Page 18 of The Actor: Harrison

He’s evasive, but I decide not to push for more.

“You should go home and rest. Tomorrow will be another long day,” I say a bit too harshly than intended.

He flinches a bit at my tone and I feel a pang of guilt in my chest. I should try to smooth things over, not be the bitch who makes a reputation for herself on set.

“I saw the lights on and I thought to step by to thank you for letting me do the scene like I wanted to today,” he replies softly.

I’m surprised by his words. He could have said, “I told you so,” but instead he chose a peaceful approach.

I nod. “It was a great performance. You were right. You did good.”

He smiles and his eyes soften a bit. Two small dimples appear on his cheeks, giving him an almost boyish look. I wonder how deep they go when he pulls off a full grin.

“So you admit I was right” He’s not mocking me, just stating the truth.

“I don’t have a problem admitting I was wrong. I’m not a cold bitch.” I want to addlike you think I am, but I refrain from fueling further discussion.

“If you had let me when I asked you in the beginning, we would have finished a lot sooner.” He bites out the remark and I feel the anger rise in my stomach.

Before I say anything I’ll regret tomorrow morning, I point at the door. “Goodnight, Harrison.”

He studies me for a long moment then smiles, shakes his head, and walks out the door waving goodnight without looking at me.

I stare at the door for way too long, trying to figure out the meaning of our conversation. Fighting with Harrison is something I can handle. Shouting and being at each other’s throats feels familiar. This conversation we just had? It’s more unsettling than anything else and I don’t even know if it was good or bad.

The morning was a nightmare, like every morning since I started filming this damn movie. The only thing that gives me the strength to come here day after day is knowing this is a really great script. I may not agree with Sienna most of the time, but I really enjoy playing this part. I can show off all my skills, play a fully developed person in all his raw emotion and shine in it.

Sienna has relented a bit on telling me how to play my part. Since the discussion we had a week ago, where I proved that my vision of the character was better than hers, she’s given me more freedom in doing what I believe is better for the movie. Not that I don’t have to fight for it every single time, but at least now she lets me try. Sometimes I’m right and sometimes she is.

The thing is, other than our disagreements, she’s a good director and we work well on her set. Everyone is happy and they got over our continuous bickering. The only one exhausted by the whole situation is me. And her, I suppose. I don’t think I’m the only one suffering the blow of our dislike for each other.

“Is that Alfredo sauce on the chicken?” I ask the girl behind the counter at the catering trailer.

She smiles at me and nods vigorously. “Yes! It’s homemade.”

I shake my head and I see the disappointment on her face. I know this is their specialty for today, but the sauce is a big no for me.

“Is this pasta vegan?” I ask pointing at the second inviting bowl next to the chicken.

I’m starving. I ate this morning at home before coming to the set, but I had to be here at four to get ready for an early shooting at five. It’s past noon now, and I’m running on fumes.

“Think so…” she says, uncertain, her small shoulders slumping in defeat.

“You think or you’re sure?” There’s a harshness in my voice I’m not able to hide. I’m tired, and starving. I can’t help it and I feel a pang of guilt when she blushes a bit.

I know what she’s thinking. I’m a spoiled movie star throwing a tantrum. I get that a lot when it comes to eating on set.

“I have to ask my boss,” she almost whispers, intimidated.

“You know what? Just give me a salad. No dressing or anything.” I try to smile at her and not make her feel guilty, but I’m sick and tired of eating just a salad on set because there isn’t a vegan alternative.

“Just a salad? If you want, I have a fabulous Caprese back there. Just fresh tomatoes and mozzarella with a bit of olive oil and basil. It doesn’t have many calories, I promise.” She seems reinvigorated by her new idea.

I shake my head. “Just the salad, please.” I say without a smile this time. I want to explain it’s not a matter of calories, but the person I assume is her boss appears behind the counter.

“Is there a problem here?” he asks, carefully watching the exchange between me and the girl who is now blushing and lowering her gaze.

“No problem. I was just wondering if you can add a vegan alternative to the menu. Just one dish, nothing fancy,” I add when I see him frowning.

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