Page 21 of Marisol Acts the Part
Dawn hums and nods, but I’m not sure if that means she knows what show I’m talking about. Instead of offering up any insight, she turns back to her script, ending the conversation abruptly.
“Cupcake?” I offer, going for a last-ditch attempt at saving this awkward interaction.
Dawn seems straight-up annoyed this time, grimacing at the box I push toward her like I’m offering her a platter of live squid. “No, thank you,” she says without a hint of a smile, and turns back to her script again.
Well, all right, then.
A few of the women seated to her left peek up from their scripts or phones, giving me and my cupcakes a glance before deciding I’m not worth engaging with. One even wrinkles hernose.
Since when are cupcakes considered so horribly offensive? I knew I should’ve stuck with doughnuts.
Before I can lick my wounds, gather my courage, and try again with someone who hopefully won’t shoot me down, the rest of the cast files in and Rune steps into the center of the ring of tables. Miles and Jamila quickly take their seats beside me, their cheeks flushed like they sprinted across the street to make it in time. Something churns in my gut as I watch them sharea knowing glance, shy smiles tugging at the corners of their lips as they set their scripts down on the table, Miles hiding his grin behind his coffee cup.
Seems like they’ve hit it off already. Which is good—great, even. Everyone’s life is easier when the cast gets along. The three months Lily and Posie were fighting with another one of our castmates about some misunderstanding involving a borrowed dress were torturous. I spent weeks running messages between them because they refused to actually speak face to face and had already blocked each other on their socials. Absolute nightmare. I’m still not sure what role Jamila will be playing in the show, but she’s bound to have a good chunk of it with Miles, considering he’s the lead. We’ll also probably have a couple scenes together.
So, yeah. This is totally cool and normal and I’m definitely not feeling weird about the way Miles is peeking at Jamila right now instead of paying attention to Rune.
Guess I’m one to talk. Continuing with my hypocrisy, I lean back slightly and linger on Jamila while Rune scans something on his phone and calls out to a PA to bring him his tea.
Jamila is more in her element here than she was in LA, I notice. Definitely more appropriately dressed for the weather, in a flowy white linen top tucked into a pair of wide-leg beige trousers. Her so-dark-brown-they’re-almost-black curls are neatly held up in a tortoise hair clip. Seems I’m not the only one who got highlights: ribbons of gold and mahogany run through the tongs of the clip, a mirror of her honey-colored eyes. Like at the audition, her lips part slightly as she reads quietly to herself. They’re glossy this time—her lips. Not that I’m looking at them. Just admiring the shade she went with, asoft, barely-there red that makes her brown skin pop. I linger on them for a moment longer than I should, gazing at the Cupid’s bow above her full upper lip and the plump natural curve of her lower.
Because I want to ask her what lip product she uses. That’sall.
“Welcome, everyone,” Rune announces with perfect timing, snapping me back to reality in time for me to turn away before Jamila can catch me staring. “It’s an honor to have you all on board for season two ofThe Limit,” he says with more enthusiasm than I would’ve thought he was capable of. “A few ground rules before we get started. As I’m sure you already know, we’re doing everything we can to prevent leaks. You’ll receive your scripts no more than forty-eight hours before filming, in a password-protected file that onlyyoushould be accessing. And if anyone else does, we’ll know. Don’t worry.”
A couple of people let out quiet chuckles while my heart rockets into my throat. We only have two days to learn our lines? We moved fast sometimes onAvalon Grove,but they always gave us at least a week to go over our scripts. I know we don’t have a ton of time to shoot the entire season to stay within budget constraints, but if I’m as heavily featured in the rest of the episodes as I am in the first one, I’ll definitely need more than two days to memorize everything.
Don’t panic,I tell myself and throw on a smile and nod along like everyone else. The whole reason I’m here is to push myself—to become a more well-rounded actor. If I don’t want this to be my last role in a true prestige drama, if I want to be respected in this industry, I’ll have to learn to adapt.
Rune runs through the rest of his unusually long list ofground rules. Some make sense: no removing props from set, keep phones on silent at all times, and no microwaving fish in the crafty microwave. Others are…unique. Like no helium balloons within fifty feet of set, or live animals of any variety—there goes any chance of bringing Bruiser to set withme.
“And one last thing,” Rune says after instructing the production coordinators to have pasta served only on Thursdays. “No brightly colored clothing on set, please. Neutrals or black. Bright colors trigger my migraines.”
His gaze flickers to me for the briefest flash of a second, his lips curling into a disgruntled frown. A jolt shoots through me like he’s stabbed me in the chest. It’s a subtle enough moment that no one except me should notice, the comment broad enough that it should be meant for everyone. But I’m the hot pink sore thumb in a sea of grays, blacks, and browns. I can feel the burn of a dozen eyes glancing over at me, my pink cardigan blaring as a fire engine’s siren. I’m not sure if the snickers to my right are real or if my brain is playing a cruel trick on me, but I hear them nonetheless.
Immediately, I regret letting Jerome talk me into wearing this bolder ensemble instead of the simple black tunic dress from Anthropologie I’d considered.
“Be yourself, bebesita,” he’d said as he brushed my hair over my shoulder, showing off the gold-platedMarisolnecklace Mom got me for my thirteenth birthday that I refuse to take off, even if it clashes with the rest of my ensemble. We spun around to gaze at our reflections in the vanity mirror in his bedroom, my cheeks rosy from the bit of blush I’d applied earlier. He held the cherry dress up against my collar, the color bringing a warmth to my lightly tanned skin wherethe tunic had washed me out. “They’ll have no choice but to love you.”
I should’ve known better. Should’ve insisted that I should wear something more unassuming than my usual bold style.
At least Rune puts me out of my misery. “Let’s get started,” he says with a clap of his hands and a stiff smile that feels like a belly laugh coming from someone like him.
The room is a flurry of chairs scraping on the stone floor, pages flipping, and final sips of coffee. Rune does the honors of reading the stage directions, grounding us in a teen boy’s messy bedroom, before Miles takes it away.
“It’s my fault,” he says, not full-on sobbing like the script calls for but layering his voice with a deep, wallowing sorrow.
“I promise it’s not,” Jamila assures him, her voice soft and sweet as she rests a hand on his back. “You know how much we all love you, right?”
They meet each other’s eyes, Rune’s voice a distant hum as the world melts away. So easily convincing the rest of us that they’re in love already. Honestly, I’d think this was real if I wasn’t at a table read.
I stiffen in my seat, squaring my shoulders and fixing my attention on my own script as I prepare for my first line.
“Are you done? Your mom’s asking for you,” I almost shout, adding a feigned knock on the door, interrupting Jamila’s and Miles’s characters’ intimate moment.
Miles clears his throat, turning back to his page while Jamila’s hand retreats back to her lap. “Y-yeah. Coming.”
I bite back a smirk, letting pride wash over me as Rune continues on to the next set of stage directions. Being a bitch doesn’t feel so bad.
