Title: The Stunt Woman
Disclaimer: The characters, or the reasonable facsimiles that I employ in this story, are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy productions. The setting for this story is lifted from the motion picture The Stunt Man, screenplay adapted by Lawrence B. Marcus from the novel by Paul Broduer, directed by Richard Rush. (If you haven’t seen this movie, shame on you. Your captain is very disappointed in you.)
Spoilers: Just to the movie referenced above.
Rating: R.
Summary: A young fugitive stumbles onto a movie set, where a new stunt double is needed for their leading lady. It’s a WWI film directed by a very unusual, very driven young lady. Sparks ensue. But can love survive, where nothing is what is seems?.
Note: This story is set in the late 1970’s, for reasons that will become clear. I’ve taken certain liberties given sexual politics (for instance, that a woman in her mid-twenties would be directing a major motion picture in that time period…so much for “liberal” Hollywood). Some eyebrows might be raised that Tara would have seen actual combat in Southeast Asia…don’t worry, I will explain that as I go along.
Feedback: If you guys even have to ask…reply here or at captmurdock@msn.com.

****

"If we don't grab this Maclay chick, the sheriff'll hit the roof," the younger deputy muttered as they pulled their squad car in front of the rural diner.

"Relax," the sergeant said. "We'll get 'er. Did they say what they want her for?"

"Naw. Who cares?" The two deputies got out and stepped into the diner. It was fairly typical: a counter with stools in front, a few booths, the smell of frying grease and burning coffee, a matronly waitress scooting around obstacles, human and otherwise, to serve the three or four customers. A small TV bolted to an overhead rack was blaring the usual banal garbage to the patrons. A old pinball machine reposed next to the door.

Almost at once, the sergeant spotted their quarry: a young blond woman, medium build although a bit on the thin side (nice rack, though, the young deputy thought with a leer), wearing a denim jacket that had seen better days, and a pair of jeans and sneakers likewise. A scuffed vinyl duffel bag reposed on the stool next to where she sat, polishing off a platter of ham and eggs, mopping up the last of the egg with a hunk of toast as if knowing this might be the last meal she might enjoy for a while.

The waitress stepped in front of them, momentarily blocking the deputies' view of the Maclay girl. "Can I get you boys anything?"

"No, thanks, ma'm."

Tara spotted the deputies as soon as they came into the diner. Her heart sank, but she was determined not to let her stop eating. It had been a few days since she had eaten as hearty a meal as this; she kept her eyes on the TV and her hands on the counter.

A dog food commercial came on. Tara thought she recognized the blonde actress even before the announcer said, "So, ask Buffy Summers what makes her puppy go WHOOPSIE-DAISY" as the dog jumped into her arms. "Dog tummies love Dog Yummies," intoned the jingle singers, before the waitress snapped the box off.

Hell, maybe they weren't here for her; they could have stopped to have a cup of coffee -- which they just said they didn't want, as she just heard them say, and even out of the corner of her eye she could see them camped out by the door. Sighing heavily, Tara resolved to end this one way or the other. Dropping a bill by her plate and not waiting for the change that she could actually use, not swimming in cash as she was, she picked up her duffel bag and headed to the door.

The sergeant neatly intercepted her. "Good morning, miss." All professional courtesy. Not good. The younger one had circled behind her.

"Good morning," Tara replied, flashing her best smile.

With barely a change of expression, the sergeant rushed her, grabbing her arms and forcing her against the pinball machine. The deputy yanked the duffel bag off her shoulder and plunked it down on the table of an empty booth.

"Tara Maclay," the sergeant intoned, as he handcuffed her wrists together in front of her. The other deputy started going through her bag, looking for God knew what. "You're under arrest. You have the right to remain--"

That was as far as he got before Tara's elbow, fueled by calories, fear and bad experience, slammed into his diaphragm, temporarily robbing him of the ability to breathe. Her clenched fists slammed into the side of his head less than a second later.

The young deputy had been distracted by his search through Tara's stuff, so it took him half a second to realize that the situation was rapidly spiraling out of hand. "Hold it!" he screeched, clawing for his sidearm. Before he could draw it, however, Tara had already launched her right foot straight to his family jewels. All thoughts of training and duty went out of his head as his nervous system turned to hot sludge.

She thought of going for her bag, but it was on the far side of the deputy, who was still standing, albeit unsteadily. Plus, the sergeant, kneeling by the door, was already recovering. Evade! her mind screamed. With scarcely a glance back at her collection of possessions, Tara ran for the kitchen, and the back door. She had already burst through it by the time the other patrons, and the cook, had the presence of mind to follow her.

She emerged into a backyard, with clotheslines off to the right, where washed tablecloths and aprons hung to dry. She ducked underneath them at a dead run, thinking Cover! Cover! Behind her, she could hear the shouts of the deputies, expecting bullets to whistle by her.

Tara ran through trees at the edge of the lot. Not slowing a wit, she leaped over a low fence and rolled down a small hill where livestock mooed in alarm at their unexpected visitor. Getting up with a little tricky with her hands cuffed, but she was soon running again, into a thicker corpse of woods, dodging branches as best she could, trying not to leave an obvious trail.

Rolling down another small hill, she managed to land on her feet...and ran smack into two telephone lineman making repairs, one atop a pole, the other just hitting the ground. She tried to dodge around them, but the second one moved in front of her, while the one up top called out, "Hey, you cops! She's over here!"

Great. Civilians doing their civic duty.

THe lineman growled menacingly at her. "Now just stand there like a good girl, okay? Don't try anything; I give you fair warning, I was a Marine in Korea."

"Really?" Tara replied brightly. "So was my dad!" And without a second's delay, she grabbed the lineman's shirt, threw herself backward, and planted her foot in his gut. Surprised, he flew right over her. Tara kept hold of him, and let his momentum carry her over so that he was on his back, with her squarely on top of him. A quick jab to his throat, followed by a double-fist to his jaw, and he was effectively out of the fight.

Tara glared at the other lineman, who had been coming down to help, now scrambling up to the top of the pole as if his butt caught fire. Looking quickly around, she spotted a tool bag. Grabbing it, she ran off, ignoring the other lineman crying out for the cops.

Minutes later, she rifled through the bag, pulling out a pair of bolt cutters that, at that moment, might have come from the gods. Setting it on a nearby stump, she placed the chain of her handcuffs in the jaws of the bolt cutters. Balancing carefully, using her weight to close the handles, Tara snapped the chain binding her wrists...and was free.

****

Tara kept to the wooded areas for a while, listening for signs of pursuit. So far, nothing. Her heart lightened momentarily, having given the police the slip, until she realized that she was still a wanted fugitive, now having added Assaulting Peace Officers and Resisting Arrest to her resume. Plus, she left her bag behind, with all the clothes she owned except for the ones of her back. She had a little money in her pocket, but not enough to sustain her for long, nor very many prospects of earning any more, at least legally.

With a conscious effort, she pushed such thoughts out of her mind, as she moved out of the woods to a small road, which led to a bridge over a river. Tara planned to hitch a ride to the next town, conscious that she was more visible, and vulnerable, on an open road. She didn't see many other options however.

She was halfway across the bridge when she heard a car roll onto the wooden boards behind her. She turned, dreading to see a police car, but please to see--

The car looked really old. No, not old, it was in good condition, but the style of car was way out of date. It looked like something from an old black-and-white movie; Jimmy Cagney should be riding shotgun, blazing away with a Tommy gun and yelling "Top'a the world, Ma!" or something like that.

Tara stuck out her thumb. The car went on by, hardly slowing down. Tara barely had time to be disappointed when the car stopped, about a quarter of the way from the other side of the river. Gleefully, she trotted up to the car and opened the passenger door.

"Thanks, I didn't think you saw me," she said gratefully. She barely had time to register that the driver was a young blond woman, about her height, when she was shoved toward the still open door.

"What the hell are you doing?" the driver screeched at her, shoving and kicking Tara out the door. Tara fell to the wooden slats, surprised. If she didn't want me in the car, why'd she stop? she wondered, not having the time or the breath to ask.

The car roared off, the suddenly-closing door almost clipping Tara's head in the process. The antique auto raced across to the embankment, then spun around, and heading back onto the bridge...heading directly for Tara.
Now what? Tara thought with mounting alarm. It sure as hell looked like the loony was heading right for her. There seemed no reason for it, but Tara was not inclined at that moment to be calm and rational.

The gooks've spotted us! Squad down! her mind screamed, in the voice of a long-dead corporal. She could still remember his young face as his lungs were blown out his back…

She shook her head. Now was not the time for a flashback. Viet Nam was several years in the past, and she had to deal with the here and now. She looked around, considering her options. Her eye felt on a couple of discarded bolts near the side of the wooden slats. With the car bearing down on her, she had little time to think of anything more clever.

Throwing back her arm, Tara let the bolt fly towards the windshield, then dived to her right, grabbing onto a support girder. She almost missed it, which would have precipitated a forty-foot fall to the water below. As it was, she had to scramble for a foothold, taking her eyes off the car for a few seconds.

By the time she was back safely on the bridge, Tara could not see any sign of the car. It couldn't have gone away that quick, she thought. Did it go over... She didn't remember hearing a splash, but then she had been rather busy avoiding a swim of her own. She walked over to the other edge and looked down at the water. Sure enough, there was an expanding circle of foam and a small trail of bubbles.

Oh no. Her heart sank again, and blood pounded in her ears. I didn't mean...I was just trying to keep from getting killed...again. Tara was so preoccupied that she missed the thrumming of the helicopter until it was right on top of her.

Startled, she stepped back. The helicopter hovered less than five yards away, over the site where the car had gone into the river. The pilot and most of the others in the chopper were looking towards the water, except...

There was a young woman in the chopper, right next to a -- for a second she thought the strange contraption to be some kind of machine gun, but after a few seconds she recognized it as a movie camera. The woman had short red hair and piercing green eyes. Eyes that stared at Tara in confusion, puzzlement and a host of other things Tara could not know.

Fascinated, but frightened, Tara turned and ran from those eyes as fast as she could.

TBC

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Well, Captain, that is some hook! You got me - I'm fascinated. So many questions to be answered, and I'm sure you'll do so through some wonderful story telling. Tara is very not-Tara, physically confident and competent, and single minded in her bid for freedom at the cost of others pain, but canon Tara showed these traits too occasionally whenever something or someone she felt deeply about required it, and I really like her when she's like that. So thank you, and keep it coming, please.

Anne

_________________
Spells for Two

Every path has its puddle. Old English Saying... I think I just stepped in mine...

i'm intrigued. first of all for the hotness of Tara, fighting like a pro, remembering Vietnam? she was in Vietnam? sounds strange.

and then, why is she wanted by the police? what did she do?

the green eyes are obviously willow....and she surely stumbled into the set (well, duh, it was in the summary).

i'm very interested, please continue

_________________
Vale
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"When you get excited about something, one might imagine you as a small, maniacally grinning rubber ball, which someone throws at the wall in an enclosed room, and goes bouncing off every surface for about 15 minutes." - Mudrat

Cool! I've often wondered what you'd be like on a non-Trek uber-Willow-Tara fic, now I know I was right when I assumed it'd be pretty darned good. I like how you pace yourself with detail - enough to make things seem real, not so much as to weigh the story down, and slow the pace. Things moved quickly, and I could definitely feel it through the writing, how quickly Tara had to act during her flight, and then again with the car how events were coming at her fast.

All Tara so far, and I like the set-up - on the run for something which will no doubt be revealed in due time, quick-thinking, capable, but clearly plagued by what she's been through. Plus, butch, and butch Tara = happy Chris

_________________
Chris Cook

Through the Looking-glass - Every world needs a Willow and Tara.

How nice to see so much feedback for a new story!

spells42:


This version of Tara has been shaped by some rather unpleasant circumstances. All will be revealed in due time. Yeah, Kick-Ass Tara is fun. I've a feeling Amber would have loved to play her that way.

Thianne:

As I said, this does take place in the late 70's, as the original movie did, and I just did not feel like updating it to the Gulf War or anything like that. Yes, I am aware that U.S. servicewomen were not allowed in combat; I have an explanation, you'll just have to wait for it. As for why the police are after her...that's another tale (but we will address it in this story, don't worry).

Artemis:

The pacing is something I am always unsure of-- am I being too descriptive? Not descriptive enough? Is it bogging down the action? Is the story too hard to follow? Captain Insecure to the Bridge!

Again, a different take on our favorite blonde. Is it too different for the Kittens? We'll see...

Thanks again, everybody! I should have the next part of this story up in a day or two! Peace out.

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Nope...not too different at all. Tough (and no doubt tortured) Tara on the run is sexy and intriguing and did I mention sexy? Looking forward to reading how Tara ends up working on Willow's movie. not to mention the evolution of their relationship. And what the heck did Tara do to get the law after her? How will Willow react?

I salute you, Captain, on a wonderful start.

Michelle

_________________
My one and only wrecking ball
and you're crashing through my walls
~Brandi Carlile

Thank you, Michelle. This next part coming up addresses some of that, so why don't we get started?

*****

Title: The Stunt Woman
Disclaimer: The characters, or the reasonable facsimiles that I employ in this story, are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy productions. The setting for this story is lifted from the motion picture The Stunt Man, screenplay adapted by Lawrence B. Marcus from the novel by Paul Broduer, directed by Richard Rush. (If you haven’t seen this movie, shame on you. Your captain is very disappointed in you.)
Spoilers: For the movie, only.
Rating: R.
Summary: A young fugitive stumbles onto a movie set, where a new stunt double is needed for their leading lady. It’s a WWI film directed by a very unusual, very driven young lady. Sparks ensue. But can love survive, where nothing is what is seems?.
Note: This story is set in the late 1970’s, for reasons that will become clear. I’ve taken certain liberties given sexual politics (for instance, that a woman in her mid-twenties would be directing a major motion picture in that time period…so much for “liberal” Hollywood). Some eyebrows might be raised that Tara would have seen actual combat in Southeast Asia…don’t worry, I will explain that as I go along.
Feedback: If you guys even have to ask…reply here or at captmurdock@msn.com.

****

Several miles later, an out-of-breath Tara came upon a seaside community, dominated by a large ornate hotel. There was a promenade of shops and kiosks that sold food, rented surfboards and equipment, and provided various services.

Tara, using some of her precious supply of cash, bought a silly yellow fishing hat, struggling to stuff most of her long, dark blonde hair into it as a half-assed disguise. She had little hope of getting out of this area unseen by various law-enforcement agencies, but she had to try something. She also had to find some way of earning money, though it would be difficult without identification, which was now in the hands of the sheriffs who had taken her bag at the diner.

Walking amongst the various tourists, trying to both look inconspicuous and push away gnawing despair, Tara noticed a crowd gathering near a short wall that separated the promenade from the beach. Shrugging internally, having no better place to go at the moment, Tara blended in with the crowd to see what was going on that had interested so many people.

Men in military uniforms were standing or running along the beach, amongst some carts and stacks of supplies, interspersed with other people in t-shirts and jeans, carrying equipment. Tara saw large cameras, similar to the one she had spotted earlier on the helicopter. The crewmembers were handing the uniformed men weapons of some sort.

Fascinated in spite of herself, Tara moved to the front of the crowd for a closer look. She had never seen a movie being filmed before, but she recognized the proceedings as such. Another Viet Nam movie? she groaned internally. After Apocalypse Now, I don't think I can stomach -- No, wait.

The uniforms were wrong, for one thing. Those looked like German uniforms, and not even Nazi uniforms of the Second World War. Overhead, a biplane zoomed from somewhere back towards the hotel towards the ocean, confirming what Tara thought: this movie was taking place during the First World War.

A dark-haired woman in black tank-top and jeans strolled across the sand, calling out in a husky voice, "Alright, stuntguys, into the padding." Most of the "soldiers" quickly began to put elbow and knee pads on underneath pants and jackets. The brunette meticulously placed each of the men in certain positions; obviously, Tara thought, she was the stunt coordinator. She felt a nudge beside her as a little boy, about four or five, tried to peek through to see the action. Tara sidestepped a little to let him go by to stand in front of her.

A young man with a bullhorn addressed the crowd: "All right, everybody, this is a take. You're welcome to take pictures, but please, don't move around -- you'll spoil the shot."

The activity reached a fever pitch as production assistants spoke into walkie-talkies, cameras were brought up to speed, then the brunette yelled "Action!" The biplane zoomed over the beach as the "soldiers" took aim and fired at it. Explosions dotted the sand, simulating dropped bombs and detonated munitions.

Smoke machines added to the general atmosphere as the "soldiers" stumbled about, knocked down by explosions and "bullets" from the biplane. The crowd erupted in unabashed applause as the spectacle continued, the biplane swinging out over the sea.

"Zoom!" the little boy cried, imitating the biplane. Tara smiled at him, stifling an urge to ruffle his hair. She saw an older woman, in a dark funeral-type dress, look over at the toddler as well, then turned back to the ersatz battlefield.

"Here he comes again!" someone in the crowd yelled unnecessarily as the biplane completed its turn and came for another pass. Some of the "soldiers" who were still functional fired at the plane. It was getting harder to see what was going on from the crowd's perspective, the smoke machines were really working overtime. A series of massive explosions stunned the crowd further; Tara felt the shockwaves snatch at her breath.

It took long moments for the smoke to clear this time...only to disclose the horrific sight that caused the crowd to scream. Bodies torn apart by the explosion littered the beach. One man, lying on his back, tried to reach down past his waist for the leg that was now several feet away from him. His companion was even more unlucky, cut in half below the belly. A third man was decapitated.

Tara scooped up the little boy, turned his head from the bloody sight, as she screamed "Medic! Medic! Somebody get the medic!" She saw one spectator trying not to retch, and the old woman put her hand to her mouth in horror.

The brunette on the beach, the stunt coordinator, seemingly unmoved by all this carnage, called out, "Cut! Print it!"

Before Tara could even muster a shout of rage, the dead and torn bodies stood up, showing that their wounds were nothing but prosthetics, their real limbs and torsos and heads buried in the sand. The crowd went from screaming and crying to hysterical laughter and applause as they realized the prank played on them. Tara said to the little boy, "Look, honey, it's okay, they're all right." He wriggled away from her; she let him go find his mommy.

The assistant with the bullhorn congratulated the crew. "Great show, Faith, you gave everyone a heart attack!"

"Willow'll hate it," the stunt coordinator, Faith, called back. "She said 'get it in one,' right? Now watch: she'll do six hours of pick-ups!"

The stuntman near her laughed, muttering something along the lines of "It's Miller Time!" and accepted her thanks in return for a great gag.

Tara had been amused despite herself, but she was angry that they had so cavalierly scared the little boy. It wasn't exactly her place to say so, but it might be worth a comment. She saw a stairwell lead down to the beach, and half-heartedly went toward it, intending to strike up a conversation with someone about the spectacle, but only if she didn't get in the way of their production.

Halfway down the stairs, she noticed the old woman, who had climbed down before her, approach a young man in jeans and t-shirt. Tara thought his brown hair and square jaw looked vaguely familiar. She found out why when the old lady asked, in a southern accent, "Are you Riley Finn, the actor?"

"Yes, ma'm," Riley replied, all politeness.

"Could I have yuh autograph?" He seemed genuinely pleased to accommodate her, taking her little autograph book and pen with extraordinary care. "Could ya make it 'To Emily, for eternal peace.'?" He nodded and made the inscription, then handed it back for her inspection. "Ah'm certainly glad you weren't hurt," she added.

"Uh, no, ma'm, they don't let me play with the dangerous toys," Riley said, with just the right hint of self-deprecation.

She tucked her pen and book back in her purse, then looked back up at him. "Ah lost my husband and my son in the wars, both of 'em," she added sadly, before walking off along the beach.

Tara stared after her awhile, so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't notice the helicopter approach and land a couple hundred yards away.

****

Willow Rosenberg stepped out of the chopper, ducking her head unnecessarily to avoid the rotating blades and strode across the grass in front of the hotel, royally pissed.

Anya Jenkins, Willow's chief assistant, financial conscience, punching bag and stooge, ran up to her. "What happened, Willow?" she asked, concerned over what came over the walkie-talkie some minutes ago.

"The only thing the divers found in the car was the fucking camera!" Willow snarled. Anya knew that she only swore in a rare temper.

She also knew Willow was more anguished than angry. "And Darla?"

"No Darla. They're searching the riverbanks upstream. But," she intoned in a commanding tone, "don't say anything to anybody for a while."

"Judas Priest," Anya muttered.

"Oh, yes," Willow answered, leaning on a vehicle parked nearby, biting back tears. "Judas Priest."

"What d'ya want to do, Will?"

"I do not know, Anya! Maybe I'll call my mother and have her convince me it's my fault for not going to medical school!" Anya took the rebuke in stride; certainly it was not the first nor the worst. Willow shook her head. "What in God's name happened?"

TBC

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Wow, Il liked that one; nyah-nyah on the spectators for being fooled tho, :-).
I'ven't seen the filmI've seen very few movies since 1988); I really hope Tara didn't get Darla killed while dodging the car before.
Nitpicking, my favorite sport; unless she's a modeler or a military historian, I find it hard to imagine Tara being able to tell the difference between KAiserian and Hitlerian German uniforms at a glance. But that is aveyr small niIT already in the past.
DEF-initely intrigued.

_________________
Snapshots:http://thekittenboard.com/board/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=10210 a Love Story
____________________________________________________________
Kim: (breaks off the kissing) I l... (Sue stops her with a hand)
Sue: We don't talk about things like that right after, you know that, no saying those things in The Moment.
Kim: (moves the hand aside) Screw The Moment. I *love* you.

Well, the gang's all here... except I don't recall Giles making an appearance yet, or Xander, or Buffy ...... ok so a lot of the gang's here. I'd actually thought that was either Buffy or Anya in the car earlier, Darla was a surprise. Now is she dead or mysteriously missing? And is she still a bad girl? Hmmmm. The story's progressing very well, CM, and so nice to see an update so quickly.

DaddyCatAlso.. I'm no expert but the uniforms of WWI and WWII seem very different to me, mainly in the materials used, just based on memories from wandering around various museums. Being able to identify it as German is another thing, but it's not a huge stretch to assume the enemy is German if the setting is WWI. Maybe her father (already mentioned as a soldier) was a war history buff? Also, having apparently been a soldier herself, she could be more aware of the subtler identifications of uniform than the average bod I guess.

Ah, sorry, I'll turn off the brain ramble now.

CaptMurdock, I'm looking forward to having all these questions you are so niftily raising answered, in your usual stylish way.
Thanks

Anne

_________________
Spells for Two

Every path has its puddle. Old English Saying... I think I just stepped in mine...

Disclaimer: The characters, or the reasonable facsimiles that I employ in this story, are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy productions. The setting for this story is lifted from the motion picture The Stunt Man, screenplay adapted by Lawrence B. Marcus from the novel by Paul Broduer, directed by Richard Rush. (If you haven’t seen this movie, shame on you. Your captain is very disappointed in you.)
Spoilers: Only for the movie.
Rating: R.
Summary: A young fugitive stumbles onto a movie set, where a new stunt double is needed for their leading lady. It’s a WWI film directed by a very unusual, very driven young lady. Sparks ensue. But can love survive, where nothing is what is seems?.
Note: This story is set in the late 1970’s, for reasons that will become clear. I’ve taken certain liberties given sexual politics (for instance, that a woman in her mid-twenties would be directing a major motion picture in that time period…so much for “liberal” Hollywood). Some eyebrows might be raised that Tara would have seen actual combat in Southeast Asia…don’t worry, I will explain that as I go along.
Feedback: If you guys even have to ask…reply here or at captmurdock@msn.com.

****

A few minutes after dropping Willow off, the helicopter, being sent on another errand for the production company, took off. It flew off towards the ocean, paralleling the large seawall that the old woman and Tara were walking along.

Tara heard the sound of the rotors, and flinched when she recognized the copter from the bridge, knowing full well anybody aboard might recognize her. At the same time, she wondered if the beautiful redhead was aboard…

The woman, walking a few yards ahead of Tara and having reached the end of the seawall, had opened an umbrella for shade against the sun. Unfortunately, as the helicopter passed her, the backwash from the rotors had caught the umbrella, pulling it inside out…and pulling the old woman into the sea. She barely had time to cry out before splashing into the water.

“Hey!” Tara called back towards the beach, hoping the crew still assembled there would here. She ran towards the end of the wall and looked down.

The old woman was foundering in the water. Fortunately, she was in the lee of the wall, where the water was relatively still. Taking a deep breath, Tara jumped in feet first.

Coming up, she was relieved to see the water was only about chest-deep, although her wet clothes and jacket made it hard to move. She walked-swam over to the old woman, who was coughing and sputtering but otherwise seemed to be doing okay for the moment. “It’s okay, I got you,” Tara said as she reached the lady, scooping her up into her arms and making her way towards the beach. “Don’t worry, it’s okay!” Absently, she noted that the old woman didn’t feel as frail or as thin as Tara thought she would.

So intent on making her way back to dry land, and trying to keep the old lady out of the water, that she didn’t see the lady’s free hand tearing wet latex off her face and neck, pulling prosthetic appliances off her teeth. Tara looked over to see how her charge was doing…

…saw a beautiful young woman looking back at her and chirping, “Hi!” Tara was so surprised by this apparition that she dropped the woman into the water. She resurfaced, laughing off the incidents and Tara’s exclamations of shock. “No, no, it’s makeup, it’s a makeup test!” She reached up and pulled off the grey wig, revealing youthful blonde hair.

Tara’s shock melted into sudden recognition. “Wait a second – I know you, don’t I? You’re…”

Extending a hand, as if they were meeting at a cocktail party, she said, “Buffy Summers.” The two of them collapsed in laughter as they shook hands.

“They must be crazy to cover up a face like yours!” Tara said.

“Oh, no, it’s just for the end of the film, when I play my old-lady self.”

“Come on,” Tara said, still giggling, tugging on Buffy’s old-lady dress. “Let’s get out of here.”

“No, wait: rescue me!” Buffy pleaded.

“What?”

“Rescue me! I always wanted to be rescued.”

Tara looked down at herself, self-deprecatingly. “I’m not exactly Sir Galahad, y’know.”

“Girl’ll take what she can get,” Buffy replied, smiling, then suddenly jumping right at Tara, who automatically caught her.

Chuckling again, Tara started walking back to the beach. “This is just like in the movies.”

Leaning her head back, letting her hair trail in the water, Buffy replied dreamily, “I am the movies.”

As they reached the shore, Buffy still in Tara’s arms, several crewmembers came running over. Buffy smiled and winked at them to show that she was okay. However, she jumped when she heard a female screech: “Buffy! What are you doing, scaring me to death???”

“Uh oh, the boss,” Buffy cringed, jumping down. Tara let her go and followed, intending to explain what happened and get Buffy off the hook…until she saw that the leader of the pack (which included the actor Riley Funn and Faith the stunt coordinator), obviously the director of the movie…was the redheaded woman from the helicopter.

“Oh boy,” Tara muttered. She wondered how she might fade back into the scenery.

Buffy stalked toward Willow, steaming nearly as much as Willow. “Aw, hell, Willow, it was perfect, and now it’s all ruined! Where were you?” As the two closed to arms’ length, she lowered her voice. “I even got Riley’s autograph, and he didn’t even know!” (Behind Willow, Riley clapped a hand over his eyes in mortification.) “You’d’ve been proud of me,” she finished meekly.

Willow placed her hands on Buffy’s cheeks, gazing at her with affection. “Faith,” she called.

“Yo?”

Indicating Buffy, she commanded, “Stick her in a hot bath and a warm bed…and I want to see her in full makeup and costume before dinner.”

Blankets provided by crewmembers wrapped around her, Buffy let herself be led away to the nearest bathtub. After a few steps, she stopped and turned back towards Tara. “Hey! Thanks again!” she called. “It was really gallant of you…saving an old lady like that.”

Most of the crew went back towards the hotel. Willow, however, hung back and called to Tara, who was slowly walking in the opposite direction. “Hang on there a minute, would ya? I want to thank you, too,” she added as she walked towards Tara, “and I suggest you don’t run away.” Tara was silent as Willow drew near, simultaneously afraid and fascinated by this pixie-ish girl who apparently ran the show in fuchsia top, loosely-tied button-down workshirt, faded jeans and sneakers. Warily, she circled away as Willow approached. Bemused, Willow noted Tara’s reticence. “What is that, a habit with you?”

“Used to stutter a lot, too, but I gave that up.”

Willow smothered a smile. This girl, soaking wet, no makeup, on the ragged edge of exhaustion, starvation and God knew what else, was magnificent. Not now, Will, she admonished herself. “I’d like to know what happened up there, on the bridge, with you and Darla – that was her name. What happened on the bridge?”

“I’d like to know myself,” Tara shot back. “All I know is, she tried to run me down.” She backed toward the seawall, climbing the stone steps and sitting down, her legs suddenly deciding they couldn’t hold her up anymore.

Willow seemed surprised and concerned as she sat down next to her. “Well, I dunno why she’d do that. That wasn’t what I sent her up there for.”

“I didn’t get a chance to ask; she was coming at me too goddamn fast!” Tara took a breath to calm herself. “If you want to get home for Thanksgiving, you gotta figure the guy’s coming at you fast wants to kill you,” Pause. “Or worse. Learned that from the Cong.”

“The Co-- The Viet Cong? Now what’s a nice girl like you doing in a nasty police action like that?”

“Long story.”

“We may have time for you to tell, seeing as we’re going to be stuck together.”

Tara frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, given how many cops are after you..”

“Wh-what makes you say that?”

“The look on your face and the way you ran back there,” Willow replied, “and your charm bracelets.” With a muttered curse, Tara tucked the handcuffs still around her wrists under the sleeves of her jacket. “Y’know, you’re in great shape, you’re quick on your feet, you could do it…”

“Do what?” Willow’s reply was cut off by the squeal of a police siren. Tara turned back to the beach, where the town sheriff’s car was pulling onto the set.

****

Sheriff Warren Mears was not in a good mood. He had not liked it when the town council and the hotel had granted this Rosenberg person permission to shoot her damn film on location here. He hadn’t enjoyed having to seal off roads and provide security for the production. He counted the days to when he could basically tell the whole kit and caboodle to hit the road and not come back.

Now, he had just be handed an excuse to shut the whole party down early…only it was at the cost of someone’s life.

Willow’s flunky Anya intercepted him as he stalked across the beach set. “How’s it going, Warren? You seem a little upset; what’s the matter?”

“You clowns are outta here!” Warren snarled. “Pack up your cameras and go!”

****

Tara involuntarily hissed in breath when she saw the police car. Then she saw the expression on Willow’s face.

Willow stood brushed off her pants, and said out of the side of her mouth, “Just remember: your ass is in a sling, just like mine. Maybe, I can save them both.”

By now, Warren had walked almost to the seawall, with Anya and several other crewmembers in tow. “Rosenberg,” he began without preamble, “I’ve had it with you! I don’t give a shit what the city council says, you’re outta here!”

Willow adopted her most winning smile, and in the most calming placating tones imaginable, sauntered down the steps to met the sheriff. “Warren…it’s been a bad day. You’re hot, you’re tired…why don’t we go to the hotel, I’ll buy you a drink, and you can tell me what’s all the hubbub.”

Warren sneered. “Don’t treat me like these other morons, Rosenberg. You know damn well ‘what’s all the hubbub. It’s that old Dusenberg in the river with a dead woman inside it!” Barely pausing for breath, he ranted on: “I mean, you go out there, with no permits, no safety precautions, and you get someone killed!”

“Warren..” Willow began.

Warren cut her off. “No! No more of your bullshit explanations. Now get you and your traveling circus out of this town…before I figure out how to hang out with a murder charge!”

“No explanations, Warren” Willow replied, stopping Warren’s stomping back to his car. “I really don’t have any.” Turning and pointing to Tara, she added, “But maybe she does! Go on, Warren, ask her!”

So much for getting my ass out of the sling! Tara thought bitterly as she climbed down the steps. “Hey! Don’t b-blame me for—“

Willow rounded on her and cut her off. “Oh, why not, Darla? Is it because you’re an unprofessional idiot? Is that it, Darla?”

Shocked into silence, Tara could only listen as a seemingly-mad-as-hell Willow strode back to Warren. “See, Darla’s only interested in one thing: the cha-ching on her paych-check! Right? She’s a ridiculous daredevil with a head full of cement! She screws me up, she screws you up, but she’s not dead, yet!” Willow finished her diatribe with a glare at her crew. “Do me a favor, Warren,” she continued, “slap the cuffs on this stupid bitch and heave her into a jail cell where even she can’t get hurt!” She turned away from Warren and caught the eye of Riley, who gave the barest nod of approval.

Warren was having trouble catching up. He turned to Anya, who was trying to hide the fact that she, too, came in the middle of this movie. “That’s Darla?” he asked, pointing at Tara.

Anya gave a slight shrug, then nodded. “Well, yeah. I mean, who else would it be?”

Warren, completely missing the irony in Anya’s statement, strode towards Tara, who tried not to flinch. He touched her wet clothes and hair, staring at her. “How did you get out of the car?”

Before Tara could even think of a convincing lie, Willow piped in. “Are you on drugs? She couldn’t get out of a pay toilet by herself; the divers got her out and brought her here in the chopper!” Tara shrugged deprecatingly.

Defeated, Warren slouched back to his patrol car. Anya, trying to be sympathetic, offered Warren a ride in the helicopter. Just before he got to his car, Warren turned back. “Rosenberg!” Willow tilted her head in an I’m-listening gesture. “In three days, your permit is up. After that, I’m arming my men with shotguns, and telling them it’s open season on any nut carrying a camera!”

Anya and the other crewmembers laughed as Warren slammed his door and roared off. Willow waved Tara over. “That was very good,” she murmured as she put her arm around the blonde’s shoulders.

“Hey, all I did was listen.”

“Oh, boy, would I love to find an actor who’s mastered that art – and you are not to tell Buffy I said that,” Willow added. “Anyway, the job is yours.”

Tara’s brow furrowed. “What job?”

“What, that of stuntwoman, of course. That was Darla’s job: doubling as Buffy, who’s playing a woman, playing a resistance fighter.” Willow grinned as they walked back to the hotel. “Who’s going to look for you, amongst all those?”

Tara was shaking her head in confusion. “What about the people who work for you, your crew? Are they going to see me and say ‘Hi, Darla’?”

“You’d prefer ‘Hi, Alice’? Don’t worry about the people who work for me, my crew. They’ll call you whatever I want them to call you.” Willow must have seen the expression change on Tara’s face, because she continued, “I know, that sounds callous. What happened with Darla…” For a second, her voice broke. Tara reached out to clasp her arm. Willow nodded her thanks and plunged on. “It’s a tragedy. But there’s nothing to be done about it, nothing! I need this location for three more days…and you need a place to hide.”

They reached the doors of the hotel, which were decorated with ornate stained glass. Willow crossed in front of Tara and pointed at the doors. “That’s the Looking Glass...through there is Wonderland. Have faith, Alice. Just close your eyes…and believe.”

TBC

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

OK, that seems just a bit on the callous side for Willow..... She's got to make a movie and it's so important that a dead stunt woman can just be forgotten? You've got something going on here that isn't yet clear I think. Or maybe I'm wrong? Anyway, I'm just waiting to find out!

Anne

_________________
Spells for Two

Every path has its puddle. Old English Saying... I think I just stepped in mine...

Mmm...I don't know if you're entirely wrong. Most incarnations of Willow seem to be a lot more ambitious than she would like to admit. As Willow Prime once put it, "I'm occasionally callous and strange." Besides, she was visibly upset about Darla, but as she said, there's nothing she can do about it.

And if she did just pack up and go, there wouldn't be much of a story, now would there?

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Ok I for one am loving this. I love first time fics, and even though this one takes liberties at times, it's still great! Can't wait to read more! Cheers!

this is still going great! even if...jesus, aren't they going to be in a LOT of trouble when they discover tara's and darla's true identities?

anyway, i'm loving this.

and buffy dressed like an old woman and taking riley's autograph? man, that was hilarious!

i can't wait for the next update, good job!

_________________
Vale
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"When you get excited about something, one might imagine you as a small, maniacally grinning rubber ball, which someone throws at the wall in an enclosed room, and goes bouncing off every surface for about 15 minutes." - Mudrat

I'm choosing to interpret that as a shout-out

Nice layering of artifice upon artifice, with the bombs, and then the 'old' woman (I had a hunch Buffy would be the star when she showed up in that hilarious commercial in the first chapter) - it makes me kind of curious if we're going to get half-way through the story and then find out that actually Willow and Tara are both actors and this whole thing is within another movie, and... well, I understand how Barclay gets nervous about things like that. "Computer, end program?" Just in case

Sherriff Mears... boo hiss Quick thinking by Willow, but I doubt we've seen that last of him.

_________________
Chris Cook

Through the Looking-glass - Every world needs a Willow and Tara.

I was kind of skeptical when I first read the description of the story (I haven't ever seen the movie) but I was very pleasantly suprised. I'm really enjoying this so far-I have to admit to being a closet fan of DarkBattlingInnerDemonsButchTara!. I'm looking forward to the next update. Keep up the good work!

Aren't we all?


Thank you very much!

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

I'm enjoying this story. You have set up a fast paced story, yet the emotions still come throught.

P.S. -- You've inpsired me to rent the movie in the future.

Title: The Stunt Woman
Disclaimer: The characters, or the reasonable facsimiles that I employ in this story, are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy productions. The setting for this story is lifted from the motion picture The Stunt Man, screenplay adapted by Lawrence B. Marcus from the novel by Paul Broduer, directed by Richard Rush. (If you haven’t seen this movie, shame on you. Your captain is very disappointed in you.)
Spoilers: Only for the movie.
Rating: R.
Summary: A young fugitive stumbles onto a movie set, where a new stunt double is needed for their leading lady. It’s a WWI film directed by a very unusual, very driven young lady. Sparks ensue. But can love survive, where nothing is what is seems?.
Note: This story is set in the late 1970’s, for reasons that will become clear. I’ve taken certain liberties given sexual politics (for instance, that a woman in her mid-twenties would be directing a major motion picture in that time period…so much for “liberal” Hollywood). Some eyebrows might be raised that Tara would have seen actual combat in Southeast Asia…don’t worry, I will explain that as I go along.
Feedback: If you guys even have to ask…reply here or at captmurdock@msn.com.

****

"Okay...open your eyes!"

At the hairdresser's command, Tara opened her eyes -- and stared at the stranger in the mirror. Her hair was a bit shorter, much better styled (as opposed to the trimmed-with-a-Swiss-Army-knife style Tara usually frequented) and several shades blonder than the mousy coloring she was more-or-less born with. Her eyebrows had been trimmed as well, giving her a rather sultry aspect, and she had been applied with blush that emphasized her cheekbones. "Holy cow."

"Whaddaya think?" asked Cordelia, the hairdresser, leaning in beside Tara and looking at the reflection in the mirror.

"Could be worse," Tara replied, grinning. "Could be green.” In truth, Tara was astonished. It had been a long time -- a lifetime, it seemed -- since she cared enough about her appearance to put any work into it. Looking at her reflection was an echo of a lost memory. "It's great."

"Of course it is. Ask anybody: Cordelia gives great hair.” She stood up and rubbed Tara's shoulders. Tara had been mildly amused to see that the hairdresser for this movie, one of the behind-the-scenes people, had movie-star quality looks herself. Between the beautiful Buffy and the striking Faith, in addition to this Playboy Playmate of a girl, Tara had begun to feel dowdy. Now she saw herself as almost toothsome, a feeling she was not really accustomed.

Cordelia moved off, checking off on the variety of wigs that adorned the makeshift makeup room in the hotel. "I tried to make you look as much as Buffy as possible. I guess, for the moment, we're pretending you're Darla. But anyway, I went ahead and did the face, too. Might as well -- 'if you don't look good, we don't look good.'"

"You do the hair and makeup both? Is that unusual, or...?"

"Hey, we're fairly low-budget here. Well, not low-low budget, call it medium low-budget. Anya pinches every penny and strangles every nickel. This wouldn't even be a union shoot if we thought we could get away with it."

Tara frowned. "Why not?"

"Cheaper. Almost everybody here is working for minimum scale, mainly because they believe in Willow's ability to pull this film off. That's why Buffy fronted a ton of cash and options up front -- technically, she's a producer, but she's letting Willow call the shots on this film. It's her baby -- well, her and Xander's, he's the writer, you'll meet him later, I suppose."

Tara got up to stretch her legs; her butt was starting to get a little numb from sitting for so long. She crossed over to a window set in the makeshift makeup room. "What's she like?" Tara asked, seeing Willow in the walkway below, talking to Buffy about a scene.

"Selling douche powder, she's terrific," Cordelia answered offhandedly, which confused Tara for a second until she realized the other girl had missed her point. "But the dog food thing, I'm not sure she's sincere."

"Um, actually, I meant Willow."

At that, the makeup girl's eyes widened. Then she pursed her lips, her expression unreadable for a moment. "You find out," she finally offered, which really told Tara nothing...except that Cordelia knew more than she was letting on.

****

"Very nice," Willow offered, turning Buffy's head side to side, inspecting the latex covering her face that Cordelia had reapplied a little while ago. Once again, the beautiful young woman was transformed into an old crone. With a gray wig and a black dress, the illusion was complete.

"Easy for you to say. These dental implants are killing me," Buffy murmured while the director pored over her, imagining shots and angles.

"All for our art, Buffy, all for our art. Cordy, magnificent work. That summer you spent with Dick Smith paid off."

"Yeah, well, nothing says 'good work' like a little gold statue...and I don't mean those novelty ones you buy on Melrose Avenue!" The makeup girl's tone was flippant, but her expression betrayed how pleased she was with the results.

"Not even the ones with little lights and make interesting buzzing noises?"

"Cough, cough," Buffy said, cutting off the game. She turned abruptly serious. "Any word on Darla?"

"No," Willow answered, matching the somber mood. "And no film ever made would ever be worth it." She sat down in the makeup room's couch; both of the other women followed suit.

"I wonder why these guys, Faith and Darla and their stunt guys -- why do they take such chances?" Buffy asked.

Willow shrugged. "The only thing that ever really know, is that we are going to die someday, somehow...and that makes some people so...crazy, so scared, that they'll do anything...fight wars, fight windmills..." Her breath quickened as she had to yet again repress the grief that threatened to shoot through her. "...drive off bridges, whatever. But that's what our film's about. Or haven't you noticed?"

At that point, Tara peeked into the makeup room, where she had left an hour ago. Anya had put her up in Faith's room, who had lent her some of her clothes, which fit well enough. Between those and the new hairstyle, her tranformation from her Running Fugitive look was complete.

"Oh, good! Come on in!" Willow beckoned, standing up from the couch. Tara sauntered in, trying hard not to stare at Willow.

Buffy stood as well, smoothing out her dress and putting on a smile, old-age makeup notwithstanding. She strode over to Tara, hardly believing that this was the ragamuffin who had 'rescued' her hours before. "You're looking much better."

Tara smiled. "You, too." A little cheeky, given Buffy's current look.

The actress took the verbal sallie with a smile, then turned to Willow. "My new 'carbon copy'?"

"Not 'new'," Willow corrected. "It's really important that we don't let that circulate for a while. Let's pretend that she really is Darla. But not 'Brass Bra' Darla," she added, "no, after her miraculous escape from the car, we now refer to her as," she looked at Tara with a twinkle in her eye, "'Magic'."

Anya barged in at that moment. "Willow, they need you on the set for the madhouse scene." She missed, or chose to ignore, the roll of Willow's eyes at that point. "And, uh, 'Darla'...Faith wants you out on the lawn."

Willow turned to Tara with a sickle-sharp smile. "School's in, Magic."

****

“You ever done any stuntwork?”

On a lawn in front of the hotel, Faith had laid down a couple of padded mats. Tara stood near them, feeling as if she were being interrogated as the brunette circled her. “Sort of.”

“’Sort of?’ Either you have, or you haven’t.”

Tara’s mouth curled into a lazy smile. “I got out of Vietnam in one piece…that was a helluva stunt.”

Faith snorted derisively. She turned and pointed towards the hotel. “You think you can jump from that tower—“ She tracked from a lighthouse set on top of the hotel… “—to that platform? …to a platform on the roof that, to Tara’s vantage point from the lawn, looked to be at least eight feet away, at least three stories in the air.

Tara smiled again. “To save my ass once, I jumped from a banana tree into a cartload of buffalo chips. Does that count?”

Faith shrugged. “Maybe.” She reached into a nylon bag and drew out a couple of small pads with elastic attached. “Put these on. Under the pants, over the knees.” Tara complied as rapidly as she could; the kneepads were a little strange but not too uncomfortable. Faith then pointed from about where Tara was standing, to a point about six feet away. “Try jumping from there to there.”

“Okey-dokey,” Tara replied brightly. Taking a couple of steps back, Tara launched her self across the space, clearing it handily.

“Very good!” Faith said. “Except you’re dead. Your brains are splattered all over the payment.” To Tara’s confused look, she added. “You’re supposed to land in a tuck-and-roll.”

Slightly nettled, Tara spread her hands. “Show me, Sarge.”

Tying her hair back, Faith positioned herself, and with scarcely a second of hesitation, leaped forward, landing on her hands and shoulders on the mat, tucking her head down and using the momentum to end up on her feet.

“Very fancy!” Tara said, nodding.

“Your turn.”

“Very fancy,” Tara repeated, tying her own hair back. Taking a deep breath, she set herself.

Pushing off as hard as she could, she tucked in and hit the mat, rolling to her feet faster than she would have believed. “Whoa-oa!” she cried as she steadied herself. She turned towards Faith, seeing her instructor standing there with her arms crossed. “How’s that?”

Faith shrugged noncommittally. “Okay.”

Struggling to keep a lid on, Tara added, “My specialty was cross-country running.”

Faith’s eyes hardened. “And Darla’s specialty was drowning! What the hell is Willow thinking, sending me an cocky, amateur goofball, when I need a stuntwoman?” Over Tara’s offended expression, she shot, “It’s a little different when you’re running across that rooftop and they’re shooting tracer bullets over your head!”

Tara felt her jaw tightening. An inner voice told her to cool it…she, in turn, told the inner voice to go fish. “I was running through a stinking jungle in Southeast Asia for eight months, while guys were shooting at my head, not over it. And the ones that didn’t want me dead wanted to spread my knees in opposite directions!” Faith was about express her disbelief in her account, but a second look at Tara’s eyes cut her off. “I’m here. I’m alive. I knew goofballs…and I have nothing against them, seeing as they’re all dead.” She took a breath to steady herself. “So are you gonna give me a break?”

Unsure of what to say in response to the spiel, Faith opted for something else. “Maybe.”

Tara’s brow furrowed. “Are you putting me on?”

“Me? I wouldn’t know how to do that…”

TBC

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Oooooh. Nice. I really like the Faith/Tara interaction. I can't wait to see how things go between Willow and Tara when they start to spend more time together. And what the hell happened to Darla? Crap, now I'm going to have to rent the movie, aren't I?

In any case, this is a very nice, very enjoyable update. I hope the next one comes soon!

Well, I'd recommend renting the movie on general principles, even though it might spoil the story -- granted, I'm not following the movie exactly...

Thanks for the feedback! I'll get the next chapter up ASAP.

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Hee, 'Magic' - cute I liked Tara's reaction to seeing herself all made up, especially how she instinctively underplayed it - that felt real. Not that it's something I have any experience with myself, it just seemed like the kind of thing this Tara would do, if I had to guess. She's a tough cookie, but not all the way to the core - there's a part of her that's softer.

Nice scene between Faith and Tara. I liked how they seemed to approach a kind of understanding from such different starting points - Faith professional as a stuntie, and scornful of Tara's attitude, and Tara cocky and kind of dismissive of Faith's authority, as the person in charge, but with the skills to pass muster and the sense not to ignore it when she sees that Faith knows what she's talking about.

_________________
Chris Cook

Through the Looking-glass - Every world needs a Willow and Tara.

Hey there,
I'm really enjoying your story. There's definitely some backstory on Tara like why are the police after her but I'm sure you'll get to that. Now the idea of Tara "playing" Darla who is Buffy's stunt double is just great. I love the way you've worked all the BtVS crew into your story. And Tara and Faith are both such hot shots that it is awesome. It will be nice to get to some W/T curiousity/flirtation ... (hint hint).

_________________
Menorah Tales | Working It Out | Random Bits

I was hoping for an update to this story.



Great line! I can see that sharp, slightly wicked smile on Willow's face. And "Magic" is a fantastic nickname for Tara. It hints at things to come, yes?

Can't help but wonder, is Darla really dead? Or is something else going on? If she is dead, I'd say the production crew is in about 27 kinds of trouble for not saying something right away.

I haven't seen the original movie, either (sorry to disappoint you, Captain). What is the time period? With Tara spending time in Vietnam, I can't figure out if we're in present day or in the mid-70s. Given some of the movie-making magic being described, it seems like this is set more recent than the evacuation of Saigon.

Tara's back story is very intriguing and you're playing it out in small bits, which keeps the tension thrumming. But dang! What is her story???

Looking forward to more,
Michelle

_________________
My one and only wrecking ball
and you're crashing through my walls
~Brandi Carlile

This story takes place around 1979 or 1980, five years after the fall of Saigon. Exactly what "movie-making magic" are you referring to that seems anachronistic? I don't believe I made any references that would contradict the timeline, but YMMV. And this was before personal computers and cellphones ruled the earth...



Heh heh heh.

Artemis and JustSkipIt: Thanks for your comments. Glad you're enjoying the story.

See you soon!

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Keep it coming Captain, this story is great. I'm dying of curiosity.

Anne

None of that, now. Curiousity killed the cat, but for a while, I was a suspect.

I'm working on the story as we speak, bye bye darling.

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Hi Cap'n,

Sorry it's taken awhile to get back to you...the real world has been rearing its unruly head of late.



Hmm...now you have me questioning my impression. From the description of the special effects happening on the beach and the wonderful make-up for Buffy, I assumed the timeline was more recent. I shall have to go back and reread. Thanks for the clarification, makes more sense to be in the late 70s.

BTW, what does YMMV mean? I haven't seen that one before.

Looking forward to the next update.
Michelle

_________________
My one and only wrecking ball
and you're crashing through my walls
~Brandi Carlile

Prosthetic limbs have been in the movies forever (I'm assuming you meant the gag with the "soldiers" on the beach and the scare they put on the spectators). As for the makeup used on Buffy, latex makeup was pioneered back in the late sixties, most notably with the original Planet of the Apes. (It was also discovered that some actors go barking mad if you cover their entire head in a latex prosthesis. Who knew?)



YMMV = Your Mileage May Vary: an acknowledgement that the stated point is subjective and subject to individual interpretation. Also used synonomously to "To Each His Own," etc.

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"

Title: The Stunt Woman
Disclaimer: The characters, or the reasonable facsimiles that I employ in this story, are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy productions. The setting for this story is lifted from the motion picture The Stunt Man, screenplay adapted by Lawrence B. Marcus from the novel by Paul Broduer, directed by Richard Rush. (If you haven’t seen this movie, shame on you. Your captain is very disappointed in you.)
Spoilers: Only for the movie.
Rating: R.
Summary: A young fugitive stumbles onto a movie set, where a new stunt double is needed for their leading lady. It’s a WWI film directed by a very unusual, very driven young lady. Sparks ensue. But can love survive, where nothing is what is seems?.
Note: This story is set in the late 1970’s, for reasons that will become clear. I’ve taken certain liberties given sexual politics (for instance, that a woman in her mid-twenties would be directing a major motion picture in that time period…so much for “liberal” Hollywood). Some eyebrows might be raised that Tara would have seen actual combat in Southeast Asia…don’t worry, I will explain that as I go along.
Feedback: If you guys even have to ask…reply here or at captmurdock@msn.com.

****

“Can you imagine,” Faith muttered as she stood on the roof of the hotel, “Willow’s doing a World War I picture without horses. You know the kinda gags I could do with four runaway horses pulling a caisson?”

Tara flew at her with a flying tackle. Faith caught her and flipped her over onto a padded mat. “Try it again, and this time, hit me higher.”

Dusting herself off, Tara asked exuberantly, “What’s Willow got against horses? I love horses!” She moved back up the sloped gamble to get into position.

“Don’t butter me up,” Faith sneered back, standing again in the same stance as before. Tara ran, jumped and collided with the brunette. Faith flipped her down onto the mat again. “Better.”

The two traced the route that Tara would following along the precariously slants parts of the hotel roof, avoiding the various “German soldiers” who were “chasing” her. Faith took diagrams out of her pocket to help explain the “gag,” as she liked to call stunts, to Tara.

"You know a good 'falling horse' makes more money in a year than a bank president?" Faith mentioned to Tara as they traced their way across the gambled roof.

Tara shrugged, then said in an encouraging tone, "Picture's not over; maybe you'll get your chance!"

"Naw, never happen." They stopped and looked down through a clear skylight at a set below. Tara caught a glimpse of Willow as she put the cast and crew through their paces. "All they care about is story.

Faith led her over to where a long vertical drainpipe ran next to the roof. "Now, here's where the scuffle ends. You climb onto that drainpipe; it separates, falls, you fall with it--" She pointed to the part of the roof opposite them, separated by a small courtyard. "The pipe stops when it slams into the building over there, and you fall into that awning." She pointed to a small sqaure of fabric attached to the wall on the other side. "Then the Germans catch you and throw you in the nuthouse. That's the scene they're filming down there now."

Tara looked at the awning with incredulity. "That's gonna hold me? That wouldn't hold rainwater!"

Faith looked at her with a faintly contemptuous expression. "It's not a regular awning. It's a 'catcher.'"

Not entirely convinced, Tara moved on.

****

"See, the gag's same here as on the ground; it's just a little scarier." Faith sat on the edge of the roof, while Tara dangled down from the edge next to her, five stories off the ground. "'Course, that's what you get paid for." She had instructed Tara to swing down and hang from the roof for as long as she good, to overcome any fears about doing the stunt.

This is what I get for saying I'm not afraid of heights! Tara thought blackly. Then she mentally rewinded what Faith had said. "Yeah? How much?"

"Ennnh. Stealing candy with this one. Six hundred dollars."

"What?!?" Tara spun to face her, momentarily forgetting her precarious position. While six hundred dollars was a lot more money than she had seen in a long time, it seemed a paltry price to put on one's life.

"Jesus!" Insect-fact, Faith grabbed Tara's nearest hand and hauled, trying to scooch back using just her buttocks, getting Tara more onto the roof. "What d'ya think a stuntwoman is? She's a professional! If the camera jams you get six hundred, and if Willow says Let's Do It Again, you get another six hundred!"

"No kiddin'?"

"No, I'm not kiddin'!"

Tara screamed with glee, while Faith muttered, "Christ, what a dummy!"

****

Riley fought his way through the seeming legions of madmen, searching for Buffy. A sea of moaning, drooling figures swirled around the room trailing half-done restraints. They tore at Riley's hair and clothing...

A female scream erupted, followed by a shout of "Six hundred fuckin' beautiful dollars!" followed by another yell. RIley and the bandaged extras stopped, startled by the sudden noise. The film crew winced.

"All right -- CUT!" Willow bellowed. She bounded from her canvas chair and paced in a circle, irritated but not furious, almost bemused in a way.

"What the hell's goin' on up there?" one of the assistants yelled. "Somebody get up there and tell--"

"Oh, shut up, Charlie, I don't like it, I'm not happy with it!" She took note of the assistant cinematographer's timings. "Everybody, take five."

Anya strode up with her anal-retentive gleam in her eye. "Willow, time! Money! Time!" she cried, punctuating each word with a curt gesture. Willow glanced at her, not altering her expression an iota or making a sound. After several seconds of this, Anya waved off in a why-do-I-bother gesture and stalked off.

"What's wrong, Will?" came a gentle question from a brown-haired, brown-eyed man with the harried look of the perpetually suffering, who stood off to one side of the set as Willow grabbed her copy of the script and started paging through it.

"What's wrong?' Xander? The scene's wrong, that's what's wrong!"

Xander Harris looked indignant. "The scene is perfect. It reads like The Godfather's death scene."

Willow wrinkled her nose. "It's crapola."

"Crapo—Crapola?!?" Xander exploded, drawing the attention of the rest of the crew, looking with bemused expressions at what they had unofficially termed The Willow and Xander Show. "Who was it, Willow, that called me up at two in the morning, raving about the Magical Madhouse Scene? Who was it, my upstairs maid? I don't think so, Will, ya know why? Not only do I not have an upstairs maid, I don't even have an upstairs!! That's why."

Waiting until he had temporarily run out of breath, Willow replied evenly, "It's still crapola." She then turned and walked off.

Xander followed her half-heartedly. "That's it. Twenty years of you and I'm snapping!"

****

“The problem is, Willow, is that when there was a war on, nobody was going to let you make this movie,” Xander said, between shoveling bites of his dinner in the hotel’s private dining room. “Now they’ll let you make it, but you don’t have a war. What you do have, my friend, is a considerable amount of egg on your face. Vietnam is long over and done with.”

Tara, along with most of the key production personnel and cast, sat in the dining room, watching the byplay and eating like starved wolves (Tara was glad to see that she was not the only one working the roast beef hard; with the exception of the waistline-conscious Buffy, everybody has asked and gotten second helpings). Willow, at the head of the table, amused herself by playing Catapult with sugar packets and a spoon. Virtually everybody at the table absently snatched flying packets out of the air without comment.

“This film isn’t about fighting wars, Xander,” Willow replied evenly, sending another Sweet-N-Low down the table. Faith, sitting next to Tara, snatched it out of the air between bites of mashed potato.

“Oh, really? Pray tell, Willow, what is this film about then?”

“It’s about fighting windmills. Y’see, war and all that, terrible as it is, is not the disease,” Willow continued, answering Xander’s question in a lecturer’s tone. Fortunately, the Willow and Xander Show had the most loyal audience in town. “It’s merely a symptom.”

Xander chewed the thought, and his dinner, with equal gravity. “So what’s the disease?”

Willow glanced over at Tara. “Ask her.” She then turned and directed the intense high-beams that she called her eyes at the newly-blonde woman. “Tell us, Magic, how did you like Vietnam?”

Tara smirked. “How do you like yeast infections?” Most of the people at the table laughed, including Willow.

“Y’know, not to impugn the tale that you’ve told me and several other people here,” Willow said, after the laughter died down, “but…I wasn’t aware the U.S. Army allowed women into positions of combat.”

Tara had taken a sip of her water before answering. “I wasn’t in the Army. I was a Red Cross service worker – ‘Doughnut Dollies,’ they called us then. We visited various bases and units, dressed in our little uniforms, wearing lots of perfume and makeup…basically giving Our Boys a-a taste of what they fighting for.” The smile on Tara’s face faded.

“I got sent to a, they called it a firebase, way out in the field, y’know, s-say hi to the troops and all that. Only we got hit by the VC, our air support got cut off, and we had to run.” She almost chuckled then. “Picture me in this Red Cross outfit, looking like an overgrown Campfire Girl, running through the jungle with a bunch of soldiers, with a million guys in black pajamas in hot pursuit.”

“After about the fourth or fifth guy in our squad got killed, I got tired of running around in that outfit…s-so I picked one guy who was about my size…took his uniform…h-he wasn’t going to need it.” Tara took a deep breath to steady herself. “I took his M-16. The other guys taught me how to use that, and a lot of other stuff. I figured it was the least I could do, seeing how all these guys had adopted me and tried to keep me from getting k-killed or…”

“About eight months later, me and two other guys, out of twenty squad members, made it back to American territory.”

Stunned expressions abounded around the table; even the perpetually stoic Faith gave Tara a sympathetic look, and if anyone noticed Cordelia wiping at the corner of one eye, no one said.

Willow’s was both the most admiring and the most appraising aspect. “So you were actually out there, for eight months…killing people…”

Tara shrugged deprecatingly. “I didn’t kill all that many people. Mostly what I did was run and hide.”

“You said something to me on the beach,” Willow asked, “Something about Thanksgiving; how’d that go again?”

“If you want to get home for Thanksgiving, you gotta figure the guy coming at you is out to get you.”

Willow grinned at her, then turned to Xander. “See, that’s what it’s about: being scared, whistling in the dark, inventing enemies… Let’s write a new scene; our screenplay will become relevant again, and my face will be egg-free.”

Xander, knowing he was beaten, opted for the path of least resistance. “Fine, you’ll get another scene. Won’t make a damn bit of difference; the studio’s just going to cut ‘em all out anyway, and all you’ll have least are a bunch of swell battle scenes…which by the way, they told me look just terrific, the last time I was there.”

Riley piped up. “What’d they say about me? No, no, don’t tell me…” He gave himself a thumbs-down and a raspberry. Buffy giggled.

“They won’t cut my film, Xander,” Willow intoned gravely.

“Why the hell not? I mean, what makes you so goddamn special?” Xander replied heatedly.

“Because they know that if they touch my picture…I’ll kill them.”

“Really?” Tara asked, perhaps the only one at the table who might have dared to ask, especially with that air of skepticism.

Willow gave her the full power of her green eyes. “Yes. And then I’ll eat them.” The wicked expression on the redhead’s face made Tara join in the laughter that rang around the table. “Xander, this film is my child. Supposed you had a daughter and the studio told you she would look better with her arms chopped off?”

Xander wiped his mouth with a napkin, giving the question a second’s thought. “Well, being an insecure writer, I’d have to call my agent, and get a second opinion!”

TBC

_________________
Love is an angel, disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
-- Patti Smith, "Because The Night (Belongs to Lovers)"