Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, I call Glory on my way to the studio again. I bring her up to speed on my tumultuous yesterday, and she cheers aloud when I tell her that Crispin and I seem to have found some sort of common ground.
“Now you can date him,” she says.
“Dude, he’s like twenty-two. Why would he date me? I can’t even drink legally.”
Glory’s voice gentles. “You won’t even drink when you are legal.”
“True.” I stare at the hazy horizon as I sit in traffic.
Los Angeles is experiencing a heatwave. It’s 6:42 in the morning, and it’s already seventy-two degrees outside.
The mountains in the distance that were a pretty green when I first moved here have large spots of yellow as the grasses die off for the summer.
The sky is an endless swatch of blue, but it isn’t the electric blue of home.
It’s just a washed-out version of it. “I wish you could come to the beach with me. Not that I’m supposed to get a tan or do anything that will change my appearance during filming… ”
“They can’t tell you what to do.”
I laugh. “Uh, yeah, they can. My makeup artist, Remi, spends over an hour every day making me look thirteen again.”
Glory snorts. “You always look thirteen.”
“She says I have some worldly or mature look to my face. It’s pretty strange to watch the process. First, she removes all my distinguishing features, then she puts most of them back the way they are naturally, but with subtle changes to my nose, eyebrows, and cheeks.”
“Your nose? How does your nose make you look thirteen?”
“Oh,” I snort. “That’s just to make me look more like Chandra and Sally.”
“They really are related, huh? I was reading about the cast.”
“They are. I feel like I got really lucky to be working with such kind people. You hear horror stories about the people in Hollywood, and not even Crispin Moore is the nightmare I thought he was originally.”
“Date him. Date him. Date him,” Glory chants.
“So not going to happen, Glory. I’m jailbait to him.”
She blows a raspberry. “Only for like another month.”
“Seven weeks.”
“Date him. Date him. Date him.”
I laugh as I pull into a parking spot at the studio. “I love you and wish you were here, but I gotta go.”
“Have a great time dating Crispin Moore today!” Glory yells.
“Goodbye!” I sing-song.
When I climb out of my car, I’m grinning. I shoulder my bag and head toward the entrance.
“Belly!” T calls. I haven’t seen him since that first day.
I laugh. “You know my name isn’t Belly, right?” He looks so confused, I have to laugh more. “Call me Ari.”
“I don’t know if I can do that. My nephew and I always call you Belly when we talk about you.”
They talk about me?
“When are you going to start up your channel again?”
His eager look makes my heart pulse.
“We check all the time, even though we’re subscribed and should get a notification. You know, those things don’t always work, and we’re afraid we’ll miss your big return.”
I shake my head, gnawing my lip. “T, I haven’t even thought about my channel in forever.”
His face falls. “You can’t be done.”
My whole posture sags. “I also can’t imagine doing it without my dad.”
The look of sympathy nearly breaks me. “I understand that.”
We stand there, awkwardly sad together for a beat.
“Hey!” he says, his usually upbeat self again. “You can re-invent the channel. Do something totally different that’s all yours. But do it for your dad.”
I’m so stunned by his suggestion; I can’t draw a breath. “That’s a really good idea. In fact, that’s a great idea.”
T swings the door open for me, bows, and makes a sweeping gesture with his hand. “I’m here to help, Miss Belly.”
“That’s a ridiculous name.”
“But it made you laugh.”
I curtsy. “That it did, fine sir. Thank you for your wisdom today.”
Ideas are already forming in my head as I head to makeup. This might work.
That evening, I sit out on the balcony on the cheap plastic chair I picked up from the drug store.
I tip backward on the back legs, propping my feet on top of the half wall, and rest the warm laptop on my bare legs to compose an email.
When I get a first draft, I copy and paste it into an AI software and ask it to refine the message so it sounds more professional.
After tweaking a few facts the software got wrong and a couple of things that just don’t sound like my voice, I read it aloud.
To Whom It May Concern:
My name is Arabelle Quill. I am playing the role of Stella in the movie, Much Like Me, currently being filmed in Los Angeles, directed by Hank Subtle. I was discovered by Carly Shapiro of the Gorman Talent Agency because she saw my podcast, BellyLaughs.
On BellyLaughs, I used to post videos of famous scenes from movies and literature that my father and I re-wrote as spoofs.
The channel was successful with a strong following of engaged viewers.
It is monetized, and I’ve gained some recognition from it.
We lost my dad unexpectedly, and I haven’t posted a video since; however, the viewers are still active on the channel, sending me kind messages of support and adding comments about new things they noticed when they rewatched their favorite videos.
I would like to revive the channel, but with a new theme.
What I propose to you is that I compile behind-the-scenes segments from the Much Like Me movie shoot.
It would give my viewers something to watch and ad promotional material – prerelease hype to the movie that would be shareable, scalable.
My focus would be to provide positive entertainment, offering amusing or charming behind-the-scenes anecdotes that make people laugh and/or smile.
Introducing everyone—grips, makeup artists, best boys, lighting techs—alongside the cast.
Though I’m happy to give the studio’s marketing and legal teams limited say in the content that is posted, the material would remain mine and would be branded to my BellyLaughs channel.
I look forward to discussing this endeavor further.
Queen Brie saunters outside, yowling for dinner, which I’ve already given her chunky little self.
Since we’re two stories up and there are no trees and no way for her to get around the privacy wall between balconies, I’ve taken pity on her and leave the door cracked most of the time.
She sits out here and chitters at seagulls all day.
“Hey, what do you think of this?” I ask. I read the email aloud a second time, making a few corrections as I go. She walks back inside halfway through the reading. “Thanks for your support!” I call after her retreating tail.
“What did you say, honey?”
I almost lose my balance and fall backward. I slam my chair down onto all four legs and turn to look at my mom who stands in the open door.
“Oh, hi, Mom!”
She gives me a sad smile. “Were you talking to me?”
“No, I was talking to that ungrateful cat of ours.”
Mom turns to look at Queeny who lounges innocently in a spill of sunshine in the middle of the room.
“Is there something I can get for you?” I ask. “Do you want dinner?”
“No, I’ll eat some leftovers of that chicken dish you made last night, if that’s okay.”
“That’s great!” I hop up, slamming my laptop closed. “I’ll heat it up for you.”
“I’ve already got it in the microwave. Oh! There’s the bell. It’s already done.”
“You’re dressed! Are you going somewhere?” I mean, I can’t imagine where she’d go.
She shakes her head but stops and gazes out at the ocean. “Why don’t we walk over to the beach when I’m done eating. Have you eaten?”
“I have, and I’d love to! It’s so nice out there with the constant breeze. This heatwave is miserable.”
“Yes, the air conditioner isn’t really very good, is it?” Mom saunters back to the kitchen, and I follow, thinking it might be because I leave the door ajar for the cat that the air doesn’t work well.
Queeny curls around my legs as I watch Mom grab her food out of the microwave, stir it, and take it to the little table. I grab a sparkling water from the fridge and sit across from her.
“How’s the movie going?” she asks.
I almost burst into tears. It’s the first time she’s asked me. But I’m afraid if I make a big deal about it, she’ll run and hide in her room again, so I answer like it’s no big deal.
“It’s more difficult than I expected. It’s hard work. Long days. Even with my limited hours on set because I’m a minor. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like after I turn eighteen and those limitations don’t matter anymore.”
“Isn’t there another seventeen-year-old on the set with you?”
“Yes. Her birthday is after mine. She won’t be of age during filming.”
Mom looks around the living room. “You’ve done a good job settling us in. You even hung pictures.”
I nod, blushing at the hole in the wall from my second attempt. I watched videos about how to hang pictures and bought a stud finder, so now we have more decorations hanging. “I’ve tried to make it comfortable.”
“It was nice to come out of my room and see you sitting so precariously on the chair. I wanted to tell you not to lean back like that, but well, I didn’t want to scold you after all you’ve done.”
I can’t help the tears that flood my eyes, even if they do scare her away. She sees them and reaches over to pat my hand.
“I’m going to try harder, Ari. You deserve for me to try harder.”
“There’s a grief counseling group that meets just a block away.” I hate that I’m so afraid to say anything to Mom for fear she’ll scurry back into hiding. But this is an important conversation. One I’ve been waiting weeks to have with her.
She nods as she stares at the table. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. Right now, I’m afraid of going across the street to the beach with you. But, I will work toward that. Is that okay?”
I burst into tears. Covering my mouth like that might protect her from hearing the worst of it. “I’m sorry. I’m just really happy to hear that.”
Her tears fall silently, while I battle against the sobs fighting to escape. She squeezes my hand lightly. Her expression is so sad. “I’m so sorry, Ari. I’m so sorry I left you to deal with all of this.”
“I don’t care, Mom. I just want you back. Whatever it takes. However long you need. Just please, come back.”
“I’m gonna try.”
She doesn’t eat much, and I must splash water on my face to wash away the salt that made my skin stiff, but then we head outside.
After being in bed for almost three quarters of a year, she’s forced to move slow, but I’m happy to stand next to her and hold her hand while she finds the strength to take her next step.
We don’t make it across the street to the beach.
There’s no way she could cross the street before the light turned red.
But we stand on the corner so she can watch the rollerbladers, skateboarders, shopping cart pushers, bicyclists, and tourists.
We laugh when a gal walks down the sidewalk on stilts, and I point out a man with a chest of tattoos and a live iguana resting on his shoulder.
On our way back up the stairs, I begin to worry that she won’t be able to make it all the way.
Her eyelids are literally drooping when she stops to rest on each step.
She’s not much taller than me, and she can’t weigh much anymore.
Maybe I can give her a piggyback ride. But in the end, it just takes a lot of patience and effort.
I help her to her room, and we agree that she will change into her pajamas later.
I slip her sandals off and tuck her under her sheet, happy to see a smile of accomplishment on her face as she fades into sleep.
Alone in the living room, I collapse onto the couch, astounded by the turn of events. My head drops onto the back of the couch, and I let the tears fall all over again.