Page 11 of Anyone But the Superstar
Most of the buildings we passed on the tour this morning need security access to enter, which Em ‘kindly’ reminded us that I and the rest of the Hollywood interlopers don’t have. And even the ones we’re allowed into, like the one we’re standing in now, are chock-full of such state-of-the-art equipment that ‘cost more than our lives’.
Having been warned, the film crew gathered for a press junket in one of what seems like hundreds of buildings on the acres and acres of land that make up Johnson Space Center. Emhad the concrete flooring sectioned off with red tape to delineate what areas were off-limits to crew. She even made sure to point these areas out to everyone as soon as they entered in case they were color-blind.
The petite PR manager doesn’t seem super enthused about Hollywood infiltrating NASA.
Even so, she was apparently too intrigued by her love of all things sparkly not to introduce herself to me afterwards so that she could get a closer look at my flip-sequin t-shirt.
Brush the sequins down and you have yourself a Bengal cat, a la King Dick Moore. Brush them up and it’s an ugly beige gremlin. Or, you know, Mike Hunt. I found someone on Etsy who makes custom flip sequined shirts. And as I like to patron artists when I can, I bought one for me and one for everyone else in the family – stick-in-the-mud Thomas included.
My niece, Mary, is going to love it.
But that wasbeforeI realized I was going to need hotel and/or car money during my time in Texas.
Em raises her eyebrow at me as I pop another mini muffin into my mouth before looking over the smorgasbord that only a few people have touched. ‘Hollywood does put out a better spread than Uncle Sam, I’ll give you that.’
My face heats, all three muffins laying heavy in my stomach.
I could make a joke about my unusual gluttony, but I can’t think of anything funnier than the truth. And yet, I’m pretty sure telling someone you just met that you cut your weekly food budget down to near-nothing because of possible homelessness due to a flighty professor and an Urgent Care co-pay I was forced to fork over thanks to possible numbing cream poisoning after ingesting said cream off a one-night stand’s dick three nights ago isn’t the best way to begin a new friendship.
Even if said someone covets sequined, interactive hairless pussy t-shirts.
Instead I go with a heavily pared-down truth. ‘I skipped breakfast this morning.’
My brothers may have refunded the inheritance my ‘father’ stole from my account with their own funds, but I never felt right using it. I’ve only dipped into the replenished account when both my brothers decided on expensive destination weddings. I figured if Thomas and Chase decided to pledge their lives to someone in a five-star resort location then that’s on them.
But using it to pay for my food and lodging so I can meet the other family member they didn’t know I had? That seems like something I should be woman enough to take care of on my own. Especially as they don’t know about her. The existence of my half-sister was something my mother only told me after I sat, silent and trance-like, for an hour in the family’s 15,000 square foot Manhattan mansion after also being told I was illegitimate and broke.
Thankfully, oblivious to all this, Em just nods at my excuse and grabs her own cup of coffee, her reach setting off a disco-ball effect on the large expanse of cement floor from her stack of crystal bracelets.
She helps herself just in time. Soon we’re both shuffling back from the catering table as the growing crew help themselves to food before it’s taken away for the scheduled press junket.
There are various types of press junkets. There are the large ones put on in convention centers with tickets sold to fans, and there are small, intimate ones that only include reporters and the movie production’s main principals—director and actors.
They’re usually scheduled after filming is finished and before a movie’s release. But asthismovie will hold the record for mostscenes shot on site at NASA, the studio’s marketing department is trying to garner early interest.
And because of NASA being a government-secured site, the press junket crowd, which looks deceivingly small in the cavernous building, is made up from crew members who already received their security badges and select, pre-approved reporters.
One of the grips, a camera and light technician, bumps into a panel of switches on the mock International Space Station training module (clearly marked behind red tape), causing Em’s gold flat to tap a staccato beat on the floor, her small foot making a larger than average noise in the football-field-sized building despite the murmuring crowd.
‘The next few weeks are going to be such a pain in the ass.’ Her flat freezes mid-tap and her sparkly glossed lips grimace in my direction. ‘Uh, no offense.’
I hold up the hand still gripping the napkin. ‘None taken. I can only imagine what needed to be contracted, signed and fought over during the whole filming agreement process.’ Balling up the paper, I toss it in the trash. ‘This is my first time on a movie set. I didn’t even know what a storyboarder was until my professor offered me the internship.’
Part of the scholarship I was awarded when I transferred schools requires teaching assistant duties, but as I was too late to apply, there weren’t any available. With this internship, I’m able to meet the required hours to graduate. Which means I won’t have to reapply for another scholarship or take on extra shifts at both the Pilates gym and Paint and Sip studio.
And, of course, the film’s NASA location makes the step I had been hesitating to take all that much easier. It was all too serendipitous to refuse.
Cringing at the reminder of douchebag Johnny and his bad pick-up line, I refocus on the real reason I’m in Texas and scanthe cavernous building for a blonde woman with brown eyes and thick, black-framed glasses – the description of my half-sister.
But with half the crew local Texans and the other half California imports, nearly everyone is blonde, including myself.
And no one has glasses.
Ding. Em glances at her smart watch. ‘Shoot.’ Checking to make sure her rhinestone-collared blouse is neatly tucked into her metallic-pink, pleated, knee-length skirt, Em straightens as if readying for battle. ‘That’s my cue to go greet the VIPs.’
I get the feeling the tiny PR manager is fighting an eye roll.
‘Have fun.’ I manage to sound cheerful even though Em leaving means I’ll be left on my own, looking as clueless as I feel. Everyone on the crew seems nice, but they also all know what they’re doing.
