Page 34 of One Life to Loathe

I took a shower that was twice as long as I would normally bother with. Then I grabbed my call sheet and the script pages for today’s scenes. There were only three. I was hoping I would get away with not filming with Sam—that would allow my friend mindset to really set in, like in cement—but all three of my scenes were with her today.

Of course they were.

I was grumpy when I hit the hotel restaurant. I ordered poached eggs and toast, opting to stay away from greasy hash browns and bacon even though my emotional hangover was demanding them. Then I focused on the script.

Learning lines was never difficult for me. Never. It was something that came easily to me, and given my upbringing, that was rare for me to be able to say. I lagged in math and science,but my verbal and memorization skills were off the charts. That was only one of the reasons I embraced being an actor.

The money and accolades didn’t hurt either. I could make enough off a low budget action movie to fund my lifestyle—which wasn’t much—for a year. I wanted bigger roles, better paydays, but I would have to work myself up to that.

I was lost in thought, committing today’s scenes to memory, when a shadow appeared over the script. When I looked up, I wasn’t surprised to find Sam standing over me. Her smile was sunny despite how much she’d imbibed the previous evening, and she sat next to me without invitation.

“Hey,friend,” she teased.

She seemed like she was in a good mood, as if she didn’t remember the sparks. How could she not remember the sparks? That was insulting. Those sparks had kept me up all night, but she looked happy and bright.

“Hangover?” I asked because I didn’t know what else to say.

“Actually, I drank a bottle of water, took an electrolyte packet, and downed some Advil. I feel pretty good. Although hungry.” She looked me up and down as one might a friend. “Have you already ordered?”

“Yeah, but they’re pretty quick here.”

“They are.” Sam hummed to herself as she tapped her fingers on the table.

The server appeared with a cup and poured her some coffee. Sam went with a full breakfast—eggs, hash browns, toast, and sausage links—and then turned back to me. “Are you seriously just learning your lines now?” She looked worried.

“I memorized the script for the first episode before I left,” I replied. “I’m just reminding myself. Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you.”

“I’m not worried about that,” she said quickly.

I didn’t believe her. “I’m going to give this my all. Today’s stuff is all indoors I notice. I guess that makes sense because I can’t film outside in the sun. That would make a vampire combust if I’m not mistaken.”

“I have one scene with Sylvia outside,” she replied. “Then I have three with you. All inside.”

“Yeah. I have lurky stuff I’m supposed to do later in the week. They’re not filming in order.”

“Do you prefer that?” She added cream to her coffee, and the way she kept readjusting herself on her chair told me that she was trying to keep the conversation light.

Well, that was fine. If she didn’t want to talk about the vibe, then I could pretend with the best of them. It wasn’t as if I wanted to have a huge discussion about the sparks. I just thought it would be better if we acknowledged them and then agreed to beat them into submission together.

I didn’t need to have a conversation about my feelings, though. That wasn’t necessary. It was completely superfluous to my life.

So how come I was getting more and more anxious when she talked about mundane things? What was up with that?

I shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter to me. Sometimes I find it easier to film in order, though. It helps me keep the story straight. That’s probably not important to what we’re doing.”

She made a face. “I happen to think everything that we’re doing here is important.”

I’d stepped in it. Again. “I didn’t mean it that way,” I said.

“What way did you mean it?” She sounded prim and proper now, nothing like herself. She was always warm and engaged when responding, even if I was being an ass.

“I just meant that we could keep track of the plot fairly easy.” I chose my words carefully. “Like … we don’t need to keep track of big reveals in a science fiction-type setting.”

“Uh-huh.” She didn’t look convinced.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” I insisted. “I just … I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

“Oh, I’m not insulted.” She sipped her coffee. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you actually don’t mean to offend people when you do stuff like this.”

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