Page 30 of Steamy on Set

It didn’t stop me when I moved to Paris to go to Parsons. It had no say when I backpacked across Europe as a solo female. It was nowhere to be seen when I jumped head first into a battle with Errol. How could I let it stop me now?

“I’m going to be a movie star!”

We both start to scream as she pops the cork on the bubbly. As the liquid shoots into the air, we burst into a fit of giggles.

Chapter 12

Pullingupthedrivewayof the location Errol texted me last night, I realize it’s a house. The contemporary style of the steel front windows shine under the sunlight. Parking by the garage I see two cars inside, making me wonder if this is his house. When he opens the door in sweats and a tight tee, he seems too comfortable for it to be anything else.

“Hey,” he says, “come in.”

Stepping into a foyer, the walls are lined with photos of tan and brown faces in various posses. I try not to stare as I unlace my running shoes.

“Is this your house?” The question comes out accusatory as I try to ease the anxiety that bubbles up at the thought of being in his space.

“Yes, why?” He tilts his head, waiting for me to answer.

“Oh no, it’s just nice.” I try to smile as I say the words, but the gesture is so foreign in his presence I feel like it reads as fake.

He looks me up and down, his lips puckering while he brings me into the livingroom.

“We’re going to do some character work in here.”

Taking in the space, I’m surprised by how it is arranged. Despite the fact that the outside is monochromatic and modern, his personal style reads more cozy and bright. Colorful artwork hangs on the walls, bringing life into the gray painted space. A shelf full of records sits adjacent to a brown leather couch with a forest green blanket hanging on it. Books are scattered on tables, some open, like they were left just a minute ago. Overall, it feels lived-in and welcoming, like a warm hug or cup of tea.

“Okay, so let’s get right into it.” He plops down onto the sofa. “I want to break down how I see the character and what I expect.”

Without invitation I join him, sitting far enough away that I can turn and look at him.

He jumps right into explaining the inspiration for Fiona and her role in the movie. Breaking down the part she plays in the development of the main character, he highlights all the ways Dante’s and Fiona’s interactions forward the narrative of the story. He talks with his hands, expressing his excitement in the lift and fall of his gestures. As I listen to his description of her, I seek out the similarities between us. I don’t have to look hard as he begins to point them out.

“Fiona is confident, like you. Full of the belief that she deserves good things. She is also fiery, outspoken, and direct with her words. You would never look at this woman and haveto guess at her wants and needs. She tells you with the way she moves, speaks, and dresses. She acts like she is privileged, and I think this is what you can bring to the character.”

Having started off so well, he ends on a note that rings too close to the sound of the word entitled.

“Fiona is a plus size, Black, woman, how exactly is she privileged?” I cross my arms, trying to hold back my simmering anger.

“She isn’t, but she acts like she is. She’s the type of person who is demanding of everything she wants.”

Feeling like we are not just talking about the character, I glare at him.

“And what is wrong with that?”

The corner of his mouth tilts up, before he bites his bottom lip.

“Nothing per se, but it’s just not how people think she would behave.”

Wondering if he’s one of these people, I try to tie together the pieces of how this man created this woman.

“So you’re saying I’m just like this character?”

He nods eagerly.

“And yet, having written someone like this, you had a problem with the way I act.”

He winces and lowers his head to think on what I said.

“Yes and no.”

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