Page 16 of Hot Set

“With this many of us working on it, we’re bound to figure out something great,” Alex said.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “We’ll figure it out.”

Alex smiled brightly, and my throat went dry. My heart skipped a couple of beats. I’d been charmed by that smile when I met Alex at the bar. When Alex smiled, it wasn’t a nervous little upward tick of his lips or awkwardly close-mouthed. He smiled with his whole face, and his eyes brightened. I thought of saying something about how nice he looked, but he might take that the wrong way. I didn’t want him to think I was overstepping a boundary. But there was one thing I could do, and that was to make it my mission to always make Alex smile. He remarked, “This might even be for the best. What if the movie is betterbecauseof this setback? It might be.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It might be.”

I hoped so, anyway, because at the moment I had no idea how I was going to pull this off. Scott, dark-haired and red-faced,waved at me from across the set. There really wasn’t any way to make this situation better. We were so screwed, and Scott and I were in for a long night.

Chapter six

Alex

Brandon lived in the most spacious apartment I’d ever seen. But then, maybe that’s because I’d always lived in cramped dorms or studio apartments falling to pieces. I’d expected his space to be colorful and eccentric, but it was surprisingly sparse. It felt like this apartment belonged in one of the home magazines my mom really liked looking at.

“Welcome,” Brandon said, waving me in, “To my humble abode.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

There were two sofas, pristinely white and pushed together, so they seemed to form a singular L-shaped sofa. I followed Brandon to the vacant end of one. Already, a crowd had gathered and sprawled out in Brandon’s living room. Seth and Bioncia were crammed on one end of the sofa, talking in hushed tones, occasionally punctuated by Seth’s eccentric hand gestures. There was Celeste, chewing on the tip of a pen, and curled up nearby in an armchair. Stretched on the carpet near Celeste,Scott was scribbling something on the top sheet of a pile of papers; he was rewriting in earnest, while everyone else tried to piece things together. Script pages were spread all over the sofas, the coffee table, and the floor. I plopped onto the sofa and looked at some of it, my eyes skimming over dialogue. Apparently, the film now featured a time travelling peacock.

Brandon sat beside me and threw his head back against the sofa cushions. I glanced at him. From where I sat, Brandon’s face was highlighted very nicely by the light above him. It was something I’d have really played up if I were filming him. Some yellow and orange highlighter would’ve really made his cheekbones pop, although they were already impressive.

I returned my gaze to the papers before me. Why was I even thinking about how good he looked? That was weird, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t be thinking all that much about how Brandon looked. But he was a nice-looking man. That was all. And as a make-up artist, it only made sense that I’d look at him a bit.

Except that I didn’t look at most men the way I looked at Brandon. I frowned and tried to puzzle that out. It wasn’t possible for me to like him; desire him. But when Brandon’s arm brushed against mine, I felt a sharp, strangely warm shiver spread across my skin.

“Well,” Brandon said, “Grab a pen and feel free to join in. You want a beer?”

For a few seconds, my thoughts were so cluttered that I forgot how to speak. My heart seemed to be pounding too quickly and too loudly, and I felt as though I was circling around some profound realization, very much involving Brandon. “No, thank you,” I said, swiping a red pen off the table. “Is there a method to all this?”

“Kind of,” Brandon replied. “Our goal is to go through the remaining pages and either change or remove every instance of Caitlyn’s character.”

Right. Focus on the task at hand. That would make my life easier. I shook my head, as if the physical movement could force my thoughts into some kind of order.

“But,” Seth cut in, “We have to make sure that we keep in mind the scenes we’ve already filmed.”

“Right,” Brandon said.

“I wanted to just replace Caitlyn with a different actress in every scene,” Seth said, “But Brandon said I couldn’t.”

“Because it’s a bad idea,” Brandon said.

Seth snorted. “Are you kidding me? It’s a great idea. You could claim you were being artsy and submit it to all those film festivals you’ve been talking about.”

“Seth clearly doesn’t know the difference between making art and being cheap,” Brandon said.

I smiled and laughed. Brandon tilted his head, reading over the script I held in my hands. My breath caught as he leaned close to me, and I tried to focus instead on the scene at hand. The scene was outlandish, involving some knight who’d come through a time machine and was plundering a museum. There was mention of Sherlock Holmes banging Queen Elizabeth. Whatwasthis movie?

Brandon reached forward and scrawled in blue ink across the page. As he did, he perched the script on my leg; I could feel the faintest pricks of his pen through my jeans. He was sitting close, and I wasn’t sure if he realized it. I tried childishly not to look at him, as if not looking at him could make the situation less…

Less something. Less what, awkward, maybe? Less butterflies in the stomach and warmth? Yeah, maybe that.

I shifted my weight without moving away.

Brandon had left a note for Seth’s character, Wesson, to mention the tragic death of Caitlyn’s character, Morgana.

“For continuity,” Brandon said.

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