Authors: Ted Michael
When we finally slow down, we're inside the studio and coming to the end of a long hallway. At the end of it is a door.
MS. SPARROW
it says in bold block letters in the center of a gold star.
My dressing room.
Stacy opens the door, and turns to bolt back down the hallway. “I'll be back for you in a little while, Destiny. The new scene and your music are on your vanity.”
“Huh?” I ask. Back in the bathroom, Destiny had mentioned that we could trade places for the afternoon. I was going to work instead of her, and she was going to take some “well needed time off.”
I only
sort of
realized that going to work for Destiny meant filming a movie. I may have fooled Destiny's driver and her assistant, but would I
fool the director? And all of her costars? What if I got caught . . . what would happen to me? Would they send me to jail?
Or even worse: Call my father?
I look around. Destiny's dressing room is beautiful; a large white, cushy, sofa is pushed against a crisp pink wall. Above it hangs a large headshot of Destiny. On the other side of the room, the wall is lined with mirrors surrounded by bright white lights.
I walk over to it. Makeup of every sort is laid out on the counter beneath the mirrors, along with hairbrushes, curling irons, and a blow-dryer. Tucked underneath the makeup counter is a wood-framed chair with a fabric backâon the chair is
MS. SPARROW
. In one corner of the counter sits a tray of fruit and a big bowl M&M's, only they're all green.
That is what is means to be a real star
.
I'm here. I'm finally here. Everything I've ever wanted is at my fingertips.
I reach into the bowl to grab a handful of M&M's. Something jabs me in the side, gently.
I let out a little yelp, and my hand sends the bowl crashing to the floor. I feel tiny chocolate pieces hit my toes.
“What the . . .?” I turn to see who is speaking.
On the outside I simply smile what I'm sure is the goofiest smile ever. My inner monologue, though, goes something like this:
OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG
(breathe)
OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG
It's Tad Preston.
Tad is Destiny's costar in
Tidal Wave
, and another in a long list of hunky guys I may or may not have photos of on my bedroom wall. He's tall, almost six feet, with crystal blue eyes, shaggy dirty-blond hair that falls just below his shoulders, and the most perfectly clear, tanned skin I've ever seen. The kind of flawless complexion that no cream or chemical could ever help a normal human to achieve. He's wearing a white T-shirt that shows exactly why he has one of those “best beach bodies” that Dad
threatened to quiz me on earlier. He's standing so close I can smell his freshly brushed, minty breath.
“Whoa, Sparrow, chill out. I didn't realize you were so skittish!” He bends down and scoops up a handful of runaway M&M's.
“Sorry.” I try to regain my composure. “I didn't realize the door was open.” I take a quick peek at myself in the mirror while Tad is picking candy off the floor.
Not bad. But will he notice that I'm not really Destiny
?
“I caught your segment on
Inside Hollywood
last night,” Tad says, dropping handfuls of now dirty candy back into the bowl. “Thanks for saying such nice things about me.”
Tad smiles, big. I didn't watch
Inside Hollywood
last night. Is he being sarcastic? Had Destiny said some terrible things about Tad? Or is Tad being serious and they actually like each other?
I quickly run down the facts of the situation in my head: big smile, gentle tickle/poke, so handsome, dreamy really. . . .
“Of course!” I decide to go with the they-actually-do-like-each-other option. “You're the best!” I give Tad a light punch in his
very
firm chest.
Awkward.
“Ow,” Tad pretends that my little smack hurt him. He runs a hand through his hair, sweeping it off his forehead. “Do you want me to help you run lyrics for a bit?”
“How was your night?” I'm much more interested in the
celebrity
part of my life as Destiny than I am the
work
part. “Did you hit the town? Go to any hot clubs?”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wince.
Hit the town
? Does anyone even say that anymore? I am going to give myself away if I don't watch my language and sound more like Destiny.
“Nope,” Tad replies simply. “I knew we had a big day today, so I was just going over lines and stuff. Nothing crazy.”
This was almost too much for me to comprehend. Tad is famous, gorgeous, and rich. He can get into any restaurant or party he wants. Surely he has a long list of girls knocking on his door. I imagine him not being
able to keep all of his dates straight! He's too amazing to be stuck at home on a perfectly good night for having fun.
“Plus,” he continues, “I had a bunch of homework I needed to get done by today, or Mrs. Traywick would have given me a hard time for sure. You know how she is.”
Mrs. Traywick? Mrs. Traywick? My mind races trying to figure out who this Mrs. Traywick is.
Don't blow this, dummy. Act fast
.
“I see you're playing the part of brownnoser today,” Tad says before I open my mouth. He picks up a stack of papers from the counter and holds them up for me to see. It's a math exam with Destiny's name written on it. On one corner, in red pen, is a giant
A
. There's a little note stuck to the other corner. Printed on top of it, in bold letters, is:
FROM THE DESK OF MRS. DAPHNE TRAYWICK, EDUCATIONAL TUTOR
. Of course!
School
.
“I know, she's
so
annoying.” I try my best to make an A in math look cool.
“Well, I mean, she's just doing her job, Destiny. Cut her some slack; what she does is important. You should appreciate it, not give her a hard time.”
What just happened? Tad Preston just gave me a lecture on gratitude and how much I should love learning. What would Destiny do? I decide to return his serve with some Sparrow sass.
“Okay, Einstein. Sorry,” I say, though it doesn't sound like much of an apology. “You're always so busy getting your photograph taken with some bimbo; I guess I just didn't realize that you had time for school.”
“You know I'm not into all that superficial stuff, Destiny. We've talked about this. It's one of the reasons we get along.”
He looks at me strangely. “The photo-ops, the parties, the paparazzi . . . it's all part of the job, but it's not me. I'm here to work, not to have fun.” Tad puts Destiny's test back on the counter. “Being famous is just a sometimes nice and sometimes nasty side effect. I'm just a kid with chores and homework and parents like every other kid. Only I get to be in movies too. I thought you felt the same way that I did, but I guess you don't.”
“But Tad, I reallyâ”
He holds up his hand. “The sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be.”
Tad turns to walk out the dressing room door. I need to save this. This day is supposed to be fun, excitingâmy dream come true. I can't spend the whole day with Tad mad at me.
“Listen.” I rush up to Tad and place a hand on his shoulder. He stops at the doorframe. “You're right.” I put my head down to the ground and make a sniffling sound with my nose. “I guess I was just a little nervous about shooting today, and I took it out on you.” I look up with my eyes, keeping my head pointed toward the ground. “Forgive me?”
He nods. “It's okay. We all have bad days, right?”
“Yeah, you're right,” I say in the most pathetic voice I can muster. “Thanks for understanding.”
Tad holds out his arms.
Oh my God, he's going to hug me
. I freeze. Tad wraps his tan, toned arms around me and squeezes. I feel like a gooey batch of cookies that have just been taken out of the oven.
“Now,” Tad says with a slight whisper in my ear. Shivers run down my whole body. “Are you ready for your big song today?”
Did I just hallucinate? I need Tad to repeat that. “What do you mean?” I chuckle, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.
Tad releases his bear hug and points to the script sitting on the makeup counter. Next to it, I see pages of musical notes and a bold, black title at the top that reads,
YOUR LOVE IS LIKE A TIDAL WAVE
.
Tad's eyes widen. “Everyone on set is
really
looking forward to shooting this scene today. I mean, it's your singing debut! Aren't you excited? I'd be freaking out.”
I press my hand to my forehead. Freaking out doesn't begin to describe how I'm feeling.
“Oh?” I say. “Is that today? I thought we were shooting this scene tomorrow. . . . I must have my dates mixed up.”
Tad gives me a quizzical look. “But we've been talking about this song for a week already. I know you're nervous butâ”
“It's probably Stacy's fault.” I try to think of how I'm going to get out of this one. “I'm sure they can record the actual track some other time, and
we can shoot a different scene today.”
“Oh, I get it.” Tad flashes his pearly white smile. “You're messing with me. Good one. As if you didn't know that we're doing the song live.”
Live
?
Tad checks his watch. “I think the band is warming up right now, actually. Wanna go have a listen?”
I pull the fabric-backed chair with Destiny's name on it out from under the makeup counter and sit. I begin flipping through the music to “Your Love Is Like a Tidal Wave.”
I wave Tad off with my hand. “Um, no, thanks. I need some time here alone.” I stare at all the music notes and lyrics and feel myself start to go dizzy. “Please shut the door on your way out.”
“You'll be great,” Tad says.
I hear the door close.
Something has gone horribly wrong. Why would Destiny pretend to do me a favor by letting us trade places for a day and
not
tell me I was standing in on such an important day in her career? A big movie with her first singing roleâsurely that was a huge deal, something she'd be super excited about.
Unless . . .
She can't actually sing.
I think back to a few hours earlier, when we met in the bathroom. She heard me singing and even told me how much she liked my voice. I've been duped! Destiny only wanted to trade places with me so she could get out of singing live and embarrassing herself on set today.
My first instinct is to give up. Go home.
For a second, I think about calling my dad and explaining the situation. Begging for him to pick me up.
No. A few hours ago I was sitting in Dad's conference room wishing I was some big movie star. Well, I got my wish. Maybe it was time to see firsthand what I had been wishing for all along. If I can't handle it now, then I probably can't handle it at all. No one knows it's me, Monica
Perlstein, ordinary girl from PS 3. I have to do well for Destiny. I have to do well for myself.
I pick up the packet of music, and something stuck between the pages falls to the floor. It's a CD. There's a stereo that's sitting silently on an end table next to the sofa. I pop the CD into the machine, and with the touch of a button the stereo begins playing. It's the demo recording of the song Destiny is meant to sing today, so she can practice, I guess.
I flip through the music, following along. I start to hum. Then I sing in a soft whisper just to get some of the notes and melody down. The words are easy enough, and decently catchy.
Can I pull this off? Can I really be Destiny Sparrow for a day?
There is only one way to find out.
INT.âGLOBALPIC STUDIOS, STUDIO 1AâAFTERNOON
The soundstage is huge and full of sand.
Within this giant room they have replicated a beach, complete with water, umbrellas, lounge chairs, and multicolored beach balls. Thirty or so extrasâtan, pretty people in bikinis and board shortsâmill around eating cookies from the craft services table and drinking Diet Coke.
This is it
, I think to myself.
A real movie set
.
I stand, surrounded by the team assigned to Destiny for the day: Stacy, a bodyguard, a production assistant whose sole job is to bring me anything I ask for when I ask for it, another PA just to hold my bottle of water, and a wardrobe stylist with a lint brush permanently attached to her hand.
I'm furiously going over song lyrics, moving my mouth and bopping my head to the beat pulsating through my brain. I probably look like a crazy person.
I can feel the sweat gathering on my forehead. Jackie, the stylist who has spent the last hour painting my face and blow-drying my hair, blots my forehead with a tissue in a desperate attempt to save her work. I have always wanted to be pampered like this, but I can't even enjoy itâI'm too
nervous about messing up the song. But at least no one has accused me of being a fake Destiny.
Yet.