Someone I Used to Know - By Blakney Francis Page 0,63

had kindly reminded me. I was spending far too much time with famous people. Their paranoia was beginning to rub off on me.

I wandered through the section of the market the film’s presence hadn’t disrupted, sucking in the California weather I’d missed so dearly. My parents used to go to a farmer’s market just like that one every Sunday. Did they still do that?

Opening up myself to the past wasn’t like rolling down a window in the car to let an errant fly out, and then zipping it back closed just as easily. It was like expecting to poke a miniscule hole in a dam, and instead, busting the whole thing down with no way to stop every memory, feeling, and emotion, as it crushed me. For four years I had repressed every single thought of my mom and dad, but as I stood there, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering where they were at that exact moment. Was my dad still on his never ending ‘diet,’ trying to lose the elusive five pounds that settled around his waist? Did my mom still beam at my father like he handed her an Oscar when he complimented the meal we all knew very well she hadn’t cooked?

The stinging memories were jostled back into the present as I caught sight of a face I recognized in the crowd. Fran and another crew member were walking towards me and the film set I’d just left behind.

“Where are you sneaking off to?” Fran’s congenial smile cut deeply into her coconut colored cheeks. Her raven hair was pulled back into its predictable, no-nonsense ponytail.

“I’m afraid I’m not much use to Madeline today. It actually might not be a bad idea for me to get a taxi back to Cam’s and get out of everyone’s way,” I told her with a self-deprecating shrug.

“A taxi?” Fran’s expression bordered on outrage, like I’d suggested hitchhiking all the way to Vegas. She chewed on her lip, looking between the other crew member and me once, before shoving the unopened bottle of green tea towards the silent crew member. “Make sure Madeline gets this, and tell her I’ve gone to pick up her dry cleaning.”

The crew member complied without comment, continuing on the route Fran had abandoned.

“It just so happens that the dry cleaner’s isn’t too far from Cam’s place. How about a lift?” The personal assistant offered with a mischievous grin.

I glanced at the crew member’s back and made a split second decision.

“Hey!”

He halted.

“Can you let Mr. Davies know that I won’t be in need of a ride today?”

The guy didn’t question it. He nodded and walked away. Maybe he was mute.

I followed Fran to her car. It was a small, four-door sedan that looked both clean and efficient. The front seats were pristine, looking as polished and simple as I would expect of her, while the backseat looked like a glitter bomb had gone off. Barbies littered the floor board with the dignity of war veterans, and I had no doubt it had been Fran’s daughter, Maria, who took them to battle.

“I really appreciate this,” I said as she readjusted the vents so they blew a constant flow of cool air at me.

Fran was a very responsible driver, checking all her mirrors before backing out of the narrow parking spot.

“It’s no problem, honestly. I wanted to speak with you about something anyways, so really it was the perfect excuse.”

I hummed, waiting for her to elaborate.

“I know Madeline wouldn’t think to give you a heads up, but they’re shooting the scene where Adley goes to speak with the adoption agency for the first time tomorrow. I just wanted you to be able to prepare yourself. I can’t imagine that it’ll be easy for you.” Fran never glanced at me, her eyes drilled into the road ahead of us.

I had been aware of what the following day’s work entailed for all the same reasons Fran had thought to warn me. I kept a close eye on the call sheets, perfectly aware of Madeline’s complete and utter lack of tact, and also my need to emotionally leash my composure. Going to talk to the agent for the first time, however, was far from the top of my dread list. Fran’s careful warning made me second-guess that, and I quickly brought the memory into focus.

The building was three stories of intimidating brick in the heart of downtown Raleigh. It hadn’t even been too far of a walk from the loft, and my