Page 18 of Take It Till You Make It
The talent. Like I’m an asset, not a person.
I feel like I’m developing some serious abandonment issues, which makes no sense. It isn’t like Jenny and I have spent enough time together to create any sort of bond that can feel broken. I turn off my screen and shove my phone, face down, onto my rumpled comforter. Basically, this is just another incident highlighting how alone I am in this new life. A rush of anger wells up inside me, but then I do a double-take at my pink glitter-filled phone case, realizing I never heard back from Glory either, and the anger crashes away as quickly as it rose, leaving behind that empty chasm I feel so often inside me now. The friendless, parentless, dry well of nothingness that somehow hurts as much as the grief it’s slowly pushing aside.
What prompted me to make this move? Why did I think changing everything about my life when I was most vulnerable would help in any way? Did I even think it through, because right now my mind is so consumed with loneliness that I’m having a hard time remembering the decision-making process.
“It’s called acting, baby girl.” My dad’s voice from a long-ago memory echoes in my head. “You’re sad now, I understand that. And the sadness won’t go away while you’re acting, you just pretend it’s gone. You can grieve your grandma and film your videos at the same time.”
Rubbing my face, I walk to the bathroom to freshen up and brush my teeth. If only Dad had realized he was giving me advice I’d have to use again while grieving him.
As I drive through the gate at the studio, I wave at the gate attendant, whose genuine smile bolsters me a bit. Sheesh, that guy sure seems to love his job. I follow people I don’t know or recognize into makeup. I greet Remi and pop in earbuds and turn on my audiobook.
When I pull up my social media, who’s smirking back at me? None other than Crispin Moore. He holds a hand up to the camera as he walks down a sidewalk next to a woman who most definitely isn’t the supermodel he was pictured with yesterday. This caption identifies her as the daughter of a studio exec. I shake my head. What a player. I grimace. He’s so icky. Closing my screen, I lose myself in a sordid tale of dragons and political intrigue.
Sally surprises me by appearing at my side shortly before I head to wardrobe.
I turn off the book and take an earbud out. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Come on over to our trailer after you’re dressed, and I’ll go over that app with you.”
“I have no idea where your trailer is,” I say.
She gives me directions that sound complicated, but I smile and nod, figuring I’ll find my way somehow. “Thanks for doing this, Sally.”
“No problem! I’ll see you in a bit.”
As Sally bounces away, I make eye contact with Remi.
“Forget what she said. It’s a beautiful day outside. You can go straight out the back of this room and walk straight up the row of trailers to the last one. Your mother’s name is blazoned on the door.”
I squint. “Is that safe? Doesn’t that just point any old crazy person to her?”
“It’s a closed set. Only us crazies around to bother her, and we’re too busy.”
I laugh. “Thanks for the easier directions. I was sure I was going to get lost.”
My wardrobe for the first scene is a pair of pajamas covered in the head of a bulldog wearing sunglasses. The pajamas explain my messy hairdo, but nothing explains the bulldog. With trepidation, I follow Remi’s instructions and am relieved to find the trailer easily. I see that Trent has a trailer, as does Crispin, which I guess doesn’t surprise me, but it still makes me a little salty. I pause just before stepping up to Chandra’s door and consider his glittering name on the trailer across the makeshift street. I wonder which project of his was the first project he got a trailer for, and if he felt it was about time, or if it was something that excited him.
I climb the steps and knock.
“Come in!”
Timidly, I open the door and poke my head inside. I don’t see anyone at first until I lean in enough to peek around the door. Seated in matching makeup chairs are Chandra and Sally, being worked on by Remi and her husband. The end of the trailer is floor-to-ceiling mirrors with big, round, clear bulbs acting as a frame and spotlights shining down on them. I have to blink; that end of the trailer is so bright.
Sally makes eye contact with me in the mirror and grins. “Come on in, Ari.”
I step in, easing the door closed behind me. The trailer is a strange mix of personal comfort, office, and wardrobe. Cushy armchairs with foot poofs stand alongside a sterile-looking desk with a laptop, tablet, and half a dozen charging cables and ports. There is no separation from one space to another. I expected more like a trailer park trailer, I guess, because this surprises me.
Chandra must see my arched brows because she chuckles before closing her eyes while Remi applies makeup that doesn’t look like makeup, just like I’m currently wearing.
“Some people like for their trailer to be an escape,” Chandra says. “A place to take a nap or even spend the night when shooting goes late. But when we’re filming near my home, I will never sleep in my trailer.”
Something about the way she says it sounds so much like the fierce, headstrong characters she often portrays, and it makes me smile.
“What about when you’re on location?” I ask.
“Then the kitchen and bedroom remain. Unless I’m lucky enough to like my lodging.” She shrugs, eyes still closed. “I guess it depends on the location.”
“Pull up one of those footstools,” Sally says. “And I’ll go over the app with you.”
