I know as soon as he says this that I have another friend on set. A genuine, new friend.
“You’ll be fine.” I point a weaving finger to my chest. “I’m a pro.”
When I straighten, I see a shape in the shadows, walking quietly past us down the trail. It’s not hard to make out who it is; no one else’s walk stirs in me this brand of nostalgic heartache.
I don’t know where he was coming from, what he saw, or what he heard. I know Nick and I weren’t kissing for more than a couple seconds—
I immediately drag the next thought forward to the front: It doesn’t matter how long we were going at it or what he saw. What Nick and I do isn’t Sam’s business.
But I hate that he saw this. Already I can tell that it didn’t mean anything romantic to Nick, either, but it’s messy, and I don’t like to be messy. I don’t want Sam to see me like this. I know the reason I kissed Nick in the first place is also the reason I don’t want to name that other feeling in me, the one that Sam pushes on like a bruise. But it’s too late. My truth magnet is back, and never before and never since him have I ever felt such acute, painful, delicious longing.
A part of me still wants him.
And he’s married.
eighteen
I’M FALLING IN LOVE with nearly everything about this shoot—other than the presence of Sam and Dad, that is. I love working with Nick. I’m enamored with Gwen. Devon, Liz, Deb—they’re all masters. And as much as becoming Ellen is a complete revelation, at the end of the day there’s also something cathartic about coming back to my cabin, peeling off my costume, washing the decades off my face, and turning back into Tate.
But with no Netflix or internet, no town to visit or hotel bar to take over, the evening hours sometimes seem to stretch for an eternity. We only have a few night shoots—the big barn-burning scene is coming up about midway through our schedule—which leaves most of our evenings free, so the craft services crew gets creative, hosting barbecues and campfires up near some of the common buildings.
Dad once told me that Hollywood was very different in the seventies and eighties, and being on location for an extended shoot was like being at a very grown-up, R-rated version of camp. Drugs were prevalent, sex was everywhere, there were no cell phones or cell phone cameras, no internet, no political correctness, or Big Brother watching your every move. He described drug dealers coming right on set, with cast and crew lining up and ready to spend their per diem, drunken parties that lasted long after the sun came up.
A lot has changed since then. Movies are more expensive, which means schedules are tight and everything is budgeted, overseen, and accounted for. There’s still sex, but drugs tend to be hidden and sexual harassment and discrimination policies mean most people are on their best behavior. But it can still feel a little wild and free, especially on a set like this, with all of us essentially cut off from the rest of the world and seeing the same people day after day.
Dressed back down in jeans and a sweater, I leave the warm coziness of my cabin, and begin the short, energizing trek up the hill to the Community House. The breeze tugs on the ends of my hair as I walk, carrying with it the smell of charcoal barbecue and damp grass. Up ahead, the tent for the town dance party scene is still up and glows like a star against a dark sky.
I’m not really sure what I expect to find inside. Sam or no Sam. Nick, my dad—with his girlfriend or without. Sam and I mostly keep to our own circles. He spends time with Gwen, Deb, and Liz—though I do notice he slips away every night to call his family back home. Usually, I convene with Charlie, Nick, and Trey at the end of the day. Devon floats between the groups, being generally adorable until about nine every night when he wisely decides to go to bed—after all, if he lets me sleep as late as possible and is always at my door around four thirty, he must be getting up at the crack of hell-dawn.
And then there’s Dad. Mom was absolutely right: I went into this project knowing what it could do