by D. M. Paige
A few minutes later a guy who looked like he wasn’t that much older than me came and sat down in the director’s chair. I’d been seeing Brent Tollin’s films since I was a kid. But I had never seen what he looked like. He handed me a walkie-talkie cell phone and a headset of my own.
“Keep this on you at all times. But when we’re rolling, put it on silent.” He looked me in the eye when he said it, like it was really important and he thought I would forget. I shoved the phone in my back pocket. I guess he had to be pretty particular to keep something so massive running smoothly.
When he was done giving me instructions, I blurted, “Your work is really something else. When I saw Demon Gate … I didn’t even know you could do that with a camera.”
He began to laugh.
I stiffened. This was why I never gave compliments.
Brent was a jerk who couldn’t take a compliment from an intern.
“No, man. I’m not Brent. I’m Sam. The head PA. I’m in charge of interns this summer,” he said proudly.
“Then why didn’t you stop me?” I demanded.
“I should have introduced myself, man. It felt good to be the big fish on set—even if it was all in your head.”
“So when do I get to meet Brent?” I asked, feeling impatient. As we got further away from the cameras and the lights, things got increasingly less exciting. I wanted to stay where the action was. Not look at wardrobe, makeup, and all that.
“Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.”
I stopped walking.
“What?”
He stopped too and looked at me.
“Everyone walks in here and thinks that they’re going to be the big dog on set. But we all start at the bottom. Listen, kid, it’s a film set. It’s controlled chaos. At some point he might yell at you because you gave him lukewarm coffee. If you’re lucky.”
“But I’m here to learn from him,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, feeling defensive. Like I had been the butt of some elaborate joke. I thought about Harmon Holt’s letter. He sounded like he was for real. Maybe Harmon didn’t hold enough weight in the in the film world. But I’d thought the Holt name held weight everywhere.
“You are learning from him. All of this, every little piece, from the craft services table to the guy who runs the camera, is here because of him.”
“So basically the studio gets free labor just for the opportunity to be in the same studio with Brent,” I snapped back. It wasn’t his fault. But he was the one standing in front of me.
“Everyone feels this way at first. But once you get into the swing of it, you’ll be into it again. I swear.” Sam started walking and looked back at me as if to say, “Are you in or out?”
I stuck my hands in my pockets and took a few steps behind him, not committing.
“So, every week you’ll be in a different department. By the end of the summer you’ll know exactly how a film set works. And if you stick to this, then on every set you get to move up too. Or some people pick a department like costumes or props and stick to it. It’s a grind. Better than nine-to-fiving it in an office,” Sam said, smiling broader. I noticed dark circles under his eyes. He was young, but he was tired.
Where would I start? Sitting next to the director? Chauffeuring around a hot actress?
“You’ve going to love it,” the not-director said. But the way he said it, I was almost certain that I was going to really, really hate it.
SEVEN
“You want me to do what?” I asked, looking at the table in disbelief.
There were a million different kinds of breakfast foods, from a fresh fruit salad to a tray of bagels with every topping imaginable to yogurt bars and breakfast bars. Etc. Etc. When Sam first led me to the table I’d thought , Score, free food! But a second later, when he explained that it was my job, my mouth stopped watering and my head started boiling.
“I’m not a waiter—” I said. I remembered the card that Nick, Harmon’s assistant, had given me. Maybe if I called, they could get me a better gig. But then I’d be that kid who called for help. I couldn’t do that.
Sam was on a roll, so I tuned back in.
“You are whatever we need you to be,” Sam said with a smile that said he thought I had more to learn. “Suck it up, intern. It’s not a bad gig. All the food you want. Wherever you work, you can pretty much check your pride at the door if you want to make it in this business.”
I nodded, but I reminded myself I could still walk away. I had a return ticket to DC. Maybe I could spend a few days in L.A. before anyone reported me. It could be fun.
“Jerry is our caterer supplier. You’ll meet him at lunch. He comes three times a day and brings the real food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You’ll help him set up and clean up. Throughout the day you just make sure that the table is restocked. There’s a closet in the production office where you can get anything you need. Just make sure that you always have strawberry licorice on hand—”
“Why? Because the world would end if the table is missing strawberry licorice?”
“Something like that. Our star is obsessed with it. It’s all I’ve ever seen her eat,” he said without even an ounce of sarcasm.
My ears perked up at the mention of Becca Cody. I had seen a couple of her movies. Not in the theater, but on TV—she was good, really good. And she was hot. Really hot. The kind of girl that I would cast in a movie of my own if I was casting a real live person. And the kind of girl I would cast in my real life if I could.
Her first movie was The Darkest House. It was a pretty low-budget horror film that became a cult classic and put her on the map. But instead of becoming a scream queen, she’d moved on to some really heavy-duty dramatic roles, playing an Iraq vet’s kid and then the lead in one of those futuristic teen dramas where only kids have survived the apocalypse. She got nominated for an Oscar for the first one, and the second one was a huge, huge box office smash.
I couldn’t imagine anything I made blowing up like that. I had a few hundred hits on my videos, and it felt good to know that some people liked them. But to know the whole world was watching my every move like it did hers? I couldn’t even imagine it.
Even though we were on the same set, I knew we were living in two very different worlds. Paparazzi followed her every move. People knew who she was dating and when they broke up. People knew when she went to Starbucks and when she stayed out past curfew. Her whole life was lived in front of the camera, except for when she was in her house or in this studio.
Becca was heading toward us. She was wearing one of those pink jogging suits that girls wore at school. Sometimes with words on their butts. Words like sexy or juicy that the principal decided were against dress code. They were distracting to other students or whatever.
Becca Cody approached the table. My eyes didn’t know where to look. Her big, dark brown eyes, her perfect skin, her full, glossed lips, her jet-black hair pulled into a ponytail on top of her head. Her unbelievable body, whose outline I could see in the tight terrycloth. She reached for the licorice on the table.
“Is it the licorice, or are you really happy to see me?” I blurted. I smiled too broadly at her, waiting for her response.
She looked up, surprised. Maybe not used to making small talk with the help.
“Do you think that you’re the first guy to try and use that line on me?” She frowned at me.
“No, but I’m the first guy who really, really meant it,” I said quickly.
She laughed but then frowned again, like she’d decided she was supposed to be annoyed. But the corners of her gorgeous mouth turned up a little, meaning she was maybe a little less than annoyed.
She took the licorice and walked away.
Maybe craft services wouldn’t be so bad after all.
EIGHT
The next day I didn’t see her at all. I did see a lot of sweaty crewmen. A couple cute PAs. And I met a lot of other people on staff, because everyone had to eat.
Jerry, the guy in charge of the meals, didn’t loo
k like he would be in food service either. He looked like an actor. He had a square jaw and hair that didn’t move.
“Actor, director, writer?” he asked when we were carrying crates of snack bars out of his catering van.
“I guess kind of all three.”
I’d never actually ever been on camera, but my voice had. I told him about my videos.
“I’ll check them out. Good for you, kid. Everybody comes to Hollywood with a dream. I was going to be like the next George Clooney or something. But it didn’t happen. Instead, I discovered I had a knack for food.”
He didn’t sound bitter about his failure. He sounded happy about it. “I have ten trucks and ten guys who work for me. And a house in Bel Air and a wife who’s hotter than a Kardashian. It wasn’t the story that I would have written for myself. But I’m still a Hollywood success story.”
“That’s cool, man.”
There was no real way to cop an attitude with Jerry. He was a straight shooter and a hard worker. He didn’t make me lift anything he wasn’t lifting himself. And he wouldn’t take crap even if I was dishing it.
NINE
On the third day on set, I had gotten the hang of keeping the table stocked and was on a first-name basis with a few of the other crew members.
When I could get a break from the table, I would go and watch them tape.
I knew what Brent looked like now. He was holding court from his director’s chair.
“And action,” he called out.
Something in my gut tightened at the sound of the word action. It all felt somehow a little more real. A little of part of me spun toward the future. Me sitting in my own director’s chair. Me setting a whole crew into motion with a single word. I shook it off and focused on the tiny screen that was next to the director’s chair. Brent could see what the shot looked like while the cameras rolled.
Becca was on the set. She was different in front of the camera. I think more alive somehow. Like she was lit up from within—or maybe that was the effect of the lighting crew and the makeup people.
I had never seen anyone transform before. But that’s what she did. For a split second I forgot about the missing wall. For a split second I felt like I was really there.
“And cut,” Brent said from off camera. Becca sighed and turned into bratty teenager again. She relaxed her shoulders, slouching back into herself.
“Let’s go again,” he insisted.
“I thought it was perfect. I felt good about that take, Brent.”
“I think you can do better.” His voice was firm and challenging at the same time.
She rolled her eyes. And I was totally with her. Her take had been pretty dead-on.
“You’re scared. You’re alone. You’re hoping that the guy of your dreams is behind that door. But you’re not really sure if he’s a good guy or your worst nightmare.” He painted a picture with his words.
She was still frowning, but she nodded. She took a deep breath and straightened her posture. She did it again. Only this time she was better.
I saw firsthand what a good director could do. Ask for more. And actually get it.
TEN
“Today is purple,” announced Sarah, the assistant script coordinator, from her position in front of the copier. Had she spent too much time with toner fumes?
“Today is Wednesday,” I quipped.
She laughed, not like it was the funniest thing ever, but like she figured I deserved something for making an effort.
“The colored pages are the new pages. Every day is a different color so people don’t get confused. Every person in this building gets a new script every day.”
She handed me a script fresh off the copier. Bound with staples. There were more purple than white pages. There must have been a lot of changes since yesterday.
“Seems like a lot of trees have died for this film.”
“I know, but we recycle.”
It was my first day helping the script coordinator. He was the guy who made sure that everyone got the right copy of the script that was shooting today. And of course he had an assistant. Everybody seemed to have an assistant.
I took the heavy stack of scripts that Sarah gave me and began to make the rounds.
Now I was a delivery boy. Great. Each script had a name written on it.
When I got near the bottom of the stack, I found Becca’s name. It was stupid, but my heart sped up just looking at her name written in marker. I had a good excuse to see her again.
I found her in wardrobe. She was wearing her uniform of terry sweats again. She was going through the racks of wardrobe for her next change.
“Can we do something a little less revealing?” she asked. She must have assumed I was someone else. She paused when she saw me and rolled her eyes. I guessed that she had not forgotten about the licorice thing.
I handed a script to Becca. I considered apologizing for the licorice thing. But it seemed too late now. And she seemed like the type to hold a grudge.
As she looked at the script, her eyes widened.
I headed out of the trailer. A few seconds later I heard the sound of her flip-flops catching up with me. Her hand was on my arm and she was looking at me.
“I need your help.”
“Is that a line—” I came back fast, smiling and proud of myself for actually saying the right thing at the right time. I was surprised I could actually speak, because a part of her was touching a part of me.
“No, I’m serious. It’s life or death.”
She pulled me toward her trailer.
I wondered what life or death was for Becca Cody. It couldn’t be the same as what it was back where I was from. Broken nail? Licorice shortage? I didn’t really care so much, because her hand had slipped down from my arm to my hand. She was holding my hand.
ELEVEN
“So where’s the fire? Or is this a food services–related emergency? Are you out of those yogurt bars?” I was talking too much, but I couldn’t stop.
I was standing in Becca’s trailer. Me, Jason Hart! I wanted to pull out my phone and make a video. I wanted to post it to YouTube. I wanted everyone I’d ever met to see me here.
But I clamped the scripts under my elbow and shoved my hands further into my pockets.
She sat down on her couch and motioned for me to take a seat. I sat across from her in the trailer. It wasn’t like any trailer I’d ever seen. It was as if someone had pimped her trailer, like that old show on MTV where they used to pimp rides. There was a flat screen and a bed and mini fridge. There was a yoga mat set up on the floor in the corner. And one of those exercise machines where you move your legs in a circle.
“Pretty sweet setup you got here,” I said with a low whistle, trying to make myself take up more space. I sat up straighter. Flexed all my muscles.
“You okay?” she asked. “You look a little …”
“Like I didn’t belong here?” I blurted.
“I was going to say tense,” she countered.
I slouched a little.
“Do you want something? Water, soda? Coffee? I just got this thing, but I don’t know how to work it.” She pointed to one of those fancy coffee machines sitting on top of her mini fridge.
“That’s okay. Water’s fine.”
When she opened one of the cabinets I noticed that she had a huge stash of licorice. She didn’t really have to come out of her trailer at all. Did she just want the company? Did she want to see me? She did invite me to her trailer, after all. That had to mean something. But what?
I put down my last few scripts when she handed me a bottle of water. I opened it and took a big gulp.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know.
“What am I doing here?”
“I need help with my lines, and you didn’t look that busy. So I thought … Minnie usually helps run lines with me, but she’s on set today. She has her big death scene. Anyway, I do better if someone reads with me. What do you think?”
She pi
cked up one of the scripts and handed it to me.
“Okay,” I said, but I was reeling. I’d seen her act. And she was so very good. The stuff I’d done was amateur hour.
She opened the script to her first scene. “You’ll be Hallie. I’m Kara, of course.”
“You want me to read the girl’s part?” I asked, looking at the script in disbelief.
“Is that a problem for you?” she asked innocently.
It was kind of a problem, but I remembered what Sam said about checking my pride at the door to get what I wanted. I didn’t stand a chance with Becca, but I could at least stay in the room a little longer if I did this.
She patted the seat beside her on the tiny sofa. And I moved next to her.
I raised my voice a couple of octaves and tried the line. “What do you think you’re doing with him? He’s so not right for you.”
She began to giggle.
I looked at her, confused.
She had her hand in front of her pretty mouth, trying to stop herself.
“You don’t have to do a voice. I just need to learn my cues.”
“Oh. Maybe you should just wait for Minnie.” I felt the blood rushing to my face. I wasn’t good at being embarrassed. I guess no one was.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. Please—Jason.”
She remembered my name. Becca was saying my name. And I was frozen in my tracks.
I sat back down
“From the top,” she said, shaking off the laughter.
I sat back down.
“You’re adorable,” she blurted.
I don’t think anyone had ever called me adorable. And I didn’t think I would like it. But I didn’t mind it so much when she said it.
We began again.
I was suddenly aware of how close we were. Even though the scene was the opposite of romantic, we were both not looking at her pages much anymore and we were looking at each other a lot. She moved away from me and reached for some of her licorice.
When we got near the end of the scene, I noticed that she’d skipped ahead a few lines.
