I nod, of course, and he resets the scene. This time, I jump in as soon as he calls “action” —yeah, we really do that.

“You're overreacting,” I say to Naomi, not at all in character, and I butcher the rest of my lines.

The director nods, better, not really trying to hide his annoyance. Jesus, it's the first scene. I know I'm rusty, but don't I deserve a little time to warm up? Don't I deserve a few screw ups before I'm deemed a total fuck up?

Or have I already cashed in my fuck up points?

Deep breath. I always used to freak out too easily, and it always made things worse. Nerves work for a nervous character, but Marie Jane is confident. She's not self-aware enough to be nervous. She's not weak enough to be nervous. She doesn't care enough about what people think of her.

I pretend as if I am back in high school—at least the three years of high school I attended before I got my GED and split town—with my best friend from drama class, practicing for the school play. I pretend as if it is just me and the words and a person who really does want me to succeed.

Whatever happened to her?

I do a little better, but it's still not great. After a few more tries, I warm up, and Marie Jane claws her way out of my packed mind. I nail it, and we're on to the next line and the next shot. It still takes me a while to perfect my delivery, but I am faster and closer.

This is so much harder than I remembered.

What, you think you purged your way out of stress because it was easy?

The scene takes two hours. It's just Marie Jane and Patricia arguing. No improvisation, no deviation from the script. Nothing physical. Nothing scantily clad. Nothing tough.

A year ago, this would have been a cakewalk. I knew Cindy Bleachers backwards and forwards and I knew exactly how I needed to play my lines—I had to be a sexy, horny, confident, fucked up mess. And it was natural for me, because, before I started dating Ryan, I was as much of a slut as Cindy Bleachers.

But this is a new character, a more complicated character, and I am not used to doing much of anything all day.

Still, I manage to fake enough confidence to make it to lunch.

The crew does their magic—moving props, rearranging lights, turning a clean living room into a trashed mess. I practice my next scene in my dressing room, obsessing over my lines until I am sure I have it. I stumble, still, but I try to fake confidence. Marie Jane is confident. I need to be confident, too. This scene is longer, bigger. It comes later in the episode, after Marie Jane throws a big bash. I try to stay loose and keep things fun, but I can tell I am the reason why we need to redo takes.

By the end of the day, I am exhausted. I want some easy comfort, but there's no way I can see Luke today, and Ryan wouldn't cut it, even if I hadn't promised Luke I'd keep it in my pants. I try to stay up texting Luke, but my body won't allow me to remain conscious for long.

***

The days blur together. I wake up at 6, arrive on set by 7. Hair and makeup. We start shooting at 8. Lunch at 2. We wrap by 8. I drive home, eat dinner with Ryan, and lock myself in the spare room. Ryan asks me to join him in our room. I pretend I don't want to drag him to bed early. My alarm is so loud. I don't want to wake him up.

I spend most of my time on set, waiting for my turn to read my lines. When I am not in a scene, I get a few hours in my dressing room. The waiting used to bother me, but, now, I spend every spare second practicing my lines. Every day, I gain a little confidence. I remember my old tricks. I remember why I love doing this.

By Friday, I have it. I can tell. The other actors treat me differently, like I'm finally not a liability. A few invite me out for drinks but I decline. I need to get home, to my bedroom, where I can finally breathe.

But I can't bring myself to leave. I linger in my dressing room. I could call Ryan. We used to go to dinner on Friday nights. To celebrate the end of his week. The end of my five days of solitude. And, even though it was no big deal, it was special. We dressed up, we got out, we stared into each other’s eyes, going over the details of our week. And, even though Ryan didn't always have the most interesting details, I liked listening to him. I liked being the person he talked to, the person who relaxed him and relieved his stress.

What happened to that? What happened to us hanging out on the weekends? We used to take walks. We used to go to the beach together. We used to visit museums and explore new parts of Los Angeles. We used to do things together besides stare at screens.

I hear a knock on my door. I open it, expecting my makeup artist to once again warn me I need to wipe off the war paint. But it's Laurie, with a big smile on her face.

“Come on,” she says. “Let's have a drink.”

Chapter 24

Laurie's office is a hipster paradise. Notebooks with little animals. A shiny, silver MacBook Air adorned with pastel stickers. A mustache pen holder. She catches me looking around her office and shrugs.

“I don't buy this shit. It's my parents. They know I spend all my time here.”

She pulls a bottle of scotch from her desk drawer and pours two glasses. Straight up. “I'm not keeping you from some place you'd rather be, am I?” she asks.

“No,” I say. This is where I should be. Far away from all this bullshit with Ryan and Luke.

Laurie sips her drink and makes a disgusted face. “Ugh, this stuff is awful. I think I have some melon liquor. What do you say—do you like sickeningly sweet things?”

Tags: Crystal Kaswell Rouse Me Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net