Page 26 of The Actor: Harrison

We can’t get this scene done.

It’s the seventh take and it feels like we’re drowning. It’s June sixth, Los Angeles is melting under a wave of exceptional heat and we are miserable on set today. Nobody talks much, we just wave paper in front of our faces and move as little as possible to not sweat too much. I feel the sweat coating my upper lip and forehead. My t-shirt is a mess, sticking to my skin, and I’m sweating on my scalp under this messy bun on my head.

This is a nightmare.

The air conditioning is running at full force, driving the sound engineer crazy because they have to mask the buzzing sound in the background. But it’s not enough. Cameras, lighting, and all the equipment are still generating heat. We’re dying slowly, cooking in this building.

The light on set falters mid-scene and I have to call the cut.

“Are you kidding me?” I shout, exasperated, and a general groan rises from people exhausted from this day. And it’s just noon. “What happened?” I ask walking to the technician tampering with the light. Next to me, Ellen seems to want to scream.

The guy crouched next to a bunch of cable hisses, retracting his hand quickly and shaking it. “It’s too hot. The equipment is overheating and not working properly,” he explains and I feel my stomach sink.

“Is there a way to get around it?” I ask when he stands up after turning off the light.

He shrugs, looking down at the culprit as if for a solution. “Not really. It’s not like we can put ice on it to cool it down. It’s way too hot today and the air conditioning can’t keep up. We can try to use the fans to cool it, but I think the sound engineer is going to have my ass if I add other background noise in the scene.”

I nod and rub a hand over my face. When I look up, I find Harrison next to me.

“It seems like we have to call it a day,” he says.

“Don’t even say it. We don’t have time or money to waste this day.” I point a finger at his face and he grins.

“I think he’s right,” Ellen chips in. “We can’t even move without sweating or fainting. There’s a heat advisory today telling people to stay at home. We can’t risk someone having a heatstroke and ending up in the hospital.”

She points out something I was already worried about. I’m mostly concerned about the technicians carrying out tasks that are already challenging. It’s not safe for people working in these conditions and I can’t risk someone getting sick—or worse.

“And we risk the equipment overheating and catching on fire, burning down the set,” the guy in front of me remarks and I shiver. I don’t need the fire department here trying to put out a fire that will burn down half of Los Angeles with these temperatures and Santa Ana winds picking up strength, even out of season.

“And I’m sweating so much I have streams of sweat running down my asscrack,” Harrison adds.

“Geez. That’s disgusting.” I scrunch up my nose.

He laughs. “I know, but it’s true. I can’t work like this. My shirt’s sticking to my chest like I’m a sweaty pig.” He points at the fabric plastered to his abs and pecks, outlining his perfect, defined body.

I hate to admit it, but they’re right. We don’t even have a good shot from today’s work because it’s impossible to work in these conditions. I hope Kevin won’t have my head because I’m sending them home.

“Listen, everybody. It’s way too hot today and we risk burning down this place or someone ending up in the hospital with a heatstroke. Go home, cool down and see you tomorrow!” I shout and everybody groans in relief. They don’t even have the strength to cheer. “Please, be sure that nothing catches fire,” I say to the guy handling the lights.

“Don’t worry, I’ll turn off the breakers and just leave the air conditioning on,” he assures me and I feel a bit relieved.

After not even half an hour, the set is completely empty, with just Harrison and I left. I don’t know exactly why he’s still here, but when I close the door behind me, he’s right next to me.

“I forgot my backpack,” he says, showing me the blue culprit on his shoulder.

I nod and smile. “Have a good day,” I say, turning around and walking toward my trailer.

“You’re going home, right?” Harrison calls out.

I turn around and shake my head. “I’m going to take advantage of the air conditioning in my trailer.”

He frowns. “How so?”

I let out a sigh. I’m embarrassed to talk about this with him. He lives in a huge mansion in Hollywood, while I’m just a step away from being homeless.

“Our air conditioning is not working and the landlord refuses to fix it. If I go home, I’ll melt on the couch,” I explain.

He strolls toward me, pulling up the backpack on his shoulder, his biceps bulging in the process. Even with his hair flopping down on his forehead with sweat, he’s still gorgeous.

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