“ And you? Who sent you?”“ Oh, this friend wasn’t referred by anyone. I met him on the way. If there’s work…”“ There’s no room.”I spoke up to answer him, but the man cut me off. Matt didn’t look particularly disappointed—as if he’d expected it. He nodded and said,“ We can’t go back in the middle of the night, so just let us sleep until morning.”Instead of replying to Matt, the man turned to me.“ Fine. How do you want your advance? Cash? Cash is best—so long as some thief doesn’t mug you.”He looked me up and down and added,“ But judging by your build, I doubt anyone’s going to rob you.”“ Cash,” I said.The money was settled quickly. The man handed me the advance and the room key.“ You’ve got the room to yourself ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) for now, but more workers are coming. Then you’ll share—six of you per room. Showers and toilets are communal.”“ When do we start work?”“ When enough workers arrive. Probably in about a week. Until then, do as you please.”He answered grudgingly, then suddenly added,“ By the way, there’s some so-called drama shooting nearby. Don’t interfere with them.”“ That’s it?”“ That’s it. And don’t piss anywhere you like—use the toilets, you bastards.”He grumbled as he returned to the makeshift cot where he’d slept. He never said a word about Matt.Matt hung back for a moment, then followed me up the stairs. The room’s walls were thin, and though the door could be locked, it might as well have stayed open. Three old bunk beds stood empty. I shoved my duffel underneath a bed and flopped down. Matt promptly climbed in on top of me. His sticky lips pressed to mine, but I was too exhausted from driving all day to care. I turned away, and Matt pulled back, pouting, before slipping onto the opposite bed. He fell asleep instantly.“ Hey, wake up.”I felt a hand tapping my shoulder. I waved it away and rolled over. Damn near ten hours behind the wheel yesterday. I pulled the sheet over my head, but a stranger’s hand yanked the cover off. I had to open my eyes. Rubbing the sleep from my heavy lids, I sat up. A bearded man in a cowboy hat stood leaning on the top bunk’s railing. I frowned at him.“ What?” My voice was rough with thirst.“ Time to get up.”He nodded toward Matt’s bunk. “Your friend—the redhead—he’s gone. Are you okay with that?”Matt had clearly left. I didn’t care—after all, I’d only met him briefly, and he’d ridden along as a companion in hopes of work he never got. Better for him to go than stick around. I nodded perfunctorily and buried my face in my pillow. But the cowboy added one more thing, and sleep fled me.“ He took the car too.”My heart sank worse than if he’d stolen my soul. I jumped out of bed and yanked my duffel from under the bunk. Before I even unzipped it, I knew. As expected, every bill—my advance and the entire stack I’d brought from Virginia—was gone.I couldn’t believe it. He’d taken everything worth taking, leaving only a few ragged underwear and stretched-out shirts.That little rat. I kicked the empty bag. All my cash was gone, and this mountain village had no bank. To reach any bank I’d have to ride out to a town with at most one or two pubs and diners—and it would take ages. The worst part was losing the car too. In over two years since I’d left the service, I’d never been betrayed like this. When I’d just gotten out, I’d been too wary of con artists to let it happen. I must have loosened up over time.I looked up; the cowboy stood wordless a few paces away. Feeling sorry for snapping at him, I asked in a softer tone,“ When did he take off?”“ About an hour ago.”“ Damn.” I exhaled and collapsed onto the floor again.The cowboy offered,“ If you’re up, let’s go get some lunch.”Truthfully, I wanted to stay sprawled where I was, but lying there only reminded me of my lost money. I got to my feet. The cowboy whistled as he led the way.The “restaurant” was nothing fancy—a big vinyl tent set up next to the lodging serving as kitchen and dining hall. Underneath, half a dozen people sat at plastic tables eating lunch. Among them was the squat man from last night. The cowboy and I fetched stew, bread, and beer, and I sat down among the workers.It turned out the cowboy was no drifter but a local from Laverham, nicknamed “Lasso.” He drove a truck delivering building materials and didn’t live in camp. Though three years older than me, his thick mustache made him look older still, and a snarling crocodile tattoo ran from his nape to his shoulder. With that rough appearance and nickname, I expected a hard man—but Lasso was gentle-spoken and occasionally told lame jokes.He looked at my empty pockets and quipped,“ Sure you lost everything, but you still got your two balls, right? A man needs only those.”The squat man replied crudely,“ So what good are two balls if you can’t afford a whore?”I stuffed bread piled with stew into my mouth instead of answering. Lasso chimed in,“ Why pay for it? Women flock to a man like you.”I shrugged, mouth full of stew. Lasso added,“ Seriously—better-looking than any of those actors over there.”Thanks to Lasso’s remark, the conversation turned to the drama shoot—though the chatter amounted to nothing more than idle gossip about the actors’ appearances. I kept quiet and ate.Surprisingly, the camp and the set got along well—apparently when the set’s water pipes broke, a few of the workers had fixed them in a couple of hours and even helped repair the crew’s lodgings. Grateful, the crew invited the camp workers to nightly barbecues.“ Keep an eye,” Lasso said, “ in case you can help fix something over there. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get to ride an actress—not just her ass, but her, too.”“ Better luck if I get a male actor,” I muttered, raising my beer. The others laughed, but I just drank.That afternoon two new workers arrived—fresh twenty-year-olds from Nebraska who’d quit pig farming and joined the Mimes. They were still boys, peach-fuzz beards under their chins. One, barely taller than a peanut, had a large Nikon camera and immediately disappeared to photograph the actors.I borrowed two hundred dollars from the squat man—who was acting as foreman—and walked down to town. Though the mile or so wasn’t far, the steep uphill road took twenty or thirty minutes. Back with cigarettes, a toothbrush, and soap, I found the workers shooting targets with shotguns. Lasso waved me over.“ Show us how it’s done, Marine.”Lasso handed me a shotgun. I refused, pointing toward the targets—empty soda cans balanced on logs.“ I only shoot people.”He jeered, and I flipped him the bird before heading back to camp. Too tired to do anything but sleep, I spent the rest of the afternoon in bed.By evening it was quieter—everyone, including the newcomers, had gone off to the set’s barbecue. I stayed behind with Lasso. It wasn’t that I wasn’t curious about the set, but thinking of Julia made the whole scene feel awkward.Really, there was no reason to worry—Julia wasn’t there; she was a film actress, not a TV actor. Even if one of her colleagues was present, no one in this backcountry would connect me—a white-trash drifter—with her. And though I’d once looked like her as a child, I’d changed as I grew older. I simply didn’t want to mix in a place that reminded me of her.So I had dinner quietly with Lasso. He was fascinated by the set yet stayed apart. Judging by his remarks, he both envied and resented city folk. He seemed pleased that I shared his lack of interest in the set, so I played along—no harm in making friends with the foreman—and we chatted until early bed.The next day more workers arrived—in dribs and drabs, four more. Feeling rested, I walked the camp. By plan, the campground should’ve been finished long ago, but budget cuts or environmental protests had halted construction, only to resume years later. As a result, half-built log cabins jutted everywhere. Though eerie at first glance, a quiet stroll revealed a peaceful, secluded atmosphere, reminiscent of my days as a forest ranger in Virginia.The woods for the retreat were lush and deep, and the huge lake beside the camp was beautiful. Towering trees with green leaves, clear water—aside from poor cell service, it was an ideal retreat.After my walk, I swam in the lake to cool off. A few workers lay sunning themselves on the dock. Since work hadn’t started, drinking and shooting went on all day; more than once I was jolted awake by gunfire. I joined them for drinks and cards but never attended the set’s barbecue.That routine repeated for a week. More and more workers arrived, and eventually five men shared my room—stench of sweat and feet filling the air.On the eve of the first workday, things changed: the film crew came down from the set in the afternoon. Exhausted by the heat, they tossed off their clothes and dove into the lake. I sat in the shade on a camping chair, watching them swim. Workers mingled with crew in the shade or on the dock. The women mostly wore bikinis, and a few beauties—actors, I assumed—caught the workers’ eyes.Bored of watching, I decided to leave. As I walked back toward camp, I passed a gap in stacked logs and made eye contact with a man in swim trunks. For a moment he hesitated, then returned and called out,“ Excuse me, where’s the restroom?”He must have needed it badly. In the confusing jumble of half-built cabins and scattered materials, he looked lost, so I replied while flicking the smoldering filter,“ Anywhere’ll do. You’re not gonna find…”Then I remembered Lasso’s warning: “Don’t piss anywhere you like.” I sighed and walked quickly over.“ I’ll show you. I was heading that way anyway.”Up close, he looked like one of the actors—handsome in a slick sort of way, though his expression was desperate. I led him forward without a word; he followed immediately. When we reached the latrine, he dashed inside.I stepped into the adjacent open-air shower. I draped my shirt over the window ledge and turned on the cold water. Years in the Middle East had made me impervious to heat, but the midday sun still blistered me. I poured water over my head and roughly wiped my face with my shirt.The man emerged, looking relieved.“ Thanks—I didn’t soil my clothes.”He spoke casually.“ You work here?”“ I do.” I shrugged the shirt over my shoulder.He studied me curiously.“ What’s your name?”“ Raymond.”“ Raymond—thanks again.”He smiled brightly and walked off. I watched his retreating back. For a moment, his appraisal felt familiar. Lasso had joked—but now that joke was becoming reality.

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