Karoo Honeymoon

I stared at the coffee stain dribbling down my denim dungarees, spreading like watercolour paint, no time to change. Perfect. Just perfect.

“Bowie, keys! Where are my bloody keys?”

My elderly companion wagged his tail from his bed in the corner, looking far too pleased with himself. The set designs for today’s build were scattered across the dining room table: precise measurements and careful annotations that had taken hours to complete.

“Not today, you rascal.” I clutched my travel mug in one hand whilst trying to wrangle the pile of drawings into some semblance of order. “The producer’s already got it in for me after last week’s paint disaster.”

Bowie let out a low whine, pawing at his bed.

“Oh, you didn’t.” I dropped to my knees beside him, rummaging through the layers of blankets. There they were, my car keys, thoroughly coated in dog slobber. “Son-Shine, we’ve talked about this. You can’t come to set with me anymore, not after you decided the green screen was your personal urinal.”

I grabbed the keys and stood up, only to knock my coffee mug flying, again. Brown liquid cascaded across my carefully drawn plans.

“No no no!” I snatched up the papers, coffee dripping down my forearm. The ink had already started to run, turning my precise architectural drawings into abstract art. “Right then. New plan.”

Bowie’s lead clattered against the hallway cabinet as he brought it to me, tail wagging hopefully.

“Don’t give me those eyes. I mean it this time.”

He dropped the lead at my feet and sat, head tilted just so, one ear flopping forward.

“You’re impossible.” I clipped the lead to his collar, gathering up my soggy drawings. “But if you wee on anything today, you’re officially retired from set life. Deal?”

His response was to drag me towards the door, nearly sending me flying over my own boots in the process. Some days I wondered who was really in charge here.

* * *

The pre-dawn sun was just starting to make an appearance on the makeshift car park as I pulled up to set. Bowie bounded out ahead of me, straight towards the props department, his favourite people and their endless supply of treats intended as wet props. But no one could say no to him.

“Morning, boss!” Thabang, my assistant art director, jogged over. “The construction crew’s ready for the bedroom set instructions.”

I clutched my coffee-stained drawings to my chest. “Right. Give me ten minutes to sort these out. Get everyone started on the living room panelling, same specs as yesterday’s build.”

The team dispersed, and I made my way towards David’s trailer. He’d understand about the drawings, he had been part of my life for the last three years, he knew what I was like. Plus, his desk had the best lighting for detailed work. A quick kiss wouldn’t hurt either, we’d barely seen each other this week with all the night shoots.

I reached for the trailer door handle, but voices inside made me pause. “Just like that...” A woman’s breathy laugh. “Oh, David...”

My hand froze. Through the narrow window, I glimpsed bare shoulders, blonde hair, David’s hands were tangled in it. The blonde hair belonged to Fleur, our lead actress.

The coffee-stained papers slipped from my grasp. I stumbled backwards, my boot catching on nothing. The world tilted. My arms windmilled as I crashed into something solid, the craft services table.

Pastries flew. Coffee splashed. A bowl of fruit salad upended over my head, cold juice trickling down my neck.

“Calla?” David’s voice, closer now. The trailer door creaked. Fleur looked out, hair tousled, wrapped only in a flimsy satin robe.

I scrambled to my feet, pineapple chunks sliding off my shoulders. A banana had somehow lodged itself in my dungarees’ pocket. The entire crew had stopped to stare.

Bowie appeared at my side, happily licking croissant chunks off my boots. The morning sun felt too bright, too exposing, despite how little of it there was this early.

“I’ll get this cleaned up,” I managed, my voice surprisingly steady despite the strawberry juice dripping from my chin.

I turned away from David’s approaching footsteps, bits of fruit still falling from my hair. My crew, my wonderful, brilliant crew, sprang into action like a choreographed dance.

“Director!” Thabang stepped directly into David’s path. “Urgent call from the producers about the budget!”

“Not now.” David tried to sidestep him.

Three grips mysteriously appeared with an enormous piece of set wall, forcing David to backtrack. “Coming through! Heavy load!”

I made a dash for the wardrobe truck, Bowie trotting beside me. Behind me, I heard David’s increasingly frustrated voice: “Just let me-”

“Oh my god, is that a SNAKE?” Someone shrieked. A chorus of screams erupted. “Where?”

“Under the catering table!” “Everyone stay calm!”

I glanced back to see David surrounded by a circle of hysterical crew members, all pointing in different directions at the imaginary serpent.

Inside the wardrobe truck, Sarah rifled through racks of costume pieces. “Everything’s either for Fleur or the male extras,” she muttered, pulling out a hot pink top and lime green cargo pants. “These are the only things that might fit.”

“Anything’s better than fruit salad fashion.” I stripped off my soaked clothes.

The top was missing something, the bottom half of it to my mind, and the pants hung oddly on my hips, giving me a slight muffin top. I looked like a tubby Sporty Spice wannabe. “Perfect timing,” Sarah whispered, peeking out the window. “They’ve got him cornered by the portaloos now. Something about an urgent health and safety inspection.”

I stepped out of the truck, tugging uselessly at the hem of the tiny top. The entire grip department burst into spontaneous applause.

“Looking good, boss!” “Work it!”

“That’s HOT couture, that is!”

Despite everything, I laughed. My dignity might’ve taken a hit, but my heart swelled with the love of my crew family.

* * *

I ducked behind the art department truck, sliding down against a wheel until my borrowed cargo pants hit the dusty ground. The adrenaline crashed, reality settling in like lead in my stomach. Bowie pressed his grey muzzle against my knee.

My hands shook as I pulled out my mobile.

“Darling, bit early in the morning for existential crises, isn’t it?” Sage’s dry tone cut through after three rings.

“Sage.” My voice cracked. “He’s… David’s been...” “What’s happened?” Her tone shifted instantly.

“Found him with Fleur. In his trailer.” I pressed my palm against my eyes, willing the tears back. “Doing... exactly what you’d expect.”

“That absolute poes.” Sage’s voice dropped to that dangerous octave that usually preceded someone getting verbally eviscerated. “Right. I’m coming to set.”

“No, you don’t have to.”

“Already grabbing my keys. And Cal?” “Mm?”

“Remember that time when I said David reminded me of that quote about men who think they’re God’s gift to women?”

A wet laugh escaped me. “Which one?”

“The one about them actually being God’s practical joke.” “You never said that.”

“Well, I meant to. Look, the crew’s got your back, yeah?”

I glanced around the corner of the truck. Three grips were still performing an elaborate interpretive dance about snake safety procedures while David looked ready to commit murder. “They’ve gone full mutiny.”

“Good. Stay put. I’ll be there in twenty. And Cal?” “Yeah?”

“He never deserved you. Not even close.”

I ended the call, letting my head fall back against the truck. Bowie licked my cheek, catching a tear that had fallen.

“Just you and me for a bit, Son-Shine,” I whispered, scratching behind his ears. He huffed in agreement, settling his warm weight against my side.

The crunch of tyres on gravel announced Sage’s arrival. She emerged from her Subaru like an avenging angel in a McQueen blazer, hauling a canvas tote that clinked suspiciously.

“Right then.” She dropped beside me behind the truck, spreading out her emergency supplies. “We’ve got dark chocolate, those disgusting salt and vinegar crisps you love, oversized

sunnies for dignity preservation, and…” She pulled out a bottle of KWV brandy. “For medicinal purposes only.”

“It’s nine in the morning.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere.” She produced a pack of Marlboros. “And these, which you absolutely won’t smoke because you quit three years ago, but they’re here if civilization collapses.”

Bowie sniffed hopefully at the crisps packet.

“I can have him killed,” Sage offered casually, breaking off a square of chocolate. “I know people.”

“You know philosophy professors and art collectors.”

“Exactly. Nobody would suspect them. We could poison his pretentious single-origin coffee.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “I need my career intact.”

“Fine.” She tapped her chin. “We could train Bowie to maul him?”

“Bowie wouldn’t hurt a fly.” As if to prove my point, he rolled over for belly rubs. “True. What about an on-set accident? Lights fall all the time...”

“Sage!”

“I’m just saying, I’ve got access to father’s wine cellar. Perfect place to hide a body.”

“You’re terrible.” I grabbed a handful of crisps. “Besides, I’d rather focus on making this the best bloody set he’s ever seen. Really show him what he’s missing.”

“That’s my girl.” Sage slipped the oversized sunglasses onto my face. “Though I still think we should consider the wine cellar option. I mean, think about it, sometimes things just go all Cask of Amontillado, it can’t be helped.”

“Your Poe references are showing.”

“Always.” She clinked her coffee thermos against my water bottle. “To karma being a bigger bitch than me.”

“I should get back,” I said, brushing dust off my cargo pants. “Got a whole set to transform before lunch.”

“I’ll stick around.” Sage stretched her long legs out in front of her. “Brought my Kindle. Got some reading to do anyway. Anouk’s at a shoot in Pretoria, she knows it’s mates before dates when there’s a crisis.” She waved her hand. “Go. Create. I’ll be here if you need backup or an alibi.”

I squared my shoulders and marched back towards the chaos of the set. The art department had already started moving pieces for the next scene, a vintage pharmacy interior we’d constructed inside an old warehouse.

“Right team, let’s get these shelves shifted!” My voice came out stronger than I felt. “Marcus, those medicine bottles need to be more to the right, that side will be out of shot. Lesedi, can you age those labels a bit more?”

The crew jumped to it with suspicious enthusiasm. I spotted Tom from lighting adjusting a key light that cast harsh shadows across Fleur’s face, aging her terribly.

“Oh sorry,” he called down. “Just can’t seem to get this right.”

Fleur’s makeup artist kept having to touch up her increasingly shiny forehead. The air conditioning was “inexplicably” no longer working in her trailer.

“These vintage uniforms are so delicate,” wardrobe assistant Sarah fussed, tugging at Fleur’s collar. “Maybe it shrunk slightly since the last fitting, not much breathing room in there today.”

I pretended not to notice the series of small rebellions playing out. Instead, I focused on creating the most perfect set of David’s career. Every detail exact, every shadow precisely where it should be.

“The pharmacist’s counter needs to be about three centimetres to the left,” I called out, channeling my energy into work rather than wallowing. “And someone please check those ceiling tiles, they’re looking a bit too clean for 1963.”

I buried myself in set dressing, but Fleur’s voice carried across the warehouse, high and breathy as she draped herself across David’s director’s chair. “Sweetheart, shall we go over my motivation for this scene?”

David shifted, uncomfortable under the crew’s collective glare. “Perhaps later-”

“But you always say an actress needs to understand her character’s desires.” She traced a finger down his arm.

I grabbed my toolbox from the truck, seeking refuge behind its open door. The familiar weight of my grandfather’s chisel settled in my palm as I pulled out a chunk of jacaranda wood. The grain pattern emerged with each stroke, my breathing falling into rhythm with the tool’s movement.

Thabang’s shadow fell across my workspace. “Those are going to be the smoothest tent pegs in film history.”

I glanced down at the growing pile of shavings. “Just prep work for tomorrow’s scene.”

“Mm-hmm.” He leaned against the truck. “You know what my father used to say about working with wood?”

“What’s that?”

“He’d say you can’t force the grain to go where it doesn’t want to. Fight it too hard and you’ll end up with splits and splinters. But work with its natural direction?” He picked up one of my finished pieces. “Then you get something beautiful.”

“Wise man, your father.”

“He also said some wood isn’t worth the effort, better to chuck it in the fire and start fresh.” I paused mid-stroke, meeting his knowing look.

“Just something to think about.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Though maybe ease up on the whittling before we run out of props, you are a known stress-whittler.”

***

“That’s a wrap for today!” Ben’s voice boomed across the warehouse. Our first AD’s timing couldn’t have been better; I’d run out of things to carve.

I slumped against my car’s boot, Bowie’s head resting on my lap as crew members filed past. The afternoon sun caught sawdust dancing in the air, making everything look softer, dreamlike.

“What am I going to do, Son-Shine?” I scratched behind his ears. “Three years. Three bloody years of my life.”

Bowie’s head rested on my leg. He’d never liked David much, should’ve been my first clue. Giggles drifted from behind the catering truck.

“Did you see his face when she caught them?” Sune’s voice from make-up carried. “Priceless.”

“I heard they’d been at it for months.” That was Jenny, one of the runners. “Like, since before Christmas.”

“God, how embarrassing though!”

"Hai!” Sage’s voice cracked like a whip. “Unless you’d like to discuss your own dirty laundry, I suggest you finish up and voetsek.”

Silence fell, followed by hurried footsteps.

“Ignoramuses.” Sage appeared around the corner, straightening her blazer. “Right, you’re coming home with me. Anouk’s making that North African chickpea thing you love.”

“I should probably just-”

“If you say ‘go home and wallow’, I will physically drag you to my car.” She crossed her arms. “Anouk’s already bought the ingredients, and you know how tetchy she gets when people refuse her cooking.”

“I’ve got Bowie…”

“Who is absolutely invited. The cats need someone to terrorise them occasionally, keeps them humble.”

I managed a weak smile. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” She plucked my car keys from my hand. “I’ll drive yours, follow me home. And Cal?” Her expression softened. “It’s okay to not be okay, you know?”