Page 57 of Off Script

“Ah, so your alleged girlfriend abandons you, and now you’re bursting to hear what’s been going on with little old me?”

Angela’s caustic tone ended up being no match for Tristan’s own resentment at the mention of Jada. He’d been trying to push their phone call from the other day out of his mind but he was getting real sick of having to cover up for Jada’s absence on his own. Not to mention the accusations she’d thrown around on the phone, almost as if she believed the article’s claim about him and Angela being back together.

“She hasn’t abandoned me. She’s at a work thing right now, but trust me, our relationship is as wonderful as ever.”

“Whatever, Tristan.” Angela attempted to dismiss him but Tristan pierced her with a penetrating look.

“Haven’t you ever heard of fake news, Angie? The real question is: Where have you been getting such wild misinformation?”

All ears, Tristan waited for Angela to reply with a spiteful but hopefully revealing remark but it never came. Ren interrupted the moment, clapping his hands to get the stars’ attention.

“Okay, lovebirds, are you ready to dive into this?”

Belatedly switching back into work mode, Tristan and Angela both nodded. Ren then laid out the scenario for them. Since this was a romantic scene, there wasn’t a lot of wordy dialogue. This part of the film would be more about the emotion behind the characters’ actions as well as strategic camera angles.

As they began, all Tristan could think about was their previous conversation, with Angela’s comments about Jada sticking in his mind. It may have been Angela reaching for him, kissing him, but his thoughts strayed to a different, more passionate moment. The heated make-out session in Jada’s kitchen drifted to the forefront. How Jada had felt against him, how every touch from her set him on fire. Then her torn expression afterward, her denial of him and wanting space, then shouting at each other over a crappy cell line.

“Cut!” Ren’s order sliced through his internal chaos. “Tristan—”

“I know. My head wasn’t in it. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I know these scenes can be tough but try and stay in the moment,” Ren said.

Tristan followed his guidance, taking a few deep breaths to re-center. Banishing all thoughts of his complicated love life, he focused on playing Diego. A man who, despite the tricky ups and downs of time travel, had a much simpler love story in the end. He was overcoming all obstacles to be with his soul mate. In this case, Tristan wished life imitated art. Finding The One should be as straightforward as it was in the movies. You stumbled upon that special person, beat the odds, and won true love.

Reflecting on this warm and fuzzy idea helped ground Tristan back into the present. As Angela moved to straddle him, he looked deep into her eyes, envisioning the sought-after Claire over the difficult actress’s real persona. Their lips met, their limbs entangled in a supposedly passionate embrace, and Tristan went with it much more convincingly. After numerous takes of being intertwined with Angela—in a few moves that would have made a contortionist jealous—Ren released them for the day.

In the process of changing back into his regular clothes and gathering his belongings from his trailer, Tristan momentarily lost track of Angela. But when he headed to the parking lot, Angela was a few steps ahead of him, tapping away at her phone. Tristan sped up to match her pace, hoping he could gain new intel, but Angela stopped abruptly as his height cast a shadow over her.

“Do you mind? Seriously, what is going on with you today, Tristan?”

Damn it. Tristan was turning out to be a supershitty spy. Throwing up his hands, he abandoned all pretenses.

“What’s going on is I’ve got a feeling you’re not texting your next boy toy.”

“So, you admit to being a boy toy?” Angela snickered.

“My pointisI bet you and the Tea Twins go way back. How many lies have you been feeding them about me?”

Angela sighed. “Despite our tête–à–tête earlier, I do have other things going on, Tristan. My dad is on my ass about this movie and about . . .”

“About?” He prompted her. A flicker of embarrassment passed over her face, but then she squared her shoulders and looked at him defiantly.

“He wants me to go to AA. I told him that famous people can’t just walk into church basements to bond with crack addicts over stale donuts. But he said he knows, like, an AAA.”

“AAA?”

“A-list Alcoholics Anonymous. Very exclusive and private.”

Bypassing the problematic crack addicts line, Tristan’s heart softened. It had taken his dad years to finally give AA a try. Behind the snobbery, this was a big step for her. “That’s good to hear, Angie.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just saying, get over yourself. Stop stalking me and my phone activity and call your supposed bae, okay?”

With that, she waltzed off to her car. While Tristan would not be taking her advice about Jada, he did check his phone. He rarely used his cell on shoots, even on breaks, because he hated the idea that bad news would come in right before a scene. Tragic alerts at the end of the workday weren’t fun either. And as he saw the missed voice mail, he knew this message was the type of ticking time bomb he’d always dreaded. Pressing Play, he held the phone to his ear, and a woman’s familiar voice came over the line.

“Hi, Tristan. It’s me. I know it’s been a long time, and I know you told me not to call, but I’m going to be in L.A. soon. I was hoping I could see you. Just let me know if that works for you. If not . . . sorry.”

That was it. This short little exchange was all that Tristan’s mom left him. Entirely vague and infuriating, the whole thing made Tristan want to hurl the damn phone on the ground. When was “soon”? A day, a week? And why the sudden need to see him? Also, the whole casualness of her tone. “It’s me.” That was the kind of phrase you used with a best friend you saw or talked to every other day. Not in a situation like this.

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