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Three
Darla
“Get me a coffee, will you? And not a shitty one from the crew table.” The next morning, Franklin digs in the back pocket of his jeans and tosses his wallet at me without looking, eyes glued to the little screen the camera man is showing him. “Get me something strong, from a real barista. Extra shot.”
“Sure thing.”
I know Franklin probably seems like an ass, but hey, this is what equal treatment looks like. Everyone starts on the bottom rung of the ladder in this business. I’m working my way up, same as everyone else, and that means doing pain-in-the-ass coffee runs and cleaning up the actors’ stations. Changing batteries in sound equipment and double checking prop placement on set. All the annoying, bitty tasks that add up to a smooth day of filming.
Also, though I’d never admit it to his face, there are very few things I wouldn’t do for uncle Franklin. He can be a grumpy ogre on set if he likes—Istill know he’s a teddy bear.
Twenty minutes later, I’m picking my way back along the beach, a cardboard tray with four take out cups in one hand and a paper bag with a bacon roll in the other. I may not see much of Franklin at the house we share these days, but I’d bet my pinkie finger that he didn’t eat this morning.
“You’re an angel.” The director’s assistant, the head camerawoman and the makeup lead all descend on their coffees like a swarm of locusts. I grin, holding the last coffee and the paper bag out to my uncle.
“Eat up.”
His mustache twitches, hiding a smile as he takes the offering. He ruffles my hair before turning back to the screen.
It’s a big scene today. Jesse’s character is gonna rescue a drowning woman who got tangled up in a fishing net. I’m kind of curious how props are gonna make that work—do they have a special safety net? Something to stop the extra from freaking out?
A radio crackles. “Franklin.” Burst of static. “We have a problem.”
In the background of the radio channel, a woman’s voice is raised, her words shrill.“No way! A net? Are you insane? I might actually drown! I’m not going to risk my life to be on freaking Riptide!”
Huh. Well, that’s awkward.
I watch, chewing my lip, as everyone’s shoulders slump. We’ve hit the day’s first hurdle and this is par for the course, so I zone out as they all talk in urgent voices. Franklin barks instructions into his radio; the bacon roll I bought my uncle sits sadly on a nearby table, going cold.
“Darla.”
I snap to attention, hands twitching. “Yep. What do you need?”
Franklin nods at the makeup lead, already turning away. “You. You’re gonna do it. Go get into costume.”
* * *
Okay, it’s pretty standard for crew members to fill in as extras in times of need. And on a normal show, I’d be super excited. I’d bethrilled.
But do I really want to wear a swimsuit in front of a dozen cameras? Flaunt my stretch marks and squishy bits on a hit TV show? In front of all those ripped actors? In front ofJesse?
No, thank you.Imight be happy with my body, I might privately like the junk in my trunk, but that doesn’t mean I’m confident enough to invite public commentary.
“There must be someone else.” I wrinkle my nose as a makeup artist called Imogen brushes powder over my face, my eyes fixed on her glossy black braids. This is all happening so fast. “A list of people we could call. Hey,I’llcall them. I could drive and pick someone up. I swear I don’t mind.”
Imogen shakes her head, barely listening to me. “Hey, Stace?” she calls over her shoulder. “You found another suit?”
Right. Because the extra’s costume will be way too small for me. Even in the two-line roles, it’s never girls like me that are cast—it’s the willowy beauties, the ones who will look gorgeous draped in Jesse Hendry’s arms as he carries them from the waves.
Oh my god.
Will he even be able to lift me?
“You okay?” The makeup artist’s eyes have sharpened on me. Her lips purse as she smears something under my cheekbones. “You look kinda green.”
“I’m…”
I’m what? I’m not fine. I’m about to experience Jesse Hendry’s naked bare chest against my skin, and then I’m going to be humiliated on camera.
