vibe all the houses in this neighborhood have. I wonder if anyone actually lives here when they aren’t filming.
“Badge,” the man says, unsmiling.
“I, I don’t have one,” I stutter. “I’m here to see—”
“She’s with me.”
Monica appears in the doorway of the house, leaning against the frame like she’s straight off the pages of a magazine spread. She was beautiful the last time I saw her, but now, with her hair and makeup done, she looks like a movie star. I blush as the security guy steps aside to let me in. He still doesn’t smile, but I’m smiling enough for both of us.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” Monica says. She gives me a hug and I notice she smells as pretty as she looks, like a field of fresh flowers sprinkled with lemon and sunshine.
“I’m so glad you invited me,” I tell her.
It couldn’t have been more perfect; the day she’s on set every week is the same day I’m off work from the café, like it was meant to be.
“So this is where the magic happens,” Monica says, holding her hand out like she’s setting the whole world at my feet. Which, if you think about it, she kind of is. “Cool, huh?”
“The coolest,” I say, even though it doesn’t look that different from the few commercial sets I’ve been on with my mom.
“Want to see the kitchen?” she asks. “It’s kind of like the hub of the house; we have a lot of scenes in there.”
I nod, more excited about how excited she is to show me everything than I am about seeing the set.
Heads turn as we walk down the hallway and I wonder if people are thinking, There go the Whistler girls. No one would ever say that about me and Mom. It never really bothered me that her last name was different from mine—but it is pretty cool to share a name with someone. It’s like you’re bonded together with them in a way that’s just yours.
“Here it is,” Monica says. We turn a corner into the open kitchen just as two men are carrying some camera gear out. I step back to get out of their way, but Monica pulls me back toward her. “The crew can go around us.”
I stay put like Monica instructed, but smile an apology as the two men pass by. Every time Mom lets me tag along to a commercial set or photoshoot with her, she always makes sure to be extra nice to the crew since they’re the ones who are really working hard. But I guess it’s different when you’re a movie star.
“Here, give me your phone and I’ll take a picture. Stand over there, by the counter.” Monica points toward the kitchen island. “That’s the exact spot where I stand and talk to my TV kids about their days and give them all kinds of great life advice.”
“Right here?” I ask as I step into place.
She nods and holds my phone up. I can feel my cheeks turning red as she snaps a few pictures. Just past her, the real cameras are set up and for a minute, it feels like all my dreams are coming true.
“Would you mind?” Monica says, handing my phone to another guy on the crew. He shrugs and takes it, as if he could tell the star of the show no.
Monica walks behind me and puts her arm around my shoulder, her face just inches from my own. I turn and look at her, then she turns and looks at me, and I have this crazy thought that this could have been my life.
If Monica were my mom, I might already be a famous actress. She would have never held her child back from achieving her dream, especially since it was the same dream she’d had as a little girl. Monica would have let me audition for real parts, helping me succeed instead of trying to protect me from rejection that might not even happen anyway.
“We’re shooting in five, people,” a man with a British accent yells. I hear him before I see him, but the way people scatter at the sound of his voice tells me he’s someone important. Monica, however, doesn’t move.
“Richard, darling,” Monica says. “This is the young actress I was telling you about.”
I hold my hand out to shake, but he just stands there, looking me up and down. I put my hand back by my side and smile, grateful Monica is still there next