Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Sitting in traffic the next morning, on the way to the studio, I realize I’m nervous about seeing Crispin. Spontaneously, I dial Glory.
“Ari! Oh my gosh, I was just thinking of you. Isn’t it stupid early there? I wanted to call, but I was afraid of waking you.”
I laugh. “I have a seven AM call time most days. I have to go to makeup first since I’m an underling.
Is that what I am? An underling? Anyway, I get my makeup done by the same makeup artist as Chandra Miracle, so I have an earlier call time than her.
I have a hard time believing you were going to call me, though. ”
“I was!” Glory insists. “I even opened the phone app to see if I remembered how to use it.”
“I don’t think the phone part of your phone is an app.”
“Whatever. Oh my gosh, it’s so good to hear your voice. I miss you so much!”
My heart expands like her words are nourishment. “I miss you too. I’ve been second-guessing why I ever thought this was a good idea.”
“Because you’re going to be a movie star, stupid! That’s why it was a great idea.”
I want to tell her how lonely I feel, but it’s so good to talk to her, I don’t want to scare her away and bring her down by complaining.
“How’s Crispin Moore?” She makes his last name sound like there are twice as many “o’s” than there are.
“That’s why I called, actually. Something happened on set yesterday, and now I’m confused and nervous about seeing him.”
“Ooo, what happened?”
I tell her about how he was suddenly treating me nice instead of being a jerk. Then I explain the photoshoot, finishing with the details of his and my spontaneous shoot.
“People were actually standing around watching?” she asks when I’m done.
“Yeah. And they were making noises like we were a fireworks show. Ooo, aah, wow.”
“That sounds hot. I don’t understand the problem.”
“Well, now I have to go back to the film where I’m playing a thirteen-year-old kid who doesn’t necessarily like him. I mean, how do I not look at him like the hot piece of man meat he is?”
Glory snorts. “Um, first of all, ew. Man meat, Ari? That is so not sexy. Second, you are an actor. You can ogle him all you want when the cameras aren’t on, and just switch to non-ogle mode when they call action.”
“Oh, you’re so right.” Tension seeps away, leaving my shoulders relaxed. “Wow, I’m so glad I called you.”
“You should call me on your way to work every day. I’m always home at this gross hour of the morning. I got a job at the movie theater, but I mostly work at night. They aren’t even open this early.”
“You’re a working girl now? My little Glory is growing up. Do you like it?”
“I totally hate it. I come home smelling like butter and failure, but it keeps my mind off missing you.”
“I hate being away from you, Glory. You have no idea.”
“I think I do.”
But I know she doesn’t. She’s still surrounded by the people she knows. She still goes to our favorite places. How can she possibly understand what it’s like to be two thousand miles from everything you’re familiar and comfortable with? But that’s a conversation for another day.
“Tell me who you work with,” I say.
We spend the rest of my commute catching up, only saying goodbye as I wave to the gate guard when I pull into the lot.
I walk into makeup feeling lighter than I have since I got to California.
“I know what that smile’s all about,” Remi says, as she twirls the chair around and invites me to sit.
“You do?” It’s literally impossible for her to know.
“I heard about the sparks flying at the photoshoot yesterday.”
Surprised, I push back in my chair like she literally shocked me. “What did you hear?”
“That there were sparks. Lots and lots of them. Between you and a certain young man.”
Interesting. But I have no idea how to respond, so I shrug.
She twirls me to face the mirror and shakes out the hairdresser’s cape. It floats down over me, the featherlight material brushing my skin as it settles.
Her deep chuckle sounds conspiratorial. “No comment?”
I shrug again. “I mean, we had a good photoshoot, I guess.”
“I guess.” She snorts as she pulls a brush through my dampened hair.
When she speaks again, her voice is unusually high-pitched and squeaky.
“Oh, Remi, I don’t know what you’re talking about.
The best photographer in the world took pictures he wasn’t contracted to take because Crispin and I were on fire, but I’m sure that happens to everyone. ”
“Is that supposed to be me? Are you trying to sound like me?”
Remi rolls her eyes.
“What do you mean, the best photographer in the world?”
“That might be an exaggeration, but he is well-renowned, impossible to book, and costs a bloody fortune.” Those last two words she says with an English accent that I think is supposed to sound like the photographer, but with her light Jamaican accent mixed in, it’s a miss.
“You are not the impersonator you think you are,” I say, with a smile so she knows I’m just giving her a hard time.
“I didn’t know he was such a big deal. That’s really cool, then, that he saw something between us that he was compelled to capture.
I bet that’s what photographers live for. Those unexpected moments.”
Remi stops what she’s doing and lets her arms fall to her sides. “Really? That’s all you have to say about it?” She raises her hands to do air quotes, managing not to drop the round brush or the hair dryer in the process. “I’m excited for him.”
I laugh. “I didn’t know it was that big a deal. I mean, the whole thing was really fun. I wish I wasn’t so short so I could go into modeling. Why don’t you model?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m serious. I’ve always wondered. You’re tall and absolutely gorgeous. You look like a supermodel.”
“I did model for a million years. But I like to eat. So, when I got married, I gave it up and promptly gained twenty pounds.”
I make a face at her. “Twenty pounds. Right.” I would consider her thin. Not scary thin, but thinner than the average person.
“Oh, I’m serious. It’s torture to stay thin enough for that industry.
Besides, the photoshoots that you have for the promo pictures are nothing like a shoot for the fashion industry, or a high-end jewelry brand, or whatever.
Those shoots are twelve-plus-hour days, usually in the worst weather, while you wear next to nothing.
You stand around waiting most of the time and are constantly being yelled at that you aren’t doing anything right. I do not recommend.”
“Okay, I guess I’ll cancel my leg extension surgery.”
She snorts.
She finishes blow-drying my hair and promptly teases it to make it look messy.
Next, she works on my face. Stripping it down to nothing just to rebuild it.
With the slightest differences, my eyebrows at a slightly different arch, shading on my nose to make it look more Patrician, and shading on my cheeks to make them look plumper, I’m suddenly that thirteen-year-old again.
“You are so good at this. I guess I thought because you were so good at it, it’s what you’ve always done.”
“Everybody has different stages in their life, little one. You’re just starting this stage, but it won’t last forever.”
I give her a sad smile as I think about how I wish it wasn’t a stage I took on in the first place. I give her a half-hearted wave. “See you on set.”
She pats my shoulder before we go our separate ways.
In wardrobe, I change into capris and a cap sleeve t-shirt, slip on the Keds I usually wear—though I’m not sure if they are the same ones, or a new pair scuffed like the first, and grumpy troll lady wraps my wrist in bracelets and fills my fingers with cheap rings.
As I finish dressing, my stomach starts a nervous little dance.
I pull out my script to study the scene we’re working on today.
Crispin is in it, though only briefly at the beginning.
He leaves shortly after “Mom” and I “get home.”
I distract myself by practicing my lines silently in my head. When call time rolls around, I check the app to verify what stage we’re on and head in that direction.
Just off set, Chandra and I are loaded down with grocery bags.
I’m made to carry a comical amount while Chandra has one over her shoulder and another in her hand.
We stand outside the supposed front door of our house, waiting for Hank to call action.
I don’t have any lines until after Crispin exits, so I just have to concentrate on facial expressions.
As soon as Hank calls action, Chandra pushes the front door open, and I follow her inside.
While she freezes at the sight of her daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend lip-locked on the couch, I struggle under the weight of the groceries I’m carrying.
I flip the door closed with my foot, biting my lip with all the concentration it really is taking for me to do it.
But then I glance at Crispin and Sally, and I freeze too.
The sight of them in such an intimate position together is bothersome.
I’m struck by the fact that two days ago, this wouldn’t have bothered me at all.
Then I remember what I’m supposed to be doing in the scene, so I grimace comically—like that’s what made me stop in the first place—and continue to stumble toward the kitchen.
Some of the struggle is acting, but it’s a lot of groceries for my thin little arms to carry, so some of the struggle is real.
The kitchen is actually on another set that we’ll move to later, but when I disappear through the fake door, my part is done.
I’m surprised when Hank doesn’t make us do it again. I feel like I got lucky on that one.