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I climb the metal steps and pound my fist against the side. “Annabeth! Open up!” I figure hearing the voice of her estranged daughter might convince her to move her ass more than a nagging PA.
The door unlocks and swings open. Annabeth looks beautiful, the very definition of a Hollywood star. She looks around, clearly expecting someone else. “Where’s Hunter?”
“He’s on set. Whereyoushould be.” I gesture toward the waiting golf-cart. It’s literally five feet away, parked right beside her trailer for convenience. “Hop on, let’s go.”
Annabeth shakes her head. “Eden, honey. You don’t understand. I can’t be seen golf-carting around inthat. It’s humiliating. I want a private SUV.”
I cross my arms. “You’re not getting an SUV.”
My mother sighs. I’ve only spent thirty seconds in her presence, but I’m already annoyed as hell. “This is why I wanted to talk to Hunter. He’s got the power to make these sorts of decisions.”
“He trusted me to collect you, so come on. You’re holding up the rest of the team.”
“Go get the director, honey.”
“Don’t.”
Annabeth blinks at me. “What?”
“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that.”
“You’re being difficult, Eden.”
I scoff. “I’m the one being difficult? You’re being a diva here. Get in the fucking golf-cart and film your scene, Mother.”
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me! I don’t know how you got the job as Hunter’s personal assistant, but that kind of attitude absolutely won’t fly.”
“I got the job because I’m qualified and I’m a hard worker.Yougot the job because the first choice had another obligation.”
Annabeth freezes, the color draining from her face. I know I’m being a brat, maybe even cruel, but I don’t give a shit. There’s no love lost between my mother and me. She abandoned me, left me to take care of Dad all on my own. She’s made no effort to be a part of my life for the past eleven years, so I don’t feel bad about not mincing my words.
“I was the second choice?” she asks, her voice soft and insecure.
“Yep. Mr. Stride wanted someone else for the part of Juliet. Liliana Eschette.”
Judging by the way Mom’s nose curls, I assume she’s heard of her. “That bitch. She’s always getting cast in the parts I want.”
“Count your lucky stars that she decided to pass,” I tell her. “You should be grateful you got the job in the first place. Now get off your damn high horse because nobody’s fucking impressed, Annabeth. Is this really how you want to start your first day of shooting? Do you really want everybody on set to know what a difficult actor you are to work with?”
I stress the word difficult because I know what it means to her. Annabeth used to worry all the time and never wanted to be labeled as such. She saw what happened to Katherine Heigl, Sharon Stone, Mike Meyers… It was always career suicide, and once you got a bad rep in the film and television business, that sort of stuff stuck with you forever.
“What happened to you?” Annabeth asks. I can’t tell if she’s horrified or impressed. Maybe both.
“I grew up,” I state firmly. I gesture to the golf-cart and the PA seated behind the wheel. “Get on, or you can walk. Up to you.”
* * *
It’s really fascinating getting to watch a movie being filmed in real time. I’m surprised by how many takes they have to do. It’s not that Annabeth is messing up the lines or taking direction poorly. She’s actually a very capable actress —if an insufferable one, but I tell myself I’m biased. They have to do at least ten different takes to adjust for a variety of things: issues with sound capture, problems with the focus puller, pausing briefly to readjust the key light because it’s blowing out Annabeth’s already pale complexion.
And leading the whole team is Hunter.
Every one of his decisions is succinct and clear. He doesn’t like to twiddle his thumbs and wait for someone to tell him what to do. Hemakesthe rules, he gives the orders. Hunter has three different cameras —all absurdly large and expensive looking— pointed at Annabeth in three different angles to save time. Watching him is a masterclass in directing, and I don’t even have to pay a dime to learn.
I’m seated next to him at video village —which is what they call the area full of review monitors for people like the director, focus puller, line producer, and other important video assistants stay while they film, review, and then move on to the next take. I keep quiet, too enthralled with my front-row experience to Hunter’s directing to notice much else.
“Cut!” he shouts. He’s got a microphone in hand, synced up to speakers placed all around the set. “Check the gate.”
“Gate’s clean!” Charlie shouts back. He’s manning the biggest of the cameras.
