“What’s wrong?” I ask before she can get a word out.
She links her arm through mine, being careful not to wrinkle any of my clothes. “Nothing is wrong. Why does something need to be wrong for me to come check on my best friend and star and make sure she is ready for her first day of filming in more than a decade?”
I shake my arm free and push back my shoulders. “I’m fine, Liz.”
Her fake smile drops, comforted by the reassurance, and she turns all business. “Good. If Grayson starts to fuck around out there, don’t lose your cool. Leave him to me.”
“Would I ever lose my cool?”
“Not normally, no. But with Grayson West, all bets are off.” She reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “You got this, Em. Just stay out of your head, and you’ll be fine.” She gives me an air kiss on the cheek and then retreats to her command zone.
Deidre takes a few minutes to walk me through the blocking before heading back over to Grayson to presumably do the same with him.
“We’re going in five!” Deidre calls, tying Grayson’s apron strings around his waist for him before joining Liz.
I turn to face the corner, focusing on my breathing. I inhale for ten seconds and exhale for another ten, gathering my thoughts and steadying my nerves. Because despite what I told Liz, of course I’m not actually fine. AndGrayson is only one item on my long list of worries right now. As Liz so kindly pointed out, this is my first shoot in more than a decade. It feels melodramatic to act like everything is riding on today, on this movie in general, but really, a lotisriding on this movie, and today is what will set the tone for the whole production.
I channel myself back to my last first day on set, one of the few that actually went well. It was a few days before The Incident, my crush on Grayson still raging, my excitement about starring in my first movie overpowering any hint of anxiety. We were good together that first day, before filming actually started. So good I can’t help but wonder how things might have gone differently for my career if Grayson hadn’t turned out to be a total freaking douchebag. Maybe I would’ve been standing on that Oscar stage accepting an award for an entirely different purpose.
Not that it matters now. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself as the seconds tick by and we get closer and closer to action.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I can do this. I know I can. Grayson may have ruined this for me before, but he sure as hell isn’t going to get the chance to ruin it for me again. Iwillsucceed, if only to spite him.
My eyes slowly slide open as I shake out my limbs. I turn to head to the front door for my cue, but when I spin around, I’m caught by Grayson’s gaze. His eyes are on me, watching me. He’s too far away for me to get a clear read on the emotion in them, but I’m sure that gaze is full of nothing but mocking. So I throw him an equally mocking smile and push through the front door.
I’ll give him something to mock.
Wait. No.
Scratch that.
I will give him something he absolutely cannot mock, because it will be sheer and utter brilliance.
That’s more like it.
My chest heaves with the long, slow breaths I force myself to take. The chilly air outside the coffee shop helps bring everything around me into sharper focus. I can be this character. I know this character. Iwrotethis character, for fuck’s sake. And I’ve never written a character who shares so much in common with myself before. Not on the outside—Isobel is all rich New York City girl—but her fear of never being good enough. Her fear of opening herself to love. I know I can bring these traits to her because I took them directly from me.
Liz calls for action, and after one final deep breath, I push through the front door, letting the frazzled, outwardly snobby personality of Isobel wash over me. Delivering my first line with a toss of my hair over my shoulder, I turn expectantly to Grayson.
“Uh. Yeah. Yes. Definitely.” The words are there, but this is not the sweet, bumbling Josh I pictured in my mind when I wrote him. “Coming right up.” Grayson’s words are cutting and sarcastic, and he’s playing them the opposite of how they were intended.
Rolling back my shoulders, I continue on with the scene, trying not to let my frustration mount as Grayson takes the dialogue even sharper the further we go in the scene. Isobel and Josh are supposed to complement eachother—her brash city girl tempered by his sweet small- town boy. Grayson is destroying the balance with every harsh line he delivers.
But Liz lets us play to the end before calling cut and coming over to join us.
I open my eyes as wide as possible, as if the irritation and ire can seep out of me more easily. Liz just gives me one of her patented shut-the-fuck-up looks and shoos me out of the way. She guides Grayson over to the far corner of the coffee shop, and her body language makes it clear that she is giving him a calm yet stern talking-to.
Good. Serves him right.
Liz suddenly slaps Grayson on the back like they’re frat bros before striding back to her command zone, practically pushing me out the front door on her way.
Liz calls action again. I push through the front door again. Deliver my lines perfectly again.
And listen as Grayson totally butchers the intent of the scene. Again.
“Cut!” Liz calls, letting her frustration bleed into her voice. “Grayson. Come on, dude. We literally just had this conversation. Josh isn’t mad at Isobel. Josh is bemused. Maybe a little flustered. But he is a happy guy. A nice guy.”
Grayson merely nods before resetting himself in his original spot while I head back out to the freezing cold.
