6. Adaline
Interesting was too small a word to describe today. Any word was too small.
Todayfelt like that one scene in Indiana Jones, where the boulder is chasing him down a slope, no idea when it’ll catch him, but knowing that when it does, it will snatch every breath that was sitting in his lungs.
That was what today was.
I’d barely stepped foot on set, and already I’d been ambushed by wardrobe about alast-minute costume fitting, been handed several line changes, and the face of makeup I’d beaten on this morning had already merged with my obvious upper lip and T-zone sweat.
I was currently sitting in the dressing room I’d been told would be mine until the NewYork shoot was done, trying my hardest to make the beige walls and Hollywood-light mirror somewhat feel like mine, even if they had belonged to thousands of other people before I stepped foot in here.
Little things, like a photo booth strip of me and Flo, and one of me and Goldie, helptransform the room. Other things, like the good luck card from my grandparents from my first ever blockbuster movie and several film camera pictures from my favourite projects, all help too.
Anything to make it feel like mine, like I was meant to be here.
The ball of blue tack I’d thrown in my bag this morning felt gross in my hands, but itdid the job, pining up all the photos on the border of the mirror. I fluffed out the green checkered blanket on the basic brown couch, the urge to dive under it and take a power nap racing through my mind, and eventually panting myself back to normal after spending way too much time struggling to hang the strings of fairy lights that I hang around the whole room.
I haven’t brought as many things to the dressing room as I usually would, seeing asthough we were only staying in New York for six weeks and the rest of the shoot was being spent in my least favourite city on the planet.
It’s ironic that I hate L.A. so much. It was where I was born, where I became theperson I am today, and where the memories that make me smile just thinking about them happened. But just the thought of flying into L.A.X. was enough to make that custard tart start to bubble in my stomach.
In reality, I should thrive there. More so than I did when I was little. It’s the place thatwas single-handedly built for people like me: the ungodly famous and disgustingly rich. But I’ve never had that kind of connection with it. I think growing up around the bright lights and being exposed to the city’s secrets from such an early age made me resent it. The only thing I liked about it was that my sister was there. And the beaches.
They were the only things that made the fact that I was about to spend timethere sound durable.Everything else, the traffic, the misogynists, my parents, mine and Nate’s past—theywere things I’d deal with when I faced them.
I reach up onto my toes, a faint cramp building in my calves as I switch on the last setof fairy lights, when I hear a few quiet knocks on my door before the hinges creak open.
“Anyone home?” I hear a slightly high-pitched voice ask, the delicate charm that hung off every word she spoke told me it was Amber before my eyes had a chance to fall on her.
Her gasp made my head spin to face her as she charged towards me. “Oh good, you’rehere! How’ve you been, pumpkin?” She squeals, falling straight into my chest as her long blonde locks almost choke me.
“Oh, I’m good. It’s nice to… see you.” I managed, flashbacks that kindlyremind me that Amber’s hugs are the equivalent of being strangled by a boa constrictor Barbie crowding my head.
Thankfully, she lets me go after a few seconds, the airflow allowing me to suck insome deep breaths to restore my lungs and shuffle down my cropped vest that was ruched up by her whole body death grip.
“God, when was the last time I saw you? Was it the Met Gala afterparty last year?” she asks, hands raking through her hair.
“I think it was, yeah. You’ve done some cool stuff since then; congrats on the moviewith Meryl Streep, by the way!”
She waves her hand towards me. “Oh, please, that’s nothing compared to theDefenders franchise you got whisked into. I bet you could retire now if you wanted.”
Now that she wasn’t clutched to me like a monkey; I could really absorb her outfit; agreen gingham dress with a frilly white collar, the pastel shades complementing her pale skin, and a pair of slip-on ballet flats glued to her feet. She really does live up to that southern belle label that the press tends to stick on her.
I laugh at her statement, acting like she’s crazy for thinking that, but I definitelycould. And now I’m wondering why I haven’t done just that. “Is anyone else here yet?” I ask, switching subjects.
“Oh, yeah, that’s why I came to get you. Nigel and Nate just got here, so I came tofind you.”
Two minutes later, we were all on set. All four of us. All with scripts in our handsand waiting idly for the director. I barely had time to take in the set, or sneak a glance at Nate, before a figure broke out from the smoky darkness, stepping out from behind a camera and marching towards us with one of the biggest smiles I think I’ve ever seen.
And then I said a silent thank you to whoever had a hand in making Sebastian George our director.
“Okayyy gang… How’re we this fine mornin’?” his southern twang that smotheredthose words melted in my ears, and his smile only grew once his eyes counted us.
I’d worked with Sebastian a few years ago, back when his face hadn’t knownwrinkles and when his hair was less salt and peppery and more pitch black. He was a sweetheart, a real people person who you could tell had a heart of pure gold lying beneath the flannel shirts. Seb always seemed to care about his actors before anything… and that thought was what had me release the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
If we had ended up with someone like Wesley Paige again, I think that would havebeen my final straw to give my career the funeral it deserved.
“All good over here, thank you, Seb,” Nigel says, that sweet old man’s smile gracinghis face and warming my heart.
Me, Amber and Nate all mumble a good morning at the same time.
“Well, I just wanted to say that I am so excited to get this shoot going. We’ll haveEleanor popping in throughout the entire shoot, just to make sure we’re doing this adaptation justice.” he scrubbed a hand over his stubble. “There’s still no word about who’ll be paying Harry’s brother, but the casting team have assured me that they’re in the final stages of doing just that. So for today, I was thinking we knocked out some easy scenes, mainly the ones with Anastasia and Alison, and Harry and his dad.” Seb let out a breath before clapping his hands together in a firm grip. “Is that okay with everyone?”
Our heads all nod in sync.
“Okay, great! Adaline and Amber,” he says, looking our way, his eyes ping-ponging betweenus. “We’ll get the family home scenes set up and start with you guys in around fifteen.”
Both Amber and I smile at each other before I feel my body whip backwards,Amber’s hand grabbing mine and tugging me back towards the corridor where the dressing rooms were. As I stabilise my legs, my eyes fall onto Nate, his green pools already fixed on me. It feels like the bottom of my stomach falls out when I watch him shift his eyes, as if my attention burned him.
I managed to shake off the uneasy feeling by the time Amber and I made it to herdressing room, only for it to swirl again once I took in the interior. It’s what I imagine walking into the Barbie Dream House would feel like… pink adorning every wall and ceiling and even the cracks in the corners.
My eyes dart from the pink cushions to the pink dressing gown hanging over thechair, bouncing from the pink desk accessories and the cherry on top, her pink snuggle chair that was tucked away in the corner of the room. I feel like I’m going to walk out of here and my vision will be permanently stained pink, like when you look into the sun for too long and suddenly the world is clouded by dark blue spots.
But I smile and squeak, “Love what you did with the space, Amb!”
“Right! It’s so much more me.” She also squeaks out, before jumping onto the futonand grabbing her script, which had her lines highlighted in yellow, oddly enough. “Wanna run through the house scene?”
“Yeah, sure.” My feet take me over to the chair, awkwardly squeezing into the spacebeside her. A tiny gasp escaping me when I realise that the chair could also spin. I eventually got as comfortable as I could, found the scene she wanted to practice in the script, and began reading my lines.
We barely made it through three lines before I grew itchy, the denim covering my legsgrowing tight and a jealous kind of wave washing over me.I recall how I felt when I read these lines for the first time, tucked away on my beanbag with the book in my hands, the rain thrashing against the window.
Writing like this, the kind that transports me to another world where I get to play thegirl living in it, I adore it. Words that make me envious that I’m not the girl that”s walking around the small town, where it always feels like it’s sunset, and the skies are always beautiful.
It fills me with so much happiness it’s impossible to describe.
But it wasn’t long before that feeling morphed into something I didn’t know what tocall. It was part jealousy and part anger. I was angry at myself, for not trusting my gut, for not putting my writing out into the world. I was jealous that this author had, that she’d taken that leap.
It wasn’t as easy as asking myself whether I loved being the person who reads thewords or the one who gets to write them. In some twisted way, I wanted both.
Having both would mean I wouldn’t upset anyone, or hurt anyone’s feelings. I’d stillkeep the people, my parents, who gave me this life happy. At the same time, I’d be letting myself be the person I kept hidden away and in the shadow of the girl I was on camera…
Only in a perfect world could I have both.
But that world didn’t exist.
“Do you want to read for Nate, or shall I do it?” Amber’s question made my headbounce up towards her, the pounding of my heart was so loud I was convinced she could hear it.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” I said, a bit breathlessly.
“Or should I call him in?”
“NO!” I blurt out, Amber’s brows flickering with confusion. “He’s busy with Nigel;you read them,”
She commits to a nod before her eyes fall back onto her script. “Oh, okay.”
I caught the frown that plagued her lips before her head fully fell, intrigue stabbing atme. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Amber frown the times I’ve been around her. She’s like a walking ball of sunshine. Frowning wasn’t one of her traits.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying to dip my eyes to meet hers. But they were scanning herscript like it was a crossword puzzle, hunting for hidden answers. I tried again. “Amber, are you okay?”
Slowly, her head rises, and like some invisible notch inside her head had beenswitched to one hundred, she springs off the chair and bolts over to the door, her hands frantically locking the thing before she crashes back down beside me.
Her shaky hands find mine. “Can you keep a secret?”
I pull my brows in this time. “What?”
She ducks her head, guiding me to do the same. “I saidddd, can you keep a secret?”
“Yeah, why are you whispering?” I ask, looking off to the side and then back to her.
Amber’s chocolate eyes roll, like I’m the crazy one, before she bobs her head to theside and her pinky finger appears between us.
“Are you kidding me?” My voice was so flat it hurt.
“Absolutely not. Pinky swear you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”
I let a small laugh sneak past my lips. “Amb, seriously, just tell—”
“Adaline, if we don’t have trust, this sister relationship is never going to bebelievable.” I tilt my head and squint my eyes at her. “I’m serious, Adaline, pinky swear or nothing.”
I waited a few seconds before realising that she was serious, and this wasn’t somenew acting exercise I had yet to interact with. And for the first time since knowing her, our age difference, however insignificant, became clearer.
I roll my eyes this time, as I lift my pinky finger to meet hers, linking it and rollingmy eyes again when I watch her wriggle with excitement.
“Right… Okay.” she shimmied herself and blew out a low breath, doing nothing forthe anticipation and worry potion that was now lingering inside me. Either she was about to confess to murder or the stupidest little thing ever.
Another low breath staggers out of her. “Okay, okay… okayokayokay—”
“Jesus, Amber, just tell me—”
“I really like Nate.”
My eyes do nothing but glaze over, as I question what kind of person it makes me thatthat I kind of wished she confessed to murder instead.