up the way we came and then smiles over at Marco. “Are you staying tonight?”
Marco shakes his head. “I’m headed back to LA after the read, but I can come back up at any point if you need me for anything.”
“We should be fine.” Giving me his bright, dimpled smile, Devon says, “We’ll start at six in the Community House. Sound good?”
The tightness in my stomach returns. I’ve done dozens of table reads in my lifetime, but none will have been anything like this: with the studio heads in town for the first day of shooting, and everyone dying to get a look at Ian and Tate Butler doing their first read together. Some of it will be filmed for marketing and bonus DVD material, which means the room is likely to be packed. Yep, no pressure.
With a wobbly smile, I nod. Marco kisses my cheek and then follows Devon back up the path to gather whatever remaining information he needs before heading back home to LA.
I’ve been dreaming about the smell of Ruby Farm—the fresh tang of grass, the sweetness of the apple trees, the bright wide-open sky framed on one side by redwoods and on the other by the snaking Garcia River—so the last thing I want to do is go sit in a trailer, but fortunately there is also no more joyous place on a set than hair and makeup.
Dropping my purse on the bed just inside the cabin door, I turn around and head back up the hill, toward hair and makeup and the one-and-only Charlie.
The music is already blasting; I can hear it from thirty feet away. Today it sounds like Beyoncé. Tomorrow it might be some French singer Charlie discovered and wants everyone to hear. Or maybe Malaysian hip-hop. Whatever it is, Charlie will be right in her assessment: it will be fantastic. Hair and makeup is always an actor’s first stop, and Charlie learned early on that her space sets the tone for the entire day. I’m grateful that my career has landed me in a place where, contractually, I can request my own hair and makeup people on a shoot; as Head Make Up Charlie has glam and happiness down to a science.
I pull open the door, and she turns, hurling herself into my arms with an eardrum-piercing scream. My closest girlfriend, my oldest friend: when I find my people, I try to keep them. When she pulls back to inspect me, I feel comparably dull: She’s wearing skin-tight leather leggings, stilettos, and a tank top with a series of strategically-placed rips. Her thick black hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and her wild makeup is so intricate, I don’t think I could re-create it even if she gave me all her tools and an entire day.
“Wow, hi.” I pinch her hip. “You look good.”
“You will too. Sit.” She motions me to the chair in front of the wide mirror, and Trey—1st Assistant Makeup—comes over to peck my cheek and give me some water. A few weeks ago, we decided on a soft palette for my makeup: lots of pinks and soft browns. A series of Polaroids are taped to the mirror—photos of me from all angles and in a variety of early-1960s outfits with the corresponding wigs and makeup. They’ll be Charlie’s reference throughout the shoot.
Beside them is a series of photos of my costar Nick Tyler in costume. Trey is handling Nick’s makeup, and I can see the excitement in his posture, the way he fidgets with the tools on the counter beside Charlie’s, arranging them, rearranging them.
“I heard you get Nick.” I lean into the name and wink at him.
“I will never survive this shoot,” he says. “Never.”
“He seems really nice.” And it’s true. Not only is Nick Tyler hot to the point of distraction, he was lovely during our screen tests together and has a good reputation on set.
“Really?” Trey asks.
“Yeah. We’ve met a few times but I mean, we don’t hang out.” My films to date have mostly been glossy Chosen One paranormal flicks, girlfriend comedies, and rom-coms. Nick has done sports films and a couple bigger action movies. Gwen, and the studio heads at Paramount, are really taking a big risk on both of us in this nuanced, cinematic feature.
Anxious fire reignites again in my chest.
“Maybe you’ll start hanging out now.” Trey leans back against the counter, facing me while Charlie cleans off my face with a wipe.