Page 25 of Marisol Acts the Part
By the time my next scene comes around, I’m feeling less on edge. Miles and Jamila give me whispered words of encouragement as I head back onto set, the two of them slinking off to go grab food during their break, while Dawn, wrapped for the day, heads toward the exit. Sure enough, Rune approaches me and the actress playing my mom once we’ve taken our marks, heavily marked-up script in hand. Only difference: I’m prepared.
There’s only so much I can do in the minuscule amount of time that he gives us, but at least I know what to expect. Iquickly scan the script and repeat the revised lines over and over until they start to erase the memory of the originals. I square my shoulders and bite back a smile as the lights go up. The crowd goes silent, and I prepare to completely blow them all away.
“Mom, you can’t—”
“Cut!” Rune calls out before I can even finish the line, and I realize with a chilling dread that I completely skipped the first five lines of the scene.
So much for blowing them all away.
“Marisol, your first line is ‘What are you doing here?’ ”
“Right, yes, so sorry,” I apologize at a rapid clip. My fictional mom gives me an odd look, and I focus my attention on a painting on the wall opposite her shoulder because facing her will only make my panic worse.
We reset and run the scene from the top.
“Mom, what’re you doing here?” I say, correctly this time.
My scene partner doesn’t even get to read her first line before Rune calls cut again. I bite back a groan of frustration, putting on my best polite expression when I turn to face him.
“Don’t say ‘Mom,’ ” he says so sharply it cuts straight through me. “We adjusted this.”
“O-of course.”Don’t say sorry.“So sorry.”
Dammit. A jellyfish has more spine than me.
Rune doesn’t respond to my apology, just twirls his hand in a gesture for us to get a move on. My partner doesn’t bother to hide her annoyance now. Thankfully, it suits the scene. All the nerves I worked to put aside during the break come flooding back, my hands trembling as we start the scene yet again.
“Mom, I—”
“CUT!” Rune shouts, and it takes every bit of strength I have not to burst into tears.
“I’m sorry, I need a minute to—”
“Esther!” Rune calls out for one of his various personal assistants. A petite girl with pin-straight black hair and an all-black ensemble to match appears at his side practically out of thin air, handing him an extra-large tea. He takes a disgruntled sip, the crease in his brow slackening once he’s swallowed.
Note to self: Tea calms the beast.
“Go practice lines with Marisol until she has them down perfectly.” He places enough emphasis on that last part for me to know that stumbling again isn’t an option.
Esther nods, gesturing for me to follow her to a back room while my scene partner rolls her eyes and heads back to her own seat. We pass the lunch setup on our way to an empty production office, and I spot Miles and Jamila sitting beside each other at a table laughing at Miles’s phone. Something in me twists uncomfortably watching them shift in closer, their heads pressed together as they smile for a selfie. Something I won’t let myself believe is jealousy. There’s no point in being jealous. I’m not here for Miles, and he sure as hell isn’t here for me.
“C’mon,” Esther calls out from the nearby office, and I squash down that uneasy feeling in my gut. I’m already screwing up more than I should be. I can’t let myself get distractedtoo.
It takes almost twenty minutes for me to get my lines to a place where I’m sure I could recite them in my sleep. In the back of my mind, I know it probably shouldn’t have taken me that long to learn a handful of line adjustments, but if I’m being honest, we’re lucky it didn’t take longer. Embarrassment, fear, and panic are one dangerous cocktail. Thankfully, my new scene partner (Esther Cho, intern turned PA and recent NYU grad, I learn during our brief conversation) has the patience of a saint.
“Don’t worry,” she says after we’ve run through the scene for a tenth time, now well assured that I know every line perfectly. “He’s a dick to everyone.”
“He is?” I ask with a raised brow, shocked by her casual boldness. And because it sure doesn’t feel that way so far.
She shrugs, taking a sip from her Hydro Flask. “He made half the cast cry last season. Especially Eli.” Shit. If Eli Rowan—breakout star of season one, and the first-ever nonbinary performer to win an Emmy—wasn’t safe from Rune’s wrath, none of us is. “And don’t get me started on the crew. It’s pretty much a rite of passage for him to fire you at least once a month.”
I gulp, the sound audible in the empty room.
“It’s not so bad,” Esther says when she notes the panic written all over my face. “We all get our jobs back within aday.”
That does little to reassure me. I know firsthand how grueling shooting can be sometimes—long hours, very little sleep. Some days the only thing that gets you through a production is “passion and belief in the work,” the mantra that keeps half of Hollywood running. But I don’t know that I’d ever be passionate enough about something to put up with that kind of erratic behavior.
Then again, aren’t I already?
