Under the Lights

I know she’s rolling her eyes, but I also know she hears what I’m not saying, which is that I don’t have anything else lined up. And it’s not like I’ve got a ton of savings. Yes, my parents own my house, but they’re also the ones who pay the bill on my black AmEx.

I’d last maybe a month on my personal finances without it.

Not to mention that I’m on my last-chance agent.

Ally’s quiet for a few seconds and then says, “Okay, I have an idea. What if you don’t let them follow you around to film, but you agree to appear for your mom’s filming once an episode? Like, sign the waiver and drop in while…what would they even film your mom doing?”

“Well, there’s the million-dollar question.” I turn her idea over in my head. It does make me look a little less like a raging tool, but it creates the new problem of having to see my mother way too often. Still, it might buy me some time. “But yeah, I think I can do that.”

“Anyway, they’re probably just gonna cancel it after, like, three episodes, right?”

“It’d be a fucking miracle if she actually managed to last that long.” Suddenly, my chest feels a little lighter. “And it’s not like she can hold it against me if the show tanks. I just have to keep her on the air long enough to get her to sign the house over. Once she does that…”

“Yup.”

I can do this. A few episodes of a stupid show, done on my terms, if it gets me my house, keeps me in the lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed, and retains Holly whether or not I land the Wings part? Ally’s right — no chance this show’s gonna last a minute longer than I want it to. All I need is the deed to the house in my hand, and then I’m free. “All right, I’mma go deal with this now. Thanks.”

“I’d say ‘anytime,’ but apparently you’re already well aware of that.”

“Glad to see the Ivy League hasn’t made you any less of a ball-buster. Now go to sleep.”

I hang up — I’ve never been much for good-byes — and text Liam. Call your girlfriend, you asshole.

Then I go back inside, sign the waiver, and somehow find myself with plans for yet another family dinner tomorrow night.

Chapter Eight Vanessa

Come on, Bailey. Monroe’s too much of a douche for you anyway, and you know it.”

“Cut!” I yell and slam my fists into my hips as I turn to Josh. “The line is, ‘Monroe’s not right for you anyway.’ Will you stop with your stupid frat boy adlibs?”

Becky Kempler, who’s directing that week’s episode, sighs. “Vanessa, it’s fine. We’re allowed to say douche on network TV. Can you please stop yelling ‘cut’? That’s for Bryce to do.”

Of course I’m the one who gets yelled at when Josh screws up. He’s been doing this for weeks, just inserting whatever he feels like, whenever he feels like it. He did an entire scene shirtless that wasn’t supposed to be that way at all, and he’s somehow found a way to get Liam cut out of even more than the few meager scenes he was already.

I exhale sharply. “Fine. Sorry.”

“All right, everyone, back to your places!” yells Bryce, the first assistant director and an inexplicable Josh fan. “Scene twenty-four-A, take twelve. Action!”

“I said I wasn’t interested,” I say to Josh’s character, Luke. He’s cornered me at Layton’s Surf Shop, one of the main sets on the show and the spot where Liam’s character, Tristan Monroe, works. “I tried, Luke, but I’m just not over Tristan.”

“Come on, Bailey. Monroe’s a dick, and you know it.”

My entire body bristles when Josh changes the line again, but I think Becky’s probably going to kill me if I say a word about it, so I don’t. Unfortunately, my line is, “He’s right because he feels right,” which of course makes no sense with the way Josh has reworded it, and all that comes to mind in that moment is, “No, he isn’t. You are.”

I expect Becky to scream “Cut!” but she doesn’t, instead letting us play out the scene with our new, nastier ad-libs. I can’t decide if it’s because she wants to bang Josh or just likes the added layer of drama that comes with us sniping at each other, but neither one would surprise me.

“Then how come I’m here and he’s giving Grace private surf lessons at the beach club?”

Finally, we’re back on track. We go back and forth for the rest of the scene, snapping at each other in a way that doesn’t feel all that much like acting. It feels good to get some rage out and to know that it’s making my performance better. When we actually wrap the scene, it’s such a relief I can literally feel my shoulders getting lighter.

I march off to get a water bottle and a makeup touchup without so much as a glance in Josh’s direction, but as Toya swirls on more bronzer, I can feel someone watching us.

“Nice job over there,” says Brianna.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, being careful not to get a mouthful of brown dust. She and I have plans to go shopping, but not for another few hours.