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It felt like a trick question and I hesitated, unsure of what he was looking for.
“What the hell are we supposed to do now?”
Even I heard the awkwardness in my voice. I sounded like a seventh-grader who was reading her lines straight from the page.
Wyatt stood up, leaving the script on the table. He took a couple of steps backwards and used the space in the trailer like it was a stage. His presence filled all of it.
“You’re frustrated and hot. There are flies buzzing around you. You’re attracted to this guy, but you’re also worried that he’s going to sabotage your career. And that makes you angry.” He stood with his feet apart and planted both hands on his butt, so his elbows stuck out behind him, and glared at me. “What thehellare we supposed to do now?”
I clapped and Wyatt gave a bow.
“Your turn.” He slid into the seat next to me and gestured for me to stand up.
There was no way I could make such a simple line sound as sexy or powerful as he had. Yet I had to try. I stood up and planted my legs apart, just as he had, and placed my hands on my hips.
“Don’t be afraid to stick out your breasts,” Wyatt instructed. “It might not be the most P.C. thing to say, but as a lead actress, at least fifty percent of your job is to look hot.”
I felt my cheeks grow warm again as I moved my hands to my butt and pulled my shoulders back. He thought I looked hot? Wyatt’s eyes were on my chest and it made my heart thump so fast I wouldn’t have been surprised if he could see it pulsing through Daisy’s peasant top.
He gave a nod and returned his eyes to mine.
“Now say it.”
I was still distracted by Wyatt’s gaze. “What thehellare we supposed to do now?” I asked, copying his phrasing.
“Imagine the flies in this town,” Wyatt said. “Imagine your boss at the conference, thinking you’re a flake who decidednot to show up. Imagine being stuck with this man that you’re attracted to, but you can’t bring yourself to say it.”
I licked my lips. That last part felt a lot like how I felt at this very moment, especially when Wyatt’s eyes dipped down to my chest again.
“What thehellare we supposed to do now?”
Wyatt clapped for me, just as I had for him.
“That’s more like it!”
I sank into the bench seat feeling relieved, but the sensation was short-lived. Wyatt ran his fingertip down the page and let it settle on Daisy’s next line.
“Now, how about this one?”
That afternoon,after we’d finished filming, Allan gave me my own copy of the script and instead of going home, I spent hours reading it in my trailer with a highlighter in my hand. Wyatt had advised me to read every line closely and think about Daisy’s intentionsbehindthe words. What did she want? Which words received emphasis? What was she doing with her body? Whatwasn’tshe saying?
Like in the line where Daisy said, “I don’t own a car, and evenIknow you should check the oil and water”, what shewasn’tsaying was just as important:I still blame you for the way our relationship ended.
It was exhausting.
I scribbled notes in the margins, second-guessed myself several times and crossed out what I’d written, only to rewrite it again.
At twenty past ten, my phone beeped, and I picked it up, grateful for the distraction. It was Marina, the woman who’d sent my contract to me before I started working as an extra.
Hi Kyla, she’d written.Congratulations on your new role in Pushing Daisy. I’ve attached a new contract for you to sign and the shooting schedule, plus information about your pay and conditions. Please let me know if you have any questions and return the contract to me at your earliest convenience. Marina.
I clicked the lid back on the highlighter and opened the attachments. The first one was the contract, which looked straightforward enough and I could print it when I got home. The second was my pay and conditions. The entire document was written in legal language and I skimmed over it. Everything seemed to be covered: costuming, makeup, working hours, and the production company’s expectations for my behavior on set. I kept scrolling, skimming through the clauses, and was about to close the document when I reached the section about pay.
My heart stopped when I saw the number. It was more money than I’d ever made in an entire year — forget that, it was more money than I’d earned in my entirelife— and I’d get it for doing only six weeks’ worth of work. I’d receive a portion of it up front, another portion when the movie wrapped, and the rest eight weeks after the movie was released, once my promotional duties had ended.
“What the fuck?” I breathed as I counted the zeros. Was Brooke crazy? How couldanyonegive up this kind of salary?
My imagination went into overdrive as I thought about what that money could buy me. A new car, obviously. A better house for dad. I could get him a full-time housekeeper if he wanted it. I could do any college degree I wanted, and pay for it up-front.
