Chapter 3 Rama
CHAPTER THREE: Rama
Chinda’s squeal when I tell her about the upcoming workshop is almost as dramatic as the one she let out when I told her I got the part of Atid.
“For heaven’s sake, you would think it’s you and not me who’ll be going,” I say.
“Tell me all about Pravat,” my sister demands, plopping down on the gold sofa and pulling a fringed throw pillow onto her lap.
“You probably already know more about him than I do.”
“Did he say anything about your audition?”
“Just that I did well.”
Chinda grins. “You really did. It surprised me. Did you talk about anything personal?”
“Thanks, and you’re being silly,” I scoff. “We talked about the job.”
“Come on, Rama, there must be something. Please tell me.” She pouts. My sister and I have always been close, and I admit I cave to her wiles most of the time.
“He told me he’s still in university and that he’s gay but doesn’t have a boyfriend right now. He said boyfriends tend to get jealous of what he does. This is just between us,” I belatedly warn her.
“It’s not a secret that he’s gay. That came out sometime last year when he was outed by his co-star.”
I frown. “He was outed? That’s awful.”
Chinda nods. “Yeah. Especially since it’s preferred that bl actors be straight. His co-star claimed Pravat came onto him, which makes Pravat sound like a troublemaker. I think the guy lied because he was jealous of Pravat’s popularity.”
My mind snags on the first thing she said. “Why do they prefer the actors to be straight? I would think gay actors would do better in a gay romance.”
Chinda shrugs. “Less drama, I guess. Easier if there’s no chance of feelings getting into the way. I think, too, that viewers like the idea of two men falling in love against their natural inclinations. What else did you and Pravat talk about?”
I’m digesting the information and take a moment to respond. “He mentioned Y-couples, and I told him you’d bring me up to speed on them.”
“I can definitely do that.” Jumping up from her seat, my sister runs for her room, returning seconds later with her iPad.
“As I’ve already explained to you, the term Y-couple comes from Yaoi, a popular genre in Japan that pairs two men together.
” She pulls up a video. “This is the most popular Y-couple right now. ChaoFinn.”
I frown, looking at the thumbnail of two guys smiling at the camera. “What kind of name is that?”
“It’s their ship name. Their two names together, Chao and Finn. You and Pravat have already been dubbed Pravma.”
I watch the video, taken at a fan meeting, of Chao and Finn holding hands, wrapping their arms around each other, and doing other romantic things that have their fans screaming and clapping for them. When Chao sits down and pulls Finn onto his lap, the cheers and applause get even louder.
“This is what you have to look forward to,” my sister says, smiling.
Alarmed, I look from the screen to her and back again. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes. Believe me, the two of you are hot together. I mean, from an outsider’s standpoint. You’re my brother and not hot to me.”
I chuckle. “Thanks for clearing that up. But can you really imagine me sitting on someone’s lap like this?” I ask. Imagining doing that with Pravat Benjawan has my face heating.
“If you allow yourself to relax, maybe. You have to play the game if you want the fame. That reminds me. You need a manager.”
I groan. “They’ve already started calling me. I have no idea who to pick.”
“Ask Pravat. I’m sure he can help you with that. You’re going to have to put yourself out there, Rama.”
Annoyed at being lectured by my younger sister, I harrumph and go back to watching the video.
“What are you thinking about so hard?” Chinda asks from the kitchen table as I prepare to leave for the studio the next morning.
Not wanting to admit how nervous I am about the workshop, I bring up my other concern. “I did some research about Y-couples last night. I’ve read that they usually have a masculine and feminine role.”
“And you’re wondering which would be you,” Chinda guesses.
“I think it’s pretty obvious,” I say irritably. Pravat Benjawan may be younger than I am, but he’s very masculine. Plus, I looked into his past bl dramas, and he’s always been in the “husband” role.
Chinda takes a sip of her coffee. “Does it bother you?”
“Of course not,” I say, although in a small way it does. Grabbing a protein bar from the cabinet, I head for the door.
“Good luck!” Chinda calls to me.
As I enter the spacious studio where I previously auditioned, I look around, trying not to appear as nervous as I feel.
“Rama!” A sturdy little man that I remember is the director rushes toward me.
Although his name—Maha—means gazelle in Thai, he looks and acts more like a chimp.
His lively, dark eyes dart here and there as, bouncing slightly on his feet, he shows me around the studio.
It’s basically set up like different rooms of an apartment with a lot of filming equipment tucked into the corners.
“The rest of the cast is in the main room,” Maha tells me, directing me down a corridor to a set of double doors. “Pravat’s been studying for one of his classes. The two of you can go over the script before lunch.”
I nod, following him into a sunny room. From the pictures that had been emailed to me, I recognize some of the cast members lounging on couches and mats on the floor. Beyond the windows behind them, Bangkok gleams in the early morning sun.
Sitting cross-legged on a padded quilt, Pravat looks up from his textbook and smiles at me. “P’Rama. Good to see you.”
I give him a brief wai as Maha begins introducing me to everyone. After that, he gestures for me to sit on the quilt beside Pravat and lowers himself to sit across from us.
Wide smile creating a fan of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, he asks, “Have either of you read the novel the series is based on?”
“I have,” Pravat says.
When Maha looks at me, I say, “I’m about halfway through.” It’s an exaggeration, but I’ll catch up tonight.
“Good. Since I want you two to concentrate on getting more comfortable with one another, I’ll keep this short for now. The drama has quite a few steamy scenes.” He looks at me. “Rama, how do you feel about that?”
My face heats. “I, er…”
Leaning forward, Maha says, “Much of the feeling of intimacy is removed by the presence of the crew and the technicalities of blocking and filming, but some actors have difficulty when it comes to kissing another man. Do you think it will be a problem for you?”
Although I’ve never kissed a man, I consider myself professional enough to do it right. “No.”
“Good. You two can practice that at your discretion. Now, as jealousy is one of the themes of the series, I want you to be thinking about the emotions it puts a person through, drawing on any past experiences you might have.”
Struggling to keep up because my mind has snagged on practice kissing, I consider.
I’m not a jealous or possessive person by nature, so I’m a little worried about projecting those emotions correctly, but I’ve learned about the Strasberg method and emotional memory in acting classes and am determined to meet the challenge.
“This morning is casual,” Maha continues, patting my knee before pushing himself to his feet. “Take the time to get to know one another. I’ll be back when lunch is ready, and we’ll have group activities after.”
I watch him leave. Feeling awkward, I turn my attention to my folded hands in my lap.
“That shade of green looks really good on you,” Pravat says, indicating my shirt.
“Thanks.” I try to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace.
After a drawn-out moment of silence during which I make a futile effort at searching my brain for something to say, Pravat asks, “Do you dance?”
“Sure, at clubs,” I say, finally turning my gaze to him.
“Great. You’ll have to help me out with that. One of the first scenes we’ll be filming takes place at a club, and I’m not very good at dancing.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“I need to finish reading this chapter. Scoot a little closer to me.”
I glance down. Our legs are already brushing.
How much closer can we get? But I obediently move nearer until our thighs are pressed together.
Normally, I don’t like people in my space, but when Pravat returns to his book and see that everyone around us is doing their own thing and not paying us any attention, I relax.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I scroll through it.
I have several messages on LINE from women I’ve met recently, but I ignore those.
I don’t have time for hook-ups—I need to focus on this job.
I open Twitter and follow the cast members.
Pravat’s profile is filled with pictures of him on the beach, at parties, and goofing around with friends.
One heavily muscled guy is prominent in many of them, and I wonder who he is.
When Pravat puts down his textbook and turns to face me, I tuck my phone away.
“Okay. Let’s start with a staring exercise.”
“Staring?” I ask, confused.
“There will be many times where we will be required to look into each other’s eyes for long periods of time as the cameramen get shots from all angles,” Pravat explains. “Staring exercises get us accustomed to that.” Fixing his gaze on mine, he proceeds to stare into my eyes.
Heat washing through me, I meet his gaze, refusing to let mine waver.
Little by little, my discomfort of eases, and I start to notice little things like how thick his eyelashes are and the tiny flecks of amber that mingle with the dark brown of his irises.
Gradually, I begin to relax, eventually sinking into a daze until Pravat blinks several times and leans back, ending our session.
“Wow,” I murmur.
“It’s very helpful, isn’t it?” Pravat grins.
Getting to his feet, he does a few stretches, and I can’t help but notice how fit he is, particularly when his shirt rides up in the front, revealing a washboard stomach.
Turning to another cast member nearby, he calls, “Hey, Aran. Can you find some dance music on your phone?”
Aran nods and begins scrolling.
“Show me some moves,” Pravat says, putting his hand out to help me up from the floor.
“You want to practice dancing now?”
“Sure. We’re free until after lunch. Besides, it’s going to take me a while to learn.”
Pravat’s hand is warm in mine, and I suddenly realize I’ve been holding it since he helped me up. I let it go.
Aran starts a remix, leaning back against Tait to watch. I look at Pravat, and, just as had happened when we did the staring exercise, I feel suddenly calm. Letting the beat of the music move upward from the soles of my feet, I begin to move. Pravat tries to copy me, his efforts stilted.
“You can’t make fun of me,” he warns, pouting slightly.
“Loosen up a little.” Moving behind him and placing my hands on his hips, I guide them to rock with mine.
Looking over his shoulder at me, Pravat smiles. “You’re blushing.”
“Stop.” Face hot, I slap his hip playfully, but I don’t stop dancing with him.
I don’t recognize myself. Who is this man dancing with a near stranger in front of a room full of people? And I’m not even acting.