Page 18 of The Fake Family Deal

“Action,” calls Simon. The clapperboard snaps shut — and I freeze.

How the hell do I make a sandwich?

I’ve got to pull myself together. I know how to do this. Of course I do. Even Ellis could make a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich if he tried.

“Could you fetch me the peanut butter, hon?” I say robotically, trying desperately not to look into the camera lens. In our briefing, that was the one thing they told us absolutely not to do to.

They want to create a sense of really being with us in the room rather than an audience knowing that we know we’re filming. Or at least that’s what Simon said, anyway. I don’t know enough about television to make any claims about what his directorial style is, but it sounds plausible enough to me.

“Okay. Where is it?” says Ellis, just as awkward as me.

I grit my teeth. “I don’t know. You put it away.”

“Oh. I can’t remember where it is.”

“Where do you usually put jars?” I ask, now not only feeling awkward, but also frustrated at the fact that Ellis clearly doesn’t know his own house.

He looks around frantically. “Uh, probably in this cupboard,” he says, flinging open a cupboard at random.

“Oh, no. Okay, all right, stop, stop. Cut,” says Simon, butting in. “Do you want to try that again, but be slightly more natural this time? Just act like you usually would at home. You don’t have to do anything special just because we’re here. Just act exactly like normal.”

He stares us down, waiting for us to say something. When we don’t, he just sighs. “Ready?” We both nod hesitantly. “All right, action.”

I open up a loaf of bread and unscrew the lid of the jelly. Rerunning our earlier conversation, I ask again, “Where is the peanut butter?” but perhaps a little too harshly.

Ellis shrugs, glaring at me. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” says Simon, cutting us off again. “We’ve gone a little too far in the opposite direction now. Why don’t we aim for something in the middle of awkward and whatever that just was, all right? Aren’t you guys supposed to be married?”

Ellis and I share a long look of discomfort.

The next two takes don’t get much better, and eventually Simon loses his patience with the kitchen and shepherds us into the living room to see if pretending to exist in there is going to be any easier. Simon scatters a few of Lila’s toys on the floor to give us something to talk about, but it ends up much the same as in the kitchen. In an argument.

I pick up all the toys and put them away while Ellis sits on the sofa and watches me in silence until I snap at him for not helping.

Simon’s sour expression gets worse and worse as we go on. “Okay. Clearly we need to get you two used to the cameras. Maybe then we’ll get something usable.”

It’s almost nice of him to still be giving us the benefit of the doubt, because we definitely do not deserve it. The fact is, neither of us really wants to be doing this at all.

“All right, why don’t you both sit on the sofa, yeah?”

We both do so, not asking any more questions, an uncomfortable bubble of air acting as a barrier between us.

Simon forges on with his plan. “I’m sure you’ve all read the production outline, but I propose we skip ahead to the introductions. That way you can sit down and relax. It’s more or less scripted, so you don’t have to do anything except just talk, all right? You got that?”

“Yes,” says Ellis bitterly.

I squeeze my lips together so I don’t laugh. This whole scenario is so ridiculous that it’s almost funny.

Here I am with a billionaire, and we’ve finally found something he’s bad at.

Everyone shuffles into place around us. The lighting guy rigs up a spotlight to shine down on us, and the sound crew get into position. Like this, we’re exposed, illuminated in the center of the room like everyone’s about to start pointing fingers at us in judgment.

And, to my surprise, despite the copious interviews and think pieces, despite being a king of the media and always looking so suave and collected, even in candid shots, Ellis looks just as out of place as I do.

I guess that doing interviews, and cameras being in your house while you pretend to have a wife and child are not exactly the same ball game.

Simon calls for quiet and then for action.

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