THIRTY-FIVE
Finn
Maeve is working 24/7 to get her therapy reality show off the ground, and it’s left me with way too much free time in between Tell Me How You Really Feel episode recordings. Which is how I’ve been roped into going to the set of my parents’ new movie for the day, to look at their latest option for the male lead. And to talk to Cassidy about acting.
My dad has been on set since five a.m., but my mom’s call time wasn’t until ten. I trail after her as we walk through set, until we get to the living room that they’re using for the screen test. This is actually a set that another show uses periodically, but since it’s not in use this week, they’ve moved to this soundstage instead of using a plain room for these tests. It’s unusual, but not unheard of, for a lead role, especially given how much trouble casting this is giving them.
“Who is this guy, again?” I ask as we walk into the living room set.
Cassidy is sitting on the couch on her phone, and my dad is at a table behind the camera monitor. Instead of watching them , he’ll watch through the monitor, to see how they show up on camera.
“He was on some shitty CW show,” Cassidy says without looking up.
My mom nods emphatically while my dad interjects. “It wasn’t shitty! The writing could have used a little touch-up, is all. And he was quite good. But being a vampire shape-shifter is a tough role to add grit to.”
“So you’re saying … this isn’t the bottom of the barrel quite yet,” I joke.
My mom and Cassidy laugh, and my dad glares at me. I join Cassidy on the couch as we wait for the actor. And wait. And wait some more.
“Want to check out crafty?” I ask Cassidy after twenty minutes.
She glances at me. “Sure.”
The craft services table is a folding table, or several folding tables when we have a full crew, that production covers with snacks, baked goods, sandwiches, drinks, candy, and sometimes charcuterie. Some things are always there, and everyone develops their go-to snacks as production wears on. As kids, raiding the craft services table was a huge thrill, and so even though now I’m sure Cassidy has her full rider in her trailer, and Streamify always stocks mine, it still feels a bit illicit to go over to the table together while my parents are waiting to film.
“Your mom said I should sell you on acting,” Cassidy says bluntly once we’re out of earshot, picking through fun-size organic candy bars and a mix of artisanal chips and Classic Lays and Cheetos. “Should I?”
I rip open a bag of veggie straws and inspect the contents for way too long. “Yeah,” I say finally.
She arches an eyebrow, clearly shocked. “Well, okay, then. First, forget the things you already know because they don’t really matter. The money is great. Your fame will grow. Brand partnerships will appear. But you basically already have that. What will change your life is that you love acting. You’ll be happy doing it again. I fucking know it. You get to be someone else. You get to do something that will matter to the people who watch, at least for two hours. I think it’ll make you feel … I don’t know. I liked modeling fine. But acting makes me feel alive . Like there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing. Maeve has that already. And I know that you don’t. But you can if you just let yourself.”
I offer her a few straws while I contemplate. “And the fans? The paparazzi?”
She stops, the straws not yet in her mouth. “I can’t believe you’re still on that. You were okay when we were in Europe, and that was the most intense coverage I’ve experienced since we were kids. The rules are stricter now, especially here in LA. Back then they could do anything they wanted. Now, if you’ll work with them here and there … you can arrange to be alone when you want to be.”
“ Really? ” I say, intrigued.
Cassidy nods and digs into a mini bag of white cheddar ridged Cheez-Its. “Totally. Every month or two my team offers them something decent—me leaving a bar, in a bikini, whatever. And then I get to live without them for a while. But even without that they’ve really cut back on the chases. We didn’t get chased once last summer. Think about it.” She narrows her eyebrows when I don’t answer, aware her hard sell is slipping. “Trust me. Just try acting. Once you try, it’ll feel worth it. And you only need to get over the hump of the first movie—which, bonus , will be great since your dad wrote it—and face your fears, and then you’ll have a whole new life that you actually love. Swear on the crafty table.”
A PA runs over and interrupts us nervously. “Um, excuse me? Miss … Cassidy? And Mr. Sutton? They want you in the screen-test area.”
Cassidy tosses the rest of her Cheez-Its, and I shove the veggie straws into my mouth in one massive bite. Back in the living room set, my dad is venting to my mom. “These people. Doesn’t he know he should have left hours early? This is LA. There’s always an accident on the freeway.”
“Unprofessional,” I agree blandly as we walk in. My dad barely hears me as he keeps talking to my mom, who’s eyeing Cassidy and me, waiting to jump in at the right moment. We drop onto the couch to wait out my dad’s venting. When he’s finally worn himself down, I move to get up so we can all head out.
“Stop!” my mom blurts out. I lean back against the cushions. She grabs my dad’s arm. “Just … look.”
The camera is on and trained on Cassidy and me. Based on the expressions on my parents’ faces as they look at us through the monitor, I can already see where this is going. And I don’t feel totally opposed. “Did you set this up?”
“Absolutely not,” my dad barks. “I would never let a full day’s work ride on you—too fickle. But now that we’re here and have wasted a day … why not just read for it?”
My mom looks at me pleadingly. “Honey, why not? Just try it, and if it’s awful and you hate it, we will never bother you about acting again. How’s that?”
“I don’t believe you,” I argue halfheartedly. But I haven’t walked away, and I know that’s telling in and of itself.
“I swear,” my mom promises. “No more scripts written specifically for you either.”
“Ignore that,” my dad argues. “I’m not making any promises. Inspiration is what it is.”
Cassidy jumps in. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
I groan and sit back down. “This feels like a reverse intervention.”
My dad reaches over and hits Record on the camera, and my mom passes me the script. Cassidy waves hers off. “I’ve done this like fifty times,” she says when I raise an eyebrow. “If I don’t have it memorized by now, just fire me.”
My parents cluster behind the monitor, and Cassidy and I start running the scene. It’s the first time we meet in the script, when Cassidy has been hired by my mom to date me, but I don’t know it yet. My role is funny, but in the subtle way my dad does so well, where it depends on the actor getting it , and isn’t just cheap laughs. It’s another in a long string of mother–son roles he’s written for my mom and me.
At first, I feel clunky, since I’m reading, bouncing between the page and Cassidy. But by the end of the scene I’m into it, and it feels like this is something I never stopped doing. It’s easy to slip into a role that was written for me, and opposite Cassidy, who I have so much natural chemistry with, I know I’m hitting all the right notes with the jokes. I’m able to take the material further since I already half know how she’ll react, and that she’ll be able to build on what I do. In the back of my mind I remember the vacations we used to go on as families, and how Cassidy and I would act out elaborate renditions of our moms’ movies after dinner on the last night every year, until we did the movie for real, and then suddenly we didn’t do that anymore, because acting felt like the bad thing, when, really, the bad thing was the harassment by the media. And now I really wish we’d never stopped.
When we wrap the scene, the sound stage is quiet. Then a slow clap starts. I turn and see that various PAs and gaffers have gathered to watch. My dad waves them off with one stern look, then walks over to me. “Finn. Just watch it back before you say anything. Before you even think anything.”
I shut my mouth, although I’m actually not sure what I was going to say. Because I loved it. And I hate that I loved it. It feels too stupid to admit, when I’ve been so adamant about not acting my entire life. I follow my dad to the monitor and let Cassidy and my mom crowd in tight behind me to watch it back.
We’re good. I’m good. When it stops, everyone waits for my response, the room silent. I don’t say anything.
Finally, my mom can’t take anymore. “Just say you’ll do it! Come on! We’ll film around the Tell Me How You Really Feel schedule. Have the release and press tour during your summer hiatus. Just do it!”
I look between them all, and Cassidy squeezes my arm encouragingly. And then I can’t hold back my smile any longer. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
My dad wraps us all in a giant hug. “ Finally , Finn.”
I pull away. “But no bragging! Or badgering me about how long I held off. And for now, until we see how it all plays out, it’s just this one.”
My mom mimes zipping her lips. “Not a word out of us. We’re just happy to all do this together as a family.”
“Me too,” I agree. And I mean it. I’ve resisted this for so long, laser focused on building my own path and staying out of the spotlight. But Cassidy’s right. At this point, I’m in entertainment. There’s no reason to hide anymore. I enjoy doing the show, which is akin to acting, and even though I’ve resisted it my whole life … I think my parents might be right. Acting might be what I was meant to do.
It’s not until we’re walking out of the studio that I wonder if I should have talked to Maeve before agreeing to do a movie opposite Cassidy.