Page 34 of Marisol Acts the Part
A crackly voice cuts off the girls before they can respond, instructing all passengers to prepare for takeoff. “We have to go, but we’ll send you pictures once we’re settled!” Lily promises, passing the phone off to Posie.
“We miss you already! Love you, bye!”
I go to give them the most enthusiastic wave I can muster, but the call ends before I can even finish raising my hand. The screen goes black, and I’m left with a new sinking feeling. I’m happy for Lily and Posie, that hasn’t changed, but I’m suddenly a lot less confident in my own life plan. Here I am with hair I hate, working with a director I’m not convinced likes me, to prove a point to my ex-boyfriend, when I could be jetting off to Paris to shoot a show with my best friends.
Suddenly, being petty doesn’t feel like the best idea.
Before I can linger on that thought, a new notification lights up my phone again. An Instagram notification that I never would’ve expected.
Jamila El Amrani (@jamilaela)started following you.
Chapter 10
Rune loves my new hair. Which is great news for my career and terrible news for my self-esteem.
“It’s perfect,” he says in a low whisper, cupping my cheeks and staring deeply into my eyes, like he’s trying to communicate with me telepathically. I fight the urge to squirm, breathing a sigh of relief when Esther clears her throat and he finally releases me.
“Let’s reset,” he calls out to the crew, a signal to get everything prepped for the backlog of scenes I need to reshoot now that my hair is the “correct” color, and all of the new scenes I need to shoot to stay on schedule.
Just my luck, Rune changes up the script yet again. My brain feels as scrambled as a plate of eggs within the first hour of shooting after adjusting to the many curveballs he’s thrown at me.
At least I don’t seem alone in my annoyance. My fictional mom appears ruffled by Rune’s constant tweaks to the script, even though I’m getting the brunt of the edits. By the time we reshoot everything, I’m so exhausted from the rage I have to exert while in character that I could nap for hours.
“You can break for lunch,” Rune announces, waving us off absentmindedly before turning back to his marked-up-to-hell script.
The crew rushes to set up for the next scene, and I stretch my body until it starts popping like a sheet of Bubble Wrap.
“Whoa,” a voice behind me says, so unexpected I can’t help but gasp like a damsel in distress, whipping around with a hand pressed to my racing heart. Miles holds his arms out, as if he’s ready to catch me if I faint. “My bad, I, um…” He trails off, his cheeks flushing. Impressive, considering the pounds of stage makeup we both have on right now. “I was caught off guard by the new hair. You…don’t even look like you anymore.”
“Yeah,” I reply sheepishly, tugging at the end of a lock of hair, still unable to process that the platinum blond strands actually belong to me and not a well-styled wig. “It’ll take some getting used to.”
An awkward silence settles between us. There was a time when I used to marvel at how comfortable silence felt with Miles. How being with him felt so joyful on its own that I didn’t need fun or adventure or excitement. He was enough.
How could so much change in so little time?
Miles’s lips part when a PA appears at his side, shuffling him toward set so he can take his mark for the next scene.
“I’ll talk to you later?” he calls out over his shoulder while being swept away.
“Totally,” I respond.
Welp. There goes all the emotional energy I had left. Grabbing a bagel from crafty, I head out of the building and toward the row of trailers lined up on the block outside. I haven’t had a chance to check out my trailer since they first set them up earlier this week, but I’m not expecting much. OnAvalon Grove,six of us were crammed into one RV-sized space for all four seasons. It was basically a place to crash, gossip, and eat in between scenes. With all of us coming in and out like a revolving door throughout the day, and no shortage of drama on- and off-screen, it was more like a constant slumber party than a home away from home.
Delia assured me that I’d be sharing with only one other person this time around. Hopefully it’s not Dawn, though. She hasn’t spoken directly to me since our weird exchange the last time I was on set, but I can’t imagine she’d be too thrilled about having me as her trailer-mate, even if we barely ever see each other.
I walk into the trailer at the end of the block, my name printed in block letters on the left-hand side of the door, expecting to find a similar setup to my last trailer experience.
Definitely not a half-dressed Jamila.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, whipping around and covering my eyes after Jamila let out a quiet gasp. I barely saw anything other than the strap of a black bra on her otherwise bare shoulder. OurAvalon Grovetrailer was so cramped that walking in on someone in their underwear—and sometimesless—was a regular occurrence. So much so that I’ve clearly forgotten the rules of common decency.
“It—it’s fine,” Jamila stammers out, evidently as flustered as I was by my interruption. “I’m, uh…dressed now.”
Cautiously, I peek back at her to confirm that, yes, she’s fully dressed. “Sorry, I’m used to sharing a trailer with a bunch of people. We gave up knocking after the first few weeks.”
Jamila shrugs, tugging at a loose thread on the sleeve of her white cotton V-neck. “Guess that’s something I should get used to,” she replies, gesturing to the expanse of the trailer.
Following the path of her hand, I finally get to scan the rest of the double-wide trailer. It’s twice the size of my last trailer. Beige leather seats line the wall behind a white dining table. Deep on the opposite end of the trailer I spot a flat-screen TV mounted to the wall, beside a pull-out couch with several throw pillows. Opposite the dining table is a kitchenette with a coffee maker, a basket of fruit and protein bars, and a mini fridge stocked with at least three cans each of every variation of Coke, Pepsi, and Sprite. And even a couple of Dr Peppers. Now,that’sluxury.
