by Kate Rorick
Personally, as a TV watcher, Sophia preferred the smaller, more emotional scenes. The ones where the characters got to reveal something true about themselves. But those scenes had been replaced with a fantastical shoot-’em-up extravaganza at the cost of millions of dollars, and her aching back.
At least she found making extras into frost giants to be a challenge creatively.
“Three more weeks.” Sophia sighed. “Three more weeks and we’re free.”
“Amen,” Kip said, giving the sign of the cross—obviously not raised Catholic, else he would know better. “I’ve got to go. The prep meeting for tomorrow’s big scene is in fifteen minutes.”
“Go.” Sophia waved him away. “Have fun.”
“Hey—you designed some beautiful frost giants today,” he said, his hand on the door handle. “Everyone says they look amazing.”
“Thanks—just don’t sing my praises too loud,” she replied. “She might not like it if—”
“If . . . you were acknowledged as being damn good at your job and necessary to the show? No worries, your secret is safe with me.”
And with that Kip let himself out of the trailer.
Finally alone, Sophia sank down into her wheelie chair, and put her throbbing feet up on Kip’s makeup chair.
Usually, she would have been the one going to the meeting. She was the head makeup artist, after all. But somehow, not only had Vanessa maneuvered Kip into position as her personal makeup artist, but she’d apparently mentioned that he should be having more involvement with the production than Sophia. Vanessa had come to Roger, deeply concerned that “in her current condition, Sophia shouldn’t have to run across the lot to make a meeting” . . . nor should she have to tax herself to be the creative voice of the show.
Roger saw through this, of course. And Roger had a delicate position to negotiate. He couldn’t fire Sophia—she hadn’t done anything to warrant it, and there was a union behind her to make trouble if she complained. But he needed to keep Vanessa’s feathers unruffled, keep her happy, keep her working. Because when you are literally the only person who can do your (very important) job, you hold all the power.
Sophia knew how to handle this. She would keep her head down, do her work, and in three weeks’ time, take a nice long vacation.
Working in television wasn’t a fifty-two-week-a-year type gig, with two weeks off paid vacation. It was contractual and transient. Meaning, you worked for as long as the show shot, where it shot, then your contract ended. If the show was coming back for another season (and no doubt Fargone was going to be coming back, they had the ratings and the magazine covers to do so) you got a nice few months off.
Lots of people used the hiatus to work on other projects —to do a movie, or a short cable series that shot off-cycle. But this year, Sophia would be using the hiatus to have a baby.
She couldn’t wait.
To not have to deal with the stress involved in simply showing up to work. To not have to make polite small talk when Vanessa was in the chair, being worked on by Kip. To be able to have normal hours on a daily basis could only be good for her.
And this stress at work hadn’t been good for the baby. Her last appointment, her doctor had said her blood pressure was slightly elevated again. Not outside the range of normal, but at the very top of it. Of course, Sophia knew this already, because she’d been taking her blood pressure daily. And every morning that she strapped that band around her arm, she wondered if this would be the morning that the numbers would read so high that she felt compelled to tell Roger and Kip that she should stop working . . . and then she wondered if she would feel anything other than sweet relief.
So yes, she looked forward to the hiatus. To the future.
Best of all would be that she would finally be able to set up house with Sebastian.
That was the plan at least. Although, it had been hard to nail Sebastian down for specifics. He was still out on the road—the impromptu tour had turned into something less impromptu when it was extended to fifteen more cities. The band was no longer just the show openers, they were considered co-headliners, and had signed contracts that, according to Sebastian, were going to put them on the national map.
And according to the tabloids and the blogs and now the Billboard charts—yes, they were very much on the national map.
The last time she’d managed to bring up the subject with him, his response was an enthusiastic “absolutely!” before he had to get back on the bus for another eighteen-hour drive through the middle of the night.
The poor boy sounded so exhausted. So, Sophia determined that she would make it so when he came home, everything would be done, and he wouldn’t have to worry about it.
While the offer to live with Sebastian at the Hollywood Hills house was generous, the idea of bringing a newborn into the middle of a house intermittently occupied by five guys was laughable. Plus, it was a short-term rental. And while Sophia would ideally love to simply move Sebastian and the baby into her apartment, she knew that he thought it would be a little tight with all of them, and Maisey when she came home from school. So, she’d begun looking at new places online.
Another bit of stress to add to the pile, the idea of moving house.
But it had to be done once the hiatus came—ideally before she became too whale-like.
Even though it was incredibly stressful, daydreaming about her upcoming perfect life with Sebastian and perfect living situation made the time pass during hard days on set . . . which lately was every day.
In fact, she was daydreaming about what color the tile backsplash of the new chef’s kitchen in her mythical future house would be at the very moment that the makeup trailer door swung open, and the stomp of stilettos brought Sophia out of her chair and on her feet.
“No, I can’t just go and . . . Kip tell him . . . oh,” Vanessa said, as she entered the trailer. Behind her a young yet weary set PA kept pace, a walkie glued to his hand as he dogged her steps.
“Vanessa,” Sophia said, as evenly as she could manage. “Kip just left for the production meeting.”
“But my scar—” Vanessa grumbled. She lifted her hair and showed the long (mercifully fake) scar that ran from her earlobe down the length of her neck. It was caused by a time travel warlord trying to stop the alternate reality Vanessa’s character creates. It was also caused by Kip every morning in the makeup chair. Right now, the putty that scar was made of hung loose along her face.
“Where’s Eva?” Sophia asked.
Eva was the on-set makeup artist. There to do the tiny touch-ups in between takes to make sure everything was consistent and perfect.
“Eva sent us back here,” Vanessa said. “She didn’t have the right glue with her.”
“Can we get eyes on Kip from makeup?” the PA said, low into his walkie. “We need him back for a touch-up on Vanessa.”
“No, it’s fine,” Vanessa said, suddenly, her eyes on Sophia. “Sophia can do it.”
“I can?” she asked, unable to stop herself.
“Of course you can,” Vanessa said. “Unless . . . you don’t know the design?”
“No, I know it,” Sophia said. In fact, she had made the design and showed Kip how to cast the mold for it. Not that she was going to tell Vanessa that.
Sophia hopped to her feet, crossed to her makeup kit, and pulled out the glue. By the time she turned around Vanessa was sitting in the chair, the wide-eyed PA quietly calling off the search for Kip into his walkie.
“So . . . putting your feet up?” Vanessa asked, as Sophia approached the scar, delicately lifting it, to see where to apply the glue.
“Just for a minute,” she replied. “It’s been a long morning.”
“Has it?” Vanessa asked. “You weren’t in here when I was getting my makeup done at six AM.”
“You’re right, I wasn’t,” Sophia murmured. No, she had been outside in the extras tent, creating thirty frost giants out of people who worked for fifty dollars a day and free lunch. But it wasn�
�t worth mentioning. All she had to do was glue this scar back into place, and continue to go about her day.
“I’m glad you’re putting your feet up,” Vanessa said, not unkindly. “You need your rest. That’s why I’m so glad Kip’s able to ease your burden, so to speak.”
“Mm-hmm,” Sophia replied. “Lift your jaw a bit, please? Thank you.”
“And you should know he’s doing great. Really creative, has a lot of talent. And you’re the one who discovered that. You should get some credit.”
“Thanks. A little to the left now?”
Vanessa shifted her face, professional that she was. “In fact, I recommended Kip to be key makeup on this movie I’m doing over the hiatus. It’s an ensemble historical sci-fi rom-com, absolutely everyone is in it. The director is just visionary.”
“Hmmm . . .” was really the only reply Sophia could make.
“It’s going to be such good exposure for Kip. You should be really proud of him.”
“I am,” Sophia replied with a smile. A genuine smile. And it was that genuineness that set Vanessa’s jaw tighter. And as Sophia was currently gluing a scar to the jawline, she could tell.
“I don’t suppose you have anything exciting planned for the hiatus?” Vanessa asked, unable to keep the brittleness from shining through. “Throwing yourself a baby shower?”
“No,” Sophia said, suppressing a smile. “I went to a friend’s baby shower recently, and it kind of put me off them for a while.”
Sophia had left Nathalie’s baby shower shortly after Nathalie did. Honestly, most people made a quick escape, because when the hostess was crying in the bathroom and the placenta cupcakes were wilting in the sun, it stopped being any fun.
Nathalie, to her credit, had called Sophia the next day, and apologized profusely for leaving her there, and for her behavior. They’d texted multiple times since, mostly about how their hormones were out of whack, and it could only be solved by mutual commiseration over Diet Coke.
However, as nice as it would be to get a bunch of baby presents, it was better for Sophia’s health if she avoided the inherent drama of a baby shower of her own.
“I’m taking a break this time,” she said. “I want to spend some time with Maisey before she goes off to school.”
“Of course,” was the softer reply. “Where’s she going to school?”
“Don’t know—we expect to hear any day now,” Sophia said. “And I’m going to spend it prepping for the baby. Sebastian and I are looking at new places.”
“You are? He never said anything about that to me,” Vanessa replied, her brow coming down.
Much of Sophia’s relationship with Vanessa was knowing when to keep her mouth shut and not ask questions. However, in this instance, the words just popped.
“Why would he?”
Vanessa went frostily still. “Because we’re friends, Sophia. We’ve been friends a lot longer than he’s known you.”
“Right,” Sophia said, immediately backtracking. “I just meant . . . when would he tell you? He barely has time to call me, they’re constantly working.”
“Oh.” Vanessa relaxed. “When I went to their gig last weekend.”
The brush stilled in Sophia’s hand. “You went to their gig? In Atlanta?”
“I flew out. Just for the night. The show was amazing, you should have seen it.”
Sophia would have loved to have seen it. But with work, Maisey, and the blood pressure situation . . . having her fly out was something she and Sebastian had never even talked about. Her jealousy was heavy, like a sleeping bear sitting on her chest. And there was nothing she could do about it.
“I’m sure it was,” was all she could muster saying.
“And you don’t need to worry about Sebastian.”
“Why would I worry?”
“He told me you were mad about that tabloid picture you saw. But that’s just fan service, we stars have to do it all the time,” Vanessa said breezily.
Sophia felt a shot of hot anger shoot through her body. Sebastian had told her about their private, personal conversation? One that Sophia had thought was long resolved . . . even though those same tabloids kept following the tour and speculating about each of the band members’ love lives. She’d read one article where Mick had said Sebastian was the only one off the market because “he’s got an amazing girl and a baby on the way” and Sophia wanted to have that printed out and plastered on billboards.
“When I was there, he was a very good boy, and he didn’t so much as look at another woman. And don’t worry, if he ever does, I will talk to him and set him straight.”
“No,” Sophia said.
Vanessa’s eyebrow shot up. “No?”
“Vanessa, thank you, but if Sebastian ever needs to be set straight, I will be the one to do it.”
“I’m sorry. I thought I could just approach him as a friend.”
“Right. You’re his friend. But he’s my boyfriend. And the father of my child. So it’s better if you leave our relationship to us.”
Vanessa turned her eyes to Sophia, cold.
“I see. And here I thought I was helping.” She shook her head. “Sebastian can’t be here and asked me to look out for you, you know. He told me that you needed to be careful about your health. So I told Roger to give you less work, I asked Kip to help out. I’m concerned about you. And you could say thank you.”
“Vanessa, I—”
“Are we done?” she asked.
“What?”
“With my scar, is it fixed?”
“ . . . yes. You’re camera ready. Give this to Eva,” she said, handing a small vial of glue to the PA who was still watching this exchange nervously. “She should have it in her kit.”
“Especially if this falls off again,” Vanessa added. “God knows that’s extremely likely, too. Let’s have Kip come to set, just to double-check it.”
And with that, Vanessa exited the trailer, the PA on his walkie, again calling for someone, anyone to find him Kip.
Sophia exhaled a long breath. There were only three weeks to go until the hiatus, and somehow, some way, she knew that she had just made them a whole lot worse.
“SEBASTIAN, YOU SHOULD have heard her. I know she’s a friend of yours but . . . yes I know.”
Maisey didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But it was hard not to. She’d been in her room, patiently waiting for her mom to get home from work, only checking the clock every fifteen seconds or so.
“I know she’s been a big supporter of the band. Well, she was married to one of you for a while, remember? . . .”
But when she heard the front door open, she paused before hopping out of her room. Chalk it up to nerves. But that pause was just long enough for her mother to answer her cell, and for Maisey to hear her mom’s voice soften with relief as she said, “Sebastian.”
“I’m just saying, it’s stressing me out is all . . . When are you coming home? . . .”
Of course, now that her mom was five minutes into the conversation, telling Sebastian about her day, she didn’t sound so relaxed anymore.
And that was a problem. Because Maisey wanted her mom relaxed. Happy, and without distraction, when Maisey told her the news.
It had begun that morning. She had woken up predawn as per usual. These days, she didn’t even bother tiptoeing or rushing out of the house—the early morning was routine now, and her mother knew she wasn’t going to get any substantive mother-daughter exchanges out of her. But as she was putting some peanut butter on toast to shove into her mouth before heading to the flower district, Maisey’s phone dinged.
Maisey didn’t get a ton of emails. She mostly texted with her mom, her dad, and her friends—or God forbid, someone called her and she had to speak to them verbally. The emails she did get were in general school assignments, or coupons from the grocery store. But that morning, her phone dinged with the unmistakable sound of incoming email.
At first, she didn’t recognize the address. Then, she couldn’t believe
what she was reading in the text.
Dear Maisey Alvarez—Congratulations, you have been accepted to Pomona College, class of 2022! An acceptance packet will be sent to your home in the coming days . . .
If the peanut butter weren’t gluing her mouth shut, she would have no doubt screamed.
Pomona was a great school. Heck, it was one of the best in Southern California. She’d applied in her rush of applications, determined to get in somewhere, anywhere, to escape the upcoming household transition to . . . wherever her mom decided to move. Maisey knew her mother was looking at new houses, even though Sophia tried to keep it under wraps. Saved Google searches were the tattletale.
It twisted Maisey’s gut every time she thought about their little place not being their little place anymore. But with an acceptance from Pomona sitting in her inbox, she began to feel a slight tingle of excitement for the future, instead of dread.
She almost woke up her mom to show her then. Almost. But she was already running late, and Sophia had been on set very late the night before, barely making it home before Maisey went to sleep. And knowing Sophia, if she got this news she would demand a full accounting of it, the school, and celebratory waffles.
So she drove to work. And when she got there, she got her second surprise of the morning.
Another email dinged on her phone. This one from Sacramento State.
Congratulations, Maisey! You have been accepted to . . .
She’d nearly had to sit down, her knees were so weak. As it was, she was leaning on the assembly table, tears in her eyes, when Foz walked into their stall, flipping his keys around his fingers. The flipping immediately stopped when he saw Maisey.
“What is it?” he asked immediately. “What’s wrong?”
She could have said that nothing was wrong. She could have gleefully told him about her news. The problem was, she didn’t know if gleeful was how she felt. So instead, she just handed him her phone, and let him read it.
“You got into college?” he said. It wasn’t said with shock, more plain puzzlement. Like he was shocked she was shocked.
“I got another one, too. Pomona.”
