Page 12 of Take It Till You Make It
I jerk back as his sharp delivery pierces me right in the heart. When my shocked hurt ebbs, anger takes its place. “Thanks for your compassion. You must be known for that. Any help on the wardrobe thing?”
“But seriously, you’re seventeen?”
I stare at him, considering snarky comebacks, but in the end, I swallow my anger, shake my head, and turn away. I’ll just wander.
“You’ll probably want to head that way.”
I glance over my shoulder at Crispin and see the direction he’s pointing. I don’t acknowledge his assistance, though, because I had to work way too hard to get it.
In the midst of the chaos, I stumble into an aisle and follow it toward the back corner where Crispin pointed me. I think about the scenes I know we’re shooting today and wonder if all these people are the extras. I guess we’ll be in a retail center for the first scene. Mom and Christa, a.k.a. Chandra and Sally, get into a fight which embarrasses me, so I act like an idiot to draw attention away from them. I literally hate the scene. At least on paper. Maybe it’ll play out differently when we act it out. That used to happen with Dad’s scripts sometimes. I would hate the direction he took with a character until I was acting it out, and it felt much more genuine.
An iron grip wraps around my upper arm. “It’s about time!”
Naturally, I struggle against the grumpy troll lady who is now dragging me across the aisle and behind a black curtain. Just before I disappear inside, I see a small sign pinned to the curtain at about waist height that says, “Stella.” That’s helpful.
“You act like I don’t have seventy people to dress this morning,” grumpy troll lady says. “Taking your time. Sauntering! You were literally sauntering.”
Her outrage is so misplaced, but I’m feeling rather out of my depth, and I’m afraid if I explain that I had no idea where to go, she might find fault in that too. So, I stand there and wait for her to finish her ridiculous rage session.
“Hello, my name is Arabelle, I’m playing Stella. I’ve never worked on a motion picture before. Is this where I report for wardrobe every day?”
“Did you expect to get a trailer like the principals?” Troll lady pulls out ripped denim capris and a cap sleeve shirt from a line of clothes hanging on a rolling wardrobe. “Put these on. I’ll be back in five.”
She storms out while I’m still juggling the clothes, trying to keep them from falling onto the floor. I turn as if I’ll see her storming away, or whatever she’s doing, but only the faded black curtain greets me. I crane my neck, trying to release yet another burst of anger. Seriously, if everyone here is going to treat me like crap, I’ll quit. I can stay home and feel like this.
But I won’t be getting a ridiculously large paycheck.
I look up at the ceiling and mumble, “Please, movie gods, help me to remain calm.”
Far longer than five minutes passes before the troll returns. I consider asking her name so I can stop thinking of her as the grumpy old bridge troll, but she could be polite and offer it, too. Screw her. She’s “troll lady” until she earns another distinction.
She examines me critically and finally pulls out a pair of no-show socks and scuffed and grass-stained white Keds for me to don. Then she ties no fewer than seven friendship bracelets onto my left wrist and finally shoves cheap bubble gum machine rings onto the ring and pointer fingers of my right hand.
“Are these going to turn my finger green?” I ask.
“If we’re lucky.” She scans me once more. Then, walking toward me, she shoos me with both hands. “Okay, go.”
Feeling rushed, I fumble with my phone so I can find Jenny’s next instructions. I stumble out of the curtained area into the aisle while troll lady stomps off, shaking her head.
My heart and head are both pounding with frustration and nerves as I make my way to the set. Outside of wardrobe, they have set up what looks convincingly like a retail square. As I approach, the crew are the only people bustling around inside the square, but I can totally see how it will look like we are at a mall in the shot. It’s clear they haven’t started filming, so I stand back from all the hustling people and dig my script out of my bag to go over my lines one last time.
I pretend to be studiously reviewing lines, but my stomach is a knot of nerves. Seeing all the cameras and people and the fake set is making me wish I’d asked for permission to observe the action prior to today so I knew what to expect. There are so many people here working, it’s astounding. I had no idea it took this many people. Why didn’t I think to do more research on how a movie is made? Dad and I researched the heck out of the scenes we rewrote. Looking up anything written about the author’s possible motivations with the characters or storyline. Watching loads of fan videos on their summations of a book’s plot or why an author killed off a beloved character. Anything we could find so that our rewrite would include as much of the original mood as possible, while also spoofing them.
I sigh and find I’m staring at a group of people who appear to be discussing the set, possibly the lighting.
“Arabelle?”
Sally bounces up to me, looking every bit the normal teenager that she might have been before this opportunity. I frown as I realize I don’t really know her story. I know she’s only done one movie before, but for all I know, she was on Broadway before this. Or she’s the president’s daughter and used to cameras and being stared at. Well, look at her. She’s gorgeous. She’s used to being stared at, while I am constantly overlooked because I look young and insignificant. When her smile wavers, I realize I haven’t yet greeted her back, so I shake my head and force a smile. “Hey, Sally. How’s it going?”
“I was so excited to see that we finally get to film together today.”
My smile slips away as I scan the room full of people who know what they’re doing.
“Uh oh, I recognize that look.” Sally’s tone is serious, and she practically whispers as she steps closer and rests a hand on my arm. “You don’t have to be nervous. I’m happy to help you. We’ve devised a signal so that if you don’t understand something, my aunt will know to step in or help.”
“How do you mean?” I look around for an adult standing around on the sidelines that looks like Sally, but everybody seems involved in actual movie business, not here to chaperone.
“According to my aunt, directors often forget they have newbies on set, and they’ll speak in movie jargon, or their own jargon. I don’t know it all, but with my aunt’s help, I’m learning.”
