Page 61 of The Actor: Harrison

“Tell me about it.” The dread deep inside my stomach makes my legs week.

This is the moment I’ve dragged along for weeks but now I can’t avoid it. I have a list of scenes we have to reshoot and I can’t waste any more time.

***

I stare at Kevin’s house like I can make it disappear if I wish it hard enough. I already know how this conversation will go, I should be prepared, but I find it impossible.

“Are you going to stay there for long?” Kevin’s voice startles me.

I turn around and find him sweaty and breathing heavy, like he just came from a run, or a tennis match, considering the racket in his hand.

I stay silent, not sure what to say. He caught me standing like a creeper in front of his house, there’s not much I can say to justify my behavior. He takes me out of my misery and beckons me to follow him through a side gate that leads to his backyard and swimming pool.

“I have a feeling I should take a shower after this conversation, to relax my nerves, am I right?” he says, drying his forehead with the sleeve of his t-shirt.

I can’t fool him. He knows me enough to figure out I didn’t come here for a friendly chat with him. We have nothing in common, he’s just investing in my movie. We’re not friends, this visit has only one purpose and he knows it.

“We have to reshoot some scenes and I need more money.” Why beat around the bush when you can blurt your utter failure out in a rush?

There’s a beat of stunned silence between us then he blows up. “Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable! You have one job, to make sure the scenes you direct are flawless, and you fuck it up!” he shouts.

That’s unfair. A lot of directors find themselves in this situation. Yes, you try to make sure that everything is perfect the first time, but sometimes things just don’t work when you try to put them together.

I swallow my retort, grit my teeth and try to dampen the anger festering my stomach. He is an asshole, but he’s also the one that has to put more money on the line.

“We can use the scenes we have and have a mediocre movie, or we can reshoot and make it great. There is no in-between. You don’t want to put more money in? Okay, but don’t expect to have the money you invested back, because it will flop.” Maybe this is a bit of an exaggeration, but telling him it would go well anyway won’t get me more funds.

“Not my problem. You’re the one sinking your career, I’ll survive just fine. For all I care, you can use the promotion budget to shoot the scenes,” he scoffs.

“Are you seriously telling me you’d prefer to throw away a movie—and your money too—rather than find another investor?” I know he’s right, but I’m desperate.

I messed up big time with this movie. I should have been more careful, checked the people dealing with the budget more closely and, most especially, put aside my preconceptions about Harrison sooner. That was my biggest mistake of all. All the scenes we have to reshoot are the ones Harrison and I didn’t agree on.

But it’s done. I can’t go back. I can only fix what I messed up and go on. As Kevin said, this is my career on the line. Not his. I’m the one who fucked up my big chance when I had to deal with Hollywood.

“It’s exactly what I’m saying. You want more money?Youfind it. I’m done saving your ass every time you fuck up.”

I don’t have anything to say. I don’t know how to defend myself and how to ask him for another chance. He’s right. I could find more money, use my connections, ask Harrison to bring me to other party and try that way. I feel like a beggar doing it, but I have to suck it up and grow up.

“You’re fucking Harrison, right? Use that. Sell the story to some magazine and use that money to do whatever you want with your movie,” he suggests.

I look at him, wide-eyed. He can’t be serious. His scowl has softened a bit and I’m almost certain he means his words. It looks like he feels bad for me and he’s offering me some sort of creepy solution.

“Are you serious right now?” My voice betrays a genuine curiosity about his solution.

“Why not? Talk with him about it, you don’t have to do it behind his back.” He frowns like he can’t understand what’s wrong with his proposal.

“You are completely out of your mind! I wouldn’t sell my private life to make a few bucks,” I scoff.

He looks at me with a pitiful smile face that makes me shiver, and not in a good way. “You don’t understand, do you? By fucking him, you’re already selling your private life to the masses. The only difference is you don’t make any money off of it. Someone else is.”

I stay silent. I don’t like it, but he’s right. My face is already plastered all over the gossip magazines, and I’m not seeing a dime for it. Shouldn’t I be the one who decides if I want to use my image to make money? Why are other people profiting over my face, my body, my relationship with Harrison?

***

My discussion with Kevin dug a hole in my brain all afternoon and even now, as I’m waiting for Harrison to pick me up, the feeling of uneasiness is making me light-headed. In some twisted way, Kevin is right. Someone is making money with my life and I can’t say anything. And I’m frustrated about that. I desperately need that money and someone else is getting it. It’s not fair.

When Harrison pulls up in front of my apartment, my scowl is so deep that his smile dies on his face.

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