"There's a baby in this piece of cake!" someone shouted, holding up the tiny plastic figurine.
I stood back, watching the chaos unfold, and pulled out my phone to take a video. The stunt coordinator was trying to teach one of the actors how to "throw like you're on a float." Someone had put beads on one of the cameras.
I sent the video to Anna:It’s like Mardi Gras here. The crew is obsessed. You're officially their favorite person.
Her reply came immediately:I can see Gerald wearing 30 strands of beads. This brings me joy.
I called her immediately.
"They loved it," I said when she picked up. "Like,lovedit. Morale completely shifted. You just saved us from a very grumpy afternoon."
Her laugh was warm and bright. "I'm glad. I was worried it was too much."
"Too much? Anna, Gerald is still wearing the beads. Thank you."
"This seemed like the next best thing to being there."
"I miss you too. So much."
* * *
The days blurred together,but Anna was woven through all of them.
One night, three weeks in, we FaceTimed for two hours. She was in her pajamas, hair piled on top of her head, glasses sliding down her nose as she leaned over her laptop.
"Okay, so this character," she said, gesturing at her screen. "She's brave, right? But she's also terrified. How do I show both at the same time without it feeling contradictory?"
"Make her hands shake," I said immediately. "But have her move forward anyway. Bravery isn't not being scared. It's being scared and doing it anyway."
She stared at me. "How are you so good at this?"
"I play pretend for a living. It's transferable."
"Don't diminish what you do. You’re beyond talented."
"And you're helping me be a better actor." I shifted my phone so I could see her better. "I was telling Gerald about your main character yesterday—the way she overthinks everything but still takes risks—and he said it gave him ideas for my character's internal life."
"Wait, you talk about my book on set?"
"All the time. Everyone knows about it now. They're all planning to buy it when it's published."
"Ifit's published."
"When, Anna. When."
Another week passed. More texts. More calls. More voice messages left in the middle of the night because we couldn't wait until morning to share something.
Voice message from Anna, 1:23 a.m.: "Okay, so I was thinking about your scene tomorrow—the one where you have to cry on command? Don't think about something sad. Think about something you love and then imagine losing it. That's what always gets me. Anyway, good luck tomorrow. You're going to be amazing."
I used her advice. Nailed the scene in two takes. Gerald literally applauded.
A month in, I called her after a particularly brutal fourteen-hour day. I was exhausted, covered in fake blood from a stunt that had gone slightly wrong, and missing her so much it physically hurt.
"Hey," she said softly when she answered. "Rough day?"
"How'd you know?"
"I can hear it in your voice." A pause. "Tell me about it?"
