swipes a touch of powder under my eyes. “She’s decent,” she calls out.
I’m not sure decent is the right word considering that under this robe I’m in nothing more than pasties and the world’s smallest nude thong. I’ve been waxed and moisturized and airbrushed. Every scar and freckle has been painstakingly concealed, and this particular wig has been tousled just enough to look like I’ve spent the day in someone’s bed. Which is unfortunately what I’m about to do.
The trailer opens and Devon’s dimpled smile appears in the doorway. “You ready to do this?”
“Ready to roll around naked in front of a camera?” I ask. No point in putting it off. “Sure. Just your average Tuesday.”
I once read that sex scenes in movies are just like actual sex, but with none of the pleasure and all of the awkward, fear, anxiety, and stress that come with it. They were not wrong. The good thing—if I had to pick a good thing—is that when done right, a sex scene can completely change a love story. It’s when we’re at our most vulnerable; when we let down walls and let another person see who we truly are. A lot of that rests on the actors’ shoulders, but the director and crew factor in as well. They set the tone for the shoot and the scene, determine how close the shots are and let us know when it’s working and when it’s not.
As a director, Gwen is known for being meticulous. The love scenes are no different. We know exactly how the scene will be blocked, how we’ll move and what we want to come across on camera. I’m not looking forward to this, but at least we’ll all be prepared.
On days like today, only essential crew members are present. As we return to the room that’s designed to look like Ellen’s bedroom in the farmhouse, I see Gwen, Liz, Feng, the camera operator, the assistant camera operator, the boom operator, script supervisor . . . and Sam. It never occurred to me that he’d be here.
I stop short but I needn’t have bothered, because he’s already headed my way. “I tried to grab you before you left earlier,” he says immediately, expression tight with what I can only assume is panic.
I’m feeling a little panicked myself. Today will be hard enough, but knowing Sam will be here too? I mean, shit, we’ve just found some easy, solid ground. I’m not ready to be naked in front of him all day. “Sorry, I went for a run and then had hair and makeup.” I bite my lip.
Why am I explaining myself?
“So, if you look at your contract you’ll see I’m supposed to be here,” he says. “But since my name wouldn’t have meant anything to you before, you probably wouldn’t have noticed. I tried to tell Gwen I wasn’t needed but she said she’d prefer if I stay.” He runs a nervous hand through his hair and then looks around before lowering his voice. “I didn’t know what else to say without telling her too much . . .”
“No . . . it’s fine,” I say, exhaling a slow, steady stream. “Really. We’re all professionals, and I mean . . . it’s not like you haven’t seen it all before. Though fourteen years of gravity takes its toll . . .” The joke lands harshly and creates a dead zone of uncomfortable silence.
“Right,” Sam says finally.
Thankfully, we’re rescued when Charlie comes over to check my makeup.
Her glare follows Sam as he steps away and takes his seat just behind Gwen. “What is he doing here?”
“His job.” I close my eyes as she runs a brush over each of my lids.
“Well he better do his job in the dark corner over there. Behind a thick wall.”
I look at her. “Charlie. Come on. He’s not Satan anymore.”
“Tater, you’re going to be naked all day.”
“Uh, yeah, I’m aware.”
“You can’t blame me for being protective. It’s like when a friend breaks up with someone and tells you all the terrible things about them. They get back together but you’re just supposed to forget about it all?”
“We’re not—You know that’s not what’s happening here.”
“Fine. But if I see him looking at your boobs, I’m going to beat his ass. I’m ride or die Team Tate here. That’s my job.”
When I turn back, Nick is watching us.
“Everything okay?” he asks, tilting his head as Trey makes some last-minute checks on his makeup.