Chapter 5: My First Big Scene

There's no time for any of this to sink in. One minute I'm buttoning up my shirt while Penny slaps some cranberry-red lipstick on me, and the next I'm being ushered unceremoniously back inside by Karen, my granny panties abandoned in the tent. I'm still sweating profusely, but the minute we step into the lobby, a cold blast of air conditioning slaps me in the face. Hopefully that will nip the problem in the bud for now.

I glance around. Orlando is standing near the windows, talking to Omar Walson and a second man who's too handsome to be anything but another actor. Both Omar and his costar are wearing pristine, well-tailored suits, and both appear to be listening intently to their director. Orlando emanates a powerful energy that I can feel even from here, and even some members of the crew seem to be under his spell, trying to watch and listen to him instead of going about their work. I've only been here a moment and I can already see that Orlando has this entire production tied up in his web.

As if my thoughts trigger a vibration in that web, Orlando turns his head and looks at me. A jolt shoots down my spine as our eyes meet, and that look flashes in his expression again - heat and amusement, tangled as one. I realize I'm licking my newly reddened lips and quickly stop.

He wouldn't tell the others about the whole panty thing, would he? I wonder in horror as Karen leads me toward them. Fuck, everyone's going to know me as the "Panty Girl" by lunch.

Omar and his costar notice Orlando looking my way, and they turn to follow his gaze.

"Here," Karen tells me, shoving an electronic tablet into my hands. "In this scene, all you need to do is walk along behind Mr. Walson and pretend to be taking notes. Use the stylus there."

The easiest thing to do is to pretend the whole panty thing never happened. I slide the stylus from its elastic loop, aware that all three men are still watching me. "Pretend to take notes. Got it."

"Walk when he walks, stop when he stops," she continues. "Don't look at the cameras for any reason, but pay attention to where they are. You never want to get between the camera and Mr. Walson. Or Mr. Grand, for that matter."

Mr. Grand must be the other suited man. I can't place the name, but now that I'm closer, I think I recognize him from something. Maybe a commercial? Or a TV movie?

Orlando is still watching me. I let my gaze meet his again, bracing myself for the sudden rush of blood, and the corner of his mouth twitches as he abruptly turns away.

"Okay, guys," he says to the room, clapping his hands once. "Let's take this from the top."

The already-bustling crew members seem to speed up, leaping into their positions and quickly making their final adjustments. A makeup artist runs in to dust a little extra powder on Omar's nose while another young woman grabs the coffee cup out of Mr. Grand's hand and carries it away.

Karen gestures me toward the men, and I scurry over, taking my place behind Omar.

"A little to the left, Maggie," Orlando calls as he slides into a canvas chair next to one of the big cameras.

Hearing him say my name sends a happy little shiver through me, but I manage to regain my composure quickly. I slide to the left, trying to look like the serious assistant they hired me to be. Neither Omar nor his costar even glance back at me.

"And...action!"

And that's it - no other instructions, no guidance. Not even half an hour ago, I was just a girl in a bathroom. Now, because some late-night motivational speaker on TV told me to say "Yes!" to things, I'm about to be in an Orlando Fontaine movie. I might have no idea what I'm doing - I feel like they've thrown me into the deep end of the pool without stopping to ask if I knew how to swim - but I'm not about to blow this awesome opportunity. The two actors in front of me begin walking, and I diligently follow behind, praying I don't trip over my own feet. I can't believe I'm actually doing this. This past year, I've been enviously lusting after my friends' lives - it seems like every day one of them is getting promoted, or getting married, or traveling to some exotic place, or something equally amazing and exciting - all while feeling trapped in an endless cycle, just waiting for my life to begin. Finally I'm doing something exciting, too.

I keep my gaze focused on the tablet in my hands, but out of the corner of my eye I watch both the camera and the two actors in front of me. Absently, I move the stylus across the tablet screen, writing nonsense scribbles. And, since I'm supposed to be the alert assistant, I occasionally give a nod as if I'm listening intently, even though I'm so focused on what I've been told to do that I don't even hear half the lines the actors say.

Suddenly the actors stop, and I stop, too, just short of running into Omar. No one seems to notice the near-collision, though.

"Okay, let's try that again from the top," Orlando says. He's frowning slightly, all serious intensity as he glances between the camera screen and the three of us in front of him. His honey-colored eyes are like lasers, hard and focused. "This time, Ford, put a little more emphasis on that line about Joan. And Omar, can we try your response with a little more anger? But be subtle with it - I want to see slow, seething fury."

The three of us walk back to our initial starting point and do the whole thing again.

And so it goes for the next two hours - Omar and Mr. Grand talking, me looking busy behind them, redoing the same scene over and over again. Orlando directs us with an almost severe passion, continuing to tweak and reassess and nitpick like an artist trying to make a masterpiece. He is an artist - a master, even. That much is obvious, even after working with him for so little time. I've never seen any of Orlando's movies - as far as I know, he's only directed a handful of small, indie flicks so far - but it's hard not to recognize genius when you see it.

And I'm not going to lie, it's sexy as hell.

Yeah, all those rumors about him are starting to make sense. Someone this passionate, this focused, definitely needs an outlet.

As the hours creep on, I begin to understand a little more about what's happening in this scene. Omar is the CEO of some big company, and Mr. Grand appears to be his right-hand man. If I'm reading between the lines correctly, though, there are some conflicting loyalties between the pair of them. Sounds juicy. I wonder where the death and deadly night come in. This film's title is odd, to say the least.

Naturally, I find myself growing curiouser and curiouser about our director. And I'm finding it harder and harder not to watch him out of the corner of my eye, to study every twist of his lip or flick of those penetrating eyes.

To distract myself, I begin doodling on the tablet in my hands. I do that a lot - doodle. On paper napkins at restaurants, or on the corners of junk mail or newspaper scraps. Last year, when I graduated with my master's, my mom got me a beautiful journal with thick paper perfect for drawing. I started out keeping a diary of sorts, but when I fell into my single-and-unemployed slump it evolved into simply a sketchbook of doodles. Nothing pulls me out of a weird mood faster than doodling.

As we go through the scene for the umpteenth time, I find myself doing rough sketches of the men in front of me. None of my drawings ever look particularly realistic - my doodles have more of a cartoony, comic book style - but I'm pretty proud of how they turn out. Once I've done Omar and Mr. Grand, I move on to the person I really want to doodle - Orlando.

I don't get him right the first time. Or the second. Or the third. At first I can't seem to get his hair right, but by the end it's his eyes that are giving me the most trouble. Nothing I draw can capture how startling and direct they are.

Finally, frustrated, I turn his eyes into a pair of lasers. Then draw them shooting glowing beams of energy toward a giant, frumpy pair of panties. It's ridiculous, yes, but it makes me smile - at least until I remember I'm in the middle of a serious scene.

I quickly and subtly flick my gaze to Orlando, hoping he didn't see me break character. No such luck. His eyes are glued on me, his mouth a straight line.

He definitely saw.