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The script girl looked over, glared, and shushed them.
“Oops.” SondraBeth put her finger to her lips. Lowering her voice, she said, “We’ve been so bad, the head of the studio, Peter Pepper, actually called me and told me to tone it down.”
Doug crossed his arms and nodded. “That’s impressive.”
“Monica?” A woman holding powder and a makeup brush was suddenly in SondraBeth’s face. “We’re shooting in five.”
SondraBeth obediently lifted her head to allow the woman to powder her face; when the woman held up a lipstick, she stretched open her mouth. And then, like the animals she’d grown up with, she was led away.
Pandy and Doug settled into two directors’ chairs and leaned forward to watch SondraBeth on the monitor.
The director shouted, “Action,” and then, after several seconds in which SondraBeth didn’t appear, shouted, “Cut.”
SondraBeth came storming back to video village, looked at Pandy and Doug snuggling next to each other, and with a grim expression, reached over to her chair and grabbed her sides.
“What’s wrong?” Pandy asked, jumping up from her seat.
“It’s this stupid line.” SondraBeth thrust the pamphlet at Pandy and pointed to the offending sentence. “It just isn’t something Monica would say. Would you ever say that?”
The line was funny, and was indeed the kind of thing Pandy might have said. But it was SondraBeth who had to speak the line, so she agreed. “You’re right. It does sound awkward.”
SondraBeth frowned. “And out of character.”
“What are you going to do?” Pandy asked, as if the question were of dire importance.
“What can I do?” SondraBeth sighed dramatically, expressing a depth of sorrow that seemed better suited to the death of a child than a silly line in a movie comedy. “The director hates me,” she hissed.
“No one could hate you,” Pandy insisted, but SondraBeth shook her head. In a loud whisper, she informed Pandy that she’d worked with this director before and had had a “bad” experience; Pandy didn’t press her for the particulars. “He refuses to listen to me,” she added woefully. “But maybe you could talk to him?”
“Me?” Pandy said. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Of course you do. You’re a writer; knowing what to say is your job. And you’re the author. He has to listen to you.”
Pandy knew this wasn’t true. As soon as the actual production had begun on the first Monica movie, the producers had made it clear they were no longer interested in Pandy’s opinions. Pandy had greeted this fact with relief—there were too many personalities and nasty little high school–type conflicts on the set to make being involved appealing. But SondraBeth was staring at her with those sorrowful green eyes, and once again, Pandy found herself wanting to shield her from anything even mildly uncomfortable. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said fiercely.
She found the director talking about lighting with the first AD. It felt like a reasonable moment to bring up SondraBeth’s concerns, but the director merely laughed.
“She sent you to do her bidding?”
“Of course not,” Pandy said, as if the possibility were unthinkable.
The director wasn’t buying it. “The line isn’t going to change, and she knows it.” He looked at Pandy kindly and smiled. “You haven’t had much experience with actors, have you?”
“I’ve had my share.”
“Then you know they’re like six-year-olds,” the director proclaimed matter-of-factly. “They always want to change their lines, and you have to tell them no. Give in, and before you know it, they want to change every line. And then the whole day is ruined.
“And, Pandy?” the director added. “Don’t let her manipulate you. The moment she thinks she has the upper hand, she’ll lose all respect for you.”
Pandy gave him a curt nod and turned away, angered again on SondraBeth’s behalf. SondraBeth wasn’t a child, and neither was she.
She returned to find SondraBeth and Doug Stone in a surprisingly intimate tête-à-tête. Like a curtain, SondraBeth’s hair had fallen across the side of her face, separating her and Doug from the rest of the crowd. Doug was nodding, as if SondraBeth had just imparted
a fascinating piece of information. Pandy paused, trying to assess the significance of their conversation. And then came a jealous, irrational thought: SondraBeth is trying to steal Doug!
In the next second, they broke apart and SondraBeth beckoned to Pandy eagerly. “What did he say?”
Pandy made a disgusted face. “The director? You were right. He is an asshole. He said all actors were like six-year-olds.”
