Page 9 of Hot Set

“Well, no,” I meekly protested. “To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about it until you asked what I do. I don’t know that I thought about it at all. It just jumped out.”

Brandon chuckled. “Well, I don’t see why not,” he said, “If you’ve got the stuff. You’ve done shows and stuff, right?”

“Sure,” I replied. “Quite a few of them—Othello, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Heathers—I worked on every production my university put on while I was there.”

“That sounds good,” Brandon said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ll admit I don’t know much about make-up. I’ve hired some pretty questionable people before. So that would be something that you would want to talk to Bioncia about. If she likes you, you’re in. I don’t have a problem with it.”

I nodded and tried to hide how nervous I was. Sure, I was good at make-up and had experience with it, but the thought of having aprofessionaldecide whether or not I had any skills was nerve-wracking at best.

“Are you good with gore?” Brandon asked. “We can always use some extra decaying flesh on the set.”

My laughter sounded fake. “Definitely. We did a stage production ofPride and Prejudice with Zombies.”

Brandon’s face lit up. “Fabulous. My friend Mark. His boyfriend is really into the horror genre; that’s something he would really enjoy.”

“What about you?” I asked.

Brandon hummed and shrugged. “I like horror just fine, but it’s mostly that exploitation, over the top niche that I really like, not necessarily the horror, but the films you watch that are so bad they’re good. That kind of thing.Sharknado, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes…”

“Sherlock Holmes?”

Brandon grinned and leaned forward. “The climax of the movie involves Sherlock Holmes in a hot air balloon facingoff against his brother, who is piloting a giant, fire-breathing mechanical dragon over London, while John Watson races to the palace to try and save Queen Victoria from this robotic maid. It’s terrible in the most glorious way.”

“Wow.”

I knew little about Sherlock Holmes, but I was quite sure there weren’t mechanical dragons involved.

“That’s part of why I want my film to be so bizarre,” Brandon said. “It’s a zombie film, but it’s also a comedy, a time travel story, and a vampire romance.”

“That sounds really great,” I replied. “Creative.”

It would probably be destroyed by critics, but it sounded like the sort of film that would be so stupid it’s just ridiculously fun to watch.

“I think so, too,” Brandon said, his eyes crinkling around the edges, “But we’ll wait and see. And when we get back to set, I’ll introduce you to Bioncia. She’s really great. If you’re as good as I think you are, you won’t have anything to worry about. I promise.”

I forced a smile and hoped both that I was as good as Brandon thought I was and that Bioncia was…merciful.

Bioncia was a short, African American woman with short, pink hair. She wore jeans and a t-shirt along with paint stained Keds. Her appearance was comforting. It was casually millennial. A little Hot Topic and a little indie artist. She looked me up and down. “Is that your make-up?” she asked, pointing to the black case I pulled behind me.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, then,” Bioncia replied.

“I think you’ll be impressed,” Brandon said brightly.

Brandon had taken up residence behind me, brushing off several comments and questions along the way to the make-up station. Evidently, there had been some sort of mix-up between which scenes were being filmed and what costumes were going with them. Brandon didn’t seem too concerned.

“You said that about the last one, too,” Bioncia said, “Because you met her outside some French cosmetics store, and she told you she was famous on the Social-Gram.”

“Well…” Brandon trailed off.

“We’ll get you an extra, and you’ll have thirty minutes to show us what you can do,” Bioncia said.

Thirty minutes wasn’t much time at all, but working on stage make-up had taught me the importance of being able to do a lot in a little bit of time. I nodded. “Got it,” I said.

Bioncia called over a pale, blonde woman, who immediately sat in one of the leather-clad stools before the mirrors and shelves of the make-up station. I took a deep breath and pulled out my supplies. I should have practiced more before I came to do this. My mom had humored me and let me do some things to her face—some creative eyeshadow, some heavy contouring—but nothing excessive; nothing like what Bioncia would expect.

I began hesitantly, drawing nervous lines of pale white make-up across the extra’s face, trying to decide how I would divide her up. But then, the more I worked, the easier it was. There was no clock to keep time, so I tried to work as quickly as possible. I glued on latex and coated it with make-up, creating sores and blood over the woman’s smooth, pale skin. I could do this.

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