Page 15 of Flipping the Script
As the cast and crew began packing up their materials, Solen found herself reluctant to leave. The artificial lights and industrial space had somehow become intimate, a place where two very different approaches to creativity had found common ground.
Quinn was methodically returning items to their proper places in her bag, but her movements lacked their usual urgency. She seemed equally reluctant to break whatever spell the afternoon had cast.
"Same time tomorrow?" Solen asked, though she already knew the answer.
"Same time tomorrow," Quinn confirmed. She hesitated, then added, "Would you like to grab dinner? To discuss character development," she clarified quickly, as if afraid the invitation might be misinterpreted.
Solen's smile was probably brighter than the situation warranted. "I'd like that. Fair warning though—my approach to dinner conversation is about as structured as my approach to everything else."
"Somehow," Quinn said, slinging her perfectly organized bag over her shoulder, "I'm starting to think that might be exactly what I need."
As they walked toward the soundstage exit together, their footsteps echoing in the now-quiet space, Solen realized that the compass at her throat hadn't left her fingers once during the entire table read. For the first time in longer than she cared to admit, she felt like she might actually be heading in the right direction.
7
THE ART OF FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT
The sleek glass walls of Iris Delacroix's office reflected Quinn's rigid posture back at her from three different angles, none of them flattering. She sat perched on the edge of a modernist chair that probably cost more than her monthly rent, watching Carmen Luna Rodriguez adjust professional lighting equipment around a minimalist white backdrop that screamed "magazine spread." The whole setup felt like preparation for surgery rather than media training.
"This is going to be painless," Iris said, though her shark-like smile suggested otherwise. "Think of it as acting class meets corporate presentation."
Solen fidgeted with her vintage compass necklace, the brass catching the studio lights as she shifted in her chair. Unlike Quinn's death grip on her leather notebook, Solen appeared almost relaxed—if you ignored the way her foot bounced against the chair leg in a nervous rhythm.
"Right, painless," Solen muttered. "Like a root canal."
Carmen looked up from her camera settings, dark eyes amused. "Trust me, I've photographed actual root canals for a dental magazine. This is definitely more fun."
Quinn's pen hovered over a fresh page in her notebook, ready to document whatever systematic approach would get them through this with minimal emotional carnage. She'd researched media training techniques until two in the morning, cross-referencing celebrity couple interviews for successful body language patterns. Knowledge meant control, and control meant survival.
"Let's start with the basics," Iris announced, settling behind her desk with the air of a general preparing for battle. "Relationship timeline. Quinn, how did you two meet?"
The rehearsed answer rolled off Quinn's tongue with mechanical precision. "We met through our mutual interest in the project. Solen's approach to character development immediately impressed me with its?—"
"Stop." Iris held up a manicured hand. "You sound like you're defending a thesis. Try again, but this time pretend you have actual human emotions."
Heat crept up Quinn's neck. She cleared her throat, gripping her pen tighter. "We met when she was cast in my screenplay. I was struck by her?—"
"Her beautiful eyes," Solen interrupted smoothly, shooting Quinn a sideways glance. "The way they light up when she talks about storytelling. You should see her at work—it's like watching someone solve the most elegant puzzle."
The words flowed naturally from Solen's lips, painted with just the right amount of affection and specific detail. Quinn stared at her, momentarily forgetting they were supposed to be performing.
"Perfect," Iris said, making notes. "Solen reads as authentic, Quinn reads as a very nervous robot. Solen, your turn. What attracted you to Quinn?"
"Her intensity," Solen said without hesitation. "Most people see the organization and think she's cold, but there's this fireunderneath. She writes love like someone who understands it completely but won't let herself have it."
Quinn's pen slipped across the page, leaving an uncharacteristic slash of ink. Where had that come from? More importantly, why did it sound so... accurate?
"Excellent. Quinn, same question about Solen."
Quinn's mind went completely blank. She looked at Solen—really looked—taking in the way afternoon light caught the auburn in her hair, how her hands moved expressively even when she wasn't talking, the small scar above her left eyebrow that suggested stories Quinn didn't know yet.
"She..." Quinn faltered, then caught herself. "She makes everything more interesting. Even when she's completely changing my dialogue."
Solen grinned. "See? Fire underneath."
Carmen snapped a candid shot of them looking at each other, the camera's click barely audible. "Keep that energy. Now let's try some test shots for the magazine features."
The backdrop loomed like a challenge as they positioned themselves in front of it. Carmen's instructions sounded simple enough—"look comfortable with casual intimacy"—but Quinn's shoulders immediately locked into their defensive position the moment Solen's arm settled around her waist.
