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“Ivy, I don’t think I know who I am in this conversation.”
She took a breath and slowed herself down. “Amari is trying to hook up with my old boyfriend, and I don’t like that. I’m going to say something to her.”
“You are not,” Charlotte commanded. “You are not going to tell Amari Rivers who she can and cannot fuck. If Amari wants to have a three-way with Nick, Griffin, and Rick, she is going to have a three-way with Nick, Griffin, and Rick.”
“There is no Rick.”
Charlotte bellowed, “And there’s going to be no Ivy and no career if you get a reputation for being difficult to work with! Amari is the star of the movie. She gets to do whomever and whatever she wants.”
“I think if you saw the sleepover pictures, you’d understand.”
“The only thing I understand is that writers who argue live in little houses. Leave Amari alone.”
Ivy didn’t sleep at all that night. She forgot to set her alarm. When she woke up, there was a gaffer in her room hauling in a light. The production had arrived at her doorstep. It would take all morning to set up. Call time wasn’t till the afternoon. Ivy decided to go for a run to clear her head. She ran along the Geneva Lakefront Trail. It was a beautiful, cool summer morning. The lake was shining. Ivy ran to what else: classic Christmas music.
The run was an awakening. She was going to think about the movie only. Ivy decided to grab a latte at Monaco Coffee on her way home. Monaco had a line out the door. Something was going on inside. Ivy’s phonepinged. The question of what was happening inside the coffee shop was solved with the Insta reveal outside. It was a selfie. Of Amari. Making coffee.#CHARACTERWORK.What did that mean?
Ivy squeezed herself into the store, cutting the line. She approached Amari.
“Ivy! So great to see you.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Can’t right now. Orders are backed up.” Ivy watched Amari performing barista duties. She was not good at it.
“Since when do you work here?”
“Since I found out you did. One of your friends told me at the sleepover that you worked here during college.”
“I did,” Ivy admitted, still confused.
“And the character is based on you. I told you when we started this project that I go deep into character. I want to live Ivy. I want to become Ivy.”
This was crazy talk. Crazy actor talk. “I never make a latte that way.” Ivy couldn’t stop herself—she had to help. Monaco was always good to her. She loved their lattes, and Amari had no idea what she was doing. Ivy started making lattes. Amari studied her, watching her closely. Then, side by side, she mimicked her actions. And she finally got good at making lattes.
“Wow,” Ivy said, impressed. “You learn fast.”
“I’m just trying to be you. Because, you know, the character is really you. My acting coach—”
“Isn’t the director the acting coach?” she asked.
“Vera’s great. And I love working with her. But I learned from my acting coach that ‘Amari’ has the ability to transform and become what she is not. And that ‘not’ is you.”
Ivy was already changing the grind. “Go on…”
“So I am going to do as many Ivy things as I can when we’re not filming.”
“Does that include Nick?” Ivy said, her head sweating.
“Kind of. Well, I thought so at first. Get a feel for what kind of lothario he was. Still is, if you ask me. Then I realized: this is a pretty nice guy. And that’s when I hit on the problem in the script.”
Ivy stopped making the coffees. “There’s no problem in the script.”
“No, there’s a problem with Ilsa. With you. What’s your secret, Ivy? What are you hiding away up there?”
“You sound like my sister.”
“Oh,” Amari said, genuinely delighted. “Your sister is a dream. The things she told me about you were so helpful.”
