by Antony John
7
ANNALEIGH AND I SHARE A TAXI to our first rehearsal. Beverly Hills bustles with pre-Christmas energy, and I gawk at the impeccably dressed pedestrians and parade of expensive foreign cars.
“This place is so pretty,” Annaleigh murmurs, staring out the window. “I feel like I’ve landed in a dream.”
“No kidding.”
In less than a quarter hour, we pull up at the production company’s offices—a one-story building with few windows and a bunker-like concrete exterior. A stocky twenty-something woman with long, bleach-blond hair ushers us inside.
“I’m Maggie,” she says. “I’m just an intern.”
“Not just an intern,” Ryder corrects her. “Maggie’s in film school at USC.”
He leads us along a short corridor to an empty room with a spotless oval table and smart black office chairs. Sun streams through a window, so he closes the blind. “Can I get you something to drink? Juice? Water? Coffee?”
“Water,” says Annaleigh.
“Me too,” I say. “And maybe coffee.” It’s only two o’clock, but feels later.
Maggie leaves with our order. Seated at the table, Annaleigh raises her hand to her neck, and then upward until she touches her short hair. It’s an awkward motion, as if she used to have long hair and forgets that it’s gone.
Neither of us is exuding confidence today.
“So,” Ryder begins, “did you have time to look over the script this morning?”
Only for about ten hours.
“Yes,” we answer in unison.
“Okay, then. What do you think of your character, Seth?”
I’m not sure why, but I look at Annaleigh before answering. “I like how Andrew takes charge of his family because his dad’s not around. But, I don’t know . . . I guess I don’t see how someone that responsible goes all in with Lana the first time he sees her.”
“Because I’m awesome, that’s why,” says Annaleigh.
“Glad you like your character,” Ryder says.
She hesitates. “Yeah. Although actually, I think audiences are going to get pissed if she doesn’t stand up for herself some more.”
“Her family is a nightmare,” I point out.
“Lots of people have crappy families,” she replies. “I don’t think Lana should be shooting for the sympathy vote.”
Ryder purses his lips. “Well, I suppose I asked for your opinion. Look, if you want to tweak the character, even change the backstory, then go ahead. I mean it when I say that I want you to own these characters.”
“Then why have a script at all?” I ask.
“Good point. I like to think of it as a road map for the story. This movie is about star-crossed lovers—doesn’t matter how perfect they are together, external forces are going to pull them apart. So if you feel like you’re getting away from that, use the script to keep things on track.”
“Wouldn’t you tell us if we’re getting off track?” asks Annaleigh.
“If I’m there, sure.” He sees Annaleigh’s puzzled expression, and holds up one finger. “As director, I’ll take over some scenes completely. Like when you’re out in public—crowds don’t always behave how you want them to. But the smaller, intimate scenes will feel more authentic if you’re in complete control. Just the two of you. Alone.”
Annaleigh tilts her head. “Like the opening scene?”
“When Lana and Andrew meet, you mean.” Ryder gives a knowing smile. “Look, we’re not going for some deep, intellectual love, okay? We’re going for infatuation—love at first sight.”
“I get that, but . . . I’m with Seth on this one. I’m having a hard time buying it.”
Ryder doesn’t seem offended at all. “Does Romeo and Juliet feel realistic?”
“Not exactly.”
“Do you like it anyway?”
“Sure.”
“Exactly. Seth does too. Right?”
I nod.
“Look, you’re both fifteen in this movie. Everything is new to you. All that matters is, we feel a spark, a connection. Without it, the entire movie falls apart.”
Annaleigh snorts. “No pressure, then.”
Ryder laughs too, flashing perfectly white teeth. “We’ve got a few rehearsals for you two to get acquainted. Before long you’ll be as comfortable acting here as you were back in Arkansas.”
“Except Seth’ll be filming me,” she reminds him.
He tsks. “One guy with a headcam has to be a lot easier than a live audience.”
“What makes you think our plays had an audience?” she deadpans.
I smile. I’ve seen my fair share of half-empty theaters.
“Listen, hundreds of people auditioned for these roles, but you’re the ones here,” says Ryder, knocking on the table for emphasis. “I’ve seen each of you carry a stage play, so I know you can act. What I want now is something real. Something edgy. I want you to pour yourselves into these characters and create a world together. As long as you trust each other, good things will happen.” He slides a few sheets of paper over to us. “All right, pep talk over. Here’s the alley scene. Feel free to improvise.”
I take a deep breath, and read the first line word for word: “Where’s your brother now?”
“I don’t know,” replies Annaleigh, her voice a little higher than usual, less assured. “He doesn’t normally leave me.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
“If he knew that, I don’t think he would’ve gone. Now it’s my turn to ask a question. Did you follow me tonight?”
“Yes. Is that okay?”
“No. And yes. I’m glad you— Shhh. What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
“I have to go.”
Next is a direction: Lana kisses Andrew.
Annaleigh looks at me, eyes flitting everywhere and nowhere.
Maggie saves us, bustling into the room carrying four paper cups on a cardboard tray. “You two okay?” she asks. “You look flushed.”
“It’s a powerful scene,” says Annaleigh.
Maggie gives us our drinks and places an extra cup beside an empty seat. She retreats to the corridor just as Brian strolls in.
I didn’t see him at the party last night, but I recognize him from the computer screen during my audition. He’s intimidating in person—tall and powerful, with chiseled features and a military buzz cut. Even his light gray business suit, tie loose and top button undone, can’t soften the hard edges. There are two small cases in his left hand and a newspaper tucked under his arm. He shakes our hands with a firm, businesslike grip.
“Good to see you both,” he says. “Everything going okay?”
“So far,” says Ryder.
“Pleased to hear it.”
Brian hands the cases to Annaleigh and me. Inside each one is a small but expensive-looking video camera.
“It’s a top-of-the-line portable camera,” he says. “Lightweight, anti-shake, auto-focus, very hi-def. Water resistant, but not waterproof, so don’t push it. There’s a head strap in the bag too. Obviously, only one of you at a time will be wearing a camera during filming—it’d look pretty stupid if you appear onscreen with a camera strapped to your head—but it’s important to get used to it now.”
“What’s with the new cell phone?” Annaleigh asks, holding up the other item from the case.
“Think of it as a precaution. I’ve given each of you a new phone number, and programmed in some others you ought to have. If you add more contacts, keep it to close family, okay?”
I can’t believe my luck. The minutes are about to expire on my old phone, and I’ve been meaning to upgrade. But I never would’ve bought one as expensive as this.
“I’ve already got a phone,” says Annaleigh, reaching into her bag. She places the old one beside the new. It looks even more dec
repit than mine.
“No offense,” says Brian, “but if they haven’t done it already, your friends’ll be publishing your number on Twitter soon. You can guess what’ll happen after that.” He turns to me. “Especially now that you’re front-page news.”
I stop gazing at the phone as Brian unfolds the newspaper and slides it across the table. “Recognize anyone, Seth?”
There’s a photograph of Kris and me—black-and-white, but unmistakably us. Kris is smiling, a happy camper at a happy party. In contrast, I look psychotic.
Below the photo is a caption: Changing of the guard. There’s a story too: three columns dedicated to Seth Crane, my extracurricular interests, and an account of the “miraculous” stage performance that landed me my first movie role.
“How do they know this stuff?” I ask.
“There are these people called reporters,” says Brian. “They do research. Now, any particular reason you look like you want to beat the crap out of Kris Ellis?”
I struggle to catch up with what’s happening—what this means. Annaleigh fiddles with her new phone and sips her water robotically, giving every appearance of someone who has no stake in the outcome. But everything I do will reflect on her.
“He was . . .” I swallow hard. Annaleigh stops sipping. “He and Sabrina were fighting.”
“Stop the presses,” says Brian. “Boyfriend and girlfriend have fight.”
“Ex-boyfriend and girlfriend,” interjects Ryder.
“Fine. Ex. Look, Seth, something like this happens, you’ve got to let us know.”
“He tried,” says Annaleigh. She turns to Ryder. “He was looking for you at the party, but you weren’t there.”
“When was that?” asks Ryder.
“About ten minutes after I met Curt Barrett,” I say.
Ryder points his finger at Brian. “I was outside on the phone. Talking to you.”
Brian places both hands flat on the table. “Point is: You’ve got to be careful. This kind of thing can take on a life of its own.”
I feel stupid. Defensive too. “Got it,” I say. “Don’t pick a fight with major Hollywood stars.”
Ryder snorts. Brian’s expression doesn’t change at all. “Do you know who took this photo?” he asks.
“One of the servers. A guy.”
“Well, we won’t be seeing him again. Not now that he’s sold these pictures.”
“Why were Kris and Sabrina at the party anyway? I thought they dropped out.”
“They did. Kris wasn’t meant to be there.”
Annaleigh holds up her new phone. “Uh, talking of Sabrina, why is her number on here?”
Someone knocks on the door before Brian can answer. He opens it at once.
“Sorry I’m late,” says the new arrival in an unmistakable husky voice.
Annaleigh turns to face me, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the doorway and the girl standing there. Her hair is down and frames her face. Her tiny jean shorts and gauzy white tunic look simple, yet effortlessly perfect.
Sabrina gives a gentle wave, and takes her place at the table.
8
“WHAT’S THAT?” SABRINA ASKS, POINTING AT the newspaper on the table. She turns it toward her and sees the photo of Kris and me. “Oh.”
The photo is humiliating enough. Watching Sabrina take it in is even weirder, like it barely makes sense to her—something she has already consigned to the distant past.
Ryder hands out new sheets of paper. “Here’s your schedule,” he says. “I’ll be producing dailies in a couple weeks, so get practicing with the cameras. As soon as you’re ready to begin shooting, go for it. You can see there are some promotional obligations too. We need to get the word out about this movie. Any questions?” He slides more pages to us. “Okay, then. Let’s give this a try.”
It’s an entirely new scene. There’s even a new character, and it’s pretty obvious that she’s supposed to be my sister. Before I can laugh at the craziness of having Sabrina Layton for a sister, Annaleigh starts reading. Two pages later we’re pledging our love to each other.
Everything is moving too quickly, in life and on the page. A few minutes ago, my character didn’t have a sister. Meanwhile, Sabrina’s ex-boyfriend has declared war against me. By now, Gant will definitely know I’m front-page news, which means that Dad will probably be second-guessing himself for letting me do this film at all.
Fictional Andrew may not know what’s in store, but real-life Seth feels blindsided by the present. It’s a miracle I can recite my lines at all.
Ryder brings things to a close a couple hours later. As he and Brian leave I stay glued to my chair, pretending to sort the pages of our quickly evolving script.
Annaleigh stands. “So you’re back,” she says to Sabrina.
Sabrina nods. “I want to be a part of this.”
“Me too,” I say. “But after today’s performance, don’t be surprised if Ryder finds a new Andrew Mayhew.”
“No one wins an Oscar in the rehearsal room,” says Annaleigh helpfully.
Sabrina waves her hand through the air like she’s cutting between scenes. “Enough about the movie. Let’s go someplace.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Annaleigh pats her camera case. “I’ve got some new toys to play with.”
Once she’s gone, it’s just Sabrina and me. Last night, we were inches apart and I was nervous. Now we’re several feet apart and I’m petrified.
“Just us, then,” she says.
“Yeah.”
She tilts her head so that her hair falls across one eye. She looks mysterious and alluring. “Good.”
I follow Sabrina outside. A couple minutes later, I’m sitting in her Prius and we’re pulling into traffic, heading north. It’s strange to see her driving—it’s something an ordinary person would do, and I can’t place her in that role. I want to text Gant a play-by-play: Sabrina signaled! Sabrina checked her rearview mirror! Sabrina CHANGED LANES!!!
“So I hear you make a kick-ass Romeo,” she says.
“Huh?” I’m still composing imaginary text messages. “Oh. Yeah, well, I guess I do better when Shakespeare writes my lines.”
“You must have some weird conversations, then. Seriously, though, it’s impressive that you pulled off a convincing Romeo.”
As impressive as having made fifteen movies?
“Thanks. I was just playing myself really. Method acting, you know?”
“But Romeo’s kind of a dork.”
“Exactly.” I don’t know what the heck I’m saying, but I guess I’m hitting my lines, because Sabrina rewards me with a rich, throaty laugh. “So you’re back in Whirlwind, huh?”
“Yeah,” she says. “And this time I’m all in.”
“What do you mean?”
“My agent didn’t want me to do this movie the first time around. Didn’t like the small budget and really didn’t like the concept of actors filming each other. Said it would rob us of creative control. What he really meant was that he wouldn’t be able to bully the director into using flattering camera angles if the director wasn’t the one with the camera. But the way I see it, we’ll have more control than ever.”
We stop at a red light. Cross-traffic shunts by, a never-ending stream of vehicles.
“What did your agent say to that?” I ask.
“He said I was making a career-changing mistake.”
“Ouch. What did you say?”
“I said it was an even bigger mistake to have an agent who doesn’t get me. Then I fired him.”
“What?”
She smiles, like this is all a big game. “It’s okay. There are other agents. Trust me, I get calls every day.”
The light turns green. Ahead of us, the road climbs steadily upward.
“Anyway,” she continues, “the new contract’s prett
y much the same as the last one, and my agent already looked over that. It’s not like I need someone to tell me how to sign my name.”
I glance at Sabrina’s slender fingers, and the wide silver bracelet perched halfway along her tanned arm, and the soft cotton of her tunic. The curve of her breasts. Her face is so famous, she’d be recognized on all seven continents.
In my mind, I text Gant an update: In case you weren’t sure, I can confirm that Sabrina Layton is HOT.
She looks at me. “What are you thinking?”
“Uh, that’s it’s kind of crazy I’m driving with you.”
“Why? It’s just a car.”
“Sure. And you’re just a girl.”
She frowns. “I am. And you’re just a boy. We have more in common than you realize.”
“We do?”
“Sure. We’re willing to risk everything for a chance to make a new kind of movie. Most actors wouldn’t do it. But you and me, we want to feel the rush of trying something different. I’m tired of sleepwalking through the same old roles.”
“I’ve never thought you were sleepwalking.”
“Yeah, you have. I saw it in your face when we were talking about Swan Song last night. I want to know what it’s like to get nervous again, because that’s being honest, you know? That’s what this is all about—making the first really honest movie, where everyone is equal because anyone can film at any time. We can even shoot a scene without the director knowing. Just think about it, Seth—having that control, that . . . intimacy.”
She looks at me, and for a moment I think she might be talking about being intimate with me. Then I remember that she’s cast as my sister, and start laughing instead.
“What?” she asks, smiling.
“I just had a funny thought.”
“Siblings making out is funny?”
I definitely need to text Gant.
Sabrina pulls over at a roadside cafe. “You hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“Me too.” She takes a twenty-dollar bill from her purse and hands it to me. “Can you get us sandwiches to go? There’s someplace I want to take you.”
We get out of the car. I’m about to head inside when I realize that she’s not following. “What kind do you want?” I shout.
