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“Ladies and gentlemen, as I’m sure Mr. Hamilton has told you, Ms. Felicity Harper and I will be taking over the roles of Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp.”
Mrs. Beauchamp?
“Please follow the
m, Ms. Harper. We’ll get you your lines.” The man I guessed was Mr. Hamilton pointed to the crew.
I smiled, even though my nerves were now getting the best of me. They led me into a trailer. The whole thing was filled with clothing that looked like it came from the 1940s or ’50s. It was a lot bigger than I thought they would be.
“What are your measurements?”
Do people just know that off the top of their heads? “I don’t know. I’m usually between a four and six.”
She looked me over for a second and took a tape measure. “Can you lift your arms? Okay, thank you. I’m not sure what will fit, but we’ll make it work. I’ll send Charlie in to work on your hair while I alter some of the dresses.”
Say what now? She made it seem like it was my body that was the problem. She opened the door and said, “She’s all yours.”
“Hi.” The woman with short blue hair and a camera around her neck walked in. “I’m Charlie. I’ll be doing your hair and makeup. Oh my gosh, it’s so pretty. I love that it’s so long. I can do so much to it and not use a wig.”
She was already at the vanity, pulling out a chair for me. Taking off her camera, she began pulling curling irons from her bag.
“Can we have some ground rules? Like please don’t cut or dye my hair?”
She laughed. “I promise we’ll return you to your natural state once we’re done. Sit. The director asked me to bring this, first scene for you.”
The script was huge.
I was supposed to memorize this before going in there?
“So, what else have you acted in?” she asked. I felt like she needed to buy me dinner first, with way she was running her hands through my hair.
“Nothing.” I sighed as I lifted the script.
“How did you end up here?”
“I keep asking myself that same thing.”
Oh, I was going to hit Theo so hard for this.
7:22 p.m.
I looked like a vintage Stepford Wife.
I wore a bright yellow dress with a cinched waist. My hair had been curled and put up into a pin-up styled bun, and my makeup… I couldn’t even go there right now. All I needed was a broomstick, and I would have looked like one of those ridiculous posters from the ’50s, trying to con women into thinking how glamorous domestic housework was.
I could hear it now. “Look, ladies, I find time to get dolled up and still clean my house! My husband is so proud of me.” Cue leg kick and smile.
“Ms. Harper?”
“Huh? Yes, sorry.” I focused on the man in the doorway.
“They’re waiting for you in the living room. Just watch out for the wires on the ground.”
“Thank you,” I said as I walked inside to where all the lights were focused—the living room on the other side of the stairs.
There, beside the fireplace, Theo sat reading his lines. His hair was parted and smoothly combed, not one strand out of place. He wore dark circular frames, and he had replaced his fitted suit with a slightly looser one. The jacket was gone so you could see suspenders and the chain of a pocket watch hanging from his breast pocket.
I wanted to laugh, but he still looked hot.
