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“Sure thing, Seth,” I reply, even though I want to tell him that’s not a “small” favor.
“Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back,” Seth says. “I overheard you telling Margaret your little redhead is looking for a permanent PA position after your scenes are in the can. I’ll make sure your friend gets hired and assigned to me, personally, once we get to Hawaii.” He winks.
Hell to the fucking no. Every fiber of my body is recoiling at the thought of Seth coming anywhere near Amy. But what if my gut is wrong and this mega-movie star is genuinely willing to help Amy get a plumb assignment—and in Hawaii, no less—with zero expectation that sucking his dick would be one of her job duties?
Nope. I can’t deny what my gut feeling is telling me. The man can’t be trusted.
“I wouldn’t talk to Margaret about Amy yet,” I reply. “Thanks for the offer, but I think she’s got a few irons in the fire.”
Seth makes a face like my comment is pure lunacy. “Don’t be silly. You’re doing a favor for me, so I’ll do one for you. That’s what friends do for each other.” Seth smiles broadly, but the skin around his eyes doesn’t crinkle. True, that could be because of the copious amounts of Botox in his face. But I’m inclined to think it’s because of his good old-fashioned insincerity.
Amy appears, out of nowhere. She’s breathless. Adorable. Trying to act like this is totally normal for her. But her excitement is wafting off her. “Hi! Sorry to bother you, gentleman. Hello. Sorry. Margaret told me to fetch you two and tell you to go to hair and makeup now, please.” She throws up her arms like she’s yelling surprise at a birthday party. “They’re setting up for this afternoon’s exciting scene!”
Twenty-Three
Colin
“Quiet on the set,” the assistant director says.
We’re in the barracks set, built for us by the movie’s design team. Cameras are set up and ready to go. All actors in this scene, including Seth and me and Rob, the actor who plays Private Hawkings, are on our marks. All necessary crew members are now in position, while all unnecessary ones, including Amy, have found an unobtrusive place to observe. We’re only waiting on Gary, our director, who’s apparently framing his shots in the monitors tent.
While waiting, I decide to use the time to think about Private Sherman’s emotions and headspace.
In this scene, after frantically looking for my lucky penny to no avail, I conclude my best friend, Private Hawkings, must have swiped it, since he’s the one who razzed me about my superstitions during the poker party. And that conclusion sets me off. Not because of the missing penny, itself. But because I’m scared shitless to die in combat and the penny is my irrational way of coping with that fear. Thinking my best friend took it from me, when he knows I believe it’s the one thing standing between me and certain death, feels like a mammoth betrayal to me. So, what do I do? I lose control and rant about the stupid penny.
In preparing for this scene, my coach told me to think about a time when I’ve felt rejected or betrayed by someone I cared deeply about. So, of course, I thought about Kiera. But even with such a perfect person to think about while practicing the scene, I’ve never felt in rehearsals like I’ve reached my fullest potential.
I’ve been hoping when the time came, when I was in costume and in front of cameras, and I could feed off the other actors’ energy, I’d rise to the occasion. Fingers crossed I’m right about that, or the jig will finally be up. If I crash and burn during this scene today, I think it’s likely Gary will finally realize he messed up by casting a drummer, instead of an actor, to play Private Sherman.
“Okay, everyone,” the assistant director says. “Gary’s ready. Ready, Colin?”
I find Amy’s adorable face at the back of the crowd and take a deep breath. “Ready.”
Gary appears, sporting big-time dad energy, as usual. “Everyone set,” he says. “Rolling . . . and . . . action.”
And off we go.
As rehearsed, I begin rummaging through the footlocker at the edge of my cot, searching frantically for my lucky penny. When I can’t find it, I tell myself to think about Kiera dumping me. But when I straighten up and turn around to deliver my lines . . . it’s not Kiera’s face I see. It’s Amy’s. Specifically, I’m suddenly imagining Seth gripping Amy’s red hair, as he pushes her down and forces her to suck his cock, all in the name of him doing me a motherfucking favor.
I lose my shit.
Not about some stupid penny.
For real.
Without conscious thought, my scripted lines pour out of me, like I’m thinking of them on the fly. I’m in a weird, alternate dimension right now. I’m Private Sherman, saying all the right words. Feeling all the right rage toward Private Hawkings, while still being me. The guy who’d fucking kill Seth Rockford if he lays a motherfucking pinky on my woman.
