all: a production wanted them easy with each other well before the cameras ever rolled, since an audience could read stiffness between two people in a heartbeat, and these two would be carrying the whole show on their backs. A little time together now spared everyone a lot of grief down the line.
The door had barely clicked shut before Jane let the polish drop away. "So. You’re Ronan." She looked him over again, and there was no warmth left in it now. "I didn’t take you for an actor at all, you know. Had you pegged for some nobody who wandered in off the street." Her eyes rolled. "Where did NBS even dig you up?"
Ronan had spent years admiring the woman, and it stung, being talked to like this by her of all people. But he held his footing. "Say what you like about it. I’m still your male lead. And I earned it, on my acting, unknown or not."
Jane gave a light snort. "I couldn’t care less what you pulled to land it. But the second I decide you’re not good enough, don’t come crying when I go to the production and ask them to cut your screen time down to nothing. I don’t let anyone get in my way at work. Not one soul."
"Aren’t we supposed to be getting to know each other?" Ronan said. "And for the record, you’re not the only lead on this thing. It isn’t only your show, you know."
Jane went quiet a moment, weighing him. Then something shifted, and she settled a look on him. "Fine. You’re right. I suppose we ought to get acquainted." A smile came up, and there was nothing warm in it. "So... You’re plainly not famous. I mistook you for the staff, didn’t I. New to all this, are you? Because a complete unknown walking off with a lead out of nowhere, that smells off to me. So go on. What strings did you pull?"
Ronan let out a breath. "Like I already told you, I got the part on my acting. And you’ve got me wrong if you think I’m new. I’ve been working productions for five years."
That got a look of plain surprise out of her. "Five years? You’re telling me you spent five whole years in this business and stayed a nobody the entire time?"
It landed as an insult, and Ronan felt it as one, but he answered her straight. "That’s right. Happy now?"
Jane pressed her mouth against a laugh. "So I’m going to guess this is the biggest thing you’ve ever booked, then."
Ronan could only nod.
Something in her eased a fraction at that. "Alright. I think I understand you a little better now." Jane tilted her head. "And since I do, you may as well understand a few things about me in return. I’m sure you’ve picked up plenty from the interviews. But coworker to coworker, here’s what actually counts. I keep things professional. I’ve no patience for a co-star who drags onto set late. And I don’t do real feelings on a production." Her gaze held his, level and cool. "Whatever happens between our two characters in front of the camera stays in front of the camera. Are we clear on that?"
Ronan had a clear enough picture of her by now. "Copy."
And just as the word left him, the rest of the cast began to trickle in, one after another.
The first one through the door was an old man, heavyset, white-haired, with the soft round belly of someone who’d earned a good many beers over the years. Ronan knew the face before he had the name: a veteran of television, decades of it behind him. Woody Maxwell.
"Well, now. Look at all these young faces." Woody’s voice came out warm and gravelly. "Good to meet you, younglings. Try not to make an old man feel too ancient, eh?"
Jane was up out of her chair for him, every trace of the frost she’d shown Ronan gone. "Mr. Maxwell. It’s an honor, truly. I grew up watching you."
"Ah, now you’re just aging me faster." But the old man looked pleased all the same.
Ronan put his own hand out. "Ronan Mercer, sir. I’m playing Elijah."
Woody’s brows climbed. "The lead? Can’t say I know the name." He took the hand anyway and gave it a solid shake. "But hell, half the faces I came up with, nobody knew those either. You’ll do fine, kid." Whatever surprise he’d felt, he let it slide off him, the way a man does once he’s seen every kind of thing a set can throw at him.
Next came a boy, no older than eleven. Albert Sterling, a child actor, and a well-mannered one, with a polite word for every face in the room. Every face but Ronan’s, anyway, whom he looked clean past as though the male lead weren’t worth the breath.
Then the last of them: the actor set to play Thomas. Ian Wright, a name with some real television weight behind it. He worked his way around the room shaking hands, all warmth, right up until he reached Ronan.
"So you’re the one." Ian’s smile didn’t quite make it to the rest of his face. "Ian Wright. Congratulations on the lead. Hell of a break, for a face nobody knows."
The words were friendly enough. What sat under them wasn’t. He was the bigger name here by a wide margin, and yet this newcomer had walked off with the lead he’d have wanted for himself.
With the cast all in, Henry and Jenny came back through the door.
"Alright, that looks like everybody." Henry clapped his hands once. "Let’s get everyone settled in and ready."
The cast took it in and settled, pulling out their sides and looking them over.
First on the docket to rehearse was Ronan and Jane’s scene, with Woody and Albert alongside: the moment the ship’s people first come upon Elijah.