Chapter 56
Chapter Fifty-Six
CLOVER
Jill isn’t making eye contact with me. She’s scrutinising the bottle. Flying to my feet quicker than I ever have, I head over to her and grab it from her hands.
“Oh, this? It’s just some medicine I have.” A piss-poor lie, and Jill senses it.
“Clover, I know what that is.”
I wince.
“Have you been taking these?”
Sensing there’s not much wiggle room in the matter, I decide to be honest, even though my heart is hammering so loudly I’m sure she can hear it. “Yeah.”
She looks me up and down like I’ve grown two heads. “Why the hell are you taking this stuff? It’s enough caffeine to kill a horse.”
Because I want to fit the mold the world’s made for me.
Because Anita will be disappointed if I don’t.
Because I’m running myself ragged trying to chase after everyone’s vastly different idea of perfection.
Because I need to nail this role and everything that comes along with it, or my career will be dead in the water.
But all I manage to squeak out is, “Because.” And then the tears come.
Jill wastes no time tossing the bottle on the counter and rushing over to me and pulling me into her arms for a fierce hug.
“What’s going on?”
“I wanted an edge,” I sniffle. “There’s so much pressure and I just need to do better, be better, be what everyone wants me to be. I thought it might help.”
“What are you basing this off of?” Her eyebrows pinch together in confusion.
“There may have been some online comments.” I scrub my eyes with the back of my hand.
“And my agent has been pretty vocal about making sure I meet her expectations... It’s been.
.. a lot. I can’t win. I’m too much and not enough all at once,” I finally admit, looking at her through the tears in my eyes, ready to crumple in on myself.
Jill nods slowly, and I can tell she’s putting some pieces together. “Okay, well, first and foremost, fuck those fuckers.”
I snort, in spite of how shitty I feel.
“You don’t need to change yourself to make other people happy. What matters is how you feel about yourself.”
Nodding along as she talks, my hands swipe the tears from my face. God, I hate crying in front of people. I’ve done way too much of it these last twenty-four hours. I know what she’s saying is true, but knowing and believing are different things.
“So how do you feel, Clover?” She asks thoughtfully. It causes me to pause.
I’ve been so consumed with prioritizing and making space for other people’s opinions of me that I haven’t had the chance to actually sit with my own feelings.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I feel like I don’t know how to have an opinion on myself that isn’t influenced by what other people say.”
Jill contemplates that, pursing her lips in thought before giving a quick little nod and smile. “Okay then. That’s alright. You start small then.”
“What do you mean?”
“You start with a series of small actions, and hopefully over time it gives you a chance to figure out how you feel on your own, and a chance to see how perfect and wonderful you are as is, and how no matter what changes, you always will be those things.”
“You think it’s possible to get to a place where I really believe that?”
She smiles softly. “I do. I can tell you you’re perfect until I’m blue in the face, but it’s never going to matter unless you feel that way yourself. And ultimately, no one can make it happen for you except you.”
A series of small steps. That sounds doable. I’m so tired of the self-loathing, I need it to end. It’s at the point of desperation now–I’m willing to try just about anything.
“What if I don’t know where to start?” I whisper.
“Surround yourself with people who don’t make you feel like you need to change anything. Ask for help where and when you feel like you can. And you know what the best thing you could do is?”
I incline my head.
“Don’t look at comments. Seriously. You’ll always be too much for someone and not enough for someone else. There’s no way to win for someone else. The only way to win is to be enough for yourself.”
“Enough for myself.” I confirm.
“And fuck the rest.”
I give her a watery smile.
“Nope. You’re going to have to repeat that one out loud.”
“Fuck the rest,” I say with a smile as the burden of an invisible weight on my shoulders begins to lift ever so slightly.
The acrid smell of smoke fills the kitchen.
“Shit!” Jill shoots up, grabbing the burnt cookies from the oven.
“Sorry my crash out interrupted the baking.”
“There’s no one I’d rather burn my cookies for. Come on, no reason we can’t remake them.” She pulls out the flour again, undoubtedly ready to square up with another ball of dough.
An hour later, we’re painting the buttercream icing on the cookies.
I wasn’t aware this was something one could do, but Jill makes it look easy.
Her cookies look like perfect vibrant sunflowers, whereas mine are more in line with Audrey the Plant.
But my cheeks hurt from smiling, and tossing those pills in the garbage has filled me with a joy I haven’t felt in a long time.
For the first time in a while, I’m optimistic.
My palms shouldn’t be sweating, and it shouldn’t feel like I’m about to be sick. I’m just calling my agent. Having a quick, and hopefully easy conversation. I’ve rehearsed it countless times in my head. But it doesn’t matter when Anita picks up on the second ring and she already sounds annoyed.
“Yes, Clover?” She asks.
“Anita, hi.” I backpedal, trying to force some pleasantries.
“What do you need?”
Alright, straight into it then…
“Um,” I kick myself mentally for sounding so unsure already.
Taking a deep breath, I shake my head and start again.
“I was wondering if you had any recommendations for someone I could talk to, like a therapist or something? I’d normally just Google it or something but I want to be cautious with the paparazzi following me more closely now. ”
“Why would you want to talk to a therapist?” She sounds taken aback.
“There are a few things I’m having a hard time with, and I was hoping that talking to someone could help?” I’m confused as to how she’s confused.
“Clover, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
My mouth pops open and I have a hard time forming words for a few seconds. Of all the ways I anticipated this conversation would go, this simply wasn’t one of them. “I just really think that–”
“I’ve got to take another call. Let’s try to nail the stunt tomorrow.” She hangs up without another word, and I see red.
Oh rest assured, Anita. I’ll make sure to nail that stunt tomorrow purely out of spite and determination.
I feel more than ready to get back to filming. I’m itching to show everyone that I can do the stunt and make up for the trouble with an incredible performance. After Tanya hands me my ass, that is.
Hand my ass to me Tanya does. Luckily, she does me the courtesy of doing it in private.
After what has to be the longest lecture about on-set stunt safety, she waits for me to answer. Her shoulders are up, and she is ready to argue.
“You’re right. I fucked up, and I’m sorry,” I admit.
Instantly her shoulders lower, and her expression softens.
“I put everyone in a bad position, and I should’ve called it off before the jump.”
Tanya fights a small smile. “Thanks, kid.” Stepping forward, she pulls me into a quick, tight hug. A rare display of affection from the otherwise unflappable Tanya. It’s a bit of an awkward hug, but it feels nice to know she’s not mad at me before we resume filming.
The cast and crew circle up before we shoot for the day. No doubt people are nervous about the stunt today. That’s fine, they’re allowed to be. What matters is how I feel about it. And I feel strong and ready to do what I need to do .
I fuelled myself with breakfast this morning, and I made sure to drink some water so there’s no risk of dehydration.
And this morning when I put on my super suit, instead of finding things to criticize, I looked at my leg muscles.
How strong they are, and how the iridescent lines of my costume highlight them.
I whispered to them to not do me dirty with today’s stunt and gave them a quick pat before heading to Warehouse B.
Today needs to go well. We can’t afford to have any more delays, and I need to prove to everyone—and myself—that I’m capable of this.
When Tanya shouts “run it”, Roman bursts ahead of me and leaps across the space between the rooftop set pieces. He lands in a somersault that makes the whole stunt look easy. It’s not, but I know I can do it too.
I take off for the edge, knowing that six strides puts my right foot at the perfect spot for jumping.
When I hit it, I hurl my body through the air.
Time slows to a crawl as I leap, but my eyes fix on my target: Roman’s arm.
The compass isn’t visible today under the cover-up the makeup team applied to it, but I imagine it guiding me exactly where I need to go.
When I finish soaring through the air, I grab onto Roman’s forearm, and his large hand wraps around mine. It’s so secure I know without a shadow of a doubt he will not let me fall. He pulls me up with such ease it’s practically offensive.
Roman beams at me. “Way to go, Sparky.” The crew breaks into a cheer.
Also clapping on the ground—with pure glee all over their features—are Jesse, and his father, who are finally getting the set visit Roman promised them.
“Incredible work, you two!” Arnold shouts to Roman and me. When I glance down at Tanya, she’s giving us two thumbs up, and somehow that feels like the strongest endorsement of all.
“Let’s reset and film it!”