“Mum, it’s disgusting. I know it is all about being professional, and this is all part of the challenges of acting, but having to do that with Robb… I just can’t have another love scene with him on camera. Can’t you get Dad to have a chat with them? They wouldn’t listen to me about it when I suggested that perhaps Sandor should be my new love interest instead…” whined Sansa.
This is exactly what Cat had warned her about on the show – the directors and writers had no qualms about the actors’ private lives when it came to writing the major storylines for the show. Nothing was treated as taboo, including the actors’ private relationships. She had had to stomach Ned and Cersei getting it on every week for months, Sansa had suffered for a mere scene with Robb. It would be character building for her Cat had thought when she had first heard about this new twist in Sansa’s storyline.
Closing her eyes briefly, she sighed before responding. “You and Sandor having a plot line together and a love scene on set wouldn’t really be acting would it Sansa? It would border on pornography, which wouldn’t fly with the network…” Meera, who was applying Cat’s braindead makeup as she lay fully reclined on the hospital gurney, sniggered before trying to disguise it as a poorly veiled cough. It was difficult to have these personal family discussions on set, as few places were deemed private. Meera was practically family anyhow, being an item with Benjen.
Sansa’s mouth dropped and eyes rolled as she argued back with her mother.
“What I’m doing with Robb is incest! And it’s practically soft porn anyway! How come you don’t seem remotely fucked off by this? Dad wasn’t happy about it!”
“Sansa, dear. No need to be coarse. I have been in this industry for many years, half of them with this show and this network. They don’t give two figs about relationships outside of the script. Do you think I liked the fact that you are seemingly passed around the male characters on set? I know Sandor doesn’t like it for one. I have come to accept what I cannot hope to control, and for this show, that’s the scriptwriters.”
Catelyn looked up imploringly at her daughter whilst Meera added the bruised showing under her eyelids. Sansa looked down at her and pouted like a child, crossed her arms and slunk off set. Sensing the unease, Meera quickly finished whiting out Cat’s skin, packing up her case, mumbling something about needing to talk to Margaery about someone falling out of a window and what makeup would be needed to go with the costumes. Finally, she was alone. As tedious as it was to act braindead in every scene, Catelyn had undertaken several long meditation courses to aid her in disengaging partially from her body during the long days on set.
One afternoon as she was practicing her meditation for the day ready for the next scene, she discovered that when she was acting her ‘coma’, the rest of the cast and crew seemingly treated it as if she wasn’t compos mentis and aware of their conversations. That is how she found out that Robb was bisexual (she had her suspicions for several years), Sandor was responsible for Sansa’s perpetual lateness on set (she hoped they may slip up and make her a grandmother), Cersei was now seeing Bronn (it was only a matter of time before he had been snared), Melisandre carried Pritt Sticks in her pockets which she would sniff when no-one was looking (explained a lot) and Tyrion Lannister had seemingly ordered a large box of wildfire pyrotechnics onto set without Benjen’s knowledge or approval (strange man).
Cat proceeded to start settling in to her meditations, and no sooner had settled down and closed her eyes did two gaffers and a sound-boy wandered onto the stage set, prepping for her next scene. By the sounds of the conversation, it appeared the crew had found out about this apparent live season finale.
“I heard it’s going to be a live threesome or orgy or something with Sandor and Gregor...” More incest? Cat thought. Would Sansa be ok with Sandor in a threesome with his brother?
“But I thought the whole incest gig was between Robb and Sansa?”
“…Well, I heard that there’s going to be a musical.”
“A WHAT?” two of the voices said in unison. Cat almost joined in.
“Well, I heard it from Billy who does catering who heard it from one of the set dressers that he totally heard a tune from Les Mis coming from Varys’ dressing room, and that the door was open a crack, and him and Ned were in there dancing around only wearing tights…” Ned? Dancing? Les Miserables? Tights?!
“That’s bullshit, Dan. I heard the same thing, except it was that big number from Anything Goes! Can’t be true.” Cat would need to buy tequila on the way home and grind this out of Ned, particularly if he had taken and stretched a pair of her nice Wolford tights from the drawer, and had been dancing in them. Ned never danced.
“Fine. True or not, its news. I saw Sansa talking to Dickon just before, maybe Dicksa is back on if Sandor is doing this threesome thing…” Sansa and Dickon? Back together?!
Cat almost lost composure and squealed out her excitement. Lovely, handsome Dickon (admittedly not the sharpest tool in his carpenters’ toolkit) had briefly dated Sansa several years back. Catelyn had heartedly encouraged this relationship to grow, least not because of the beautiful grandchildren they would give her, but it would also make Sansa the daughter in law of Randyll Tarly, one of the fiercest East Coast film producers to date. There had not been a film for 15 years that hadn’t won an Academy Award that Randyll hadn’t helped produce. The man could have seriously launched a successful film career for Sansa (and Dickon too, if he ever put his mind to acting). Alas, the relationship fizzled before it had taken off, but Sansa and Dickon had remained on friendly terms. As much as she had come to accept and love Sandor, the prospect of Sansa and Dickon getting back together if there was trouble in paradise was far too exciting. She would have to corner Sansa in her dressing room later and ask if all was well.
Distracted from her present situation by her musings, Cat refocussed herself to the present, and realised one of her children had been calling her name for several minutes.
“MUM!” Rickon kicked the wheel of the gurney, rocking Cat into focus.
“Rickon, I’m trying to warm up before we start filming. What is it?”
“Bran’s been caught smoking weed around the back of Studio D again, and Lyanna and I need to move back in this weekend as my landlady found out about the wolfdogs we adopted tearing up the sofa.”
Sometimes, when it came to her children, Cat wished she was actually in a coma.