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“Everything okay?” Eli asks, startling me as I stare at the blinking green light on my phone.
“Yeah. Fine. They talked to Celia apparently and knew where I was.”
“Does that mean it’s time for bed then?”
“It does, and we both need sleep. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
“As long as you’re in my arms, I’m going to sleep like a baby,” he says, moving to stand in front of me, his hands outstretched, offering to help me up.
Filmingon location is never easy. Especially when you have a non-compliant actress. One who isn’t willing to play the role she was hired to do. It’s even harder when you have real people wandering around your shoot location.
Interested in what’s going on. Or worse … unaware that they’re in the way.
We’ve had no less than a dozen shots ruined by random people walking through the scenes, showing up in the background, or carrying on their conversations and interrupting. Celia has the attention span of a squirrel. All it takes is one noise, one movement, and she’s distracted.
Today’s big scene, one where Celia is expected to stomp grapes, has been the most challenging of all the days we’ve spent here. We’re on take number twenty-two. Between each take Celia has to get cleaned up while the scene is reset. I’m about at my wit’s end, ready to pull my hair out, when I notice her glaring in my direction.
Stomping over to where she’s standing while her legs are being wiped clean of the mushed grapes, I level her with my stare. As soon as I come to a stop in front of her, the girl currently attending to her mess looks up, catches sight of the expression on my face, and scurries off.
“Why so angry?” Celia asks with a laugh.
“How long have you been doing this?” I don’t bother to wait for her to answer. I know the answer; I’m aware of her resume. “Shouldn’t you be better at your job after six movies, even if you weren’t the star? Aren’t you tired of playing the sidekick? Small roles that barely give you any lines? The barista in a coffee shop. The best friend who only appears in ten scenes. I swear it’s like you don’t want to make this your career sometimes,” I ask, waving my hands in the air.
Celia takes a step back, her glare still focused on me but softening as my words start to sink in.
“If you were serious about this, you’d be nailing these scenes. Then again, I doubt you give two shits about this movie. What you don’t understand is that this is it for you. If you can’t handle this role, no one is going to ever give you a shot at a lead again. This industry is cut-throat. Didn’t you learn anything from working with some of the amazing actresses on set? Their dedication is what carries them. Dedication to their craft. To the project they’re working on. If you want to shine as bright as them you need to buckle down, play the part, and get the job done. This may be your only chance to shine. Your one chance at the spotlight. To make a name for yourself. To open doors in this industry. You’d think you’d want to make the most of this opportunity before it slips through your fingers.”
Her mouth hangs open as I wait for her to respond. When she doesn’t, I storm past her toward the villas we’re staying in. I need a moment to myself to let my temper cool down. They have two more scenes to film after this one and then it’s a wrap for Napa Valley. If Ansen needs me, he’ll call. He won’t like that he has to hunt me down but right now I don’t care. If I stay on set any longer, I’ll blow a fuse.
Pacing the length of Eli’s tiny living space, my phone clutched in my hand, I focus on my breathing in an attempt to calm myself down. Deep breath in, out, repeat.
One.
She’s a bitch. She’s not worth holding on to this negativity. This anger.
Two.
I have more important things in my life than dealing with her. It’s not even part of my job.
Three.
It’s almost over. Two months.
After thirty minutes of pacing, deep breathing, and coming up with reasons why I need to calm down, I give up. Plopping down on the couch, I pull the soft blanket that’s hanging over the back, covering my bare legs, and text the girls.
My hate is all-consuming. Maybe bitching about it to the two people in this world who understand me the most will help.
ME: Start digging.
HAYDEN: I have the shovels on standby. Who are we burying?
HAYDEN: Wait!
HAYDEN: Let me guess … Celia?
She’s a little too eager to help me bury a body which means she’s probably been day drinking with one of her clients. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it usually leads to entertaining text messages and me praying I don’t have to fly to Vegas to bail her out of jail.
And let me tell you … it takes a lot to get thrown in jail in Vegas. Drunk and disorderly is a regular occurrence. If they tried to put every drunk asshole in jail, they’d run out of space in a single night.
