“Yes, ma’am,” I say in response, which seems to piss her off even more.
Finally, I’m plopped in the stylist’s chair facing a row of brightly lit mirrors, grumpy and starving. My makeup and hair specialist introduces themself as Zeta, which they say is the sixth star in any constellation, just as they are tasked with making stars twinkle. I like them immediately. Their energy is calming, and they radiate what Lucia would call a positive aura. They also have some very bad news.
“Marina told me I have to cut your hair.” Marina is the casting director who berated me just moments ago for being late. Looking at their face in the mirror, Zeta’s expression is nearly as sad as mine. But not quite. I drag one hand through my curls, maybe for the last time.
“But I thought this was only a read-through,” I say. Shooting doesn’t start for another week.
“They want to do some promo shots with the full cast for marketing, which means you have to be fully in character.”
“My boyfriend’s going to hate it.”
“I’m so sorry to do this to you, Adam. I can bag some of your hair if you want. You can give it to him as a souvenir.”
“That might help,” I say, feeling a little weepy with what I’ve had to endure already this morning, and all without breakfast.
“Jesus Christ, it’s just hair. It’ll grow back,” says the guy next to me. I know his name already, Maddox Kepler, who’s playing the part of Carson Chance, my rival and arch nemesis on the show, at least that’s what I’ve gathered from the scripts of the first couple episodes. All my lines—and there aren’t many—are in response to something he says, usually something snide and contrary. The amount of airtime he has makes me think he might be the show’s frontrunner.
“Hello, I’m Adam Scott Bailey,” I say and offer my hand. Cassius says using my middle name makes me sound more dignified.
“Yeah, I’ve seen your video,” he says, ignoring my handshake. Maybe he’s a germaphobe like Cassius.
“Instagram or TikTok?” I ask since I post videos to both pretty frequently.
“Your sex tape? Three’s Company?” he says with a scowl, then snaps at Zeta, “Can you hurry it up with pretty boy here? Some of us have actual lines to rehearse.”
I catch Zeta’s frosty look in the mirror and my own expression is similarly cold. As Zeta clips away my beautiful curls, they assure me with a smile that at least there will be no salons on the deserted island where our ship is headed.
“I doubt he’ll even make it to season two,” Maddox says without looking up from his phone.
Zeta gives me a sympathetic look and bags a few of my best tresses in a Ziploc that I stuff into my pocket, then fixes my face for the photo shoot. I’m tempted to call Cassius in between makeup and costume to vent, but I don’t want to sound like a baby, especially since this sort of opportunity is all I’ve ever wanted.
My luck turns for a spell when the costume manager notices my sculpted abs and calls for the designer and casting director to discuss how best to showcase my physique. After a lot of deliberation, they decide to save my “big reveal” for episode two when the castaways start hoarding food, which is also my fight scene with Carson Chance, where I will be stripped of my shirt, never to have it returned to me.
Maddox, who’s standing nearby, glowers at the special attention, hating on me for absolutely no reason. He probably has no idea what it takes to maintain a washboard physique—it’s practically a full-time job all its own. During our first read-through, Maddox clears his throat every time I have a speaking part, which means that every line of mine ends up sounding wrong. Then I get the hiccups because I’m so nervous and end up having to excuse myself.
I’m by the water cooler when Zeta comes over to give me some words of encouragement. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s just threatened by you because you’re so visually appealing.”
That means pretty, I’m guessing. I’m not sure that’s the reason, but since I don’t know what it is about me that rubs him wrong, I don’t argue.
* * *
When Cassius picksme up from the studio later, I pass him the baggie of hair and burst into tears. Later, when I’ve calmed down, I tell him everything that went down that day while he massages my back. He tells me that it’s probably just first-day jitters, which is to be expected. Then he puts me on my hands and knees and gives it to me doggy style until all the tension and toxicity have drained from my system completely. I fall asleep deadass tired, and startle awake to the insidious hum of my alarm.
“Rise and shine, dove.” Cassius coaxes me awake with bloodshot eyes, nudging me gently with a cup of steaming hot coffee he’s already prepared for me.
“I love you,” I tell him because he’s so good to me. So thoughtful and caring and attentive to my needs. He rubs one hand over my shorn head and smiles.
“I adore you too, little chick, but your sweet words aren’t going to get you another snooze.”
“Five more minutes?” I whine.
“Nope. Shower’s already running. Get your fine ass in there before the water goes cold.”
Cassius’s water never goes cold, but I take a few sips of coffee while making my way to the bathroom. Imagine having a man who makes you coffee every morning at the ass-crack of dawn and gets your shower to the perfect temp so that you don’t have to mess with it, who lays out your clothing for you and reminds you to brush your teeth. I’ll tie myself to the anchor before I let this ship sail.
I expect things to go better that day, but during hair and makeup, Maddox goes on and on about all his theatrical experience back in New York where he attended Juilliard on an acting scholarship and was cast in several plays, some off-Broadway. “The real stage,” he says, like what we’re doing here is only make-believe. “Where did you go to school, Adam?”
“I didn’t. But I’m taking acting classes with Jean-Pierre Renault.”
