Page 33

It’s a scorching day in Century City when we start filming. The kind of morning when you look at the weather app and the first thing out of your mouth is Fuck. I spend a half hour accepting the dire reality that I cannot impress Valeria with my looks without dying. Then again, maybe my sensible outfit will indicate my other positive traits, like diligence and not being a complete dumbass. Good Darwinian traits, which play into attraction.

Our first location is on the Fox backlot, which is cooler than I care to admit, because given the Disney acquisition, it’s likely going to be sold and torn down to make way for condominiums like everything else even slightly cool in L.A. Productions shot at the lot include oldies like the ’60s Batman show (although the Bat Cave was actually filmed on location at Bronson Cave in Griffith Park), the original The Fly (so not the hot Jeff Goldblum one), the 1967 Academy Award–nominated Doctor Dolittle (that I had to read about in a terrible film class I got a B− in), Die Hard (although the destruction scenes were done at the Fox Plaza on the unfinished thirty-third and thirty-fourth floors), and, of course, Ted2 (which I have no plans to ever see). The whole lot is a little like my maternal grandpa, who has amazing stories if I ever sit down to talk to him but mostly watches golf when I’m over.

Still, there’s no beating the thrill of being handed passes and getting the thumbs-up to enter the labyrinth of the studio. Even the physical relief of going from wiping the sweat forming between a Freddy Krueger sweater–patterned baseball cap and my hairline to a building so cold the fine hairs on my arms are up is a thrill.

A pit grows in my stomach the moment I’m inside the air-conditioned location, though. The production isn’t huge, but there are still several dozen people running around, laser focused and clearly not interested in stopping to tell me where I’m supposed to be. It’s like I’m standing here in my underwear.

One seemingly fellow P.A. holding a clipboard approaches me. She doesn’t even look me in the eye. Just looks right to the badge hanging off my neck.

“Luna Roth.” She glances elsewhere, I’m not sure at what. “Check in with Frank every morning, but otherwise just go directly to Brendan.”

I gotta say, I don’t know who Frank is or how I’d locate him in the future, but hearing Brendan’s name again gives me a prickle of warmth.

She pulls out her phone, gives it one glance, then looks back at me. “You’re going right to Brendan today. He should be over by the blue marker over there.”

I spot the blue marker. I thank the P.A., who didn’t even introduce herself to me, but cool, it’s the first day, I’m sure everyone’s balls to the wall. I head over to the blue marker and nearly walk right into Valeria.

For the first time, I get a glimpse of out-of-the-office Valeria. Or, well, costume Valeria. Dark makeup, a form-fitting dress, heels three inches taller than I’ve seen on her hanging out of her hands as she walks around barefoot. There’s still an immediate smile on her face when she sees me, though. A smile that grounds me, takes the chaos out of focus until there’s nothing but her and a blurred background behind her.

“Just the person I wanted to see,” Valeria says. “Brendan, get over here!”

I shake out of my laser focus just in time for an Asian man in his thirties to jog up to Valeria. He’s got a decidedly modern haircut, some fade pompadour style with lots of waves and volume up top. A single silver ring hangs out of his left ear.

“Hey,” Brendan says, holding out his hand. We shake. His hands are calloused, more than a normal D.P.’s. I wonder what sport he does to get those. “I’m Brendan.”

“Luna,” I say back. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

“Course.” His voice is deep, almost gravelly. “So, as I’m sure our mad leader”—he motions to Valeria with his chin—“has explained, with her starring and directing, the hierarchy is a little wacky. This production is obviously small, so I’m D.P., operator, and first A.C., which is fine and all, but when this one has to be particularly focused on acting, the A.D. will be stepping up to director work to call shots and I may have to be away from A.C. duties. You went to U.S.C., right?”

I nod. “Production.”

Brendan runs a hand through his hair. “Great. Work well as a camera P.A. and I may let you do some A.C. work. Cool?”

First camera assistant. I could prove enough to this young, fresh D.P. to get to do camera assistant work on a film that has a better chance than not of getting distributed. “Absolutely.”

“Awesome. Today’s mostly gonna be slating. Show me you’re useful and, well…” He smiles. “I’m trying to stick with A.C.s and P.A.s who I can bring with me to my next indie, so this could become a more permanent relationship. Hear me?”

I’ve operated a slate before. Obviously when I was in film school, I’d been the first A.C., the camera operator, the D.P., the A.D., the director. But shit, this is a real film set. This is a legit fucking camera, and if I play my cards right, Brendan might let me operate it. Hell, if I play my cards right, I could go work on another indie after this. I have to get to pull focus on this set. Brendan’s the mentor I wanted Alice to hook me up with in the flesh. It’s so wild. I have no idea why I wasn’t on the Production Route to begin with.

I catch Valeria’s gaze as she talks to someone else. She throws me a smile. My stomach flips, and the butterflies soar inside me.

“I hear you.”

The first scene we’re shooting is on a bar set, the lighting dim.

“I want the darkness of the bar to reflect a certain amount of relief,” Valeria says to Brendan. “Like how being in a Forever 21 is migraine inducing from the lights, so it’s this huge relief to go back outside and be somewhere less abrasive.”

It gets my heart beating hard. Maybe she’d even want to hear my ideas for that staircase scene. And if Brendan likes them, I’d have to stand out to him.

Brendan chews his inner cheek. “But not specifically the artifice?”

“No, just the relief. I want there to be an…unexpected contrast. Like how”—Valeria looks to me—“cars usually feel safe, and unfiltered darkness once you get out of a car is perceived as dangerous. But if you were, like, in an Uber with a creepy driver, the outside darkness of arriving at the club is good. Opposite than expected.”

Brendan snaps his fingers. “Yeah, I get what you mean. Got it.” He turns to me. “Can you grab the twenty-four millimeter?”

I fetch it out of Brendan’s equipment, and he clicks it into place and sets up the scene, then hands me a slate and the script. We’re starting with scene twenty, where Valeria’s character rushes into the strip club after hours.

The first A.D., a middle-aged woman, steps up to the scene. “Quiet on set! Roll sound.”