Page 26 of Cast to be Mine

Ipulled up to the gate at Limitless Pictures with my printed pass stuck to the windshield and my stomach doing gymnastics that would have impressed an Olympic coach. The security guard checked my name against his list, and for one terrifying second, I was sure he was going to shake his head and tell me there’d been a mistake. Sorry, miss. You’ve been fired before you even started. Please exit the way you came.

“Soundstage Fourteen,” he said instead, handing the pass back. “Straight down, take a left at the water tower.”

“Thanks.”

I’d been on studio lots before. Plenty of times. I’d done the corpse episode on a lot just like this one, and the medical drama, and two short-lived sitcom pilots that died quiet deaths. I knew my way around a water tower.

But this was different.

Those other times, I’d been a guest. A day player. A body lying on a slab with a toe tag. Nobody cared if I showed up or not because nobody’s movie lived or died on my performance. I was furniture. Set dressing that occasionally got a line. I’d grown up on sound stages, hiding in the background and watching my father work.

Now I was number one on the call sheet. My name might be on a trailer if I lasted that long.

I parked in the spot they’d assigned me with a little sign taped over whoever’s name had it before me. My heart pounded as I climbed out of my car and walked toward Soundstage Fourteen with my bag slung over my shoulder.

Micah promised he was going to help, but I didn’t know him from Adam. It could be some weird way of firing me. Showing me what I couldn’t have.

The soundstage loomed in front of me, one of those massive hangar-like buildings that looked like nothing from the outside and contained entire worlds on the inside. I remembered the first time I got to visit my dad on a fantasy film. It had felt like walking into another world. Maybe that was when I fell in love with the magic of Hollywood.

The heavy door was propped open, and the sounds of construction spilled out onto the pavement. Drills. Hammers. Someone shouting measurements.

I stepped inside and stopped dead.

Holy crap.

They were building a ship. Or at least the inside of one. The skeleton of it rose up in front of me—steel walls riveted together, narrow corridors, a control room taking shape off to the left with a bank of panels and switches. Sawhorses and lumber were scattered everywhere. A crew of maybe fifteen people swarmed over the structure, hanging wires and welding seams.

It wasn’t finished, but it already looked real. The walls had that weathered, industrial gray of an actual cargo vessel. Someone had even stenciled serial numbers and warning labels on the bulkheads. A catwalk ran along the upper level, complete with rust-colored railings.

This was the ship. The one from the third act, where Elena gets taken by the kidnappers and held below deck while Jack’s character fights his way through an army of mercenaries to get to her.

I’d pictured it when I read the script. My imagination had done a decent job, but to see it in living color was incredible. Another reminder of why I’d chosen this career.

“Grace.”

I turned. Micah was crossing the floor toward me, weaving around a stack of steel beams. He was dressed down today—jeans, a faded black t-shirt, and Nike’s. He looked different than he had at the table read. More relaxed. More in his element.

Damn, that t-shirt did things for his arms. And chest.

Focus, Grace.

“Hi,” I said. “Sorry, am I early? I can wait in the car.”

“You’re right on time.” He stopped in front of me and followed my gaze up to the set. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s incredible.” I walked a few steps closer, craning my neck. “It looks like an actual ship.”

A guy on the catwalk above us fired a nail gun, and I flinched. Micah smiled.

“That’s the point,” he said.

“Most directors would’ve just done this on green screen.” I ran my hand along a section of hull. It was cool and solid under my palm. “Slap some plywood up, paint everything green, fix it in post.”

“Most directors didn’t start out in set construction.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, watching the crew work with obvious pride.

“You were a set director?”

He grinned. “Eventually, but I built the sets.”