Who makes frittatas? Could I be a person who makes frittatas?
Well, not with twenty-eight minutes on the clock, I’m not. Cereal, it is. I read my news, I eat my cereal, I wipe the splashed milk off my face, and I drop my bowl off in the dishwasher.
My morning ritual is pretty simple. I dab on a few pumps of moisturizer, because I’m thirty, and that’s what you do when you’re thirty. I see how many pimples decided to pop up over night, because I’m thirty, and that’s another thing you do when you’re thirty: your face just can’t seem to make up its mind whether it wants to be young or old. I brush my teeth, I push my contact on my finger, I add a drop of the solution to the contact, I bring the contact up to my eye, I start freaking out, my hand begins to shake, I drop the contact back into its case, and then I grab my glasses.
And since I’m wearing my glasses, I don’t need to worry about eyeliner or mascara.
Done. Simple. Piece of cake.
And I’m in my car at 5:55 a.m. with my Pandora giving me the best hits from the summer of 2000. I’m not judging myself at all.
I pull up to the gate of the studio at 6:20, meaning that I could have slept for another thirty minutes.
Damn you, Melissa.
CHAPTER THREE
“You’re here! You’re here! You’re here!” Melissa runs up to me to apparently let me know that I am, in fact, here.
“Early. You mean that I’m here early, Melissa.” I make sure she hears the disdain in my voice.
“Well,” she shakes her head at me, “It’s better than being late, Care Bear.”
That’s what Melissa calls me: Care Bear. It’s like Caroline… well; it’s like the beginning of Caroline. I don’t know; she’s been doing it forever. One time, when we were eight, I tried calling her Missy, and she looked me square in the face and said, “My parents named me Melissa. I would appreciate if you called me that.”
So, I call her Melissa. Sometimes I can get away with Meliss, but only if I use the excuse that I’m too tired for three syllables.
Anyway, Melissa calls me Care Bear.
“You’re right. It is certainly better than being late, Meliss.”
She raises her eyebrows at me.
I raise mine right back. “Hey, had you let me sleep in another thirty minutes, your name would have had all three syllables. This was your doing.”
She laughs and bats at me, to which I swat back at her. I don’t know why we do that either. When you’ve known someone as long as we’ve known each other, nothing makes sense anymore. And it’s also 6:30 in the morning. Absolutely nothing makes sense at 6:30 in the morning.
“So what’s this movie?”
“Care Bear, seriously?” Melissa has giant eyes, and when I “shock” her by doing something like ask her what movie we’re working on, somehow, they get bigger. It’s really a phenomenon.
“It’s about fighting. I know that.” I smile at her.
We walk to the other side of the studio while she tells me all about the movie. It sounds super cool. An All-American college wrestler is gearing up for the Olympics when he finds out that his younger brother, a marine, is being sent out on another tour. He decides to put his dreams on hold and he joins the marines so he can keep an eye on his brother, who he’s afraid isn’t handling war that well. While overseas, his base is attacked, and he ends up paralyzed. His brother, feeling really guilty, gets mixed up in drugs and gangs and other things that are really bad, all the while the wrestler is trying to learn how to walk again. His brother then owes tons of money to some really bad guy, and figures he’s going to make the money by fighting in an underground MMA tournament. Well, something happens (Melissa wasn’t quite sure about that twist) and he can’t fight anymore, but he still needs the money, so the All-American wrestler has to get his legs back and do the fighting for him.
So either it’ll be really awesome or really corny. We’ll see!
I introduce myself to the people in the tent, and they hand me a walkie-talkie, an earpiece, a clipboard, and a bottle of water. I feel so official even though I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. I’m told that my supervisor is running a little behind, but I can help myself to the craft services if I’m hungry.
So maybe I should’ve showered instead of eaten breakfast. Hey, you live and you learn, right?
Still, I go and check out craft services because they said free food and who doesn’t jump at free food?
By the way, craft services has everything! There are all the different kinds of bagels, muffins, croissants, yogurt, granola, and there’s candy. Why is there candy? I quickly sneak a hand full of M&M’s from the fun bubble gum dispenser. Then I immediately regret that, because I’m not five years old and chocolate that early in the morning makes my tongue taste funny. But it’s still awesome because I had M&M’s from craft services. I have no idea how actors stay skinny. There is so much food just waiting to be eaten!
Melissa is across the way checking out some of the costumes, so I run over to her. I don’t know why she has never told me about craft services.
“Look at me! I have a walkie-talkie!”
“You look so official!” Melissa claps with me.
“That’s what I said! Well, I said it in my head, but I still said it!” We continue to clap.
“Care Bear, did you have M&M’s from craft services?” Melissa stops jumping up and down with me.
“What? No. Yes.” I drop my hands to my side. “How did you know?”
“Your tongue is five different colors.”
“Oh dear Lord.” I pretend to look around for a mirror, but I really don’t care enough to find one.
Melissa laughs, clearing in the know regarding my actions. “I would give you my compact, but I know you don’t really care.”
See, best friends, can’t hide anything from them.
“Hey, Melissa, you’ve been holding out on me.” I stand up to her, completely forgetting that my tongue is still five different colors.
“Hey Caroline, how so?”
“When were you planning on telling me about the amazingness of craft services? They have everything.”
“Oh, yes.” She nods her head knowingly. “And you wondered why I gained forty pounds with Austin.”
“Well, now I don’t!”
We laugh, we do our slap and bat thing, and then we laugh some more. And then I stop laughing all together because my full attention is drawn to the man standing next to the trailer.
I know him. I really can’t tell from where, but I do. And I know him well. That just makes me feel like a terrible person. I mean, it happens: sometimes you meet someone, you have a connection, you share an exciting conversation, and then they just leave your mind. I often blame alcohol for that, but mostly it’s that I meet a lot of people, and there are just only so many people you can meet and then remember. Right?
But this guy… well, I definitely remember him. I just have no idea from where. And then I feel drawn to him, as though I should go over to him and tell him that I recognize him. But that’s weird, and honestly, it might be a little rude.
Rude has never stopped me before though, so I start to walk.
“Caroline, where are you going?” Melissa calls out to me.
“I know that guy.” I point to him.
“Yes, yes you do.” She begins to walk next to me.
“You know him too?” I continue to rack my brain for a memory of him.
“I know him too. Not personally, but I know him.”
“What’s his name?” I still cannot place him, and it is driving me crazy.
Melissa starts to laugh. “It’s Johnny. His name is Johnny.”
“Yes! That’s it.” He looks like a Johnny. I completely believe his name is Johnny.
Now, we’re close enough that Johnny catches my eye. I think he remembers me too, because he plasters a quite pleasant smile across his face as the steps between us diminish. Wow, Johnny is pretty. Like pretty, pretty.
And then it occurs
to me that I might not actually know Johnny.
My voice becomes dramatically deep. “He’s famous.” I see the word ABORT flash through my mind in bright red letters.
Melissa bursts out in a fit of laughter. “He is.”
I quickly turn to her and give her my angriest face. “You were going to let me go through with that!”
“I couldn’t help it; it was too funny. You were about to go talk to Johnny Braylock.”
“I was!”
“Looking like this.” Melissa motions to the entirety of what I have decided to dress myself with today.
“Hey!” I attempt to defend myself, although I have no right to do so.
“No, no. You’re a mess. And I wouldn’t have told you that if I didn’t love you.”
Melissa likes to say things like that a lot. As long as it’s followed by if I didn’t love you, she can pretty much get away with saying anything. It’s kind of like how southern people get away with calling other people awful names just because they end each insult with bless her heart.
So I’m over her insult: I get it, I didn’t even look at what I put on this morning, but what I’m not over is the fact that Johnny Braylock is on set. The Johnny Braylock. I used to have the biggest crush on him. It was an embarrassing crush. It was one of those crushes where I had a giant poster of him in my bedroom, and I would talk to him as if he was there. I used to kiss the television and pretend I was making out with him. I used to tell my mother that one day I would marry him… and I was about sixteen when I did that.
As I said, it was embarrassing.
I haven’t seen him in anything for a while, which is why I’m assuming I didn’t recognize him right away. He was big when I was a kid. He was one of those teenagers who happened to not only be beautiful, but also have a black belt in karate, so whenever a movie called for a beautiful teen that could do martial arts, that movie called Johnny.
And I, like every other teenage girl, ate it up.
Now, I am standing fifty feet away from him, trying to pretend I have anything important to do. Melissa is talking on the phone to her mother-in-law who is babysitting Austin, I am still awkwardly staring at Johnny, and Johnny Braylock, my childhood crush, is waving me over.
Oh God, he is waving me over.
I look around, certain he has to be waving at someone else, but no one else is there. Where did everyone go? Did everyone else find craft services? Did they start making frittatas?
Now Johnny is pointing at me and waving me over. He does it again, and I’m still standing here like an idiot.
Oh dear Lord, what is wrong with me?
I have nothing else to do. I guess I better go talk to Johnny.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I saw you staring at me.”
Well, that’s not embarrassing. (That was sarcasm)
I just blurt out whatever happens to cross my mind. “I wasn’t really staring at you. It was this whole thing where I thought you were someone I knew… like actually knew, not just that I knew you because you were famous. Well, then I thought I should talk to you because I knew you, except as I was walking over to you, I realized that I didn’t actually know you, so that’s why I stopped, but then you motioned for me to come over. You were motioning for me to come over, right? That wasn’t just me thinking something was happening when it really wasn’t happening, was it?”
He stares at me, rightfully so, because I sound like a freaking idiot.
And, just to make myself seem like more of an idiot, I keep talking. “So yeah, that was my story. See you later, bud.”
Did I just call him “bud”? I think I need to go have my head examined.
“Bud?” He starts to laugh as I turn away. I don’t know what to think of myself, but I surely don’t want to turn back around and face him.
“No, no, you can’t just leave after that whole speech.” He’s still laughing.
So I laugh with him. That’s what you do when something is embarrassing: you laugh at yourself so it seems as though you’re part of the joke rather than the butt of it.
Normal human behavior in a social setting: I’m all over it.
“I’m Johnny.”
I make a weird face, because I’m obviously on a roll and a weird face is just the next best thing. “I know your name. Did you just miss my whole soliloquy there?”
“Oh, yes, right. And your name is?”
“It’s…” And I forget my name. Seriously? Did I really just forget my name?
I mean, it’s not like he’d remember it anyway. He’s a big time movie star and I’m a… I’m a… really? Now I don’t even know what I am?
Someone please help me.
“Caroline. My name is Caroline, and my phone is buzzing in my pocket.”
Apparently I have lost my filter.
“Are you going to answer that?” Johnny gestures to my butt. Awesome.
“I am. Right now.”
So I take my phone out of my pocket. “It’s my boyfriend.” I say it very casually. “Shoot, it’s my boyfriend.” That one isn’t so casual, as I realize that I was supposed to call Nick when I was on my way to the studio. So I’m sure that he’s calling now to find out why I didn’t call him, and then to tell me that L.A. makes me scatterbrained.
I begin to walk away, and I give Johnny a little wave. “It was nice to meet you, Johnny.”
“Nice to meet you too, Caroline.”
Well, if that wasn’t the most embarrassing interaction with another person, ever…
I’m weird, I’m quirky, but I swear I’m not a colossal idiot. And yet, I’m quite sure that Johnny Braylock thinks I am something even more ridiculous than a colossal idiot. Awesome.
“Hey babe. I am so sorry.” I figure if I apologize before he gets a chance to scold me, he really has no reason to even bring it up.
We talk for a bit, not about anything important. He tells me that he’s taking a break from work to stalk people on Facebook, and I tell him I just made a complete fool of myself in front of Johnny Braylock. We talk about Johnny a little: is he as big as he looks in the movies? Are his teeth as white as they are in the movies? Does he actually have that tattoo of a chipmunk on his forearm or was that just for the movie where he played the alien who was exiled to earth and then had to save humankind?
I know none of the answers. It was as though talking to Johnny was not a real occurrence, like I made the whole thing up.
But I didn’t, I really did talk to him. I just had no idea how tall he was, how white his teeth were, or if he still had a tattoo of a chipmunk on his forearm.
“L.A. makes you scatterbrained.”
See, I told you he would say it.
“I’m excited to see you this weekend.” I change the subject.
“That’s actually why I called…”
And here we go. I knew this was going to happen. He goes on to tell me that he has some client he has to meet with, for some really big company that’s really important, and if I could just hold off a little longer he promises to make it out soon.
It’s fine. It really is. I understand how important his job is, how he needs to keep plugging away, and blah, blah, blah. I should know more, but gosh, is it so boring! He’s a CPA. When we first started dating, almost five years ago, he told me that he was a CPA; and since I had heard that acronym before, I just kept nodding my head as if I knew exactly what he was talking about. Then he kept talking, and I spaced out, because again, it is so boring. I’d say it took me a good six months before I got fed up with pretending, and went to the World Wide Web to actually look up CPA.
He’s an accountant. That’s all it is: nothing fancy. Everything started making sense after that.
But let’s be honest; he’s an accountant. He could do that in Indiana if he needed to do so. I’m a writer. There are only so many places I can be, especially for my niche market.
Of course, he doesn’t see it like that.
I love the boy dearly, but when I told him I was thinking about
moving to L.A., he nodded his head and said that it was a good idea. Then, when I told him my timeline, a good three weeks later, he acted as if it was the first time I was bringing it up. Apparently, he thought it was just another one of my “daydreams”. I would forgo the idea once I realized I would have to buy a car, get car insurance, and pay for gas. But, that’s not what happened. I didn’t forgo the idea, because contrary to what he thinks, I’m serious about my craft.
Probably just to appease me, we talked about him moving to the west coast with me, as his company even has an office in Los Angeles. But, as luck would have it, he got a promotion at work and felt bad asking for a transfer… even though, I repeat, they have an office in Los Angeles.
No? That doesn’t make sense? Well, it didn’t make sense to me either.
So, we got drunk and broke up.
I don’t think he remembers that drunken night though, because we never spoke of it again, and the next day he introduced me to a coworker as his girlfriend. I was tired, and didn’t want to pick a fight, so I figured we’d talk about it later.
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