will be taken away, that as quickly as it arrived, it will disappear—the whole thing amazing and tenuous as a butterfly’s life.
I tell myself it’s only the newness that has me off balance, that this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to us. A good night’s sleep and tomorrow the shadows of doubt will be gone.
21
W e pull onto the lot, and Molly yawns awake then climbs from the car without an ounce of urgency, and it’s all I can do not to scream at her to hurry up. It’s our first day and already we are ten minutes late.
We race to the soundstage then through the corridors toward the sound of voices, and when we find a small crowd, we stop, assuming this is where we are supposed to be. A few people look our way, but no one says anything and I don’t recognize a single face. Some chat in small groups, others hang by themselves with cups of coffee and their cell phones, and a few slump against walls with their eyes closed.
“You’re late.”
I don’t know the woman who has stepped in front of us, but by her tone and demeanor, I assume she’s in charge. Petite as a pixie, her hair is jet black and her eyes piercing blue. She could be a haggard thirty-year-old or a well-maintained fifty-year-old; it’s impossible to tell. She carries a clipboard and wears black jeans, a black sweater, a headset, and a scowl.
“You need to leave,” she says. Her voice matches her hairstyle and wardrobe—severe and shrill—like the squawk of a raven.
I blink, not understanding. Are we being fired or is she sending us home as punishment for being late?
“Give me your cell number,” she says.
I scrawl the number on her clipboard as I stammer, “I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand?”
“You just told us to leave.”
She frowns, her mouth pinching so tight that it puckers. “Minutes. Your daughter has 270 of them a day. They are clocked from the moment you arrive on the lot.” She looks at her watch. “You pulled in at 7:09. It is now 7:16. Seven minutes are gone and nothing’s been accomplished. By the time you pull off of the lot again, another ten minutes will have been wasted. At this rate, we’ll finish the first episode in time for the finale. I told Chris he should have cast twins, but no, he insisted your daughter was the one , so now I’m stuck dealing with three hours of set time and four and a half hours of lot time. Does he know how difficult that’s going to be?”
I pull Molly against my hip to buffer her from the woman’s rant.
“From now on, when you’re given your call time, it means you’ll be waiting somewhere nearby at that time. Seven means seven, not seven-sixteen. You will wait until I call, then you will come onto the lot. Understood?”
I nod.
“Good. Now go.”
“But Molly doesn’t have a scene until halfway through the first episode. Do you even need her today?”
She runs me up and down and sneers in distaste like I’m a fly that landed in her soup. “You’ve never done this before?”
I shake my head.
“First, we don’t shoot in sequence; that would be incredibly inefficient. Second, today and tomorrow are blocking.”
I swallow.
“Christ, you don’t know what blocking is? Are you kidding me?” Her voice has reached a glass-shattering octave, and now everyone is looking at us. “I’m going to kill Chris. I don’t have time for this.”
“She’s scawry,” Molly says as we hurry back the way we came.
22
E xtreme boredom has set in.
We wait at a nearby McDonald’s for the woman to call. We’ve been here five hours.
Molly plays in the play area, rotating friends as previous ones leave to get on with their days.
I’ve eaten breakfast and lunch, indulged in a chocolate sundae, and am now contemplating an apple pie. If each day is like this, I’ll weigh three hundred pounds by the time the season begins.
While I wait, I contemplate what a loser I am at my new job. I don’t know the woman’s name who sent us away. I
I tell myself it’s only the newness that has me off balance, that this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to us. A good night’s sleep and tomorrow the shadows of doubt will be gone.
21
W e pull onto the lot, and Molly yawns awake then climbs from the car without an ounce of urgency, and it’s all I can do not to scream at her to hurry up. It’s our first day and already we are ten minutes late.
We race to the soundstage then through the corridors toward the sound of voices, and when we find a small crowd, we stop, assuming this is where we are supposed to be. A few people look our way, but no one says anything and I don’t recognize a single face. Some chat in small groups, others hang by themselves with cups of coffee and their cell phones, and a few slump against walls with their eyes closed.
“You’re late.”
I don’t know the woman who has stepped in front of us, but by her tone and demeanor, I assume she’s in charge. Petite as a pixie, her hair is jet black and her eyes piercing blue. She could be a haggard thirty-year-old or a well-maintained fifty-year-old; it’s impossible to tell. She carries a clipboard and wears black jeans, a black sweater, a headset, and a scowl.
“You need to leave,” she says. Her voice matches her hairstyle and wardrobe—severe and shrill—like the squawk of a raven.
I blink, not understanding. Are we being fired or is she sending us home as punishment for being late?
“Give me your cell number,” she says.
I scrawl the number on her clipboard as I stammer, “I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand?”
“You just told us to leave.”
She frowns, her mouth pinching so tight that it puckers. “Minutes. Your daughter has 270 of them a day. They are clocked from the moment you arrive on the lot.” She looks at her watch. “You pulled in at 7:09. It is now 7:16. Seven minutes are gone and nothing’s been accomplished. By the time you pull off of the lot again, another ten minutes will have been wasted. At this rate, we’ll finish the first episode in time for the finale. I told Chris he should have cast twins, but no, he insisted your daughter was the one , so now I’m stuck dealing with three hours of set time and four and a half hours of lot time. Does he know how difficult that’s going to be?”
I pull Molly against my hip to buffer her from the woman’s rant.
“From now on, when you’re given your call time, it means you’ll be waiting somewhere nearby at that time. Seven means seven, not seven-sixteen. You will wait until I call, then you will come onto the lot. Understood?”
I nod.
“Good. Now go.”
“But Molly doesn’t have a scene until halfway through the first episode. Do you even need her today?”
She runs me up and down and sneers in distaste like I’m a fly that landed in her soup. “You’ve never done this before?”
I shake my head.
“First, we don’t shoot in sequence; that would be incredibly inefficient. Second, today and tomorrow are blocking.”
I swallow.
“Christ, you don’t know what blocking is? Are you kidding me?” Her voice has reached a glass-shattering octave, and now everyone is looking at us. “I’m going to kill Chris. I don’t have time for this.”
“She’s scawry,” Molly says as we hurry back the way we came.
22
E xtreme boredom has set in.
We wait at a nearby McDonald’s for the woman to call. We’ve been here five hours.
Molly plays in the play area, rotating friends as previous ones leave to get on with their days.
I’ve eaten breakfast and lunch, indulged in a chocolate sundae, and am now contemplating an apple pie. If each day is like this, I’ll weigh three hundred pounds by the time the season begins.
While I wait, I contemplate what a loser I am at my new job. I don’t know the woman’s name who sent us away. I
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