I listened to our action reader inform the room that Cutter and Charles had walked over to where I sat stone-faced backstage. This was it. Time to prove what I was made of . . . And hopefully what I was made of wasn’t bad acting.
“Imogen Gentry?” Will asked me. I didn’t actually have a line yet; I was just supposed to nod. I inclined my head incrementally at Will across the room, unsure if I should actually perform the action or just wait for him to continue with his lines. “We have some questions for you regarding the death of your co-star Edward King,” he went on, his brow furrowed.
“Of course,” I said, my voice cracking a bit as I talked. This made me flush slightly, but it actually sounded like I was a bit choked up, so my nerves were working in my favor. Maybe they’d think I was a better actress than I really was.
“Where were you at the time of the victim’s death?” Lukas asked, causing Will to look over at him in exasperation. “Right,” Lukas said quickly, realizing why his question had sparked such a reaction. “Sorry . . . habit,” he amended.
“Imogen, do you know of any problems in Mr. King’s personal life? Anyone who may have wanted to harm him?” Will asked, his tone smooth and professional.
“No one that I can think of,” I said softly. “Our profession is a dying art. There’s not much competition amongst the practitioners, just a mutual respect for a shared interest,” I confessed, allowing my voice to sound fragile and helpless.
“I see,” Will began, “And you can’t think of anyone who would benefit from his passing?”
I paused for a moment, letting them know I was thinking about this query. “Honestly, I think I’d be the one to benefit most from his death. I was his apprentice—his assistant. With him gone, I would be the one to take over the show,” I said hesitantly. Lukas looked over at Will with a bemused expression. I was hoping that look was given to Charles from Cutter to tell him that he had been right about me; not from Lukas to Will asking him why they’d hired me for this part.
“Well then, you’ll excuse me if this next question is a bit bold, Miss Gentry, but did you have anything to do with the death of Mr. King?” Will asked, his voice candid.
“N-no,” I said quickly, “No, I was just as shocked as anyone when he fell out of that box. Edward has always been so kind to me. I couldn’t ever hurt him.”
“You couldn’t even hurt him to become the star of the show?” Lukas asked coldly, causing Will to jump in.
“Cutter, that’s enough,” he said quietly, before turning his attention back to me. “Miss Gentry, can you remember anything out of the ordinary on the night of Edward’s last show? Did he seem worried or paranoid at all?”
I paused again, still unsure if I was supposed to be putting pauses into the scene or if I should simply read the lines to get through the script. “I don’t think so,” I said with a shake of my head. “And the only people who would have had access to the box were the stage manager and the prop masters. I mean, the theatre isn’t exactly Fort Knox, but Edward was always very particular about keeping his magic tricks under lock and key,” I told Will, glancing up at him and feeling quite shocked when I saw that he was staring at me intently, his chin resting on his hand as if he were actually trying to determine my innocence. It was the same look I’d seen him give suspects on the shows millions of times. He winked at me before looking back down at his script for his next line, and I tried to hide an embarrassed smile.
“Very well Miss Gentry. Thank you for your time,” he said. And that was it. My first scene was over and I had managed to do a pretty good job. I let myself relax down into my seat and gave myself a mental pat on the back, which was followed by an actual pat on the back from Benjamin, accompanied by a thumbs-up from Ryan. I smiled at them, glad that they had approved of my first scene, and beginning to feel much more confident in my ability.
CHAPTER 8
After the whole script had been read through and all of the notes had been taken by the department heads, Mr. Hill dismissed us, stating that he’d see us on Monday morning to begin shooting the episode.
Ryan and Benjamin turned to me in unison, both sporting big cheesy grins.
“New Girl, you are awesome,” Benjamin said, accepting a coffee from a cute, short girl who had just walked in the room. With her long black hair, brown, slightly slanted eyes, and grand height of 4-foot something in heels, I guessed she was at least partly Asian. She didn’t look a day over sixteen, but I assumed she had to be in her early twenties to be working on the show.
“New Girl, Candice. Candice, New Girl,” Ryan said by way of introduction.
“Nice to meet you,” I replied, smiling at her sheepishly. I didn’t recognize her, so I was guessing she wasn’t an actor on Forensic Faculty, but I couldn’t figure out any other reason why she’d be here if she wasn’t somehow affiliated with the show.
“Candice is the head of the makeup department,” Benjamin explained, as if he had read my mind. “But we like to keep her around because she’s funny,” he added thoughtfully as he sipped his coffee.
“And to bring them their drinks, apparently,” she said in a deep dry monotone that didn’t really fit her "cute" look. I’d expected a high, pitchy voice to come from her small frame.
“She’s a chipper one,” Ryan remarked very seriously, throwing Candice a quick, playful smirk. She just rolled her eyes at him and walked away, though I did see her smile as she turned her back on the boys, giving me the impression that she might not mind Ryan and Benjamin’s teasing as much as she let on.
“So, how did your first table read feel?” Benjamin asked me.
“It felt really good,” I answered with a smile. “I wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought I’d be.”
“Yeah, you weren’t as bad as we thought you’d be either,” Ryan agreed. I shot him a playful glare.
“I’m serious,” I went on. “Reading through the script actually has me excited about Monday. An hour ago I worried that I’d come to the studio on Monday, pass out from sheer terror, and that would be the end of my Forensic Faculty adventure.”
“That could still happen,” Benjamin said, looking at his coffee cup as if he was worried it was about to come to life and attack him. “This tastes a little off.”
“Maybe Candice is trying to poison you,” Ryan said in a hushed tone.
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Benjamin agreed in a comically loud voice so that Candice, who was standing a few feet away talking to someone, could hear. “Sneaky little vanity department.”
“We are not the vanities,” Candice said in an annoyed voice, walking over to Benjamin and plucking the cardboard coffee cup from his hands. “No coffee for you.”
Benjamin just watched her walk away with his mouth hanging open in shock. “What was that about?” he asked us.
“Department envy,” Ryan informed me. “Costume and makeup are called the vanities. It never did sit well with Candice. She says it’s a derogatory term and if it weren’t for her, we’d all look as much like corpses as our victims on the show.”
“Well, then, I guess you’d better start being nice to her,” I advised with a grin.
“June?” a heavenly voice said from behind me, causing me to whip around in my seat. There stood Lukas Leighton in all his glory. He was smiling down at me, and my heart rate instantly picked up the pace. “I didn’t really get to introduce myself properly a few days ago and I wanted to get the chance to talk to you. Do you have a second?” he asked.
“Of course,” I answered, trying not to sound too anxious.
“Yeah June, you should go and see what a proper Lukas Leighton introduction is like,” Ryan said in a quiet, sarcastic tone. I think Lukas heard him, because he shot him an annoyed look. I ignored Ryan and got up to leave with Lukas, though I made sure to bump Ryan with my purse as I left, making him roll his eyes at me.
Lukas and I walked through the halls of the production office toward the parking lot. I knew Gran wasn’t there yet because I hadn’t calle
d to tell her when the read through was over. I figured I should probably do that, since it would look a little weird to walk with him to his car and then turn around and go right back into the building. Then again, I was with Lukas Leighton—I wasn’t about to interrupt this moment to call Gran to come pick me up. That would just make me look like a five-year-old. I really needed a car.
“You did a good job in there,” he said finally. I had to try pretty hard to keep myself from proclaiming my love for him.
“Thanks. I was really nervous,” I replied, looking up at his perfect face.
“Well, I couldn’t tell, if that makes you feel any better,” he said with a dazzling smile. “I’m glad you’ll be on the show for a while. It’s been getting kind of dull always doing the same thing in each episode. We needed to spice things up a little.” We left the production office and walked through the bright parking lot where Lukas’s motorcycle sat waiting for him.
“This might be a weird question, but is it hard for you to watch the show? Since you’re in it, I mean. I know I’ve always watched the show, but I feel like watching the episodes I’m in will be so bizarre,” I said.
“I guess I’m used to it,” he replied with a shrug. “I’ve been watching myself on the show since it started years ago, so I’ve never seen it without seeing myself. I can understand how it would be weird for you, though.” He looked down at his bike then back up at me. “You want to go for a ride?” he asked, his smile instantly convincing me that he was the most beautiful person on the planet.
For a moment, I seriously considered going for a ride with him, even though I knew Gran would kill me, Joseph would be all weird about it, and I was in a sundress, which wasn’t really conducive to riding a motorcycle. But I let my better judgment take over, much to my own dismay.
“My ride is going to be here soon,” I said with a regretful sigh. “I’m really, really sorry,” I added, hoping he could see just how sorry I really was. I couldn’t believe I was actually turning him down. An incredibly good-looking famous actor had just asked me to go for a ride on a motorcycle with him. How could I be dumb enough to turn him down?
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll see you Monday?”
“Yeah, definitely,” I replied, suddenly at a loss for words in the presence of this perfect man.
“Bye June,” he said with a nod before leaning in and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.
I stood in stunned silence as I watched him drive away. I had no idea why he had kissed my cheek, but I did know that I’d never wash that cheek again. I exhaled deeply, wishing I was a little more like glamorous Joanne Hoozer at that point and a little less like boring, responsible June Laurie.
*****
By the time Gran pulled into the parking lot of the production office, I was mentally kicking myself for being so responsible. I was a teenager after all, wasn’t I? Didn’t that mean I was supposed to do irresponsible things like go for rides on dangerous motorcycles with beautiful boys I’d just met? Okay, maybe it was a bad excuse to do anything like that, but my less rational mind was doing a really good job at convincing me that it would have made perfect sense to take off with Lukas.
When I hopped into Gran’s old-fashioned red car, I was met with a pile of shopping bags.
“Oh no,” I said with an accusatory look in her direction. “What happened here?”
“Oh honestly, Bliss,” she said with a wave of her hand, though I could see the guilty look in her eyes. “I’ve lived on this planet for . . . well . . . the exact number of years isn’t important. My point is, I think I have the right to do a little shopping every now and then.”
“Yeah, but Gran, you don’t have to buy the whole store,” I said with a laugh, looking at the array of brightly colored bags. “I mean, can we really afford all of this?” I motioned to the mountain of bags between us. Gran wasn’t really a huge spender, but when she went on a spree, she made sure she did it thoroughly.
“Some of it is for you,” she said matter-of-factly, instantly piquing my interest. “So, how was the table read?” she asked as I rifled through bags for anything that could possibly be for me. I pulled out a headband with a few peacock feathers on it hopefully. Gran looked at the headband warily before nodding that it was for me. Obviously she hadn’t bought it with that intention, but I was glad she had surrendered it over to my possession.
“It was actually really good,” I answered with a smile. “I even made a few friends in the cast already. I think I’m fitting in pretty well so far.”
“I didn’t doubt for a second that you would,” she replied warmly. “Do they have your measurements for the costume department?” She asked the question as though she’d just remembered how important this detail was.
“Yeah, they do,” I reassured her. “I wonder what kind of costume I’ll wear.”
“Probably something very pedestrian, I’d imagine. I haven’t seen the show much, but don’t they all dress pretty normally?”
“They do, but my first scene is as an assistant in a vaudeville magic show,” I said with a grin, imagining the great costumes they could put together. “So hopefully I’ll get to wear something really different.”
I relayed the table read to Gran on the way home, making sure I mentioned every detail so that she could interpret every look the actors had given me and what it might mean. After we ate dinner I retreated into my room to call Dad with all the details of the day and to do my homework.
It was hard for me to imagine how school would be on the set. I was the only one on the show who was young enough to require a studio teacher, so it would pretty much be like having my own private tutor. I guessed that they would follow the same curriculum as my high school so that my transition from the studio teacher and my high school teachers would be a smooth one. It would be odd to go to school on set for a week and a half at a time, and then going to my normal school between episode shoots. I was going to have to make sure I really focused to keep everything straight.
After I finished my homework at about seven o’clock and changed into my tight black yoga pants and a fitted emerald green T-shirt, I quickly pulled out my phone to text Joseph. I bought some Huckleberry, so you should come over.
In all honesty, I couldn’t really blame Gran for forcing me eat super healthy at the house, since I ate ice cream every chance I got—probably not the healthiest thing for me. As I sat in my room painting my short nails a dark crimson that almost looked black, a sudden thought struck me. Maybe Joseph wouldn’t text me back. Maybe he didn’t want to come and hang out with me after our last awkward encounter.
I put the nail polish brush back in the bottle and turned to my phone suspiciously. I pressed the button once to illuminate the screen and saw that I had no new messages, which made me frown. I kept my gaze trained on the phone as my imagination did what it did best: created worst-case scenarios.
It was possible that, because of our little incident this morning, Joseph didn’t want to come and be alone with me. Maybe he was scared that I’d attack him again, or maybe he was trying to think of a nice way to let me know we shouldn’t be friends anymore. Both of those situations would be utterly devastating, since we’d been best friends since we were in diapers. I tried to push these thoughts from my mind, but it was difficult with my dark, silent phone sitting beside me.
“June, pull your hair back and meet me in the kitchen,” Gran said, suddenly popping her head in my room to relay her cryptic instructions. I didn’t argue or even question why in the world I’d need to pull my hair back. Instead, I checked to make sure my nails were dry and then arranged my hair in a high curly bun with an elastic headband holding flyaway hairs back.
I met Gran in the kitchen, while Joseph's silence left a nervous feeling building in my stomach. He almost always had his phone with him—mostly to answer my texts, since no one else really texted either of us. I placed my phone on the counter next to a bowl full of yellow, pulpy goop. Gran pointed to a bar stool, indicating
that I should sit, although she still failed to offer an explanation of what I was doing with this bowl of . . . whatever it was.
“Lean your head back and close your eyes,” she said mysteriously.
“Gran, what are we doing?” I asked, though I did as I was told.
“I’m helping, as usual,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Bliss, I said keep them closed,” she threw in as an afterthought, since I kept opening one eye to glance at my phone.
I jumped slightly as Gran plopped the yellow mixture onto my face and couldn’t help but notice the refreshing tingle that was spreading all over my cheeks. I sniffed a few times, recognizing a citrus-y smell.
“Is this pineapple?” I asked, puzzled.
“It’s supposed to make your skin whiter,” she said, a hint of skepticism in her voice. “I assumed it couldn’t hurt, and if it works, even better.”
“At least it smells good,” I said, smiling and taking in another deep breath of the sweet, tangy fruit. A knock at the front door caused me to jump slightly. Not being able to see apparently made me a very paranoid person.
“Stay here and don’t open your eyes. The vapor might sting them,” Gran instructed artfully, as if she had been putting pineapple on people’s faces her whole life. I heard her footsteps retreating from the room and strained to hear who was at the door. All I could make out was a muffled voice and the sound of two sets of footsteps coming back into the kitchen.
At that moment, I wasn’t sure where my logic went, but my first panicked thought was, "get this stuff off of your face—Lukas Leighton is about to walk into the room." A mild panic began to rise within me at this far-fetched idea. I cupped my hands and tried desperately to scrape the yellow goop from my face, managing to spill most of it in my lap and down the front of my shirt.
Shannen Crane Camp - [June 01] Page 7
