The woman dusting powder across my forehead stops and looks at me, confusion on her face. “She is?”
I shrug. “I saw her walking with her assistant just now.”
“Weird,” the woman says.
Well, that got me nowhere. After hair and makeup, I put on the gardener costume for today’s scenes and head to the set, hoping to see Annie waiting for me, and desperately hoping we’re filming that couch make out scene today. In just a short time, Annie has become like a drug to me. Like the coffee so many of my friends can’t start their day without.
I don’t want to start my day without Annie.
I don’t even know her phone number or her last name, but I can’t stop thinking about her and I’m so eager to spend time with her again.
And yes, in the back of my mind, there’s a part of my subconscious that’s screaming at me to shut up and get over her and never think of her again. But I can’t just put her out of my mind. It’s impossible.
I am not the kind of guy who hooks up with women randomly. I’ve only ever been interested in a real relationship, which is why I haven’t dated in years. Dating feels impossible as an actor. I’m waiting until I quit this job to find a great woman and settle down. I am nowhere close to having enough money to quit acting for good—so why can’t I quit Annie?
I quickly learn that we aren’t filming the make out scene today. Bummer. The weird thing with movies is that they often film out of order, so while earlier this week we were filming the ballroom scene which is the end of the movie, today we’re filming a scene that’s right at the start.
This is a scene where I take a coworker to the hospital where Andrea’s character is a nurse. Her character and mine are enemies at first, so we bicker and get on each other’s nerves in this scene. The hospital we’re using is actually an office building that’s been staged to look like a hospital.
Everyone is getting ready to begin filming as if everything is normal, but I don’t see Annie and it’s starting to look like she won’t be here today.
The director approaches us smelling like coffee and cigars. “Slight change of plans,” he says to the group as a whole. “We’ll be using techniques to hide Andrea’s cast while filming, so I hope you’ve all read the script notes I sent over late last night. Let’s have a good day, everyone. We’ll take it from the top.”
Whoops. I didn’t read any new script notes because I never checked my email last night or this morning. I spent the whole night in my hotel room thinking about that kiss with Annie and wondering how long I can let myself feel these feelings about a woman I’m not allowed to like or date.
Crew members bring in props to carefully hide Andrea’s broken arm, just like how I’ve seen shows filmed when an actress is pregnant but trying to hide her belly on screen since her character isn’t pregnant. It works fairly well. Andrea wears scrubs, her hair tied back in a ponytail, and she holds a pile of linen draped over her cast at the start of the screen.
Then they have her sitting at a desk or standing half-hidden by a doorway… stuff like that. It works well. I say my lines and do each take the same way, changing slightly if the director requests it.
The day drones on for hours. When we break for lunch, I scope out the dozens of people mulling around the fake hospital set, but none of them are Annie.
Finally, I find an empty waiting room at the end of the hall where they’re keeping the extras between filming. I glance around the room, ignoring all the excited looks I get from extras who probably think it’s cool that the main character is here. I don’t see Annie.
I turn to walk away but someone calls my name. I stop, noticing a young woman with light hair waving at me as she walks over.
“Hi, I’m Jackie,” she says, smiling up at me the way so many woman have before. She has this hopeful, excited look in her eyes, like the women who run into me in public and beg me to take a picture with them. It’s a little unusual to see all this swooning coming from a paid extra, though. They’re professionals and they usually act like it.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, wondering if she knows Annie.
“What are you doing back here with us extras?” she asks, shifting on her feet so that she’s in front of me now and it would be rude if I just ducked around her to leave.
“I was, uh, looking for someone.”
“Someone special?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows. “Are you dating someone, Trevor Owens, and keeping it a secret?” Her voice is playful and joking, but a suspicious feeling creeps up my spine. Sounds like she’s hoping to glean any private information she can about me so she can rush off and tell her social media about it. Ugh. I’m so sick of people and their desperation for social media clout.
I chuckle like that’s the dumbest idea ever. “Nah, no way. I have no plans to date anyone.”
She frowns. “Well, that’s just boring. What else is going on with you? Have you talked to Andrea Block lately? What do you think about her?”
Ugh, this woman is annoying. “I have to get back to set,” I say, politely stepping around her. “It was nice meeting you.”
No, it wasn’t, actually. But the last thing I need is for some extra to go blabbing to a reporter that Trevor Owens is a jerk to crew members. Then I’ll get a reputation for being a problematic diva on set, and I don’t feel like fielding questions from people on the red carpet about how I’m a jerk. So politeness it is.
Andrea and I film some more, and she never gets any nicer or friendly as the day goes on. She acts like she’s better than anyone else here, and that we are all blessed to be in her superior acting presence. In a way, she is better since she’s far more famous, but her rude personality really grates on me. I’m not trying to become best friends or anything, but a little friendly conversation never hurt anyone.
In every other film I’ve been in, you get friendly with the cast members and go out to dinner and stuff each night. With this film, I have Annie and no one else. My nights are lonely. My lunches are boring since she doesn’t come to the craft services with me anymore. And now today, she’s not even here.
The day goes by, and I do my job, but I’m miserable. This is not good—not for my acting abilities or for my heart, which is aching right now. It’s literally aching like I’m some kind of love-sick idiot.
