Page 31 of Marisol Acts the Part

“Who ate the last banana?!” Rune shouts first thing on set Wednesday morning.

He’s never been the “Hello, how are you?” type, but this is the third time this week he’s greeted us with some kind of accusation.

Yesterday, it was aimed at Esther for not having his favorite quinoa bowl on the lunch menu.

Monday, it was at one of the sound guys for having the boom mic lower than usual, even though it was at the same height it always is.

Rune had him fired before he could even adjust the mic.

As Esther promised, he was rehired the following day.

It’s like Rune is on a mission to give me the world’s longest-lasting migraine.

We’re clocking in at a solid nineteen hours so far.

It’s bad enough that today is one of our aggressively early shoot days.

When I came trudging into the building, the sun hadn’t even risen yet.

It took hair and makeup an extra fifteen minutes to cover up my eye bags.

No one owns up to the banana situation. For all we know, there weren’t even any bananas at crafty this morning, but that doesn’t matter. Logic never matters when it comes to Rune.

“Fine. Guess I’ll have to run out and get my own banana,” Rune announces to the room, as if this is the greatest tragedy of the twenty-first century. Thankfully, one of his PAs appears out of thin air—as they often do—holding a banana she clearly took out from the tote bag on her shoulder.

Rune scrutinizes the banana’s brown spots, as if he somehow knows this is her personal banana and not one sent by the gods of crafty, but ultimately decides not to fight it. Once he’s taken his first bite, the tension in his shoulders slackens, but his voice isn’t any less tight.

“Let’s get started,” he barks, not changing his “I’m angry for some absurd reason” tone.

Which is just my luck since I’m in the first scene of the day.

And it’s with Miles.

I quickly set down my phone—abandoning the essay-length text I’d been writing to Kevin to try to convince him that he has to lip-sync to a Beyoncé song for the competition. He’d been floating around a couple of different ideas, but QueenB is always the answer.

We get to our marks in a makeshift classroom, Miles seated on the edge of a desk and me standing on the opposite end of the room.

As always, Rune approaches us before we begin the scene with a handful of edits to our lines.

They’re not total rewrites like they have been in the past, but they’re substantial enough for me to need an extra minute to study and get themdown.

With Jamila’s continued help with practicing my lines in our trailer, I don’t break out into a panic every time Rune flips the script on me.

I’ve even managed to come up with my own memorization technique.

Focusing on the thought of telling Jamila about all these line changes after my scene has wrapped and we’re on the couch in our trailer with Diet Cokes, tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths.

The way her lips will curl in the corners, her soft, melodic laugh, as she fights back a snort and says, “Seriously? That’s what he went with? ”

I fan my cheeks as Rune calls for everyone to get into place, brushing off the thought of Jamila and focusing on the real subject of my attention: Miles. Or Will. My ex-boyfriend. On- and off-screen.

It’s another emotionally charged scene. Possibly my most intense moment of the season—when, after months of on-and-off hookups, I finally confront Miles and his obvious feelings for Jamila.

The characters, I mean. Not the real people, obviously.

“Why are we here?” Miles, in character, asks, as he looks away and crosses his arms.

“Because we need to talk,” I reply sharply, easily slipping into the new harsher exterior I’ve created for Zoe. “About you and…her.”

Miles does a wonderful job of making his eyes light up at the mention of Jamila’s character. Something I try not to dwell on—both in real life and in character. “What about her?”

My fingers curl into a fist. “I know what’s going on. You can’t keep lying to me.”

“I’m not—”

“You are!” I shout, tears springing to my eyes as I give myself over completely to the scene.

I channel the rage and heartbreak and insecurity I’ve felt over the past few months into my performance.

Zoe and I may be polar opposites, but I can understand what it’s like to feel disposable. Especially to someone like Miles.

“You can’t come crawling back to me at night when you want to feel better about yourself, then toss me out in the morning.

I’m a fucking person, Will. And I’m tired of this.

I know what you went through with your dad and brother was awful, and I know you’re struggling, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to treat me like I’m something you can throw away. ”

Tears stream down my cheeks as the scene ends.

Miles says his last line, but it’s drowned out by the noise inside my brain.

I remain trapped in that anger, body trembling even after we call cut.

When the overhead lights switch on again, I’m surrounded by silence, but it doesn’t feel intimidating this time.

Because I know I absolutely nailed it.

Once I’ve composed myself, I find that Miles is staring at me, mouth agape.

“That was…” He shakes his head in disbelief. “That was incredible, Mari.”

A compliment from my ex shouldn’t light my whole body on fire, but it does. Not because I’m hoping this’ll change anything between us. But because it’s proof— tangible proof—that I’ve changed. That I did exactly what I set out to do. That I proved him wrong.

Before I can relish in the victory of crushing my scene, Rune’s voice calls us to attention.

“Run it again. From the second page,” he says through gritted teeth. His eyes are closed as he massages his temples, and when his script falls off his lap and onto the ground, he lets his PAs scramble to pick it up for him.

Miles and I brace ourselves, waiting for him to give any of his usual notes on our first take, but he doesn’t speak up again or even look at us. He snaps his fingers when we don’t get a move-on.

Quickly wiping my cheeks and restoring the bruised confidence I have by the second page of the scene, we start again.

“Zoe, you know what she means to me,” says Miles, able to easily slip back into character.

“I don’t. And I don’t think you do either. If you—”

“Stop!” Rune shouts yet again.

There’s a general air of unease when he interrupts. Producers and PAs on the edge of their seats as he storms over, his heavy steps echoing in the dead-silent room.

Walking straight up to me.

I flinch, not sure what I’m bracing myself for—a shout, an insult, a tackle to the ground—but preparing myself.

And yet, nothing can prepare me for Rune closing the distance, leaning down until his face is pressed inches from my neck, and inhaling deeply, sniffing me like he’s a dog searching for a bone.

What. The. F—

“It’s you,” Rune murmurs, interrupting my confused line of thought. “That perfume you’re wearing has been giving me migraines all morning.”

“O-oh” is the only thing I can think to say as I reach up to cover my neck with my hand, as if that can cover up the scent of Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle. “I—I’m sor—”

“Go wash it off,” Rune instructs, cutting off my apology. “Don’t come back until it’s gone.”

His voice is as strong as a shove. Not a shout, but something somehow worse. Something laced with anger, and disgust, and worst of all: disappointment.

“Okay,” I manage to choke out, unsure what else I can say.

Over Rune’s shoulder, Esther gives me a sympathetic frown. Even Miles looks like he wants to reach out for me as I rush off set, doing what little I can to hide my face.

The room is quiet as I weave through the crowd, bodies parting for me as I rush out. When I close the door to set behind me, I hear Rune call out for them to move on to the next scene, not bothering to wait for me to come back and take it from the top.

For once, I pray that Jamila’s not in our trailer, but of course she is. The universe just doesn’t want to cut me a break today.

“Hey. Wasn’t your scene supposed…” Jamila trails off once she takes me in, setting down her phone and carefully approaching me. “What happened?”

I don’t realize I’m crying until her fingers brush my cheeks and come back glistening.

Once I see it, the tears come harder. Jamila swims in and out of view, her image broken and jumbled like I’m seeing her through a kaleidoscope.

Shaking, I sit down on the edge of the couch, trying to keep my voice from cracking as I tell her everything.

“That’s fucked up,” she whispers as I finish, unable to keep myself from hiccupping as I choke back sobs. “I know he’s always been…a lot. But this is on another level.” She pauses, biting her lip before continuing. “Maybe we should talk toEli…”

The confirmation that I’m not overreacting is encouraging but doesn’t make me feel any less like I’m the one who’s the problem.

Rune has taken shots at everyone on set, sure, but it feels like I’ve been the punching bag of the season.

From the first day I walked on set, Rune has seemed irritated by me.

Not only in my performance, but in who I am as a person.

I’m left constantly wondering if I’m going to get fired mid-scene.

Some days are steadier than others, but on rocky days, it feels like I’m seconds away from stumbling and falling over the edge of a cliff.

And as encouraging as it was to find out Eli went through the same thing, I know we’re not the same caliber.

They were the lead. Their role completely changed the trajectory of their career—made them the kind of star Miles wants to be, and I never thought I could be.

Rune may have been awful to them too, but they were able to come out on the other side of that experience a star.

And if everything goes right, that’ll happen for me.

“It’s…” I begin, but can’t continue. My heart clenches as I meet Jamila’s eyes and see myself reflected back in them.

Tired and pale and so unlike myself that it’s like staring at a stranger.

“It feels like I’ve changed everything about myself to be here.

My clothes, my hair, my…” My everything, I think, but can’t say out loud. “And it’s still not good enough.”

I know that sometimes I’m over-the-top and dramatic and “too much,” but I’ve never felt a need to apologize for it before or felt ashamed of the things I love most about myself.

I’m willing to adapt and change, to push myself and my acting abilities for the sake of exploring new possibilities.

But is it worth it if the person it makes me is someone unrecognizable?

Do I really want to do this—leave my comfort zone, completely change the direction of my career—if it means I can’t be myself?

Jamila shifts closer until our knees are brushing beneath the dining table.

She allows me to sob until I can’t anymore, runs a hand down my back until my wails have died down to ragged whispers.

I know I’m supposed to be taking a shower or rubbing wet wipes down my neck so I can head back to set, but I can’t find it in me to stand up yet.

They’ve moved on without me, anyway. I doubt anyone in that room is waiting anxiously for me.

“I know this might not mean anything, but for what it’s worth…

” Jamila takes my hands in hers and, finally, they stop shaking.

Tears cling to my lashes as I blink up at her, resisting the urge to hide my puffy-eyed, snot-smeared face when she’s always— always— so beautiful.

But if she thinks I’m gross, she doesn’t let it show.

She squeezes my hand and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“I think you’re pretty perfect already. As you are. ”

In that moment, with her fingers brushing my neck where Rune inhaled and wrinkled his nose like I was a piece of rotten fruit, it’s impossible not to believe her. And impossible to deny what I have known and fought since the first time I saw her: that I’d give anything to kiss her.

Before I can linger on that thought, she loops her fingers through mine and tugs me toward the entrance to our trailer. “C’mon,” she urges when I drag my feet.

I quickly wipe off my cheeks, unsure what her plan is as she throws the door open and guides me through the maze of trailers, crew, and crafty until we’re fully away from set and walking toward the block that overlooks the water.

I’m prepared to ask her if we should be straying this far from set when we turn a corner and the water comes into view, immediately silencing all my questions and protests.

The sun has finally started to rise on the edge of the horizon, painting the sky above the East River the dreamiest shade of orange, with a hint of pink.

The skyscrapers in Manhattan are bathed in soft golden light, the water so serene it’s easy to forget how green it actually is in regular daylight.

I consider pulling out my phone to take a photo for my socials, but I know I’ll never be able to capture the beauty of this moment on a screen.

“Now you can cross watching the sunrise off your bucket list,” Jamila explains as she gestures to the water, reminding me of our conversation on the subway during our first week on set.

All thoughts of Rune and the way he always tears me down are gone as I smile at Jamila, torn between lingering on her or the sunset.

She was right: It was worth the crack-of-dawn call time.

And that she’s the best tour guide in the city—because I know this view wouldn’t be half as stunning if she hadn’t been the one to show it to me.