Page 27 of Take It Till You Make It
I shrug again. “I mean, we had a good photoshoot, I guess.”
“I guess.” She snorts as she pulls a brush through my dampened hair. When she speaks again, her voice is unusually high-pitched and squeaky. “Oh, Remi, I don’t know what you’re talking about. The best photographer in the world took pictures he wasn’t contracted to take because Crispin and I were on fire, but I’m sure that happens to everyone.”
“Is that supposed to be me? Are you trying to sound like me?”
Remi rolls her eyes.
“What do you mean, the best photographer in the world?”
“That might be an exaggeration, but he is well-renowned, impossible to book, and costs a bloody fortune.” Those last two words she says with an English accent that I think is supposed to sound like the photographer, but with her light Jamaican accent mixed in, it’s a miss.
“You are not the impersonator you think you are,” I say, with a smile so she knows I’m just giving her a hard time. “I didn’t know he was such a big deal. That’s really cool, then, that he saw something between us that he was compelled to capture. I bet that’s what photographers live for. Those unexpected moments.”
Remi stops what she’s doing and lets her arms fall to her sides. “Really? That’s all you have to say about it?” She raises her hands to do air quotes, managing not to drop the round brush or the hair dryer in the process. “I’m excited for him.”
I laugh. “I didn’t know it was that big a deal. I mean, the whole thing was really fun. I wish I wasn’t so short so I could go into modeling. Why don’t you model?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m serious. I’ve always wondered. You’re tall and absolutely gorgeous. You look like a supermodel.”
“I did model for a million years. But I like to eat. So, when I got married, I gave it up and promptly gained twenty pounds.”
I make a face at her. “Twenty pounds. Right.” I would consider her thin. Not scary thin, but thinner than the average person.
“Oh, I’m serious. It’s torture to stay thin enough for that industry. Besides, the photoshoots that you have for the promo pictures are nothing like a shoot for the fashion industry, or a high-end jewelry brand, or whatever. Those shoots are twelve-plus-hour days, usually in the worst weather, while you wear next to nothing. You stand around waiting most of the time and are constantly being yelled at that you aren’t doing anything right. I do not recommend.”
“Okay, I guess I’ll cancel my leg extension surgery.”
She snorts.
She finishes blow-drying my hair and promptly teases it to make it look messy. Next, she works on my face. Stripping it down to nothing just to rebuild it. With the slightest differences, my eyebrows at a slightly different arch, shading on my nose to make it look more Patrician, and shading on my cheeks to make them look plumper, I’m suddenly that thirteen-year-old again.
“You are so good at this. I guess I thought because you were so good at it, it’s what you’ve always done.”
“Everybody has different stages in their life, little one. You’re just starting this stage, but it won’t last forever.”
I give her a sad smile as I think about how I wish it wasn’t a stage I took on in the first place. I give her a half-hearted wave. “See you on set.”
She pats my shoulder before we go our separate ways.
In wardrobe, I change into capris and a cap sleeve t-shirt, slip on the Keds I usually wear—though I’m not sure if they are the same ones, or a new pair scuffed like the first, and grumpy troll lady wraps my wrist in bracelets and fills my fingers with cheap rings. As I finish dressing, my stomach starts a nervous little dance. I pull out my script to study the scene we’re working on today. Crispin is in it, though only briefly at the beginning. He leaves shortly after “Mom” and I “get home.”
I distract myself by practicing my lines silently in my head. When call time rolls around, I check the app to verify what stage we’re on and head in that direction.
Just off set, Chandra and I are loaded down with grocery bags. I’m made to carry a comical amount while Chandra has one over her shoulder and another in her hand. We stand outside the supposed front door of our house, waiting for Hank to call action. I don’t have any lines until after Crispin exits, so I just have to concentrate on facial expressions.
As soon as Hank calls action, Chandra pushes the front door open, and I follow her inside. While she freezes at the sight of her daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend lip-locked on the couch, I struggle under the weight of the groceries I’m carrying. I flip the door closed with my foot, biting my lip with all the concentration it really is taking for me to do it. But then I glance at Crispin and Sally, and I freeze too. The sight of them in such an intimate position together is bothersome. I’m struck by the fact that two days ago, this wouldn’t have bothered me at all. Then I remember what I’m supposed to be doing in the scene, so I grimace comically—like that’s what made me stop in the first place—and continue to stumble toward the kitchen. Some of the struggle is acting, but it’s a lot of groceries for my thin little arms to carry, so some of the struggle is real. The kitchen is actually on another set that we’ll move to later, but when I disappear through the fake door, my part is done. I’m surprised when Hank doesn’t make us do it again. I feel like I got lucky on that one.
Someone helps me load the bags of groceries onto a wagon that will transport them to the kitchen set to film the next scene. I walk around to watch the rest of the scene play out. Even as short as this scene is, they have to retake it several times for different reasons. First, Sally trips over her words, so they start again a few lines back. Then Chandra misses a cue and ends up in Crispin’s way when he gets up to leave. Then Hank doesn’t like something, so he changes the set direction and has them film again. It’s tedious, but also really interesting to watch. Standing back here, where I can see the actors as well as Hank’s monitor, is rather enlightening. I immediately spot how not right that scene looked under the old direction. When they refilm with the new direction, it looks so much more natural, but Hank shakes his head and changes direction again, and they refilm a third time. This time, my mouth drops open when the scene finishes.
“That was excellent,” I say aloud after Hank calls cut.
He turns with a wry smile. “I’m glad you approve.”
“No, I just mean…well, I’ve never seen it play out like that before. I would have thought the second take was good enough. But you knew better.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
