She stared at the sickening creature that looked back at her with bloodshot eyes. Its skin was a slimy green with a deep gash under one eye and a flap of decaying skin dangling from the other cheek.

"I love it!" she squealed to her reflection in the mirror. "I can't believe it's really me. I look absolutely disgusting. You really are the best, Miranda," she said to the make-up artist who was examining her work with a critical eye.

"That's sweet of you to say, Lucy. But I'm really just a low-ranking grunt in this business. Chances are, you'll never see most of this detail in the film."

"I don't care. I'm having so much fun! I can't wait to put on the dress they chose for me this morning. And this hair? I have got to learn how to put it up in this style. Take a picture with me," she insisted.

Miranda obliged, sticking her grinning face close to Lucy's for a photo.

Lucy was babbling with excitement, she suspected, but just now, she didn't care. She was on the set of a movie that would actually make it to theaters across the country, she had the best Hallowe'en costume ever, and she was getting to hang out with Frederick. Never mind that she might end up on the cutting room floor, or that or that Hallowe'en wasn't for months, or that she'd likely only see Frederick from a distance. Nothing was going to ruin this good mood.

"Zombies, follow me for zombie boot camp!" hollered the short, balding man who was her boss for the day.

He took Lucy and the other couple dozen extras out to a large, sunny field and gave them a crash course in zombie anatomy and movements ("your muscles are mushy, your spines are twisting, and your faces are floppy" was his mantra). She stumbled and shuffled along with her fellow zombie-kind until he was satisfied that they knew the difference between a zombie's rolling amble and a mummy's stiff-armed march. She was pleased to master the basics pretty quickly. The only criticism she got was to 'quit smiling.'

After boot camp, she emerged from wardrobe, now decked in a filthy pink muslin gown with a delicate lace trim hanging in pathetic tatters, and high leather boots covered with fake, hard acrylic mud when she heard someone call her name. She turned to see Frederick looking positively drool-worthy. He walked towards her wearing almost the exact outfit she had imagined him wearing when he first told her about the movie he was shooting: tight, white pants, tall riding boots, and a double-breasted black coat with brass buttons and velvet trim. He carried a top hat under one arm and a sheathed sword under the other with as much ease as if he wore this every day.

"Lucy, you look terrible, darling," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"Aw, you always say the sweetest things," she said, her goofy grin spreading across her face again. "Can you get over this dress?" she said, giving a little spin. "This might just be the prettiest thing I've ever worn, dirt and all."

"I take it you're enjoying yourself?"

"So much! Thanks again for getting me in as an extra. I thought I'd just be hanging around in the background trying not to cough when the camera was rolling and stuff."

"There's still plenty of waiting around in store today, I'm afraid," he said, idly swinging his sword.

"I don't mind one bit. All the people I've met have been fantastic. And they're feeding us! You know, a table of cold cuts and stuff, not brains. Talk about a lack of authenticity."

Frederick laughed out loud at that and she grinned even wider. His smile became tender as he leaned in and grazed a nasty glob at the corner of her mouth with the back of a knuckle. "If you smile any wider, your ooze is going to fall off," he murmured.

"Oh, right," she said, trying to dial her smile back under eleven.

"You should come by my trailer when you're done shooting," he said.

Lucy was grateful for her heavy makeup when her face flushed as his gaze lingered on hers for a long moment, making her wonder just how private this trailer would be. Lucy agreed that she would find him later, but not until she'd made her on-screen debut.

* * * * *

Even under an inch of makeup and wearing a full-length dress that hid her fantastic arse, Frederick still recognized Lucy from twenty paces. There was a vibrancy to her, a bounce in her step that no amount of costuming could hide.

His half-hearted plan to make her lose interest in him by showing her life on a movie set seemed to have backfired, though. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so happy, so completely herself. It was a kind of freedom, after all, pretending to be someone else, one that Lucy was enjoying as much as Frederick did himself. Frederick suspected that she would eventually tire of the long waits between shots and the even longer days, but today was all adventure.

He spent a few pleasant moments imagining her wearing that pink dress without the dirt and tears, her face clean and shining with delight, laughing and twirling her dress for him, showing him a hint of silk stocking over her boots. That was the image he planned to carry with him today until he saw her again.

There was no point in pretending to himself that he didn't want to see her again. He wanted her alone, in his arms, and he wanted as much as she was willing to give.

* * * * *

Lucy hurried to the set. She was joined by Samantha, one of the other zombie ladies, a pretty young woman with sandy blonde hair wearing a blue silk gown ripped at the bodice to show her old-fashioned undergarments. At least, Lucy thought the young woman would be pretty once she took off her lumpy green makeup.

"Oh my God! You were just talking to Frederick Asherton!" Samantha squealed.

"Yeah, I was," she said, trying to keep her runaway grin under control. "He got me in as an extra."

"How on earth did you manage that?" She looped her arm through Lucy's just like proper young ladies used to way back when.

"We're.."

What were they? He'd called her a friend the night he helped her through her migraine. But the kiss that was nearly so much more two nights ago took them beyond friends. But their time together was limited. "We know each other a bit," Lucy said. It was a good enough explanation for someone she'd only just met.

"More than just a bit, I'd say. I saw his face when you were talking. He looked at you like you were the appetizer, dinner and dessert."

Lucy's ooze fell off.

* * * * *

"Zombie eight, over by the shed. Zombie nine, behind the tree!" called Lucy's boss, who had the unflattering title of 'extra's wrangler.' The man was shouting instructions as he read them from a clipboard just as she rejoined her hoard of the undead.

The words of the woman in blue echoed through Lucy's ears as she shuffled, limped and flopped around the set, waited on the sidelines, and grabbed a quick lunch. She spotted Frederick a couple times that day, though always from a distance. Once she thought she saw him riding towards her on a horse, but it had turned out to be a stunt double.

In the mid-afternoon, she found a comfortable spot to sit and watch the action when she wasn't needed. She'd gotten up even earlier than usual to get to the set for the crazy early call time and was starting to feel drowsy. Her eyes had just drifted shut when she heard something heavy hit the ground, followed by a voice yelling, "Cut!" and another yelling "Medic! Need some help, here!"

No longer the least bit drowsy, she bounced onto her feet and followed the sound of the commotion. Two bodies lay on the ground beside a low shed, one moaning and one not. The noisy man was dressed as a ragged peasant zombie. The one that was not moving at all, the one that worried her more, was wearing tight white pants and a black double-breasted jacket. A top hat lay beside him. Her heart clenched and her breath caught in her throat. She ran faster anyways.

By the time she got to the injured men, a small crowd had gathered, partially blocking her view. She was soon joined by a slim, middle-aged man carrying a large red bag marked "First Aid."

"Move. Move!" he hollered to the small crowd that had gathered. They scurried away and Lucy finally saw the face of the man in the dark jacket.

It wasn't Frederick.

Breathing freely again, she took half a moment to savor the relief, then felt guilty because the man, the stunt double that she'd seen earlier, was clearly seriously injured.

"You go too, miss," the medic said to Lucy.

"I can help," she replied.

"You a nurse? Doctor?"

"Physiotherapist," she admitted, "But I'm first-aid certified every year."

He nodded. "I'll assess that one," he said, pointing to the finely dressed gentleman. "You see to him," he said, swinging his arm to point at the zombie. Lucy hurried over to her patient.

"Hi there," she said, doing her best to speak in a calm and reassuring manner, "My name's Lucy. I'm going to take care of you." Blood covered half his face and both arms. But he was conscious, and based on the amount of noise he was making, his airway was clear. "Can you tell me your name? Can you tell me what hurts?" she asked, wanting to assess his mental status.

"Oll-ovvvv-" he grunted.

"All over? It hurts all over?" she asked, snapping on a pair of latex gloves, then reaching for one of the neck braces that the medic had pulled from his bag. Crap, she may be in way over her head.

"Oliver. I'm Oliver," he said.

"Oliver. Nice to meet you. Stay very still for a second." She slipped the neck brace into place, then grabbed a large package of gauze from the first aid kit.

"Can you tell me what hurts, Oliver?" she asked again, ripping open package and pressing the gauze hard against the bloodiest spot on his head. There were lumps and hard things between the gauze and his head. She didn't remember seeing debris in the wound, but she was moving fast.

"Ow!" he complained.

"Sorry. I need to apply pressure."

"Ow, stop!" he said, pushing her hand away.

"I really need...oh. That's not real blood, is it?"

"No! And you were pushing it into my brain." Lumps of hard plastic stuck to the gauze in her hand.

"Sorry, sorry." She scanned him again, seeing now that the blood wasn't pooling or dripping from any of his apparent wounds. But Oliver was still moaning in pain, so there must be an injury somewhere.

"Oliver. Look at me, Oliver. I want to help you. Tell me what hurts."

"My foot. Aw, man, I think I broke my foot," he groaned. A few more questions and a careful exam determined that his foot was the worst of his injuries, though he had a few bruises as well, and she found a cut on his head that was hidden by the makeup.

When she went to search for something to stabilize his foot among the first-aid equipment, she saw that the man in the dark coat was now sitting up drinking a bottle of water.

"Hey, how is he?" she asked the medic.

"He'll be fine. He was in the middle of a fight scene on the shed roof with that guy," he said, gesturing at Oliver, "And fainted in the middle of it."

"And landed on me on the way down!" said Oliver.

"Sorry, man. Had a few too many last night." He gave Oliver a 'you know how it goes' shrug of his elegantly-clad shoulders.

Oliver scrambled to a sitting position, glaring daggers at his fellow actor and ready to knock the self-satisfied grin off his face.

"Sit," Lucy barked, pointing at the ground Oliver had been lying on. "You don't move until that foot is splinted. Got it?"

"But he... "

"It can wait. You walk on that foot now and you might never walk again. How would that be for your career, Oliver?"

"Bad."

"Real bad. So just stay put."

* * * * *

"Stanley, by the way," said the medic as he and Lucy tidied up the equipment and garbage.

"Lucy," she said, their latex gloves squeaking as they shook hands.

"You were a great help. Thanks for that," said Stanley.

"Not at all. I'm just glad that wasn't worse than it was," she said. She stripped off her gloves and dropped them into the garbage container now that the unhygienic mess was dealt with.

"Yeah, it looked pretty bad. But you jumped right in. You were ready if it had been something serious, though, I could see that written all over you."

Lucy gasped, then glanced down at what was all over her. "Oh, my costume," she groaned. She had grass stains on the front of her dress where she'd been kneeling on it, and a large rip nearly showed her thoroughly modern underwear. The greenish makeup that had been so carefully applied to her hands and arms was a disaster, and she suspected her hair was, too.

"I gotta go see what they want to do with mess," said Lucy. She said a quick goodbye to Stanley and hurried to the make-up tent.

The incredible Miranda was just assessing the damage when the junior director came in seeking Lucy. He introduced himself as a Mr. Persed, then thanked her profusely for helping during the emergency. Then he told her that as it was nearly the end of the day, the extras were only needed for one or two more shots and, assuring her that she would be paid for a full day, told her that she was free to leave.

Miranda set to work cleaning off Lucy's makeup, which took nearly as long as getting it all on in the first place. Lucy was glad that she did such a thorough job, though. She wasn't sure how she would have gotten it all off at home. Lucy didn't usually wear much in the way of makeup and when she did, there were usually traces of the mascara smeared across her pillowcase the next morning.

Since Lucy was the first to return to the makeup trailer to get cleaned up, and no-one else was in need of any touch-ups, Miranda offered to do Lucy's makeup. Lucy happily accepted, on the condition that Miranda kept it light.

* * * * *

Twenty minutes later, after thanking Miranda profusely, Lucy went in search of Frederick's trailer. She found a whole city of them but, thanks to Frederick's directions, found his trailer with ease.

Lucy knocked on the trailer door, and when no-one answered, she let herself in. She'd never been in a trailer this size before. It looked just like the ones people towed behind their pickup trucks on vacation, but the biggest and nicest of them. Lucy found herself in a small sitting-slash-dining area done in a tastefully boring floral print. To her left was a kitchenette so spotless that looked like it had never been used. Farther to the left down an extremely narrow hallway were three skinny doors that led, she assumed, to the bathroom, closet, and bedroom. The space was flanked by windows, all of which had their blinds drawn.

Lucy spotted a note on the table written in black ink by a male hand.

Lucy

Make yourself at home. There's food in the kitchen, books on the shelf and DVD's by the TV. I'll join you soon as I can.

-F

She put her purse down beside the note, then peeked in the fridge and found a small assortment of drinks and snacks. She took a bottle of orange juice and went to look around the sitting area where she assumed she'd find the books and DVD's. The trailer was so tidy, she wondered if Frederick spent any time there at all. The only item that wasn't neatly put away was a well-thumbed stack of papers that looked like the full script for the movie.

Lucy was impressed to see that Frederick kept a large-ish collection of books in his trailer. His taste was varied, but good. Lucy saw a couple of modern thrillers, including one she had been meaning to read herself, as well as a Hemingway, and a Nietzsche book that Lucy had once tried to read, but found it too complicated and abandoned it half-way through. She also saw a book on acting, and a battered copy of a book on creativity beside the novel version of "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies," as well as an unaltered copy of "Pride and Prejudice."

The TV was positioned on a high shelf so that it could easily be seen from the couch that ran along one wall. There were only three DVDs beside the TV, she was surprised to see. Lucy had never heard of the old black-and-white film, or the other one that looked a documentary about movie casting. Frederick's face was the largest one on the cover of the third movie, but it was still in its cellophane wrapper.

Lucy grabbed the thriller that had interested her, opened the blinds on the door so that she could see if someone approached the trailer, and kicked back on the couch. She read the first two chapters before getting a crick in her neck and wishing there was a pillow to put behind her head. She briefly considered searching the bedroom for a pillow, but as soon as the thought of Frederick's bed crossed her mind, she lost interest in her book.

Instead, Lucy's mind went to the contents of her purse, and Violet's visit the night before.

Violet had stopped at Lucy's house on the way home from a day of shopping, possibly her last day of shopping for supplies to get her nursery ready before the baby came home. Violet thrust a plastic shopping bag, nearly full, into Lucy's hands.

"What's all this?" Lucy had asked. She peeked inside and saw that the bag was full of boxes and boxes of condoms. "Violet! I asked for one box. One!"

Violet lumbered over to the red couch and sank into it with a sigh. "I was in shopping spree mode. I didn't know what kind you wanted, and I figured I might as well get some extras while I was there. Some of those are for me."

"Really?" Lucy had asked as she eyed Violet's protruding stomach.

"You should have seen the look on the clerk's face when I walked up to the cash register with a giant armload of condoms resting on this belly of mine. It was priceless!" Violet laughed. "I don't need them yet, of course. But after the baby comes, I want to be prepared. Colton and I want more kids, but not until the first one is walking, at least."

Lucy and Violet had then spent a giggly half-hour deciding who got which boxes, and discussing how likely Lucy was to be needing them, before Violet went home to unpack the rest of her purchases. Lucy had made her promise to make Colton do the heavy lifting.

Now, Lucy couldn't help thinking about the three foil packages tucked into a discrete pocket inside her purse. She wondered if Frederick would think her too wild if she asked him to wear the ribbed one. Then she wondered if she would need any of them at all. It was entirely possible that Frederick would appear with people in tow. Maybe he only invited her over to talk about how her day went, with the chance for a quick kiss before she left.

It had been a long time since she'd been with anybody. Her last relationship had ended spectacularly badly. Not only was she hesitant about trusting anyone again, but dating Frederick in particular had a lot of potential for public embarrassment if things went badly. Or even if they went well.

It was too much for her. Lucy stood up and put her book back on the shelf, choosing to run before he caught her here. She was turning to reach for her bag when she spotted the DVD's. Frederick looked down at her from the cover of his recent movie.

Lucy looked at every detail of Frederick's face. She traced a finger along his exceptional jawline, remembering how it felt to have his lips on hers. He had a stunningly handsome face. And now that she knew he had the hard body to go with it, to say nothing of his kissing skills, she knew that if she left now, she'd regret it, possibly for the rest of her life.

One night. Just one. She could consider it a rebound fling, something to cleanse her palette between serious relationships. Then she would end it. She nodded to herself, reaffirming her decision, and was just putting the movie back on the shelf when the trailer door squeaked open behind her.

* * * * *

Frederick saw Lucy's lips—pinker than usual, he noticed—part with surprise when he walked into the trailer. She was more beautiful every time he saw her. It might just have been the contrast from seeing her last looking so ghoulish, but her entire face seemed more luminous somehow. She smiled when she saw him, but there was an air of sadness to her, too. Her smile was bright, but barely reached her eyes.

"Lucy, I'm glad you made it. I didn't keep you waiting too long, I hope," he said, closing the door behind him.

"A little while, but I didn't mind."

She might not have minded, but he did. He had been gritting his teeth with impatience for the last couple of hours, wondering when she would arrive, what she would do to pass her time, and whether he'd luck out and find her in his bed, stark naked and waiting.

Frederick was so happy to find her in his trailer even after what might have been a long wait, he hardly even minded that she was fully clothed. He regretted not being there for her reaction to her first sight of his trailer. Until now, they had been in Lucy's clinic, Lucy's running trails, and Lucy's house. There wasn't much of his personality in the small, pre-packaged space, but it was his personal refuge on the set. He'd even picked up his dirty laundry and tidied up his things that morning in anticipation of her visit.

Frederick noticed that his small space was even smaller than usual.

"I forgot to tell you how to work the slide-out walls," he said.

"The what?" Lucy asked.

"Watch." He went to a panel of switches beside the door, held down a button and six feet of the wall behind the table pushed out for several feet. He pressed another button and the wall behind the couch on the other side of the trailer did the same.

"Oh, cool!" Lucy exclaimed, snatching her half-finished bottle of juice as it wobbled on the moving table.

After watching the space transform from cramped to cosy, Frederick intended to walk to the kitchen to get something to drink for himself and offer Lucy something to eat. He was starving, having rushed through lunch. He'd been determined to be ready early for each of his scenes, hoping his presence would pressure everyone else to start sooner. He was eager to finish for the day if only a few minutes early.

He intended to walk right past the spot where Lucy was still standing when he opened the door, to play it cool, to let the evening evolve slowly, savor the anticipation. He thought, if things went well, he would sneak her back to his hotel room.

But when she saw him heading for the kitchen, she twisted her hips, just a little, to let him pass. The move accentuated the curve of her hip and he couldn't help remembering how good it had felt to hold those luscious hips in both hands, pulling them tight against his body as he kissed that talented pink mouth. He had to do it again.

Now.