by D. M. Paige
“I bet you still looked great. You always do.”
She looked at me a long beat as if she were considering liking me again. Then she picked up the script. She held tight to it as if to remind me and herself that she was all business.
“I should leave you to it,” I said, hoping she’d ask me to stay.
“I think your work is good, but if you used a script it would be that much better.”
“What?” Was she actually critiquing my apology video? I felt myself getting defensive.
“There are directors who do the whole improv thing, but I think you have to know how to do it from a script first.”
I blurted. “Are you actually giving me notes on my gift? What about a thank-you? If you don’t like it—”
“That’s not what I said. Jason, if you could just listen …”
I was done listening. I stood up. I headed for her door.
TWENTY-TWO
I could hear Becca’s footsteps behind me.
“Don’t do this,” she said when I got to the door.
I paused with my hand on the doorknob.
Then I pushed through. I blinked. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the light. I was surprised to see that she followed me all the way out of the trailer.
“Don’t walk away. I never took you as the drama queen type,” she said.
I saw what she was doing. I just didn’t understand why. I leaned against the trailer wall.
“There’s only room for one diva on this set, and I think it should be me,” she continued.
I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t move either. It was hard not to smirk, though. There was no diva in her.
“Why do you care what I do?”
She paused and bit her lip, like she had to think about it.
“I don’t know. Maybe because I need someone to help me with my scripts.”
I peeled myself off the wall, preparing to go. She stopped me with one hand in the center of my chest. I couldn’t move. Or at least I didn’t want to anymore.
“Jason, you’re the first person I’ve met who doesn’t get the magic of this place. You can’t leave before you get to the good part.”
I could barely breathe with her touching me. But I didn’t want her to know that. I took a step back. “What’s the good part?”
“For me, it’s when I’m in front of the camera. For you, I guess it’ll be somewhere between right now and when you shoot your first real film.”
“So how many cups of coffee and scripts and props do I have to deliver before I get there? It doesn’t sound like fun.”
“A lot, probably. You’re seventeen, and you just got started.”
“You’re younger than me.”
“And I started when I was three. I didn’t get my big break until two years ago. You do the math.”
“Well, I can’t wait ten years, Becca.”
“Maybe you won’t have to. But you have to want it badly enough. And you have to learn to enjoy even the crappy jobs because they’re a step in the direction of what you really want.”
“And what if I can’t?”
“Then you should keep on walking. But I hope you stick around.” With that she slipped back inside her trailer.
TWENTY-THREE
I didn’t go back. I went home.
On the way, I called Nina.
I didn’t usually talk about my love life with Nina—but I made an exception because she was the person I went to when I really didn’t know what to do.
I told her what happened.
Nina sighed heavily, like I exhausted her somehow. “Jason, you screw things up before anything good can happen. I’ve seen you do it with classes, with families, even with friends. You get anywhere close to something good and you start trying to figure out a way to blow it—”
“That’s not true—” But even as I said it, I could still feel her words thudding around in my head like an echo or something.
“But it doesn’t have to be,” she said sternly. Then, gentler, she added, “When you made those videos for that class, it was the first time you saw something all the way through. And look what happened. You’re in L.A. On a sound-stage. You killed it. You can do it again, if you let yourself.”
“She’s a movie star, Nina.”
“She’s still a girl—and I bet with all the crap she has to deal with out there, she’s overdue to have a dose of something real. Someone real.”
TWENTY-FOUR
When I got home, Nick was there for the child services visit. The social worker showed up right after I did. Mrs. Hayden wasn’t anything like Nina. She was older and more businesslike. But she was fast. I answered all the questions before she could ask them. Was I happy? Was I comfortable? Did I miss home? (That was the kicker. I couldn’t miss something I hadn’t had.)
After she left, I told Nick about what Becca said.
“She’s not wrong,” Nick said simply. “Think about it. What is everything you’re seeing at work telling you? It’s a process. Writing it instead of winging it makes sense to me.”
“But what if I liked my videos? They made people laugh. Even Harmon Holt liked them. It was good work.” Something twisted in my gut. It felt like he was trying to tear down the one thing I had that belonged to me.
“It was good. But that doesn’t mean that your next project can’t be even better. It is okay to grow, Jason. You can’t stand still forever, kid.”
I didn’t answer. He let the words sink in for a beat before he shifted the subject to sports. He floated the idea of taking me to a Lakers game. “Harmon has seats that he doesn’t use.”
I didn’t bother hiding my excitement about Lakers seats. I hadn’t been outside of the apartments or the studio in weeks. I felt a smile creep across my face. I remembered I was mad at him for what he’d said about my work, but could I really let that keep me from my first Lakers game?
TWENTY-FIVE
The next morning, I knocked on Tamara’s door. I didn’t know what I was doing there. To thank her. To ask her out. It probably wasn’t a good idea, since my brain was still stuck on Becca. Even if she probably wanted nothing to do with me now.
A girl I’d never met before answered.
“Hey, is Tamara around?”
“Oh, you mean the girl who was here before. She went back to Detroit. She says she’ll be back for pilot season.” The girl closed the door in my face.
Tamara had left without saying good-bye.
I knew that this was how the business worked. But Tamara had tried and failed and would come back and try again.
I went back to my room and ticked off the hours until Nick took me to the game.
The Lakers game was awesome. We had seats that were so close to the players that I could see the sweat drip off Kobe.
For a couple of hours I forgot about Becca and the business and all of it.
When we walked out of the arena, it all came crushing back. I tried to push it aside.
When I got back, there was a laptop on my desk with a note: “Write something.” It was on the blue Harmon Holt stationery, but Nick had signed it.
I pushed the computer away from me and went to the fridge to make dinner.
A few minutes later I opened the laptop and began writing.
When I was done, I sent the script to Becca.
TWENTY-SIX
When I saw Becca the next day, she gave me a half-smile and told me to meet her at her trailer at lunch. I was sure that all was forgiven. But I didn’t exactly know how—she couldn’t have noticed after one day that I was on time and not complaining, could she?
When I got there, she handed her script to me. It was a green day, and there were lots of green pages. Lots of lines to learn.
“I thought you wanted nothing to do with me,” I said.
“Just because we’re in a fight doesn’t mean that my work should suffer.”
I tried to follow her logic. But I wasn’t quite there yet. I wasn’t sure if it was that I didn’t un
derstand girls or movie stars.
But the script alone didn’t do it. Just like the video hadn’t. Nina had been right all along. It took weeks. Weeks of showing up on time and not screwing up. Weeks of actually getting to know the other people and taking things seriously that I never thought I’d do. Organizing wardrobe, shredding scripts, getting coffee, everything.
And one day, in the middle of day, while we were reading lines, she squeezed my hand even though nothing in the script called for it.
TWENTY-SEVEN
A few days later we were reading again. There weren’t many lines—just a lot of screaming—so Becca suggested that we play a game. She called it Truth or Scare. Tell the truth or do something that scared you.
I agreed. Not because I wanted to play, but because it meant that Becca had maybe started to forgive me.
“My real name isn’t Becca. It’s Bridget. But since there was another Bridget Cody, I had to change mine. Your turn.”
“I don’t think that your name reveal counts for truth or scare. It’s not exactly deep or dark, and I bet I could have found that on the Internet.”
“I bet that you could find out most things about me on the Internet. But I can’t exactly google you.”
“You want to hear my deep, dark secrets?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“I want to know where all that attitude comes from.”
“Perfect home. Mom’s a teacher. Dad too. We live in a perfect two-story house in the suburbs,” I lied. I didn’t want her pity.
“You family sounds perfect. Mine, not so much. Dad was never in the picture, so it was just me and my mom. So when she lost her job, she said we could give the whole L.A. thing a shot. I’ve been making our living ever since. Mom’s my manager. There were some really lean times the first few years. But after a while I started getting more commercial work. Then a soap opera, then New York Horror Story. Then, once I made a little money, my dad showed up. He demanded money or he’d start talking to the press about us. We paid him off. And we lived happily ever after. I hope.”
I didn’t read the tabloids, but I didn’t think that I’d ever heard anything about her having a deadbeat dad. I felt something in my gut like a punch from Trig. It was guilt. She’d shared a piece of herself, and I’d lied.
“My family isn’t really perfect. I made all that stuff up.”
She didn’t even blink. “I know. You’re a terrible actor.”
I told her about foster care. About Nina. About Trig. About Stella. For a split second I saw the pity look—but she wiped it away just as quickly. Like she knew that it wasn’t what I needed. Like she got that it was enough that I told her. She didn’t have to go to mush about it.
She switched the subject back to her. She didn’t go to regular school. Her education was a lot different than mine. It prepared her for the same standardized tests that all kids have to take, but other than that she got to learn what she wanted. “When I was little I was obsessed with the Greek myths. Those stories were so crazy, so far out there. I ate them up. There’s this one where a guy, his name was Sisyphus, had to push a boulder up a mountain every day. And every it would roll back down again. And every day he would push it back up again.”
“Acting is like that?”
“No, the business side is. You’re always pushing your way uphill. Only to have it push you back down again.”
“And you do that voluntarily.” I’d been pushed down my whole life. But I never asked for it.
“Because when I’m actually acting, it’s the best feeling in the world.” She looked far away, as if she was remembering how good it felt.
“And it’s worth it?”
“Yeah, it’s worth it.”
The rock had flattened Tamara. At least for the season. Would it finish me, too? The shooting schedule was on its last pages. I’d find out soon enough, I guess.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The wrap party was at a club downtown. It had a bouncer at the door, and a girl with a clipboard and a list checked off my name before the bouncer lifted the velvet rope. When I got inside I saw the whole crew looking like different people. Gone were the Converse and the hoodies. Guys were wearing button-down shirts, and girls were dressed up in sparkly tops and jeans.
Becca, who always looked good, looked even better. Her hair was down. She was wearing a tiny dress that grazed all the right parts. Her eyes met mine, and she smiled a little brighter, like she was smiling for me.
I noticed Brent in the corner, holding court. I thought about introducing myself. But he hadn’t said a word to me in the two months I’d been here. What would I say? Would he remember me as that guy who screwed up that time?
Becca suddenly appeared next to me. She gave me a kiss on the cheek. In public. The question that had been nagging at me since the moment I thought maybe we were something pricked at me again. She was a movie star, and I was a nobody. We had a pretty clear expiration date, and the clock was ticking right now. Tonight might just be it for us. If there was an us at all.
“You should go talk to him.”
I shook my head. “What would I say?”
“I could introduce you?”
I shook my head again. I couldn’t have Brent Tollin thinking I couldn’t walk up to him on my own.
“Or not,” she said and pulled me back into the crowd. We talked to the all the other crew people that I’d met from other departments.
Jerry actually got on the dance floor. He could move. I laughed out loud. But Becca didn’t just laugh. She went out on the dance floor and joined him. Once Becca hit the dance floor, more of the crew joined her. She waved at me to come and join her, but I shook my head again and went back to the bar. Brent was standing next to it.
Now or never. “Hi, I’m Jason. I’ve been interning this summer. It’s a real honor to see how you do what you do.”
He looked at me for a moment. “You were the guy who cost me my best take.”
“Sorry about that.”
“But I’m told that you’re also one of the hardest-working people on the set.”
He’d heard about me. From who?
“Thank you,” was all I could say. Then he tilted his beer at me and headed back to a circle of crew members.
Becca appeared again. “Come outside with me. I have to tell you something,” she whispered in my ear.
TWENTY-NINE
By the time we got out to the terrace, I’d decided that she’d brought me out to say good-bye. I paced away from her.
“Jason—” she said softly. I would miss her saying my name.
“Becca,” I cut her off. “We both know what this is and what this isn’t.” I said it simply, proud of my choice of words even though they stung me as I said them.
Her face clouded over. “Do we?” She was going to make me say it.
“It was summer. And now it’s over. Isn’t that what you were going to say?”
She shook her head slowly like I was a stupid little kid. “I took a new movie. It’s called The DOP.”
“Good for you. What does DOP stand for?” I said, trying to make small talk. Trying to sound like we were just friends. That I was cool. That appreciated the time that we’d had, but I was ready to pretend like nothing happened. She got a brand-new movie and put me in her rearview. And what did I get? A few memories that I would live over and over again.
“Daughter of the president. It shoots in DC. I start next month.”
“Wait—DC?” I drifted off.
She smiled again. And then she leaned in, and she kissed me. I’d kissed girls before. But no one that I’d liked this much. Her lips were sticky and soft from the gloss. They tasted like some kind of exotic fruit that I’d never had before. When we broke, I felt dizzy for a second. I opened my eyes and looked at her to see if she was as affected by the kiss as I was. She exhaled deeply and squeezed my hand.
“We should get back.”
“Just a minute longer.”
She nodded,
and I looked out at the view before I kissed her again.
THIRTY
Before we walked inside she said, “I want to do it.”
“What exactly?” I asked.
“Your screenplay. Your short film. I read it—and I want to do it. And everyone else does, too.”
“You what?”
“I gave copies to Minnie and the prop guys and Sam. We’re all in. We could shoot it in an afternoon. It could be great.”
“You’re not serious.”
But she was.
“If we plan it right we can do this.”
I nodded. I got the whole planning thing now. The teamwork thing. I got how all the pieces and people had to work together to pull it off. And I was ready to do it myself. With a little—well, a lot—of help from my friends.
The next day—my last day in L.A.—we shot a little movie. My movie.
THIRTY-ONE
Nick picked me up at the Oakland.
He didn’t do the whole I-told-you-so thing, even though I deserved it. He just watched my new movie and gave me props for it. It was just a horror short, but he said it showed real promise. I managed to thank him.
I was nervous about going back to my normal life. I didn’t want to go back to living at Stella’s and back to school. But at least I had things to look forward to.
Somehow Nick sensed what was up with me, or maybe it was just written all over my face as we pulled away from the place I’d spent my summer. “Hey, it’s tough going back to the real world. But once the door’s open even a crack, you keep pushing right on through.” Nick was kind of a mind reader. No wonder he’d done so well.
“There’s no map for this career that you’ve chosen. You can keep working on sets. And there are lots of college programs, but it’s not like banking or being a lawyer. Some people never break in. Others end up taking crazy detours.”
