The First Rule of the Industry is Domestication
Owen was already twenty minutes late by the time he picked me up six miles outside the airport, but I couldn't give him too much crap for it. The guy had been mobbed by fans.
"Some welcome party," I teased as I tossed my suitcase in the back and slid into the passenger seat.
He just laughed, and we took off, heading straight for the chaos of Hollywood.
Owen's production was running on a shoestring budget, and it showed.
They'd rented out a residential building near the studios, and the place was a disaster zone.
The narrow hallways were piled so high with equipment cases you could barely squeeze past.
Even the director and Owen, the film's investor, were crammed into rooms in the same building.
It was a world away from my last project, where at least the director, Dexter Reed, had a clean office to himself.
It was a Friday, and shooting was scheduled to start Monday. The entire crew was already on-site, a frantic hive of activity, minus the actors who hadn't arrived yet. I followed Owen through the mess, dragging my suitcase behind me, and into his brother Walter's room.
Walter's dorm-style room was also serving as the production's temporary office, and it was a complete train wreck.
Besides a bed and a table, there were several huge boxes of costumes shoved into one corner, making the already small space feel suffocating.
It was my first up-close look at what a truly low-budget production felt like.
Walter Bowen was on the phone. He glanced up as we walked in, his eyes flicking over me once before returning to his call.
"Hang tight for a minute," Owen said, pouring me a glass of water.
I wasn't in any hurry. I just found an empty chair in the corner and settled in to wait.
Walter's call dragged on. And on. Forty minutes later, he was still talking, and even my patience, which was usually pretty solid, was starting to fray.
Seeing he had no intention of wrapping up, I pulled out my phone, found a lecture by a media studies professor, and popped in my headphones.
My line memorization was fast, but my fundamentals were weak.
If I wanted a real career in acting, I had to master my delivery, and since I was just sitting here anyway, I figured I might as well learn something.
The second I pressed play on the lecture, he hung up. I couldn't tell if he'd been messing with me or if he'd actually just finished his business, but the timing felt intentional.
He set his phone down and gave a stiff nod in my direction. "You're here. Avery Hayes, right? I'm Walter Bowen."
Walter looked to be in his early forties and was a little overweight.
He wore an old T-shirt with a frayed collar and a dark photography vest stained with what looked like paint.
His hair was a mess, and deep, dark circles shadowed his eyes.
As he greeted me, his gaze locked onto my face, sizing me up like a piece of merchandise.
"Hello, Director Bowen." I pulled out my headphones and stood, offering a small, polite smile as I shook his hand.
But my smile was cool, distant, nothing like the relaxed one I'd given Director Duke.
It wasn't the long wait that bothered me; it was the way he looked at me.
I was an actor, and getting sized up by a director was part of the job.
But when that look was dripping with prejudice from the get-go, it was just plain uncomfortable.
"You're even prettier in person," he said, his eyes glinting with something like contempt. "This is the kind of face that sells. Here's the revised contract. Why don't you check it?" He casually slid a printed contract across the table, putting a weird emphasis on the words "prettier" and "check."
"Sure, I'll take a look." First impressions really do set the tone.
It was obvious what he'd been trying to do with that marathon phone call, and faced with his blatant hostility, I dropped the humble-newcomer act.
I smoothly took back my hand, picked up the contract, and met his gaze with a flawless, professional smile.
Giving me the cold shoulder? A little power play?
I'd seen these games a million times back when I was a lawyer.
His attitude was clearly a jab at me for changing the contract terms.
But I hadn't done anything wrong. A deal only works if both sides agree.
If he wasn't happy with my terms, he could have just not hired me.
Instead, he'd stewed on it and decided to try and humiliate me on set.
I wasn't playing that game. If it weren't for Owen, I would've walked right then and there.
My first impression of Walter was terrible, and the feeling was clearly mutual. "Owen, come outside for a second. I need to talk to you," he snapped, his face darkening at my unfazed response. He stormed out of the room without another word to me.
Owen frowned, shot me an apologetic look, and followed his brother downstairs.
In a quiet corner of the stairwell, Walter lit a cigarette.
"Where did you find this actress? She's got the looks, sure, but zero tact."
He'd made me wait on purpose, a little "welcome" to put me in my place.
But not only had I not taken the bait, I'd called his bluff by actually starting to read the damn contract.
With a traditional web series, any other rookie, or even a seasoned pro, would have backed down the second they saw the director was pissed.
Owen pinched the bridge of his nose. "Bro, have you been stuck in the old studio system for too long?"
he said, his voice sharp. "Do you think every actor is just supposed to genuflect when a director walks by? You better dial back that temper. Short dramas are a totally different world. Let's be real, look at the pay scale. It sets the attitude.
Why should anyone put up with your crap for things that have nothing to do with acting?"
He had a point. I'd been in the short-drama scene for a while myself.
Everyone was just trying to make a living.
If the production team was cool, you might work together again.
If they were jerks, you finish the shoot in a few days, blacklist them, and move on.
The actors weren't tied to any single network or studio.
"If you try to pull that old-school attitude here, no short-drama actor will ever work with you again," Owen warned.
"They aren't here to serve you. There are a dozen crews filming in Hollywood right now. As long as you have the look, you can always find another gig. The old power dynamics just don't apply."
But Walter didn't take him seriously. He just gave a cold snort, thinking his brother was naive.
Sure, the worlds were different, but the rules were the same.
The first rule of the business was breaking people in.
In other jobs, you have set hours; in this industry, you're on the director's time.
When the director says film, you jump. It was an unspoken rule.
He figured I was acting cocky because no one had put me in my place yet.
Once filming started, I'd learn what happens when you cross a director.
He never got the chance. On the very first day of shooting, I was the one who taught him a lesson about what "breach of contract" really means.
On Monday, the crew officially started filming. Thinking of Owen and the paycheck, I'd decided to stick it out. I had just changed into my costume, a complicated period dress for my role as the talented, undercover daughter of a high-ranking official, when Walter called me over.
"Avery, come here."
I gathered the hem of my skirt and walked toward him. The plot wasn't exactly deep, but playing a woman who uses her wits to save her family from a corrupt ruler was a hell of a lot better than playing another lovesick damsel.
"That Mr. Palmer over there wants his girlfriend to join the cast," Walter said, gesturing to a man and woman sitting under a large umbrella nearby.
Mr. Palmer was so bloated and overweight you could barely see his eyes.
The woman beside him was slender, with a face that looked more like filler than flesh.
It was obviously a sugar-daddy situation.
I knew you ran into these arrangements in this business, but I hadn't expected it to happen on my first official leading role. The odds were just wild.
"Oh?" I said, cutting right to the chase. "Discuss what? Are you replacing me? And wait, I thought Owen was funding this. Who's Mr. Palmer?"
Walter's smile was pure, smug satisfaction.
"Sorry, looks like you came all this way for nothing. See? This is what happens when you don't play by the rules."
He'd cast me for my face, hoping it would attract viewers.
But now, a big-shot investor was throwing money at the project to get his new girlfriend a part, and Walter wasn't about to turn that down just to keep an actress he already disliked.
With that kind of cash, he wouldn't lose a dime even if the show was a total train wreck.
"Not at all. I didn't come for nothing," I said. Hearing I was replaced didn't upset me in the slightest. In fact, I felt a thrill shoot through me. My amber eyes lit up. "You just need to pay me the penalty for breaking the contract. And as it happens, I have other things to do."
Who said I came for nothing? The contract clearly stated that if either party broke the agreement, they had to pay a penalty equal to ten times my salary. Getting paid twenty-five thousand dollars on my first day for doing absolutely nothing?
Yeah, I was more than willing to take that deal.