NO BRIDGE, NO WAY!. Jan Murray
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tracking towards her, gave his star a thumbs up.
'I guess you do. Well, I am a native of Glencairn Island and that’s just another way of saying I’m from Sydney because our island is just over an hour’s drive from the city but it’s nothing like the way most kids in Sydney live. Let’s face it, it’s an island. And the Xanthe thing? Well, my mother...'
There was a pause. Xanthe looked down at her feet. It seemed she had forgotten her lines.
'You okay?' asked Jack.
Xanthe looked back up at Jack and nodded. 'Sure.' She continued. 'A long time ago, my mother told me that Xanthe, in the Greek language, means "golden haired warrior-woman".'
'Like, hello, who’s Greek around here?' Zoran called out from the sidelines. '"O’Rourke"? I don’t think so?'
'I can live with Warrior Woman, you dork,' Xanthe muttered under her breath.
'Let’s keep it going, Zanth,' said Jack.
'Do you want me sitting on the sea wall, or standing in front of the rockery? I could be casually admiring the orange pig-face blossoms?'
‘Your call.’ Jack was looking into his camera lens and changing his weight from one foot to the other. ‘I’m ready when you are.’
Xanthe took a deep breath and smiled for the camera. ‘When I was young, I thought I would become a soldier because of my name and all that. Golden Haired Warrior Woman. Like, I am golden-haired, and I do think I’d make a great warrior.’
She dropped down off the seawall and strolled over to the rockery where she plucked an orange pig-face blossom. Coming in closer to the camera, she continued. ‘But living on beautiful Glencairn Island...’
She flung both arms wide. ‘... makes me think there’s much more to write about than to fight about. So, I’m going to become an author and film director, instead.’ She bent her head and brought the flower up to her nose. ‘Yuk!’ It’s so gross!’ She hurled it to the ground and rubbed the sticky white goo on the backside of her cargos.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Jack dropped the camera to his side and shook his head.
Xanthe could see Jack just wanted her using the words in her script instead of all the made-up stuff she was coming up with but once you know you’re on camera, thought Xanthe, it all gets jumbled. A bit like when you leave a phone message, the way you just run off at the mouth and then you want to rub it out and start all over again. It’s like that when they tell you the camera’s rolling, she felt.
'Okay, I’m ready, so back to the script. Sorry, Jacko.' She smiled for the camera. ‘Let me tell you ...’ she said in her best rehearsed voice, ‘... about how incredible this place is. We have no roads on the island, just dirt tracks winding all over the place. There are no factories, footpaths, streetlights, parking areas. Best of all, there are no cars, so no pollution.’
She walked back towards the seawall. ‘Just fabulous water everywhere and millions of trees to climb! And best of all?’ She heaved herself up onto the seawall again. ‘Best of all is that adults leave kids alone on Glencairn.’
‘Mostly!’ chipped in someone from the sidelines.
‘Cut!’ called Jack, lowering his camera. ‘Thanks, Zanth. You’re done.’
She tipped her two fingers to her forehead, a casual salute, and walked across to her Director’s chair and, for a few seconds was grateful just to sit under the shade of the spotted gum. Film work is exhausting, she realized as she looked across to Honey who was lying on her tummy in the grass, doing a last minute read of her lines.
‘Summers? You ready?’ Xanthe yelled out to Honey.
Honey nodded and stood up.
Xanthe clicked her fingers and pointed. ‘You’re on. Hurry. Over you go.’
Honey’s lips were moving as she walked across the bush clearing to her marker, the place Xanthe had decided would be where Jack would shoot her.
Honey Summers was wearing white jeans and white t-shirt. She practically lived an all-white life when school was out, thought Xanthe. Except when she decided to dress up, which was most of the time. But today, the all-white was in evidence, except for a piece of bright purple and pink silk she had wrapped around her floppy hat. Anyone could see she was nervous from the way she flicked back her hair and ran her tongue over her lips.
‘Just move to the left a bit,’ Xanthe called out through her megaphone. ‘Out of the shade ... to the right ... further. That’s it! And push your hat back so we get a look at your face, can you? Or, take it off! Good. Ready to roll, Jacko.’
Clasping her hands behind her back and looking straight into the camera, the subject took a deep breath and began. ‘Hello. I’m Honey Summers. This unique island is my home.’
Honey’s arms did the talking. She waved them over the scene. ‘Some houses are down at the edge of the water with their own jetties and sandy beaches.’ She walked a couple of paces towards the beach and spread her arms out to embrace the shore.
Jack pointed the camera down to the water.
He knew what to do, thought Xanthe, because they had done a storyboard – something they had learned from her dad who was in Advertising. Storyboards are rough drawings, a step by step kind of comic that lets the cast and crew know where to stand and what’s coming up next. Honey, being FIFU’s artist-in-residence, had been responsible for today’s storyboard.
Now Honey turned and pointed in the other direction. ‘And some houses are up in the spotted gum trees. Oops!’ She swallowed hard and tried to rub out her mistake. ‘Well, they’re not actually up in the trees. Like, they’re not tree houses or any think.’
Thing! Not Think! She called out.
She had made a megaphone from rolled-up cardboard the night before as well as a ‘Director’ sign to clip on the back of one of her father’s canvas fold-up chairs. Sitting there in her khakis, with a back-to-front black baseball cap on her head, a whistle around her neck and a clipboard and megaphone on her lap, she knew she looked for all the world like a serious movie director.
‘OK. Any Thing!’
Xanthe cued Jack, who began recording again.
‘They are not tree houses or anything.’ Honey gulped and carried on. ‘They are up the hill, among the trees. Spotted gums. The kind that were once used to build sailing ships on the island.’ Ms. Honey Summers, nervous star, was flustered. Her cheeks had turned bright pink.
‘That’s great!’ yelled Xanthe.’ Best to tell her that, she thought, appreciating her friend’s nervousness in front of the camera.
‘Anyway, everyone’s house has a view across the water towards Bayville or the Palms Peninsula. But no one lives around on the far side. It’s too dangerous because there’s a haunted––'
Xanthe blew her whistle. ‘No!’ she yelled, her voice as shrill as her whistle. ‘Stick to the script, Summers!’
Jack laughed. So, did the others. Honey had just tried to slip one in on her Director.
‘How do you get...’ Xanthe prompted Honey.
‘Oh, yes! How do you get across to the mainland? Well ...’ Honey held up the fingers on one hand and counted off, starting with her thumb. ‘... you can row your boat, drive your tinny, catch the ferry or, if you’re rich enough you phone for Shelley Bentley’s Blue Water Lady. That’s our water taxi service.’ She paused for effect then touched her pinky. ‘Or you can swim ... if you’re Thorpy!’ She giggled and did a bow to the camera.
‘That it for Honey?’ said Jack, turning to Xanthe.
Xanthe nodded. ‘You’re done, Summers,’ she said, and went back to consulting the notes on her clipboard.
‘How