FOUR
“P
io, I’m sorry. We’ll have to shoot that last sequence one more time,” Audrey spoke into the walkie-talkie in her hand. “The light was too bright on your face.”
“Copy that.”
“Last shot for the night, don’t worry.”
“It’s not a problem. I’m all yours for three days, so.”
“...right. Stay put. We start in a few.”
At 3:25 a.m., the only other foreign noise anyone could hear was the humming of crickets coming from Ili-Likha’s backyard. But though the rest of Baguio City seemed to be asleep at this hour, their set bustled with movement. The lighting crew adjusted their equipment while the director of photography reviewed her shot list. Marty, the stylist and makeup artist, rushed over to Pio for a retouch. Marj wove through the maze of wires and equipment, delivering cups of coffee
