Deep breaths. Every conversation with this guy is more annoying than the one before. I make my way over, mindful to keep a smile on my face.
“Hi. What can I do for you today?”Since you literally ask me ten thousand stupid fucking questions every day.
“Well,” he huffs. “You could start with making the blood realistic.” He points to a streak of red on the vampire’s shirt and then to the vampire’s nose.
My brows furrow.
The vampire, whose name is Paul—not in the movie but in real life—shrugs. “Yeah, that’s my bad, Evie. I accidentally ran into the tree and gave myself a bloody nose.”
I look at his white ruffled shirt that looks more like what Prince wore in “Purple Rain” than anything Lestat would dare to don, knowing damn well we never applied any blood to his shirt. So that is, in fact, his real blood.
And it’s ten for ten in the dumbass-questions department, but good luck to me to try and tell this director that.
I open my mouth, but the backup director for a Tums commercial speaks first.
“I need the blood on his shirt to look like the blood on his face. It doesn’t look like that ... Do you see it ... Do youseeit?”
He’s obnoxiously pointing. It’s making my eye twitch.
“Your finger’s in the way,” I level, ignoring Paul’s chuckle, especially as I add, “No. I don’t see it.”
I mean ... I could’ve said ... I should’ve said yes. But, fuck this dude.
He’s already out of breath, the rant readied as he throws his arms in the air.
“Does anyone understand how important this movie is? Does anyone understand what we’re doing here? This will be a significant moment in vampirical culture.”
“He made that word up, right?” Paul whispers, looking at me.
I nod, then roll my eyes. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go make some fresh fake blood to apply on you for the first time.”
Paul gives me a sympathetic smile as the director keeps raging, but I turn around, uncaring, and walk off set. I pull my phone out of myback pocket, grinning because I know we’re going to break soon as I hear, “Get me the werewolf. He understands.”
I’m not looking up as I text Chase to come by and slap a burger out of that jackass’s hands, too, making myself chuckle as I picture it.
Me:Failberg really lost it today.
Chuckles the clown:What happened ... did he find his Were canoodling with someone else?
Me:I swear they’re dating. Nobody can convince me otherwise.
I look up at the sky, noticing the sun setting. It’s pretty.
Chuckles the clown:Are you looking at the sunset ... because I’m looking at it.
Jinx.God, he’s so romantic sometimes. I start to respond, but another text comes in.
Chuckles the clown:Wanna meet at sunrise and fuck in the pool?
I take it all back.
Me:Yes.
I smile, putting my phone back in my pocket as I walk. Too much pep in my step. If I’m not careful, my meticulously created badass-girl image will be ruined because I’ll be skipping all over the place.
The good thing is my work trailer is the furthest away from set, so nobody will see me.
Although, I simultaneously hate and love it. It’s inconvenient when we’re bringing shit to set, but it’s nice to have the separation so I can work quietly.
