Chapter Twelve
Chapter
Twelve
One of my favorite things about fairy tales is how they
always end, with the prince and princess riding off into the sunset, all smiles
and full of love, their happily ever after guaranteed.
For a while, ours looks like that. Perfect. Magical.
Everything we’ve ever wanted.
But the truth? Behind the scenes, the fairy tale is starting
to crack.
Dramatic much?
Okay, it isn’t our relationship that’s cracking.
Not exactly. But the pressures from both of our careers suddenly feel heavier
than they ever have before.
I’m getting ready to start filming Workin’ for Laughs
again, and things aren’t exactly great.
It’s a sketch comedy show in prime time, so while we’re not
pushing the envelope like they do on Saturday Night Live, there are
a lot of innuendos and implied things that I’m getting uncomfortable with.
And so is Christian.
My recurring roles on Storyteller are much more wholesome.
I’m still able to play a teenager because of my looks, so on one network, I’m
essentially a child, and on the other, the humor is…well…very adult. And not so
wholesome.
I’m conflicted.
Essentially, I was cast because I was the cute girl who
should be seen and not heard. Look cute, but don’t be too funny. The arm candy.
That’s not to say I don’t have speaking parts—I have plenty.
But it’s nothing compared to the men’s roles.
But like I’ll never tell Christian how to play baseball,
he’s never tried to tell me how to act. We share our experiences, listen to
each other, and show support. But as I’m getting ready to fly to Atlanta, I
can’t help but gripe a bit.
“I just wish they would let me spread my wings a little,” I
say as I start placing clothes in my suitcase. “I’m not new to the business,
and I’ve worked on several successful TV shows.”
“Have you tried talking to the writers? The producers?”
I shrug. “Every once in a while, I go rogue during
rehearsals and try something, hoping they’ll like it, but it’s like getting
reprimanded in school. I’m told to stick to the script.”
He nods, but I know he’s choosing his words carefully.
“Okay, but that’s not really talking. You need to have a conversation with them
and let them know how you feel.”
It’s sweet that he’s trying to help, but he doesn’t
understand how things work in the entertainment business. There’s a chain of
command, and I am the lowest person in it.
“It’ll be fine,” I say, but even I can hear the
weariness in my voice.
The next thing I know, Christian’s leading me over to the
bed to sit down.
“You know we’ve always been honest with each other, right?”
“Right.”
“And you know that I would never tell you what you can or
can’t do.”
“I know that.”
He pauses, and I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
After another moment, he lets out a long breath, taking my
hand in his. “I’m not comfortable with some of the…the characters you’ve been
playing on Workin’ for Laughs. It
feels like they’re…they’re…” Another pause. “Okay. I’m struggling with seeing
you being objectified on national television,” he blurts out. “I know it’s just
acting and it’s not real, but it’s something that’s getting harder and harder
for me to deal with.”
Oh.
Oh…
Some of the sketches I’ve been in have really pushed me out
of my comfort zone, but I’m not taking into account how they make him feel.
Wow.
“I’m not saying I don’t want you acting or that you have to
quit Workin’ for Laughs, I’m just saying
there’s nothing wrong with speaking up when things don’t sit right with you.”
“It’s not that easy, Christian. Writers can be very
sensitive when you mess with their work, and they don’t appreciate the
actors—the ones who aren’t also writers—telling them how to do their job.”
“But you’re not…”
“Trust me. It’s how they take it.”
He caresses my hand. “Okay. Okay.”
But now he has me thinking.
“What if I speak up and they put me in fewer sketches? What
if I end up only being the girl in the background? This was supposed to be my
big break. It was finally my turn on a major network in prime time. People are
getting to know my name.”
He doesn’t say anything, but that’s okay. I do.
“The Storyteller shows are kids’ shows. My characters are
really funny, and I get to showcase a wide range of acting—I can have fun with
it and show off my acting skills. But on Workin’
for Laughs, only the guys get the funny stuff. I’m only supposed to stand,
pose, smile, and be cute.”
“You are far too talented to only have to pose and be cute.”
He laughs softly. “Although you do it well, and I personally love looking at
you. Still, that’s not what you’ve worked so hard for. It’s not what made you
move across the country at nineteen.”
“I know. I just don’t see any scenario where this will go
well.”
We sit in companionable silence for a bit before he gives me
something to seriously think about.
“I guess the question is, can you be happy with things
staying the way they are? Is it worth not making waves just to have your name
on a show?”
I want to say that it’s worth it, that this is the kind of
thing every actor dreams of. But now I’m not so sure. Is this the kind of thing
this actor is dreaming of?
Is this what I trained and sacrificed so much for?
Right now, I don’t have an answer. All I can do is finish
packing, catch my flight, and show up on set in Atlanta.
Then, it’s anyone’s guess.
Spring training is over, which means Christian is
fully immersed in baseball season while I’m in Atlanta, staring at my calendar
and realizing I still have a full month of filming ahead of me. Time is flying
yet somehow dragging all at once.
I’m surrounded by people every day on set—constant noise,
constant movement—but I’ve never felt more alone. I’m a newlywed living out of
a suitcase in one city while my husband builds his life in another. I eat
takeout more nights than not, talk to Christian through a phone screen, and
fall asleep alone.
We’re both chasing the lives we worked so hard for, trying
to meet in the middle where we can. Since the wedding, the longest stretch
we’ve had together is two weeks. More often, it’s a handful of days before one
of us is back at the airport, promising it won’t be long this time.
I know the season won’t last forever, but knowing that
doesn’t make it easier to live in. Balance sounds simple in theory. In
practice, it feels like learning to walk a tightrope while missing the person
meant to steady you.
And on top of that, I am struggling with my role on Workin’ for Laughs. I show up every day,
but I’m starting to notice a pattern. After several more attempts to give my
input on the characters I’m playing, I’m getting less and less speaking time.
I’m practically a piece of the scenery now.
Is it worth not making waves just to have your name on a
show?
That question comes back to me more times than I can count,
and I’m fighting hard to say that it’s worth it. Is it?
I mentioned being bullied a lot when I was younger. As I’ve
said, I always marched to the beat of my own drum, and that started at a young
age. While I was growing up, my classmates used to do all kinds of mean things
to me, from name-calling to stealing my homework. It’s something that’s never
gone away. Obviously, I don’t think about it obsessively, but I’m thinking
about it now because it’s kind of how I feel on this production.
Bullied.
Bullied into submission.
Bullied into not making waves.
Bullied into being someone I’m not.
Is it worth not making waves just to have your name on a
show?
No. No, it’s not.
And that’s when I know it’s time for me to stand up, say my
piece, and let whatever happens, happen.
If I were a writer, I would have written the scene like
this:
A talented, underused actress walks onto the set. She
reads her lines and delivers them as they’re written, but then…she realizes the
scene needs a little something more.
“What if I wore something a little less revealing, and
instead of just lying down on this workout bench and showing how this exercise
machine works, I use my physical comedy skills, just like Lucille Ball, and
turn it into a whole bit. I can take something simple and make it hilarious.
Can I show you?”
The writers listen to her great idea, let her try it,
and then all collaborate to make it the funniest sketch possible.
It went like this: I walked onto the set, read my
lines, made the suggestion, and was told to just read what was written—the
scene didn’t need anything else.
Once rehearsal wraps, I’m summoned to the executive
producers’ office—Max and Aaron. They have last names, but they’re always
together, and everyone calls them by their first names, like a matched set. I
try not to lean into stereotypes, but they do very little to disprove the
Hollywood-producer variety—the kind who prefer women who are agreeable and
quiet. They like me well enough…as long as my ideas stay unspoken.
Apparently, I’ve been a little too generous with my
opinions.
Standing outside their office, I draw in a slow breath
before knocking. When they call me in, I’m no longer sure what I’m feeling. I
only know that whatever this is, it won’t be simple.
“Won’t you have a seat, Ella?”
I smile even as I shake my head. “I’d rather stand.”
They give each other surprised looks, while Max sits on the
couch and Aaron takes the chair behind the desk. “Listen, we understand that
you’ve had a lot of opinions about your scenes, but the writers are fantastic
at what they do, and they understand the tone of the sketches we’re doing.
Every time you offer a suggestion, you’re undermining their work.”
“I’m not trying to undermine anyone. It’s about wanting to
make a sketch the best it can be, and I know I have more to offer.”
“Everyone here really likes you, Ella. You’re a great girl,
but…we’re almost done with the season, and we don’t want an actress with
opinions. We just want an actress who will do what we tell her to do.”
“But I have been doing what you tell me to do. I
just think I can enhance what we’re doing without it being seen as
undermining anyone.”
At first, they just stare at me like they don’t understand