Page 7 of Take It Till You Make It
The room quiets down. A gal standing off to the side with a huge pair of earphones says, “Table reading forMuch Like Me. Full cast present.”
I mimic Sally as she situates her script so that she can follow as people read their lines and the director reads the stage directions. Well, she’ll have to read a lot because she and Chandra are the two main characters. I don’t come in until page thirty-two. I follow along and mark any changes that are mentioned, even if they have nothing to do with me. My stomach starts to knot as my first line approaches. When we turn to page thirty-two, I skim the page and silently freak out when I don’t find my character’s name on it. I flip forward a page and relax at the sight of my part. I quickly hop back so as not to get lost.
When we flip to the next page, I’m feeling a little confused because it doesn’t feel familiar. I’ve read my part a million times, and I know all the scenes leading into each line. I squint, trying to stay focused on what’s going on and not skip ahead. I have to deliver the part well, so I want to be in the same mind frame as everyone else.
Hank reads my cue. “Stella stumbles through the door, covered in grass stains and mud.”
I frown and read. “Has anyone seen Gnawshuss? He’s not in his cage.”
Laughter fills the room, but I’m just glaring at my script. This is not the same line in the script they sent me to study. I open my mouth and look up at Hank. “Who’s Gnawshuss?”
The room goes quiet, and that’s when I realize they had continued reading, so I just interrupted. Of course, now everybody is looking at me. I want to crawl under the table as my cheeks flame. I grimace.
“Your pet rat,” Hank answers.
“It’s just that this isn’t the same script as what I was sent.” I feel like I have to explain my behavior.
“Scripts change a lot. You’ll probably get several new scripts throughout the shoot.” Hank talks between clenched teeth. “Let’s save these sorts of questions for another time. Keep notes and ask Jenny later.”
I nod. I catch a glimpse of Crispin who is leaning back in his chair, a leg crossed over his knee, his script resting in his lap like he’s reading a novel on the beach while catching some sun. He chuckles and leans to the guy next to him and whispers something. I shift forward in my seat until I’m hovering over my own script and completely focused on it.
“Okay, let’s start from Christa’s line, “Back when Daddy…”
Sally, who plays Christa, reads effortlessly, adding the perfect inflections to the story her character is telling. Maybe she’s only done a one-line walk-on in a movie, but she’s definitely an actress.
Crap. I’m so screwed.
Chapter Four
I’m shakingas I drive home. The reading was a nightmare. They’ve changed everything about my character and made her into a joke. She was funny before. A little buffoonery, but now she’s an absolute clown.
As soon as I left the lot, I called Glory to complain, but she didn’t answer. Hearing her ringtone probably scared her. There’s no way I can text all of this to her. I hope she calls me back.
I don’t have to go back to the set for a week. Then they have me coming in on the first day for hair and makeup only. I don’t know what that means. I start filming the day after that. I’m so relieved to have a weeklong break. Sheesh, it was just one day, and I want to quit. But my daddy didn’t raise no quitter.
I take a deep breath and look around as I sit in stop-and-go traffic. Along the freeway is mile after mile of buildings. Office buildings, apartment buildings, houses, retail centers. It never ends. If the buildings aren’t attached, they’re crammed close together. So many are dirty or covered in peeling paint or tagged with graffiti. I’ve seen several bright blue tarps acting as temporary roofs. It’s funny that you don’t see this side of California in any of the brochures. The movies make it seem like the entire state is filled with mansions and beaches. Everything looks new and shiny. Not even the beach seems to sparkle like it does in the movies. Do they CGI that in?
At home, I call out to Mom as soon as I enter the house, but she doesn’t respond. I go straight to her doorway and find her lying in bed on her side just like she was this morning. “Have you moved at all?” That’s when I notice the protein drink I left for her is no longer next to her bed.
“Yes.”
“Did you eat anything?”
“I had a yogurt. Thanks for getting those.”
I bite my lip. It sounds like she’s the one reading from a script now. “Today was hard.”
“I’m sorry, baby girl.”
When she doesn’t ask what was hard about my day, I turn and trudge into my room and flop onto my bed. Fighting off tears, I stare up at my ceiling and think about Dad. He was quick to smile, loved to laugh, and gave the best hugs. He could put a positive spin on anything, even liver and onions. What I wouldn’t give to talk to him right now. I can see him so clearly in my mind, and I still have a hard time believing he won’t walk in the front door at any moment. He was such a hugely positive presence. I mean, I get why Mom is so depressed. She was going to spend the rest of her life with him. They had plans to go to Cabo San Lucas after I went off to college, to make the loft upstairs into a hidden library, to grow old together.
“I get it, Mom. I really do. But I need you,” I whisper.
I remember the two of them standing in the kitchen cooking dinner together. One of them would spontaneously grab the other and start swaying to nonexistent music. It would always end in a tender kiss or a full-on make-out session. Most kids hate to see their parents kiss, but I loved how in love my parents were. I lost a father. But Mom lost her life partner. The love of her life.
My gaze skims over the expanse of blank plaster above me, the crack running along the seam of the wall and the ceiling, and the oddly shaped shadows stretching across the ceiling, cast by the afternoon sun. I see those things, but also—I don’t—as the memory of my happy father plays out like a film on the big screen. His ever-present jovial laugh preceded him into a room as he pushed the glasses he’d only been wearing for a couple of years up his nose, his graying blonde hair framing his handsome face. “I miss you so much,” I whisper, as tears course down the side of my face into my hair.
I’msurprised when I wake up to a darkening room. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but I guess it isn’t too much of a surprise. The day started unusually early, sucked, and then got worse. Who wouldn’t want to fall asleep and avoid more of that?
