Page 30 of My Unscripted Life

“How’s that going?” I glance around at the rest of the crew, most of whom are wearing jeans and T-shirts commemorating the various films and shows they’ve worked on.

“It’s a slow burn,” he replies with a chuckle. “Hey, you wanna join? Wednesday is green day!”

“Green makes me look diseased,” I say, “but good luck to you!”

“Just think about it,” he replies. “The lighting guys bet me fifty bucks plus some kind of embarrassing task they’ll pick later that I couldn’t get anyone else on board, and I could really use that money. Help an old friend out?”

I want to hug Benny for making me feel normal again, reminding me of life before the crazy world of film production and kissing celebrities. I feel like I can breathe again.

“If you’re willing to talk profit sharing,” I say, a smile coming naturally for the first time all morning.

“I’m in for sixty-forty!” he calls as he bounds off after the last of the extras. He turns and mouths a dramatic “please” while folding his hands in mock prayer. I shrug a “we’ll see” in response.

The scene we’re shooting today is simple. Kass, Jonas’s love interest, runs into Jonas outside the bakery where she works. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since the party where they met (a scene we’re shooting later in the week). It’s only about ten lines, but according to the production schedule, we’ll be shooting it for a couple of hours. Which means I’ll be spending the next few hours on set with Lydia, my first time seeing her since the great shirtless escapade of yesterday.

Because Kass is supposed to be sort of a tomboy, Lydia is in jeans and tennis shoes, a ratty tank top and hoodie on top. She’s dressed like me, actually, only a really good-looking version of me. Her hair is falling down her shoulders in these loose waves that are what Hollywood thinks a normal person’s hair looks like when she’s just walking down the street, the sort of hair that takes a hell of a lot of effort to look that effortless. I know, because a team of hair and makeup people have been following her around like bodyguards, attacking her with picks and combs and hair spray every time there’s ahint of a breeze.

Milo jumps out of a van that’s brought him over from Peach Street, where they’ve parked his and Lydia’s trailers. His fake tattoos poke out from the sleeve of a white T-shirt, and his hair is perfectly mussed. I feel an instant rush of attraction, but it’s tempered by a sense of unease. I have no idea where we stand, but the fact that this is the first time I’ve seen him since Lydia burst onto the scene (literally) feels like an answer. When he finally notices me behind a camera, he smiles, but it’s halting and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I have to look away before my face betrays all the confusion and misery I’m feeling.

Ruth tells me to stay by the cart and make sure the extras drop their props between shots, which means I have a front-row seat to the filming, and I quickly realize why it’s going to take so long to get such a short scene. First they have to film it from several angles, including close-ups of both Lydia and Milo. They put a camera inside the bank to get the shot through the window. They spend a couple shots moving extras around, pausing for the extra who sneezed, and the one who got a little too animated about the fake conversation she was meant to be having.

When the camera crew move the equipment to get Lydia’s close-up, Benny has the extras step off to the side. Most of them won’t get seen in the tight shot, but they need to be close by in case they’re needed as blurs in the deep background. They gather next to the prop cart, where I remind them to drop their stuff. Then they turn to watch the train wreck.

Because the thing that makes this whole experience take the longest is the fact that Lydia can’t seem to remember her lines. Not a single solitary one.

She’ssupposedto be saying, “I want to help you bust out of this no-good, nothing, nowhere town.”

But she can’t seem to get past the first half of it before stumbling over the alliteration. By the sixth mistake I have to stop myself from shouting the line myself. The extras are sweating, but they can’t fan themselves for fear of making noise that might get picked up by the boom mike. The crew, also roasting, are starting to look annoyed bordering on murderous. I can see a rustle of unease coming from video village, the tent where all the bigwigs are sitting, shielded from the sun, watching the filming on little monitors. When Lydia flubs the lineagain,I see Rob rip off the headphones that are allowing him to hear the dialogue.

Rob mutters something, and then Kathleen, our script supervisor, comes out from the little tent. She’s got a black binder tucked under her arm, which I assume has the script inside. From my cheat sheet, I know that a script supervisor is the one who makes sure the actors don’t go too far astray from what’s written in the script, and if they do, it doesn’t take the story in the wrong direction. When she exits the tent, it’s never with good news.

“Lydia, I really need you to land this line hard,” she says, poking at a spot in the middle of her binder. “It sets up the following two scenes, and if it’s too soft, we lose that narrative thread.” It’s the nicest way Kathleen could probably ask her tosay the damn line,and I’m impressed with her diplomacy.

Lydia’s cheeks redden, because even though Kathleen is being nice, Lydia knows what she really means, as does everyone else on set. But embarrassment doesn’t seem to be an emotion that Lydia Kane is comfortable with, so she quickly adjusts to one that’s more familiar: anger. She calls Rob out of the tent, where he’s working hard to keep his face impassive.

“Can you ask those extras to like, turn around or something?” she says, her voice snapping like a basket of vipers. “They’re staring at me, and I can’t concentrate.”

Rob blinks hard and slow at her, but otherwise his face remains unreadable. He takes a breath, cracks his neck, then turns. “Can we get all the extras to please move over that way?” He gestures with the rolled-up pages in his hand, shooing the extras away like stray pigeons. “And, um, also face that way?”

He drops his sunglasses back down on his face to hide theOh my God, am I really doing this?expression that I’m sure is written all over it. All around me, I see crew members stomping around set moving lights and cables, dragging camera parts and adjusting props, and they’re all carefully staring at the ground, trying desperately not to roll their eyes. Benny appears quickly to make sure all the extras are following instructions. He catches my eye and shoots me a quick eye roll. The solidarity of Lydia Kane being the worst is comforting. I return the eye roll, combining it with an exasperated head shake.

I let myself consider it a victory. Milo is seeing all this. He can’t like it, surely. He’s going to have a hard time forgiving her cheating if she’s stomping around acting like an A-list diva. At least, that’s what I tell myself until my eyes find him on set. Milo is leaning in, whispering in Lydia’s ear. Her voluminous hair is blocking his face, but when he steps back I see him give her a small smile. He squeezes her upper arm, and she leans into him ever so slightly.

As soon as the camera has been adjusted for coverage, Rob calls, “Okay, let’s go again!” Everyone stops where they are to avoid making any noise that might get picked up on the boom mike. And this time, with the extras facing the opposite direction, Lydia parrots the line just as Kathleen told her to.Finally.

We break for lunch just as the sun is highest in the sky. Everyone on set is fanning themselves with whatever stray piece of paper they can find, and those without have rivers of sweat flowing down their backs and across their foreheads. We load onto a van and are driven a few blocks over to an empty storefront that houses craft services for the day. The extras go around to the back to where their food is waiting while I hop in line behind Trevor, the boom mike guy, with the rest of the crew.

“Don’t you love it when they live up to their stereotypes?” Trevor says to a camera PA in front of him.

“Did you see Milo huffing around the studio yesterday? He looked like he wanted to set the place on fire,” she replies, her voice low as her eyes dart around to make sure she won’t be overheard.Too late.

“I hope he gets a union stunt double before he attempts it,” Trevor says.

I’m glad to hear that Lydia’s arrival drove Milo bats, but it doesn’t make the weight in the pit of my stomach disappear. I try to ignore it (or possibly drown it) by focusing on the buffet. I load my plate with another scoop of pulled pork before sliding on down to the salad bar.

I take my food outside and cross the street to the small plot of grass that makes up Wilder’s town square. I park under a tree, my bum on top of a root, and balance my plate on my knee.

My sandwich smells amazing, and I’m just about to bite in when something else invades my nostrils. Something sour and sulfury and just generally gross.

---