Chapter Two #2
I knew right away that he was the type of man in his fifties who does not like to be disagreed with. And it’s good to be a
confident leader, I suppose, when you’re running the game. Though when I’m a director—and I will be, because I’m working so
hard that I basically don’t have much else in my life besides my job—I’m going to prioritize people feeling supported on my
set. My sets will be comfortable and efficient. I’m a Virgo. You know how that is. I’m not sure I totally believe in astrology, but
I use it when it suits me, as a shorthand for understanding myself and others. But this scene mattered and I could tell that
he was rushing through it, and that meant he didn’t want to be interrupted. I’d tried to be as invisible as possible, a helping
hand. This is the first time in ten days that I had disagreed with him enough to say something.
“The scene is just stronger this way,” I said, shrugging and looking him in the eye. After the words left my mouth, I immediately
regretted it.
“If you knew anything about love, you’d never set this scene up like this to begin with. Get off my set! Now!” Everyone on set stopped what they were doing and stared.
Ouch. How does he know I’m single, in a somewhat perennial sense? Do I appear loveless and lonely? My claws came out.
“Look, you didn’t hire me. We’re both for hire here. You don’t actually have the authority to kick me off my own movie set.”
“I don’t have the authority? You want me to call the execs, then, give them my little unimportant opinion? I’m sure they’ll
be so concerned about the writer’s feelings. Just go home. I need fewer cooks in the kitchen right now.”
Now I’m extra pissed. It was surging through my whole body. But I was also relieved because film jobs don’t keep regular hours
and it was clear this day wasn’t going to wrap at the expected time. This early exit meant I could catch the group limo to
Prince Edward County with my sister and her bridal party for her bachelorette weekend instead of having to drive for hours
in the dark.
It’s a gift. I went back to the staff trailer to get my things. I folded my hoodie over one arm and cinched my hip pack around
my waist. I tapped Daniel on the shoulder, as he was deep in thought watching a YouTube video about shark attacks on the couch,
and said, “Tag, you’re it. You’re the on-set writer.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
For a moment I thought that he might be excited, it was technically a promotion by default. But no. He ambled up from the
couch like he was a kid heading to detention, instead of a full-grown man doing a job that keeps him in the newest iPhone
every season. I can’t believe I know what he looks like naked. And that he looked so good despite his irritating personality.
He’s got what Marlon refers to as a swimmer’s body, kind of compact. His handsomeness is unassuming, hard to notice at first.
He paused as he went to pass me by, standing too close on the pretense of how small the trailer hallway was.
In spite of, or perhaps because of, how I much I disliked him, when he leaned in to kiss me, I kissed him like I hoped my kisses might make his day a little more tortured.
He ran a finger down the side of my sundress strap, letting it drop to the side, and then grazed my nipple to preface his question.
“Do we have time for a hate fuck?
The PA chirped in my ear: “Do you have eyes on Daniel?”
I ran one hand up the front of his pants and lightly squeezed until he groaned.
“I’ve got eyes, he’s heading your way now,” I said as I dropped my hand.
“You’re the worst,” he muttered, “but I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll be back. It’s not like I’m fired. He just didn’t want to see my face anymore. I know that feeling well,” I slapped his
face playfully so he knew what I meant.
The only reason I ever kissed Daniel was because of a drunken PA-initiated game of crew spin the bottle when we worked together
briefly on a teen show. He was a good kisser. And so we hooked up a few times. He was a very intuitive lover, and when he
wasn’t, he could take direction. We hadn’t yet fooled around on this set because the atmosphere had been too stressful, and
I couldn’t see him as a casual hang, only just another failing-up dude in the way of this movie going right. Now was the time
I probably could’ve used a quick bang in the tiny trailer shower stall, but it was better to just split. I didn’t want to
be discovered and have that be a final humiliation on a humiliating day.
I took a breath to get myself together and pulled my hoodie over my head. I looked at my workstation and wondered—should I take my stuff? Surely not. Stop catastrophizing! I wandered through the stand-ins now gathered in their parkas in the beating sun, trying to walk with purpose. I tried to
approximate a walk that said I’m not slinking away because I’ve been shit-canned by a moron whose last movie didn’t pass the Bechdel test, I’m leaving because I have enough authority to just do what I want.
No one was even watching; it’s true that, without writers, movies wouldn’t exist but it often feels that no one on a set
really ever considers that fact.
I walked out to my car, a little blue hatchback Toyota I’d had since grad school graduation when my father, sitting across
from me at the suburban diner where we always celebrated things, handed me the keys to his old car. “You’re going to need
it to get to film sets, and I’ve decided to lease a newer model.” I was very touched that he was so thoughtful. Even though
now the floor to the passenger seat was often filled with take-out coffee cups and discarded scripts.
Ben was leaning against a trailer finishing up a phone call. Maybe it was because Daniel had gotten me all keyed up, but he
was even more handsome just being a person in the world, doing something mundane like talking on the phone. It reminded me
of that line from My So-Called Life where Angela talks about how well Jordan Catalano leaned against the lockers. I felt my whole face blush hot just looking
at his forearm, imagining how that arm might pull me closer to him. I nodded and walked by, feeling translucent. He called
after me: “That really wasn’t fair of him.”
I looked back; he’d put the phone down against his chest.
“It’s OK, directors, am I right?”
He nodded. “They sure do love having a creative vision and all that.”
“See you Monday,” I said, shuddering at how late I’d be back Sunday night after so much pre-wedding revelry and potential
family drama.
“Looking forward to it,” he said, and winked at me.
Did he have something in his eye? I’ll paint a picture for you. I was wearing Crocs. Rainbow ones. The hoodie over my sundress
was a crew gift from the last movie I wrote, so the words Spooky Santa! were written across my chest. But maybe there was a spark. Or maybe it was just me.
Did I mention I hadn’t dated anyone in five years? The more romances I wrote, the fewer I found in the real world. Kate insisted
I’m too picky, that I expected too much and needed to actually have some dates before I rejected people. Surely they can’t
all be bad, she said, the last time I let her go through my dating app on my phone. This is easy for her to say, she only
dates women and is about to marry the love of her life. But when I told her dating women was easier, she got furious with
me and made me watch two historical lesbian period pieces and listen to the Indigo Girls for an entire car ride.
My apartment was a one bedroom on the second floor above a wedding dress shop in the city’s east end, a place I rented because
most film sets in the city are east and I was barely home. Marlon, in addition to being my best friend, was my next-door neighbour
across the hall. The last time Kate and Sarah came over for dinner—take-out Thai on the couch—Sarah said, “Oh I didn’t realize
you just moved in.” Kate had laughed because she’s always on me to get a sense of style and paint the kitchen. It’s true that
it looked like most of my furniture was just recently unpacked and the hallway was lined with boxes I hadn’t figured out how
to deal with yet. Kate called my decor “like an Airbnb apartment decorated by someone with a Winners gift card,” and she signed
me up for a flower delivery subscription so it looked like life could be sustained here. By the time I got home on delivery
day, they were often wilting already, but I’d put them in my mason jar vase and snap a pic for her to show my appreciation.
Kate and I are different, but she’s the most consistent family member in my life, the one who truly knows me. My dad is a
sweet man, but we really only talk about sports or the weather. We ran out of things to discuss about eight minutes into every
visit.
The perfect home situation was a thing I’d have to deal with once I met certain goals—but in that moment, I was confronted with a week’s worth of laundry all around my unmade bed and hardly anything to pack for a weekend of revelry.
It’s only in moments of domestic disarray that I wish I had a husband, a boyfriend, someone who liked to vacuum and sort the recycling, who could press a grilled cheese into a flat delicious pancake just the way I liked on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
But mostly being single and living alone had begun to feel really great.
Anyone I might want to date had to meet a pretty high bar, because the secret about being a woman is that the pleasure of your own company and your own home—laundry notwithstanding—is pretty spectacular.
Even though my apartment wasn’t the way I wanted it yet and looked admittedly generic, when I got home at night and was by myself, basking in my autonomy and watching three hours of Love Island in my cozy sweats, nine times out of ten what I felt most was contentment.
Kate blamed all of this on my star sign. She’s
an Aquarius who was marrying the second girl she’d ever kissed—Sarah—and insisted on reading tarot cards and telling me which
planets were making me crazy. Kate and Sarah’s friends were a wild bunch, and I loved hanging out with them. I knew I would
struggle to keep up with them that weekend.
I was making an Instacart order for Gatorade, PowerBars, and Advil when my agent Jeff’s home number popped up on the screen.
“Does someone want the movie?” I asked, still scrolling through the digital snack aisle.
“Kid, I’m sorry to tell you, and no one is as shocked as I am, but you’re fired.”
“No, we just had a little tiff. He just told me to go home. I didn’t get fired, not from a Christmas movie. I’m the queen
of Christmas! Plus Jason doesn’t have the authority,” I yelled hysterically.
“The producers love you, you know that. They love you.” The more agents tell you people love you, the less they love you, I’ve learned.
“But they just can’t lose Jason, after Gary.
They want this movie in the can. It’s been a disaster start to finish, and it would be too hard to replace him at this point. ”
“Put me in, Coach! You know I could direct. I’d be cheaper, too.”
Jeff’s silence said all that it needed to.
“I’m sorry about this, Elise. You don’t deserve it but it’s done.”
I proceeded to tell him about how I’d rejected the director romantically, that this felt like payback. Doesn’t the union have
a rule against that kind of thing? Jeff listened. He told me to relax over the weekend, he’d get this sorted or find me another
gig. And then he said the thing he always says—“You hardly ever take a vacation. Everyone takes breaks. But you’re booked
all the time. I think it might be time to take a breather for just a week or two, no?”
Jeff had gotten really into self-care lately. It’s odd for an agent.
“But what about the movie? You called me three times earlier when I couldn’t pick up.”
“I just needed your avails for a movie of the week about that girl everyone thought got eaten by an alligator at Disney World
but it turns out her dad kidnapped her? Then I must have pocket dialed you another few times by accident.”
“That is very humbling, Jeff.”
“There are good things ahead for you, Elise. Take the weekend. We’ll get this sorted. Go unwind.”
I was fired? I pressed order on the shopping app and got in the shower.
I stood under the hot water, too hot really, but I didn’t adjust it.
Unless you considered the fact that I kept trying to write movies that hadn’t been made yet, I hadn’t really failed before.
I filled my palm with rosemary mint shampoo, so much that I used the excess to wash my arms and legs.
Eventually, the scalding felt normal. I conditioned the ends of my hair and then leaned my forehead against the shower stall.
Every time I’d tried to quit any previous job, I’d been offered promotions or incentives to stay.
I was generally a goddamn delight to have in class!
But if the director hadn’t yelled at me, if I hadn’t made that terrible overly confident choice, the summer wouldn’t have
unravelled the way that it did. So thank you, obnoxious director I’ve already forgotten the name of, because you are a dime
a dozen. You somewhat indirectly helped me realize that I might want some of the love I write about, and more importantly,
you helped me on the road to find myself. I still hoped he’d die in a fire, or at least have some inconvenient smoke inhalation
and a mild disfigurement. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
When I got out of the shower, I didn’t know all that was ahead of me. I only knew that my Gatorade and PowerBars were to arrive
in twenty-eight minutes, the limo in an hour, and that it would only take me two minutes to brush my teeth and throw some
sundresses and a bathing suit into my duffel bag. The agony of those other minutes made me crawl under the duvet, hair still
wet, unable to deal with the reality of my work situation. And then I remembered Marlon’s birthday card—it had an opossum
on the front wearing a birthday hat and the text Live Fast Die Pretend on the front.
He had Scotch-taped a small baggie of pink gummies inside, with the words I LOVE YOU / RELAX A L’IL BIT THIS YEAR scrawled underneath.
I’d been too afraid to try them. I am not a drug person, generally. I was somewhat curious to try again,
since the last time I’d been high was in the tenth grade while watching Superbad at a friend’s house. And so I ate one, packed my bags, and sat on the edge of the bed waiting for it to kick in. I didn’t feel any different after
five minutes, so I ate a second.