Piper Day's Ultimate Guide To Avoiding George Clooney

by Vanessa Fewings

  My green mirrored reflection stared back. The facemask I’d put on before I’d fallen asleep was now cracked and even more gnarly.

  Why hadn’t he said anything?

  “Grrrr....is it any wonder you’re single?” I chastised myself.

  I washed my face, removing all evidence of the green clarifying mask. I was actually rather pleased with the soft, smooth texture of my skin, just as the product had promised. I even had more color in my cheeks. Still, it was hard enough to meet someone in this town without sabotaging myself. Homecoming beauty queens were everywhere, hanging out in all the hot spots and charming the male species away from us more homey times.

  Dating was certainly challenging in this city of unfulfilled dreams.

  My muse dragged me back to that awful memory of that time I’d gone to one of those speed-dating events in Santa Monica. Who knew the five minutes they allocated for you to chat with each stranger could feel like five hours. One guy I’d met during that evening of tortuous dates had told me he’d moved to California because of its grand reputation of having the most distinguished therapists practicing here.

  “You’re a therapist?” I’d asked, impressed.

  “No,” he’d replied, straight faced and quite serious. “I came here for the high level of therapy.” He wore the expression of someone believing his words would pass as a perfectly good chat up line.

  Although I had no idea how to play poker, I did know how to hold a poker face when needed.

  I was destined to be single forever.

  My cell phone was ringing again.

  I ambled back into the living room and followed the ring. “Hello?”

  “You okay?” Ellie asked. “You always answer your phone on the second ring.”

  That’s because I’m Piper No Life, I thought, and people with no lives are always available. “I did something really embarrassing.” I cringed again.

  “What?”

  “Answered the door to my gorgeous, dreamy new neighbor with a facemask on.” I slumped back onto the couch. Teddy jumped up beside me and I scratched his chin.

  “He’ll probably find that endearing,” Ellie said.

  “Really?” I perked up, wanting to believe her.

  The line went quiet.

  “I’ve blown my chances again, haven’t I?”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Daniel Craig meets Colin Firth.”

  “Well firstly,” Ellie began in a matter-of fact tone,” he sounds more like my type.”

  “What’s my type then?”

  “Preppy.”

  I scrunched up my nose, quietly disagreeing. “And secondly?”

  “You need to aim lower.”

  I waited for the punch line.

  She continued, without offering one. “Perhaps this Craig-Firth hybrid is what I need to get over Gabe.”

  “I haven’t dated in over a year.”

  “You told me you’ve blown your chances.” She chuckled. “At least one of us will benefit.”

  The other end of the line went quiet, providing Ellie more time to plot.

  “Anyway,” she eventually broke the silence, “one of us has to get in there before Jane, that gym addicted girl in your complex. The moment she gets a sniff there’s a hot new guy in your building she’ll be in there like a Beverly Hills housewife.”

  She had a point.

  “How does anyone ever meet anyone in this town?” I asked.

  “You have to be either really skinny or rich.”

  “Not helping.” I slumped back farther. “Best friends are meant to support each other.”

  “Best friends are meant to be honest,” Ellie corrected me. “Talking of best friends, I need you to... bail me out.”

  I was amazed how my moment of crisis had yet again turned into a moment of opportunity.

  “You’re the only person who can help me,” Ellie added.

  I sat up. “What’s wrong?”

  “First, promise you’ll help me.”

  “Ellie, what’s going on?”

  “I’ve gone and doubled booked myself.”

  Pulling my knees up onto the couch, I wondered if it was possible to be in the fetal position and talk on the phone at the same time.

  “Hello?” Ellie said.

  I cringed, intuitively knowing something bad was coming.

  “Listen, last week I went for an audition for a bit part in this film.” She sounded excited. “I got the part, Piper.”

  “That’s fantastic.” I forced my enthusiasm as I waited for the catch, my mind wandering off. Perhaps she was having car trouble and needed a lift, or needed to go over her lines. My thoughts drifted further. A shopping spree to help her choose her outfit for her first day on set? Oh good, a girly shopping trip.

  Yes, was on the tip of my tongue.

  “My agent called,” she said. “I got a speaking role in an indie film starring Brad Pitt!”

  “That’s amazing, Ellie. Congratulations.”

  “Only I’ve committed to two films at the same time.”

  “They’ll understand. I’m sure this thing happens all the time. Right?”

  “And ruin my reputation?”

  “I’ll make the call for you,” I said. “What’s the number?”

  “Listen, the small part in the film is for a nurse.”

  “Oh God,” I said, unsure if I used my inside voice or not.

  “I need you to turn up on set and pretend to be me.” Ellie laughed at her own genius.

  “You’re joking.”

  “Listen, I really need you to say yes on this one.”

  “Don’t I always say yes?”

  “You’re a true friend, Piper.”

  “Can’t you have one of your actor friends fill in?”

  “They wanted someone with nursing experience to make it look authentic. I told them I have it. I hang with you, which makes me an honorary nurse, right?”

  “I thought that’s what acting is,” I screeched. “What about those doctors on those medical dramas. They’re not real and they pull it off.”

  “Not the smaller roles. They use real nurses because production moves along smoothly without having to teach an extra the little things, like how to hold an instrument or how to amputate a limb…or how to give an enema?”

  “What kind of movie is this?”

  “You’ll get paid three hundred bucks.”

  “How many times have you pretended to be a real nurse?” I said sharply.

  “This will be the first time. Which is perfect, because it’s you and you are a real nurse.”

  “I have no acting ability,” I said. “Have you considered that?”

  “Pretend. That’s all acting is.”

  “You told me acting is a God given gift only a lucky few possess.”

  “Look, you’ll be out of focus. They close in on the main talent and you’ll merely be a blur.”

  “I’m not doing it,” I said. “This is my day off.” And I’d saved the last ten pages of my novel Aaron’s Corner and was looking forward to finishing it. Then maybe taking another nap.

  “You’ll only sleep the day away otherwise,” she said.

  “No I won’t.”

  “Look, if you do this for me I’ll do everything in my power to give you a second chance with your new neighbor. I’ll plan an Anti-Valentine party for you. You can invite Dave, your soon to be beau. We’ll make you look like Miss Popular. Come on, Piper, please? Please...”

  Sucking on my bottom lip, I mulled over her proposition. “You’re sure I don’t have to say any lines?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “Thank you so much!”

  “Where’s it filming?”

  “Report to Sally Graham. She’s the PA on the film set. Tell her you’re me.”

  “Can’t I tell her I got sent from the agency? Doesn’t that make it less complicated then lying?”

  “Oh Piper, that’s not how this town works. Anyway I need the SAG credits.”

 
My head hurt. “Is it on location or on a lot?”

  “Report to Stage 9.”

  “What time?”

  “About an hour.”

  “Ellie.” I realized why she was eluding my question. “Tell me it’s not at Gemstone?”

  “Exactly. How perfect is that.”

  I leaped off the sofa. “If my boss found out--”

  “Phone’s breaking up.”

  “Ellie?”

  The line went dead.

  From the sitting room window there was a clear view of the courtyard, and there, wearing a tight sports jacket, spandex shorts, and wheeling his bicycle along the pathway, was Dave.

  Adventures were going on outside, the romantic, fulfilling kind, and one of the reasons I wasn’t meeting anyone had a lot to do with me living like a hermit. Life was all about taking chances, and for the first time I could remember I felt ready to take this one.

  CHAPTER 7

  Resident Hero - Day 52 OF 60

  Call Time: 13:00 am

  Shooting Call: 13:30 am

  Weather: Sunny

  Location: Stage 9

  Turning up at Gemstone as Ellie’s double when I didn’t even look like her was a really bad idea.

  As I stood in front of production assistant Sally Graham while she searched her list for the name Ellie Lopez, I hoped she wouldn’t find it. Excuses to get me out of this unfolding nightmare tumbled through my mind, though none of them were feasible, and the awful truth I’d be letting my best friend down silenced me.

  I tried to blend in and look chirpy.

  “Here you are.” Sally flipped over the page. “Let’s get you into wardrobe.”

  I trailed along behind her, doubting I could pull this impersonation off.

  “Ellie.” Sally gestured.

  I glanced behind me, relieved my best friend had changed her mind and turned up to save me in the nick of time—

  Only to realize Sally was talking to me.

  “In you go.” She pointed into the wardrobe trailer. “Once you’re in costume,” she pointed to the trailer behind us, “report to Agatha. She’ll do your makeup.”

  “Makeup?” I lowered my voice.”I thought only speaking parts had their makeup done?”

  Sally read something off her clipboard. “Have a note here for you from Paul Ratner.”

  “Paul?” I made it sound like all I needed was a gentle reminder.

  “Paul, our line producer.”

  “Oh Paul,” I said, still with no idea who he was.

  “He took a shine to you.”

  I offered a smile, hoping it didn’t resemble a cringe, with no idea where this was going.

  “Paul’s well known for giving actors a break.”

  “Good old Paul,” I said.

  “He’s our youngest producer.” Sally frowned her confusion.

  “Oh that Paul.”

  “Well, he’s given you a small speaking part.”

  “What?”

  “Yes.” Sally raised her hand. “Don’t thank me. Thank Paul. He’s around here somewhere.” She looked about for him.

  “Shouldn’t I have had some notice?” I tried to calm my voice.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Don’t the actors usually get the script the night before?”

  “You’re a seasoned extra, Ellie. You know the writers change the lines without any notice, and very often minutes before the actor’s about to say it.” She handed me the script. “Rather you than me.”

  The costume designer leaned against the trailer doorframe, tapping her wristwatch.

  I headed into the trailer. “Hi, I’m...Ellie.” I hated lying and vowed to never, ever allow my best friend to convince me to cover for her again.

  “You’re a size eight?” The costume designer said, eyeing me up.

  “Wow, that’s quite a talent you have there.”

  She ignored me.

  “Guessing my size.”

  “Heard you the first time,” she mumbled, handing me a pair of scrubs on a hanger. “Bring them back here when you’ve wrapped.”

  The way she’d picked up the clipboard, her mouth twisting subtly, hinted something was wrong with her arm.

  “What did you do?” I gestured to her forearm.

  “Excuse me?” She looked annoyed.

  “What happened to your arm?”

  She narrowed her gaze. “How did you catch that?”

  “May I?” I stepped toward her and eased up her left shirt sleeve, revealing several inflamed scratches tracking up her arm. “Your cat?”

  “New kitten. How did you know?”

  “I read your face.” I gave a shrug. “Are you allergic to anything?” I rummaged through my handbag and pulled out my miniature first aid kit.

  “No.”

  I offered her the small packet of antibacterial ointment and three band-aids. “This should help.”

  “Thank you.” She looked relieved as she took them.

  “Now,” I began, my tone serious. “If the redness spreads or there’s any discharge it probably means you have an infection. You may need antibiotics.”

  She stared at her arm.

  “If you have any symptoms of backache,” I added, “headache or chills, or your lymph nodes feel tender, see your doctor. You could have cat scratch disease.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “It usually resolves but it’s something to be aware of.”

  “I’m Andrea.” She reached out and shook my hand. “I’m sorry I was rude. These are really bothering me.”

  “I understand.” I tucked my first-aid kit back into my bag. “Is your tetanus up to date?”

  “Got it last year.” She paused and tilted her head. “You sound like a real nurse.”

  I studied the scrubs on the hanger. “Well...”

  “You are?”

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” I said. “My name’s not really Ellie. It’s Piper. My friend begged me to cover for her. She got double booked.”

  “That explains your expression when Sally told you about your line. Any other extra would have leaped for joy.”

  I chewed my bottom lip.

  “Ellie’s a lucky girl to have such an awesome friend.”

  I threw my arms up. “I have no acting ability whatsoever.”

  Andrea picked up her copy of the script. “Let’s see.” She rifled through the pages. “Here you are, Nurse Riley.” She folded the page back. “Here’s the action line: Dr. Pike bursts into the operating room and orders the surgeon to cease operating.” Andrea peered up. “Turns out the surgeon has misdiagnosed the patient and is performing the wrong operation.” She cringed. “Does that ever happen in real life?”

  “Rarely.” I peered down at my script and stared at what was meant to be my line.

  Andrea studied the page again. “So all you need to do is look up at Dr. Forbes and say--”

  “Cease the incision!” I read out loud.

  “See, nothing to it.”

  I lowered the script. “I got my first fake nurse’s kit when I was six. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, a nurse.”

  “Then imagine that’s what you are.” Andrea smiled. “We have to get you into those.” She pointed to the scrubs. “You’ll do great.”

  Within minutes I was dressed in the neatly tailored blue scrubs that were surprisingly comfortable and reassuringly familiar.

  Next, I made my way over to the makeup trailer.

  Sitting upright in the raised chair, my terrified reflection gazed back. I was full of hope that I might think of something quickly and get myself out of this situation.

  Ellie owed me more than a party.

  Agatha, the makeup artist, worked her magic, smudging cream colored foundation over my face, blending the color in, and making my complexion appear flawless.

  “He’s taller than I thought he’d be,” Agatha said to the male makeup artist next to her. “Kind of pretty too.”

  The young man was tidying his work station, nea
tly placing lipsticks and powders into a half-full bag. “And dreamy too,” came his reply. “Those abs are to die for.”

  Agatha’s face lit up. “He looked right at me and said ‘Good morning.’“ She sighed. “I know we’re not meant to engage with the lead actors but he was staring right at me.”

  “Why can’t you talk to the lead actors?” I butted in, immediately regretting it.

  Agatha frowned. “They don’t like it.”

  “It can get you fired,” the male makeup artist added.

  “Actors are in character,” Agatha said. “Start talking to them like you’re all buddy-buddy and it takes them right out of their process.” She sucked in her breath. “Remember Billy? He made eye contact with Eddie Murmer and they fired him that day.”

  He nodded woefully. “Billy didn’t even say a word.”

  “Billy was accused of giving Eddie the stink eye,” Agatha added.

  “But that was Billy’s usual expression,” he said.

  “So what are you meant to do if the lead actors talk to you?” I asked.

  “Give one word answers,” Agatha said, her words crisp with warning as she tugged my hair into a ponytail and secured it with a scrunchy.

  “Ellie, one minute to rehearsal,” called out Sally from the foot of the trailer stairs.

  Agatha gestured she was done with my makeup and I took a moment to admire her handiwork. She’d highlighted my brown eyes and sharpened my cheekbones.

  “Wow,” I said, flashing her a smile.

  “You look like you’ve never had your makeup done before,” she said.

  I waved off her comment, making a mental note to at least look like I’d done this before.

  Navigating carefully down the trailer steps, I feared falling, not only because I could break something, but the studio nurse would be called. No doubt I’d be fired from my job if caught. After all, I did have a full-time position on the lot already.

  As if I wasn’t under enough pressure.

  Sally walked briskly, leading me through the doors of Stage 9 and onward, seemingly listening to what was being said in her earpiece.

  We made our way through what was now a sprawling white washed hospital corridor. We’d been magically transplanted into a busy city hospital and the authenticity of each and every detail was extraordinary.

  Extras, fifty or so of them, were dressed as hospital employees, nurses, doctors and other health care workers, and were all sitting around, some reading books, others studying their phones.