Hollywood's Secret Baby

Lizzie’s eyes go huge. “That’s here?”

When I first met Sarah, I was on the fence about this ethereal movie star. After everything she’s done for Lizzie—not to mention for me and Cory—I finding myself loving this woman. I never thought I could be friends with the Sarah Park, but here I am. Now she’s come to my rescue once more, not only showing that she was paying attention at Disneyland when Lizzie talked about one of her favorite shows—a competition where kids run through this crazy obstacle course for prizes and glory—but she actually arranged to get Lizzie out of my hair at this pivotal moment.

“It is just down the road,” Sarah replies. “And since I was a guest host last year, they won’t say no to having a little walk around. Maybe I can even convince them to let you have a go at it.”

Lizzie’s betrayal is as sudden as it is deep. She runs across the room to join Sarah, but she reveals her true loyalty when she rushes back and gives me a hug. “Break a leg.”

“Thanks, honey.” She releases me and runs after Sarah. I’m imagining her going through that insane obstacle course we’ve seen on television so many times. “You don’t break a leg!” I call out after her.

With her gone, I stare at myself in the mirror.

It’s time to do this.

There are no lines in this scene, but the script informs me that Cory’s a regular customer who likes to be tied up. I’m supposed to mount him, kiss him, and then slide down his body. At the end of the ten-second scene, the script calls for me to act like I’m pulling his boxers off. Of course, since this isn’t a porno, I’m not actually going through with any of it. This is just a teaser. We’re going to be filming four more similar scenes, all short or shorter than this one, which will later be edited into a montage that will later coincide with a voice-over. So for about thirty or forty seconds of screen time, I’ll be filming for two days.

I never considered how much set-up there was for filming on a Hollywood set. Back at my public TV gig, I did my own make-up, put on my own lapel microphone, and after two minutes of sound checks, off I went. It’s not the same here at all, and after I’m primed and ready to go, I find myself sitting on the side of the bed, robe over my lingerie, waiting for the go ahead for thirty minutes while people rush about, adjusting this and finicking with that. Finally, Cory walks over to me, unbuttons his shirt, and lies down in the center of the bed.

“Ready to go?” he asks as someone in the props department ties his wrists to the bed.

“Yes,” I say. And then, “No. I don’t know. Let’s just get it over with.”

“That’s the attitude I’m looking for in my star: Let’s just get it over with.” Cory gives me a sly smile from his prone and defenseless position. “You’re scared shitless, aren’t you?”

All I can do is nod.

“Well, have I got some bad news for you. It never gets easier. You’re always going to be second-guessing your abilities. If you’re a good actor, that is. The bad ones are all too sure of themselves. So what you’re feeling is a good thing.”

“It doesn’t feel like a good thing,” I reply. “It feels like I’m going to throw up.”

“Just don’t do it on me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m completely defenseless against any sort of vomit onslaught.”

His joke bounces off me without a dent. How could a simple quip ease even a fraction of the tension pulling at every fiber of my being? Everywhere I look there are people working with the sole intent to make me look good. That’s what all the lighting is for, the multiple microphones, the cameras, and even the wardrobe girl who’s just hopped on set to adjust my lingerie. She tightens the straps on my bra without a word and then is off again, disappearing into the shadows behind the impenetrable wall of lights outside the false hotel bedroom.

Cory reaches out, probably planning to give my hand a reassuring squeeze, but he’s forgotten about the restraints on his wrists. He lets out a heavy breath. “The only way to start swimming is to jump in the water. So how about it? Ready?”

100% definitely not. But it’s too late to turn back now.

Chapter 19

“Action!” shouts a disembodied voice.

What I’m supposed to do is mostly unscripted. Just act sexy. All through the hours of make-up and hair and wardrobe, I’ve been rolling over how I can do this without talking. I remember when I was sitting in the make-up chair that I decided to start off by dragging my breasts down his body as I suggestively begin kissing down his chest and to his stomach. I figured that I might actually get away with not stripping this way. The lingerie does little to hide my curves, but it’s something, and something is better than the alternative.

I played out the scene again and again in my head, to the point that it felt like I’d already filmed it. But when it comes down to actually carrying out these motions in front of more than a dozen sets of eyes, all their machines aimed right at me and focused on my every movement, I freeze. Then I look right into the camera, which is a big no-no, apparently.

“Cut,” Cory says. Then the main cameraman, a guy in his forties that everyone calls Lez, jogs onto set.

“What’s up, Lez?” Cory asks.

“She made eye contact with the camera.”

“Sorry,” I say, and then I babble on. “When I teach, I always have to look right into the lens. Habit.”

“Well, in movies, we don’t do that unless we’re trying to break the third wall or the camera is acting

as a first-person placeholder for another character. So when you look at the camera, it makes the audience think that there’s someone else in the room, hiding. Does that make sense?”

I nod my head, feeling like a little girl who’s been scolded for doing something so obviously wrong. Then the cameraman is gone, and maybe it’s the pressure I’m under, maybe it’s the blaring lighting, but there’s no denying that I’m on the verge of crying. When I go to wipe at my eyes, I try to play it off as an eyelash that’s fallen into my eye. Not three seconds after I look up and swipe at the edges of my eyes, the girl from make-up is beside me, patting my skin with a little foam triangle, smoothing out the smudges I’ve just made in her masterpiece.