Page 37 of Glamour and Grit

We don’t talk much on the ride to the studio. I squirm in my seat, my emotional discomfort manifesting itself physically. I want to talk about last night. He said it was great, so what does that mean? It was great for a one-night stand, or it was great as in I want to do it again?

If he wants anything more than a physical tryst, he’s not giving any signals. I’m confused, but his cold attitude makes me hesitant to broach the subject. So instead, I don’t say anything.

Once we reach the studio, my job becomes an instant distraction from my problems. Moreno, Justin, and Dane all fade into the background noise as I hop to work with my team. I have three actors in my queue that I have to get zombified in less than three hours. Yikes.

Dane stands back at first, his eagle-like gaze searching for any sign of danger. He spends a good deal of time watching me work,though, as I turn a beautiful young actress into a hideous mockery of life replete with rotting flesh and dripping gore.

“You’re really good,” Dane says. “I’ve seen a lot of bullet wounds, and that’s very accurate.”

I glance over at him and chuckle as I apply a little more fake blood around the edges of the cratered wound.

“Thanks. I’ve spent a lot of time studying these things. When I was in high school, I printed out a bunch of pictures of cadavers, surgical procedures, wound care journals, you name it.”

He laughs softly. “They must have thought you were a serial killer. The other kids, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. I didn't exactly have a lot of friends.”

“No way. I don’t believe that. You had to have guys all over you all the time.”

“Not really, not as much as you’d think.”

I peer at the actress and stare hard at my seams. They seem to be holding with minimal cracking.

“Do me a favor, scrunch up your face like you just drank lemon juice.”

She does so, and the prosthetic holds.

“All right, hon, you’re good to go. You can hit wardrobe and then come back here for finishing touches.”

She nods and looks at herself in the mirror. The actress staggers off in character, much to the delight of Dane.

I pick up my phone and cycle through my pics until I find one from my high school days.

“Here,” I say, holding the screen so Dane can see it. “You can see that I might have scared the majority of boys off.”

He stares at the pic and chuckles. “You were a goth.”

“Or whatever the kids are calling it these days. You probably think I look pretty silly, right?”

“Hell no. You pulled the look off, and then some. I’d have asked for your number.”

I laugh while cleaning up my work station.

“I’d have probably said something really mean to you. I was like that back then.”

“Ha. I wouldn’t have given up so easily–”

His gaze darts to the side. “No fucking way. Just a minute, I have to take care of this.”

My heart beats faster. Did he see one of Moreno’s boys? Should I hide?

Instead, he walks over to some of the extras who are playing National Guard troops in the stock footage and takes their prop gun away.

“What is this utter bullshit? You can’t have a bump stock on an H and K semi-auto. And what, exactly, is this scope supposed to do? It’s positioned in a way that if you tried to sight down it, the recoil would explode your eye like a grape! And…what the fuck is this? Who in their right mind thinks that a gas vent looks like this? It would burn the skin right off your hand.”

“Ahem.”

I cringe as Roberta, the director, comes to stand behind Dane.

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