Hollywood's Secret Baby
She sits up straight (now on the other end of the sofa where she’s safe from my prodding fingers), lets out a frustrated breath, and says, “I guess so.”
“And we’ll go to the beach tomorrow morning. We can eat breakfast out there. How does that sound?”
“And we can learn to surf?”
“I’m not sure if I can set up classes that fast, but I’ll call and ask, okay? Since I’m filming in the afternoons, the mornings can be our time. We can do anything you want.”
“Anything?”
“Almost anything. We can definitely learn to surf.”
“And enter a sandcastle competition? I saw something online about it.”
“Sure.”
“And go fishing on a boat? I read about that too.”
“We can go fishing, but I’m not going to clean the fish or anything.”
Satisfied with her negotiating skills, Lizzie hops off the couch. “I’m going to go read about Universal Studios. Do you think Joan will take me to get a smoothie too?”
“Absolutely.”
One crisis down.
Two to go.
But dealing with Cory confronting his daughter is going to have to wait. Over the next two hours, we load up Cory’s car with suitcases, leaving the rest for the moving company to move into storage. After a quick drive to Sarah’s we drop off our things, hand Lizzie over to Joan (who also receives my credit card to take care of all Lizzie-related expenses), and then it’s off to the set where we find Sarah waiting, her weight shifted to one hip.
“This is a terrible idea. The worst you have ever had. And I remember that pitch you gave me about the flying shark movie,” she says, pestering Cory with each step we take.
“You know, that was a joke, but somebody made it into a movie and now there’s like three sequels, so I guess you should have taken it more seriously.”
“This is what you need to take seriously,” Sarah comes back with. We walk by the set where staff are setting up for my scene. Three walls look like the dankest basement in the shittiest city in the world. Attached to the far back wall is a set of manacles that will soon bind me.
“It wasn’t his idea,” I say in Cory’s defense. “It’s mine.”
Sarah looks between us. “Is what she is saying true?”
“Super true,” Cory confirms.
“I wanted to get the worst out of the way. I think it's the only way I’ll be able to go forward with the rest of this production without doubting myself every time I get in front of the cameras.”
Sarah is not so quick to agree.
“It is a noble idea, but not one I think you have had enough time to think through.”
The make-up artists have arrived, and they get to work while the hair stylists tousle out my hair at the same time. They have a long job ahead of them, so I need to finish this conversation as soon as possible.
“I’m not here to debate, okay? I just need you on my side. You’re the closest thing I have to a friend here, and if this is going to be as bad as you think it is, I need you just off set so I can see you.” I grab her forearm and squeeze lightly. “Do you think you can do that for me?”
Sarah nods.
Then the transformation begins. False bruises are added to my face, thighs, and arms. My hair is disheveled and treated with oil to make it look like I’ve just crawled through a sewer. Traditional make-up is applied as well, but it’s splotched and running down my face. With the distressed tank top and dirty-looking panties I’m handed by wardrobe, I look like a woman who’s been held underground and tortured to within an inch of her life.
Which is exactly what my character is about to go through.
While the final touches are added to the set—fake blood smeared across the walls, a beat-up bucket that is meant to be my toilet, and a fake handheld camera set up on a tripod, everything is ready. My lines are few, but I’ve been memorizing them since this morning so they wouldn’t be one more thing I had to worry about. With the other actors suited up and the crew ready to roll, it all comes down to me.