Finding June

by Shannen Crane Camp

CHAPTER 11

  On Saturday, Gran signed me up (without my knowledge) for her own personal acting lessons. We went over the script for the first episode about a million times, all the while eating disgustingly healthy food, forcing ten bottles of water into my system, and putting all manner of odd food beauty remedies on my face. By the end of the day, I was worn out and smelled faintly of pineapple—a smell I was quickly growing to hate.

  I scrubbed my face until it was red and shiny before falling down onto my bed with a loud sigh. It was dark outside of my window and I couldn’t help but feel that my weekend had just started and was already almost over. It was funny how time did that. If you’re looking forward to something, it always takes ten years to arrive, but the second it comes, it’s over before you have time to blink.

  I hadn’t bothered drying my hair after my shower that night. I figured that with church starting at ten, I’d have time to do it in the morning. My wet, springy curls fell across the back of my neck, making me shiver as I drew my comforter tighter around me. I closed my eyes and tried desperately to sleep, but no matter how persuasive I was at willing myself to fall asleep, it just wouldn’t happen. Every time I tried to drift off, I’d think of Monday. I could see Lukas and all of the other cast members staring at me like I was an idiot for some little faux pas or other. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that once I was there and actually filming, I’d be all right. It was the waiting that was killing me.

  Emitting a low grumble, I turned off the lamp on my bedside table and picked up my phone, determined to get some comfort.

  Angry face, I texted Joseph, wondering if he could pick up on what I was trying to say with such an obscure hint.

  It was always fun seeing how well Joseph knew me. Most of the time I could say one phrase to him like "jasmine soap" and he’d reply, "You’re right, green would be a nice color for your bedroom wall." That was just the kind of friendship we had. So I wasn’t at all surprised when I received a reply from Joseph one minute later that said, June, they have tons of people watching the monitors. They’ll tell you if you look like you’re thinking too much.

  It was a sad (but true) fact that whenever I was concentrating, I made a face that resembled a scowl. Joseph was the first one to point it out to me when we started acting together. Ever since then I’d been trying to reverse this cruel trick of nature. Unfortunately, every now and then there was just nothing I could do. The scowl would present itself.

  It’s scary how well you understand me, I answered, yawning quietly into the darkness of our house.

  I speak June fluently. I’ve had 16 years of classes, was his instant response. I smiled to myself and nestled down into my fluffy art nouveau comforter, suddenly finding that sleep was within my reach. I held my phone to my chest, closed my eyes, and allowed my dreams to take me.

  *****

  Sunday passed with lots of encouragement from Joseph all throughout church. This encouragement came in the form of little doodles scribbled on the back of the sacrament program, but as much as I appreciated it, nothing could prepare me for the sense of dread and sheer panic that I felt as Gran drove me to the studio on Monday morning.

  Gran had picked me up right after seminary with Joseph shouting, “It’s okay to look like a fool,” as we drove away, causing Gran to look over at me quizzically. I waved away her unsaid questions and closed my eyes, trying to keep myself from throwing up from all of the excitement. My actual call time was seven o’clock, so leaving right after seminary at six was worrying me a bit.

  “Do you think we’ll hit a lot of traffic?” I asked anxiously as I stared at the glowing numbers on the car clock.

  “It’s L.A., Bliss. The only way we wouldn’t hit traffic is if it was the end of the world . . . although even then I think we’d probably still have trouble,” she replied evenly. I could tell she was attempting to hide any emotion in her voice, fully aware that the slightest misunderstood tone might send me into full breakdown mode.

  Even with the normal L.A. rush hour traffic, we made it to the studio with enough time for me to stall in the car for five minutes until Gran forcibly pushed me out. I had already gotten off to a late start that morning, realizing much too late that I had to have my hair washed before I got to the studio. And so, terror bubbling up within me, I ran into the makeup and hair trailer, panting and clutching my purse.

  “Are you all right?” Candice asked skeptically when I entered. I had totally forgotten that she was the head of the makeup department and it was nice to see a familiar, if not entirely friendly, face.

  “Running late,” I managed between deep, gasping breaths. She looked me up and down, assessing what she had to work with, I guessed.

  “Well, I’ll go tell them you’re here and find out where they want to stash you,” she said dryly. “Sit down and take off your coat.”

  I plopped down in the barber chair in front of the light bulb-lined mirror as she walked out of the trailer. I looked over the stacks of makeup, brushes, and odd things that I didn’t recognize and suddenly realized how real this whole thing was. Looking over my shoulder to make sure Candice wasn’t on her way back, I pulled my phone out and snapped a quick picture in true "fangirl" style. I quickly typed a message and sent the picture to Joseph, closing my phone just as Candice re-entered the room.

  “They’re running a little late,” she remarked with a roll of her eyes, as if this was a usual annoyance to her. “After I finish your hair and makeup, you can eat some breakfast. Then come find me and I’ll show you where your locker is.”

  “Thanks,” I said with a nervous smile.

  “You really need to relax,” she said over her shoulder as she unfolded a black plastic cape. She draped it over the front of me and fastened it tightly around my neck. “This really isn’t that big of a deal . . . I mean, it is, but you’re going to be fine.”

  I looked at her reflection in the mirror as she stood behind me and ran her fingers through my hair, assessing what she would do with it.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine, but I just worry, you know? Maybe I happened to read well the day I auditioned, but once I start acting they’ll figure out it was a huge mistake,” I said, confessing my fears.

  “All right, do you want me to tell you something that will make you feel a lot better?” she asked, to which I nodded. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, because I don’t want to be out of a job for being a set gossip, but Joann Hoozer really isn’t that great of an actress,” she whispered conspiratorially.

  I turned around to look at her skeptically, my hair falling out of her hands and across my shoulders. “What do you mean?” I asked. I couldn’t really believe it was true since I’d watched the show since day one, and Joann was always very good at what she did. My only guess was that Candice was trying to make me feel better about myself, and really, who was I to complain about this kind gesture?

  “I mean, she’s a good actress eventually, but the director really has to work to get the talent out of her. She’s mostly just a pretty face who can act if you’re willing to spend the time it takes to help her,” Candice said with a shrug. “It'll be good to have someone on set who’s just raw talent. You won’t have to worry about them getting frustrated with you—anything you could put them through, they’ve already gone through with her.”

  I pondered this silently for a moment, wondering if it really made me feel any better that they could handle my bad acting just because they’d seen it before. Oddly enough, at the end of my inner conflict, I discovered I was okay with this. Still, one additional thing was bothering me.

  “At least she’s got a pretty face to hide behind,” I muttered, feeling very inadequate with my eyes that were red and puffy from lack of sleep, and my hair that had turned frizzy because I didn’t have time to dry it that morning.

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Candice stated matter-of-factly, though I did see a wisp of a smile form fleetingly on her face. I got the feeling that was the most smile I’d ever get out of h
er. “Now, down to business,” she said. She instantly pulled me out of the little moment we had shared when I saw the shiny reflection off of her metal scissors. Instinctively I put my hands over my head and slouched down in the chair.

  “What are you going to do with those?” I asked, suddenly frightened on behalf of my hair.

  “Relax. I’m just getting rid of the split ends and cleaning it up a bit,” she answered in her trademark monotone.

  “But you won’t chop it, will you?” I ventured, still not entirely sure I trusted Candice with the scissors.

  “If you don’t sit up straight I might,” she threatened, causing me to instantly straighten my posture. “Better.”

  I tried to keep talking to Candice in order to distract myself from the small chunks of dark hair falling on the floor around me. Every snip I heard seemed to be taking off more hair than I wanted to lose, though somehow my hair wasn’t really looking any shorter. Candice might have actually known what she was doing.

  “If you’re the head of the hair and makeup department, shouldn’t you be working on Joann Hoozer and Will Trofeos first? Or are they not here yet?” I asked, slightly confused (but definitely not complaining) about my VIP treatment.

  “Well, normally I’d be the one to work on The Tall Ones, but they’re all too famous for me now. They bring in their ‘crew’ of hair and makeup people so I get to work on the extras,” she said disdainfully.

  “Thanks,” I replied, matching her usual dry tone.

  “You know what I mean. It’s not as glamorous, but it does mean I get to do lots of injury makeup, which is right up my alley,” she answered with a grin, giving off more enthusiasm than I had seen from her so far.

  “Silver lining,” I agreed. “So when you say ‘The Tall Ones,’ you mean Will and Lukas?”

  “All of them, really. They’re all too high and mighty for me. Except for Benjamin and Ryan. I still do their hair and makeup. Unfortunately,” she said, puckering her lips in concentration as she continued to snip away at my hair.

  “I think you secretly love them,” I remarked, staring at my puffy, tired reflection in the mirror.

  “Yeah, like a psychopath loves a murder,” she answered with a scoff.

  “Candice, you didn’t murder another extra, did you?” I heard a familiar voice ask behind me.

  “Get out of here Ryan. I’m not ready for you yet,” Candice shot venomously at him.

  “There’s nothing like the melodic sound of Candice’s voice in the morning,” Benjamin said, walking into the small trailer behind Ryan. “And look, an extra pair of seats just for us,” he sang sweetly, beaming all the while at the scowling Candice.

  “And of course we have our favorite New Girl, looking dashing as per usual,” Ryan noted, setting his coffee down on the makeup table.

  “If you didn’t bring me any coffee, you’d both better learn how to do your own makeup and get out,” Candice threatened, putting the scissors away and pulling out armfuls of product and bobby pins for my hair. She began spraying things over my head and wildly pinning my dark curls up as if she were possessed by some demon hairdresser.

  “Now that you mention it, we did bring you some sustenance,” Benjamin said, taking one of the three remaining cardboard cups from the holder. “And we brought New Girl a hot chocolate since Ryan reminded me you don’t drink coffee . . . which is weird . . . but I can get over it one of these days.”

  I smiled over at Ryan, pleasantly surprised that he had remembered the little detail he found so odd. “Thank you,” I said to them both, gratefully accepting the hot chocolate and hoping it would help me wake up without making me sick.

  “Put that down. It’s makeup time,” Candice said, just as I brought the cup to my lips to take a sip. I glanced in the mirror and was completely taken aback by my reflection. My hair was piled high on my head in a mass of curls with a few long dark ringlets falling down my back and numerous stray curls framing my face. The effect was breathtaking (without sounding too conceited) and I was amazed that she was able to make it look so nice so quickly.

  “Wow,” I said simply, summing up my feelings on her ability in those three letters. “Candice . . . you’re amazing.”

  She simply shrugged this statement off, but I did see a faint ghost of a smile on her lips, as if she appreciated this rare appreciation of her gifts. Picking up a black binder, she looked it over quickly before snapping it shut again.

  “We need you to be in full vaudeville costume and makeup for the first scene you’re shooting, but the rest call for more . . . normal looks. After you finish your first scene, you’ll come back here and I’ll make you boring,” she said as she tilted my head back, smoothing something as soft as heaven over my skin.

  “What is that?” I asked in awe. It felt as if she were rubbing air over my cheeks.

  “Silicone based primer. It feels like silk wrapped in satin and dipped in heaven,” she said in what I would describe as a dreamy voice but was, in reality, probably just a less monotone voice. “It makes your skin look flawless and helps the foundation stay in place. Now close your eyes.”

  I did as I was told, allowing her to fix all of the damage I had done by stressing and staying awake all night while I listened to Ryan and Benjamin bicker about some app they had just downloaded.

  “Because it doesn’t actually work,” Ryan was saying.

  “But it’s a strobe light. It’s just . . . funny,” Benjamin replied, his voice full of fervor.

  “Do you really get yourself into that many situations where you think ‘Hmmm, if only I had a strobe light app on my phone’?” Ryan asked.

  “You’d be surprised,” Benjamin said with a mischievous grin.

  “Never mind. I’m sorry I asked.”

  “Don’t open your eyes. I’m putting fake lashes on you,” Candice said, interrupting my eavesdropping.

  I kept my eyes firmly shut, not wanting to have her miss and glue my lids together. Even though it was early in the morning and I was scared out of my mind for the inevitable humiliation I’d have to face in front of the camera, I couldn’t help but notice how at home I felt in the little trailer with Candice, Benjamin, and Ryan. It was pretty clear to me who my on-set friends were so far, though I could only hope that Lukas would soon become another on-set friend . . . or boyfriend . . . whichever I could manage, really.

  “Uh-oh,” Ryan said, sounding suddenly close to me. “Look at the grin New Girl has.”

  “Do you have any scenes with him today?” Benjamin asked knowingly. I felt myself blush under the freshly applied makeup and hoped Candice had put enough on me that the others couldn’t see it.

  “Wait, are you talking about that tool Lukas Leighton?” I heard her ask behind me.

  “New Girl has a crush on him,” Benjamin confirmed sadly.

  “Oh please. The guy is dumb as a rock,” Candice said.

  “He seems sweet,” I said timidly.

  “Great,” she replied sarcastically. “Just find out for yourself, then. Don’t let us persuade you. You’re done, by the way.”

  I opened my eyes to see if Candice had been able to fix all of my red puffiness and—much to my amazement—she had. I was assuming that my vaudeville makeup would be dramatic, but I didn’t realize just how striking the effect would actually be. My lips were painted a deep red, my porcelain skin looked almost transparent, and my eyelids were smoky black with shadow smudged right under my lower lids. The most dramatic thing, however, were the fake lashes she had applied. They had to be almost an inch long.

  “You look like a porcelain doll, New Girl,” Benjamin said approvingly.

  “But you might actually cause a wind storm every time you blink with those lashes, so you may want to be careful,” Ryan added with a smirk.

  “Candice, you’re incredible,” I said, almost not recognizing this dark and mysterious version of myself.

  “I’m okay,” she answered modestly.

  "Humility isn’t a good color on you, Candice,”
Benjamin said seriously while he texted. “You already know you’re good. Don’t put on a show for New Girl.”

  “You’re right. I am pretty brilliant,” she confessed happily. “Anyway, you can go get some breakfast now if you want.”

  “I’ll show you where the cafeteria is,” Ryan offered, picking up his coffee and leading me out of the trailer. “Do Benjamin first, I’ll be back soon,” he added to Candice.

  “New Girl, you can mess up the lipstick, but if you ruin your eye shadow there’ll be hell to pay,” Candice yelled out the trailer door as I walked away with Ryan.

  “That was a frightening mood swing,” I said with a giggle as we entered the small cafeteria, which was really just a room in the production office filled with long picnic tables and a buffet table pushed against the wall.

  “That’s Candice,” he stated, studying my face.

  “What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

  “Nothing. You’re just mixing a few time periods here,” he said with a grin, his deep blue eyes sparkling with his own private joke. “You’re dressed very fifties, but then you have this turn-of-the-century hair with twenties makeup. The effect is very . . . confused,” he laughed.

  “I’m sure it’ll fit once I’m in costume—and how do you know so much about fashion?” I asked.

  “I watch a lot of movies,” he said.

  “Period pieces, though?” I asked skeptically.

  “Any movie. I don’t have very discriminating taste,” he answered with a shrug. “Speaking of which, do you see anything you want to eat?”

  I looked at the buffet table, which was loaded with fruits, bagels, toast, and little cereal boxes. I plucked a red apple from a nearby bowl and turned my attention back to Ryan.

  “Done,” I said happily.

  “Apparently you don’t have very discriminating taste either,” he joked as we walked back to the hair and makeup trailer.

  “Exactly,” I replied, taking a crunchy bite out of my apple and smearing my red lipstick all over it.

  “So, you and I don’t have a scene together until Thursday,” Ryan said, stopping right outside of the trailer.