Page 102 of Broken Bridges

Pinning my best, fake, good morning smile into place, I headed toward my trailer. I dug my nails into my palm and focused on the cutting pain in my hand rather than the dull ache in my ankle.

I couldn’t wait to finish this show.

I wouldn’t have to hide my injury.

No more having to be perfect in front of the cameras.

As I lifted my chin, I drew my shoulders back and strode around the crew setting up for the day. I clenched my teeth, quickened my pace and clambered up the steps into my trailer. Wincing in pain, I slammed the door behind me. I clutched my foot, massaged my ankle, and fought back the tears. The agony eased as I took a couple of slow, steady, breaths. I was okay. I was good. That’s better.

After swallowing a painkiller, I met with wardrobe, was dressed in a Prada suit and patent-leather flats, and had my hair and makeup done. Time for action.

I grabbed my script and my cell phone and headed for the door. But as I reached for the door handle, my phone beeped. Lewis.

A big grin curled across my lips as I read his message.

Missed you this morning.

I replied:

xoxoxo.

Was I one hundred percent sure about being with him? No. But I was ready to give us a shot.

As I headed outside, I flicked through the pages of my script. I couldn’t have written a better storyline to end the season on. My character landed a promotion. It’d make penning an exit easy for the writers of the show. They could just add in I’d had to move cities. Done! Today’s first scene was me telling the girls about my new job at the firm.

Underneath a portable gazebo, Sutton hugged me hello. Looking stunning, in a silky floral wrap dress, she beamed a radiant smile. I loved seeing people in their element. This was hers.

“You ready for a big day?” She squeezed me tight.

“Always.” Not.

“Okay, girls.” Frank, our director, clapped his hands. “Let’s knock over this scene as quickly as possible. We have a lot to get through today.”

“Let’s go, ladies.” Sutton dragged Mia and Peyton out of their director’s chairs and headed over to the café’s alfresco tables. The three of them loved this show. They’d easily survive without me.

“Tia?” Frank talked with his hands, pointing at no particular spot down the street, then to the girls. “I want you to run up to the ladies. In your excitement, knock into waitress Fiona’s shoulder, spin around, then plonk onto your chair beside Peyton. Okay?”

Run? My blood pressure spiked. My ankle throbbed at the thought of pounding the pavement. “Wouldn’t it be more in character if I slink up to them, sat down, bursting with energy, then delivered my lines?”

He dipped and bobbed his head from side to side. “That may work. Let’s try it both ways.” He slapped his folder against my arm and headed over to the camera.

“Yeah. Great.” Crap! I smoothed my hands over my dress pants. Knots twisted in my stomach as I walked down the street into position.

Twenty extras came out of their holding area underneath another couple of portable gazebos and took their positions at the outdoor tables.

The camera crew did last minute lighting and audio checks.

“Okay.” Rodney, the second assistant director, stepped in front of café, held up his hand, and hollered, “Quiet on set,” then dashed to stand beside Frank.

Frank pointed at me. “Action. Rolling.”

I let out a slow breath and hooked my purse over my shoulder. Digging deep into my soul, I found my inner lawyer goddess and morphed into character. I took off, scuttling along at a fast walk toward the café tables. I bumped into Fiona, who was serving some guests, spun around, and sat on my chair next to the girls. My ankle throbbed in protest. Ignoring it, I delivered my lines. Perfect execution. Thank goodness.

“Cut,” Frank yelled and grimaced. “Nope. I’m not feelin’ it. Let’s amp it up. Tia, run this time. Really knock into Fiona. You’ve just been promoted. I want to feel your energy. More excitement. Do it again, please?”

“Um...yeah. Sure.” I could do this. Focus. Just like I’d taught Lewis to do. Like I’d done for years on my previous show. Visualize the execution. Pick your path. Don’t deviate. But run? I wriggled my toes, stretched out my ankle. I’d be fine. It was only a short distance.

My heart tapped against my ribs as I headed down the sidewalk for the retake. Unease swirled through my stomach as I scanned every inch of the footpath. I searched for every crack or divot, rock or area of unevenness. All clear.

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