As inconspicuously as possible, I watched Joan as she watched me. I didn’t need to stare at myself for one hundred and twenty-eight minutes. I’d rather get a glimpse into what she was thinking and feeling.
By the time the ballroom dance sequence rolled around, Joan’s pizza lay forgotten on the coffee table. I witnessed the way her walls lowered as she lost herself in the story, the performance of it. Her lips moved, shaping some of my lines, and I felt my chest grow tight.
When the screen shone with bedroom candlelight, I forced myself to take a steadying breath. Realistically, I hadn’t considered what it would be like to sit next to Joan while the character I was portraying made love to a woman on screen. Every gasp through the speakers, every intimate caress, every rustle of clothing seemed loud in the living room.
What was it like for Joan to watch these moments, this feigned intimacy?
For me, it was weirdly cold and technical. I could recall the equipment on set and the boom in my periphery, the intimacy coordinator having me reposition my arm to discreetly cover the actress from a certain angle.
But how did the final product come together through Joan’s eyes?
She appeared rapt, gaze focused.
Was she reading desire and lust? Did she realize that none of that was true?
During the final scene of the film, emotion brightened Joan’s features as my character delivered a monologue, confessing his endless, consuming love for the heroine.
The version of me sitting there on the couch with my thigh pressed to Joan’s could hardly breathe.
We were quiet as the credits rolled.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and said, “Well?”
She turned to face me, expression serious. “It was ... alright.”
I snorted out a laugh, and she smiled.
“Shut up,” she teased. “You know it was good. You knowyouwere good. Every time I watch it—and there have been many—I catch something new that I missed. A subtle expression. A shift in your body language that so perfectly embodies the character that it makes me irrationally angry that I didn’t notice it before. It’s the best book adaptation I’ve ever seen.”
Instinctively, I knew not to give her shit about this. I felt weirdly proud and inexplicably shy. From side characters to household names, I’d played dozens of roles in my career, but this was the one—a romance hero—who’d captured her interest and earned her appreciation. That meant something to me.
Shemeant something to me.
Joan was so insular and mysterious, unimpressed with ninety-nine percent of the world’s population. It felt like a major accomplishment that she’d watched my film and enjoyed the performance.
It made me want to earn her trust, her approval in all things.
I didn’t know what to do with her praise or my complicated emotions surrounding it.
So, I joked, “Oh, this is from a book?”
Joan gave me a look so disbelieving that it was like she could see straight through me. Like she could tell that I’d read the novel the film was based on six times prior to filming. How I’d taken copious notes, consulted the author, and visited fan forums online to find out what readers loved best about my character.
I’d fought for scenes in the script. I’d ad-libbed lines that had been allowed to stay, direct quotes from the text that readers still raved about.
I’d worked my ass off for the role of the tycoon in order to make sure that the pieces and parts that fans loved would translate to the big screen. Honoring the character and the novel and the author had been forefront in my mind throughout filming and for months beforehand.
Joan blinked, searching my face like she could see the truth, like I wasn’t an award-winning actor who should have been able to pull off a little fib.
“You knew it was a book. There’s no way you did that,” she accused, sweeping a hand in the direction of the television, “without knowing. I bet you read it. More than once.”
Smiling awkwardly, I looked away. “You caught me.”
Fiddling with the remote, I stopped the DVD and gathered the remnants of our dinner. But I knew Joan’s gaze was laser-focused on me.
I felt embarrassed, self-conscious in a way I hadn’t while she’d been watching me act on screen.
Swallowing hard, I couldn’t look at her as I carried our dishes into the kitchen.
