Rochelle-speak for “fat chance.”
In all the years Margie’s been acting, I’ve visited her on set only a handful of times. And every time I’m blown away all over again by the amount of controlled chaos that goes into filming. Grips, makeup artists, camera people, and boom operators fill the shadows that surround the brilliantly lit set, tons of effort being put into creating something to keep me entertained on lonely Saturday nights.
And speaking of lonely nights… Lucas Webb, the actor playing one of the main characters onGlass and Carter, storms onto the scene to confront Margie’s character, and I find myself blushing. He is a bronzed god, from the top of his buzz-cut tawny hair to the tips of his brown dress shoes. I will forever connect that impossibly handsome man with the night after a nasty Valentine’s Day breakup when I binge-watched a series he used to star in, inhaled an entire box of Ferrero Rocher, and tried to use him for fantasy fodder. The evening ended with me falling asleep to his period gangster drama, surrounded by an embarrassment of gold-foil wrappers and snotty tissues, my romantic plans foiled by dead batteries.
Those were the days. Yeah, I was a disaster, but at least I was a disaster with privacy. The day after that debacle, I lay in bed listening to a particularly cheesy sad song on repeat for hours. No one pounded on the walls. No one even came to check if I was alive. It was glorious. My last neighbor, Mrs. Vasquez, was hard of hearing and quiet as the dead.
In all fairness, she did actually die in 5B, but it took a few days to realize it because, again,so quiet.
My phone vibrates. Mom. I smooth my hair reflexively before I answer, even though she’s not here to see how rough I look.
“Sorry, I was about to call, but—”
“Hi lovey, you’re invited to Katie Singer’s baby shower next month. I told her mother you’re going to come!” she says.
My stomach heaves a half-hearted flop and my head throbs.No choice. Best to just agree and get it over with.“I—I don’t really know them that well,” I murmur, conscientious of staying quiet on an active set.
“Of course you do. Katie is a sweetheart. You have to come.”
A tug of guilt prevents me from arguing the point. “Okay, send me the date, and I’ll see if I can make it work?” I whisper. “Did you get the flowers by the way? Tracking said they were delivered.”
“Yes, chrysanthemums this month. Very nice. But save your money, Penny. I don’t need gifts. And why are you whispering?”
“Sorry, I’m visiting Margie. Quiet on set. Can I call you later?”
“Call me when you get home so I know you’re safe. Love you.”
I approach the craft services table, searching for something to settle my stomach, just as Margie’s scene wraps. It only took two takes for the actors to nail it. She looks lit from within as she steps behind the camera to talk to the director, and I am so puffed up with pride and happiness for her that it overtakes my hangover. She catches my eye just as she’s waylaid by some of the crew and holds up a finger. I nod, grinning.
“Episode Ten, we’re going to need a boardroom. But a stately one. Acres of mahogany. Windows with a view. Gilt-framed oil paintings of long-dead white guys on the wall,” a man at the craft services table says to a woman next to him. He nods a polite hello as I move beside them. “Jim’s thinking an old-money, board-of-trustees type of space.”
“Sounds like my office,” I say, reaching for a water bottle.
“Where do you work?” the man asks. The woman next to him pulls out her phone and awaits my answer.
“Uh. Evadon Tech?” I say. “Been around forever. Near the Flatiron.”
Margie, who has broken away from her admirers, appears just as they’re offering their thanks and clearing out.
“You were amazing,” I say, giving her a hug.
“Beautiful work,” a woman agrees from nearby, smiling at Margie.
“Thank you,” Margie says. “Felt good.” The woman enters our orbit, examining the craft services table, and Margie says, “Genevieve, this is my best friend, Penny. Penny, this is Genevieve Duro. She’s one of the legal consultants on the show and my fashion inspiration every day.”
Genevieve shakes my hand and chuckles. She’s an older woman but with unlined skin pulled taut by her high, tight, steel-colored ponytail. Her diaphanous dress makes her look like she’s about to go swanning about the deck of a cruise ship in the 1960s.
“Nice to meet you, Penny. Is this the one you said needed legal advice?”
“Yep,” Margie says.
I give her a blank look and treat Margie to the same. I literally have no idea what she’s talking about. Margie rolls her hand slowly in a spit-it-out gesture.
“I don’t—”
“You can’t handle your liquor. We talked about this,” Margie interjects. To Genevieve, she says, “Penny has a shitty neighbor. Script we’re filming today, the scene with the landlord having to make updates to his old building. Is any of that true?”
Genevieve starts nodding halfway into Margie’s question. For all that she’s dressed for leisure, she seems the sort who moves at a fast pace. “Yes. New law passed last year. How old is your building?”
