18. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
My first day of filming starts today. I’ve had plenty of time to panic in the four days since that night. Every time I think about stepping onto the set, my stomach shifts like my insides are trying to tear out of me. It twists and turns as my breath labors, causing my lungs to work overtime. The only thing that helps is knowing I won’t be facing it alone. Errol texting me positives every day pumps me up for the first scene we’re going to film. I try to focus on his words of affirmation as I make my way onto the lot at the awful hour of 4 a.m.
Thirsty and sleep deprived, I go to the craft table first in need of a tea. With the hopes that the service will bring better options, I can’t help but be disappointed to see just green. Sighing, I roll my eyes, grabbing one of my own packets from my bag.
“Let me guess. That look on your face has to do with the tea choices.”
I turn around to see Errol smiling from ear to ear. The sight of it puts a matching one on my face.
“I’m honestly upset with everything. Why are we up so early? Why do you Los Angeles people not appreciate tea? Why did you make me do this?”
Stepping up, he takes the packet from my hand and goes about making me a cup. Pouring in the water, he lets it steep before adding just a splash of milk and one sugar, making it the way I like. I wonder when he learned how I take my drink.
“We need as much daylight as possible, so we start getting you ready early. That way when the sun is up and full, we can get in the shots. We do appreciate tea, but clearly not as much as people from San Francisco. I made you do this because you are going to be amazing.” Handing me my cup, he answers all my questions, making me feel a little bit better.
“You don’t need to be here this early, then.”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay on your first day.” He taps a finger to my nose.
I swat at him, and he jumps back laughing.
“Thank you.”
Throwing an arm over my shoulder, he guides me to hair and make-up. The warm feeling of him being wrapped around me eases into my gut, soothing some of the worry. My hand clamps onto his side, hugging him while we walk. The vibe is light around us, happy and easy, like two friends taking a stroll. When he deposits me into a chair in front of a mirror, I wish for him to keep holding me through it all.
“I’ll see you in a couple of hours, okay?”
I nod, looking about as confident as I feel.
“Don’t forget, you got this.” He walks out of the room, leaving me in a better mood than when I got here.
I take a sip of my drink before looking at the disaster that is Farrah at the crack of dawn. Luckily, there is a team to make all the light flaws disappear, starting with the nest that is my hair.
At the sound of the door opening, I turn to see a woman walk in. Her eyes widen a little as she takes me in before she makes her way over. I don’t think I look that bad, but she makes me question it all, when she reluctantly pulls my hair free from my ponytail.
“Hi, I’m Farrah.” I offer up my hand. She grabs hold of it, giving it a light shake.
“Tiffany.” Turning back to let down my curls, she goes for a comb. I watch her part my hair into four sections, clipping up all but one. When she begins to direct the comb to the top of my roots, unease quickens my heart.
“What are you doing?”
She looks at me, tilting her head to the side, seemingly taken aback by my questioning.
“I’m going to comb out the curls so I can straighten your hair.”
I sit up, moving my head away from her hands, staring her down through the mirror.
“You were going for the root. You can’t comb out my hair from there. You need to start at the end. Also, you can’t comb it out dry. It needs to be wet.”
Her head snaps to the side like I slapped her. She moves her mouth into a stubborn line, red creeping up her cheeks.
“I know how to do hair.” With her pale skin and rod-straight hair, I’m really starting to question if she does.
“How many Black girls’ hair have you done, Tiffany?” I twist in the chair to look at her in time to see her mouth drop open in shock. Waiting for the answer, I don’t back down as she stutters over her words.
“Well, I, uh, I…” Looking me up and down, I can see her brain working overtime to come up with a response. “I’m a professional. I know what I’m doing.”
Avoiding the question entirely, her lack of an answer provides me with what I need.
When she goes to try and touch my hair again, I slide out of the seat, putting my hand up. I don’t say another word to her as I walk out of the room and head out in search of Errol. Finding him talking with Mira in the wardrobe room, I can’t imagine what I must look like to them when I bust in.
“Tiffany is not doing my hair.”
Looking up, both their mouths pop open. With my hair still clipped up mid styling, I know I appear to be crazy interrupting their conversation. I don’t care.
“What’s wrong?” Errol asks
“Farrah,” Mira admonishes.
Ignoring her, I walk over to Errol.
“She doesn’t know how to do Black people’s hair.” I point to my head. “I won’t let her make me look awful on camera.”
“Farrah, you can’t make those types of assumptions. You’re going to cause her to lose her job,” Mira cries out.
Good, she shouldn’t work in this industry if she can’t do everyone’s hair. Ignoring her again, I turn towards Errol and try to communicate how serious this is with the set of my jaw. He understands from that alone, his chin dipping once in agreement.
“I’ll talk to Priyanka. For today though, can you do your own hair?” he asks.
Mira’s mouth twists into a scowl, her eyebrows shooting up.
“Yes,” I say satisfied, and turn and leave.
Walking back into the room with Tiffany, I tell her I’ll style my hair myself and get to work. She looks relieved while watching me take over her tools. Wishing for my heat protectant at home, I do the best I can with what she has, emerging two hours later looking damn good.
Heading back to wardrobe, I go to get my costume. I run into Mira as I’m returning to my trailer.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She stomps over to me, face still pinched in the expression I last saw her wearing.
Throwing the clothes over my shoulder, I brace myself for whatever she has to say.
“What makes you think you can just request changes like this? Do you even care that you might have just gotten someone fired? I mean, come on Farrah, don’t you think you’re being unfair?” She rests her hands on her hips, her features sharp.
Heat rises up the back of my spine with every word she speaks until it has reached my head. I brace my shoulders, trying to stand tall, ready for my turn.
“I didn’t realize it was unfair to ask for someone to be able to do my hair texture. But I shouldn’t be surprised that you wouldn’t understand that. Apparently, you don’t understand much about me. If Tiffany loses her job, it’s because she isn’t good at it. That has nothing to do with me.” I step around her, but she follows behind.
“You really think you did nothing wrong? Do you ever own your shit?”
“Do you?” I ask, spinning on my heels. “Or did you just find someone else to blame now that I’m gone?”
My words register with her, and she at least has the decency to look guilty even if she tries to hide it. Having not spoken since our friendship dissolved, all the words are heavy between us.
“Whatever, why am I surprised?” She turns to walk away.
A harsh laugh breaks past my lips at her remark and the nerve she has.
“I guess this is another reason for you to think I’m a bad person.” I try to keep the hurt from my voice, knowing damn well that it kills me that she thinks this.
“You’re right, not that I need convincing,” she calls over her shoulder.
Stuck between anger and defeat, I shuffle into my trailer, not looking back. While I get dressed, I try to get back into the mindset I was in this morning, leaving the fight as something to think about later. Excitement dances with nerves in my stomach as the time for me to be called comes near. I reread the words Errol texted me, using them to get geared up. When the knock comes, I pull my shoulders back. Walking onto the set, I lift my head, ready to face down my first scene.
“You were amazing today,” Errol says as he walks up to me at my car.
I turn to face him, throwing my bag onto the passenger seat. He is grinning like his lips are incapable of any other expression, his eyes sparkling as they look into mine. The day of filming must have gone to his head, because he seems giddier than he was at the start.
“No, you were incredible,” I say, squeezing his arm.
Watching him in his element as he took control of our direction and guided us to the perfect scene was like seeing a symphony come together. The way he conducted us through our moments was music to my ears. He was calm, engaged and authoritative. For all the talk he had about not knowing how to own a room, the way he commands one is sexy.
“I mean it Errol. Watching you work today was something else. I can honestly see how you have the career you have.” And what a career it is. Starting with some student films and directing on TV shows, his first feature length indie film opened up at Cannes to roaring success, landing him a studio one. This being his second big production, he has solidified himself as a force.
“Thank you.” He looks away, rejecting the praise like it wasn’t meant for him. Like he doesn’t deserve it. So used to his cocky demeanor, I don’t know what to do with this impish version of him. It’s like that day in the coffee room. It seems like he doesn’t actually believe in himself.
I go to reassure him again, but he cuts me off, resting his hand on my shoulder.
“What are you doing right now?”
I tilt my head to the side.
“I was going to go home and decompress from the day. Got a better offer?”
“Come get drinks with us.”
“Who’s us?”
“Some of the crew and cast. I promise it will be fun.”
With my less than popular status around here, I doubt anyone but him actually wants me to join. Even still, I could use a moment to bask in the reality that I just had my first day of filming.
“Come on.” His hand slides down to squeeze my arm.
I relent and agree to the plans. He gives me the name of the place, and we go our separate ways to take our own cars.
I see him sitting by the bar when I walk in, surrounded by familiar faces of people I have gotten used to seeing every day. I also see the newer ones of the actors I filmed with today. Michael, who plays the lead role of Dante, waves at me as I slide in to order a drink.
“Hey Farrah.” He moves in next to me, resting his hands on the wood.
“Hi.” Turning to face him, I can’t help but notice he is all the hotness and glamor of a leading male actor wrapped up in a brown skinned package. Every time he shines his megawatt smile in my direction, I try to keep my wits about me. I don’t always succeed.
“I heard this is your first movie.”
The bartender walks over just as he says it, so I quickly turn and put a drink order in. With a look back at him, I nod in agreement.
“Well, you could have fooled me,” he says.
Now I’m smiling. Another person complimenting me on a skill I was unsure I had is definitely going to my head.
“You were great, too. It was nice having you as a scene partner. You made it easy,” I praise.
Today we shot some scenes for the montage of their relationship. Going from strangers to lovers within a few minutes of meeting each other was weird, but Errol pushed us in all the right ways.
“Why thank you.” The slow drawl of his words reveals southern roots that I want to know more about. So I ask about his past, and he counters with questions of his own. In between answering, we take shots of tequila and whiskey to wash us into a blooming friendship.
“Well, aren’t you a good time,” he says after we finish our fourth round. I do a little dance for him, showing off how much fun I can actually be. Priyanka notices and comes over to me, throwing one of her arms over my shoulder.
“Yes girl, let’s dance.” She grabs me closer, and all my doubts and worries about being liked finally fade, while she, Michael, and I make our way into the middle of the room. The music is loud enough that we don’t look totally crazy when we form our own little circle and begin to dance.
I use everything Monty has ever taught me and throw my body into the song, personifying the lyrics with my movements. Like an old school dance movie, we each take a turn in our little circle, showing off. The air feels full of all the fun we are having. My lips display the joy simmering in me as we continue for the next hour.
Feeling the heavy pressure of someone’s gaze, I look around. Errol is watching me, barely engaging with the person talking beside him. I wave before throwing myself back into the flow. When Michael and Priyanka press close together, I break away in need of refreshment. Errol slides in next to me at the bar, his elbows coming to rest on the edge next to mine.
“Having fun?” he asks.
“Yes, all the fun. As much fun as one person can have. So much fun.” The liquor’s effect pools in my mouth, making my words run freely.
“Good. I can tell.” Those damn dimples show again, his lips stretching as wide as they can.
A girl could get lost in those dimples . I shake my head to clear the thought, but it lingers enough that I can’t help but acknowledge it.
“You know what’s great about you?” I take a large sip from the water the bartender brings me.
“Do tell.”
“Those frickin’ dimples. They are too much. They really make you look so hot.”
His laugh rings out.
“Oh really, is that all that’s great about me?”
“No,” I say, my lips pursed in concentration. “But that is all I am going to tell you, because you are also smug.” The water sloshes down my throat as I empty the cup, treating it like it’s a shot.
“You know, I appreciate you finally being honest. I knew you thought I’m good looking.”
My mouth twists to the side at that comment.
“Even if it took you being drunk to finally admit it.”
“I’m not drunk.” I try to talk in my best put together voice.
It only causes him to laugh again at my expense.
“Right well Ms.Sober, will you be able to get home okay?”
Not with my car, but yes. I flick my head up determined to appear as capable as possible.
“I’ll be fine.” Just then Michael and Priyanka stop by to grab their coats.
“We’re off,” Michael says, his fingers laced with Priyanka’s.
Even in my state, I can’t help the saucy tug that pulls at my lips at the sight of them.
“Bye.” My mouth looks like the Cheshire Cat as they leave together. I turn back to Errol and give him a thumbs up to try to reassure him. It’s a little lopsided and wavey, because I can’t seem to keep my hand in one place.
“Come on, I haven’t had anything to drink, so I’ll drive you home.”
Despite the fact that I didn’t need him to, I follow him, ready for him to lead me out.
We make our way to his car, and I can’t help but think about mine being left alone for the night in this parking lot.
“My car,” I say dejectedly, stopping for a moment.
His smooth jacket-free arm laces through mine as he pulls me along.
“It’s okay, you can get it in the morning.”
He opens the door for me, and this time I let the nice gesture affect me a little. God, I am basic . He slides gracefully into the driver’s side, and I slump down in my seat, overcome by the sudden spinning the small space is doing.
“Fuck, I am drunk.”
His voice of smoke and fire cackles to life, erupting in laughter.
“You will be fine. Let’s just get you home.”
The car jolts to life, the dashboard tilting and swimming in my vision. I close my eyes, saving me the trouble of having to see that for the entire drive.
“Don’t you have somewhere you would rather be?” Leaning my head back against the leather, I try to steady myself. “Jada was eyeing you up all night.”
I hear him scoff, but don’t dare look at him.
“Nah, I’m good. It’s more important to me that you’re safe.”
I try to keep my head still during the ride. The smooth feel of the quiet engine is like a lullaby to me. With my eyes closed, I have to fight with sleep, not to succumb to it. When it looks like I might lose the battle, the sudden quiet startles me awake.
“Here.”
I open my eyes and see we’re outside of my house. Before I can get it together enough to open the door, Errol is there opening it for me and offering a hand. He walks me to the steps, holding on to me the whole time. My body calls to him, wanting to feel the rush of his touch everywhere. Once we are at the door, I wrap my arms around his middle, pulling him in for a hug. He responds in kind, arms coming to rest around my neck.
With my head pressed against his chest, I can hear his heart beating. It’s calm, steady, and filled with all the power to drive a man like this every day. The hum of its heavy rhythm soothes me enough that I barely notice the linger in our touch. When he pulls back, he looks down into my eyes and gives me a gentle smile. It’s all lips and no teeth, and it feels like it is meant just for me.
“Goodnight,” I hiccup, melting a little.
“Goodnight, Farrah.”
He lets me go, and I watch him walk away, waiting for the warmth of his body to leave my skin.