The Director's Cut (8 page)

“You know how people say the show's the thing?” he whispered, his voice soft but firm. “Well, it's not. I mean, we come in here and pour our hearts out to make the show the best it can be, but in the end, the show isn't the thing. It's what happens outside the walls of this studio that teaches us who we really are. Inside . . . well, this isn't reality. Reality is out there. And in here.” He pointed to his heart.

Be still my heart.

“I know you're right.” I rested against the edge of the table and reached for the script, which I tucked under my arm. “Reality is out there.”
And I've experienced plenty of it.
Suddenly I realized my nose was stuffy again. I reached for a tissue.

His words grew more intense. “I'm just saying that the show—important as it may be—isn't really what this is all about. It's about the real world. Real relationships. Real stuff.”

All the stuff I have no control over, in other words.

“I'm trying to tell you something, Tia, but it's not coming out right.” He took my hand, which caught me completely off guard.

“O-oh?”

“Sometimes the lines between fiction and reality get blurred, whether we're in the studio or out. Is this making any sense?”

Out in the hallway, several of the children ran by. Candy stopped and looked into my office, her eyes widening as she saw my hand in Jason's. I quickly pulled it away.

“So, what do you say?” Jason gazed at me with greater intensity. “Want to come and wrestle a sandwich away from me? We can eat and work at the same time. Or I can entertain you with stories about the street church.”

“I . . . I . . .” My cell phone rang and I glanced at it.
Great. My brother. He chooses now to call? When I'm in the middle of a potential love scene?

I put up my finger to signal Jason to give me a minute, then I took the call. Carlos dove into a lengthy dissertation about his financial needs, honing in on the fact that he needed to buy more supplies for my house but had no money to do so. I tried ever so politely to respond, but after a couple minutes of listening to his nonsensical conversation, I found my temper growing, especially once I picked up on the fact that he'd been drinking again.

I finally shrugged and signaled for Jason to go on to lunch without me. As he lingered at the door, the most unusual feeling came over me. I wanted to toss the phone into my purse, scratch this nonsense with my brother, and run hand in hand with Jason to the lunchroom to wrestle sandwiches.

Instead, I watched as he disappeared around the corner, then I reached for a tissue while my brother manipulated me into handing over my credit card number for a lumber purchase.

Thursday morning, Mama neglected to call me once again. By now I was on to her. I'd seen this avoidance game before. It usually took place about the same time she reopened the door for my father to come home. No doubt I would show up at her house tomorrow night for tamales and find my father watching
Wheel of Fortune
. In the meantime, I could count on not hearing from her.

Oh well. There were other things a thirty-year-old woman could do on her way to work besides talk to her mama, especially when the topic of conversation usually rolled around to everyone else's problems. I released a slow breath as I entered the traffic on the 405 and decided to talk to someone else entirely.

I ushered up a rushed prayer, part of it geared toward the traffic and the rest covering my concerns about family matters. Then I turned my attention to today's episode, offering up a “Dear Lord, you know how important this one is to me, right?” prayer.

Superficial at best. Likely the Almighty was getting a little weary of my drive-by prayers. No doubt he was hoping for the “stop in and stay awhile” version. Still, everything in my life moved fast these days. Who had time to slow down? Slow people didn't make progress. They didn't have others depending on them. And they certainly didn't survive in the industry. Or in L.A. traffic, for that matter.

I laid on my horn as a car cut in front of me. The nerve of some people. The guy in the car gave me a not-so-friendly gesture and kept going. Perfect. Just what I needed to start my day.

Hmm, what was I doing again? Oh yeah. Praying.

I tried to dive back into prayer but was consumed with thoughts about today's filming. I still hadn't quite figured out that sandwich bit, though I'd considered it from a dozen different angles. Maybe something would come to me. Or maybe the guys would just figure it out in the moment. Sure, that was it. I'd leave it to Brock and Scott. They'd come up with something.

See there, Tia? It feels good to let go and trust, doesn't it? You don't need to fix everything.

Jason's words from yesterday suddenly flitted through my mind once again. Whether he'd meant to do it or not, the guy had convicted me. Did people really see me as a workaholic who didn't take care of herself? Couldn't take a break for lunch? Didn't get enough sleep? Tried to fix everything?

I sighed. What did it matter, really, what others thought? I knew all of those things were true. Painfully, horribly true. And all because of one goal in mind—to make
Stars Collide
the best show in television history. If I worked harder, pored over the scripts longer, spent time strategically blocking each scene, and expected more in the way of characterization from my cast, we might just make it to the number one slot this year.

I prayed.

Or rather, I didn't pray. I was too distracted by a sudden case of the sniffles once again. After working my way through the worst of it, I put in a quick call to my primary care doctor, who promised to send me the name of a great allergist.

By the time I arrived at the studio, I was in better spirits. I parked next to Jason's BMW, giving it a solid look as I exited my car. Squinting, I gave it a second look. Looked like he was sleeping inside. Odd. I rapped on the window and he startled awake. Seconds later he rolled the window down and I gazed inside, trying not to laugh when I saw the hair sticking up on top of his head.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. Just had a late night last night, so I decided to rest my eyes for a few minutes.” He yawned and stretched.

“You weren't partying, were you?” I teased.

“Hardly.” He opened the door and stepped outside. “Remember I told you about that street church thing? I was there last night, working. I try to go at least one Wednesday night a month to serve food.” He smoothed his hair with his hands. “A lot of those street kids don't get much to eat for the rest of the week, so those Wednesday night meals are pretty important. I like to be there. And I've made a few friends—not just the workers, but some of the kids. They're really great. Just going through a hard time, most of them. Or estranged from their parents.”

“Ah.”

“It was quite a night. They had to call an ambulance for a guy who OD'd in the parking lot right in the middle of the service. Never seen anything like it, but that's South Central for you. Anyway, I didn't get much sleep, so I'm a little out of sorts. Hope I can pull it together on the set.”

Suddenly my insides felt shaky. “Where exactly in South Central?”

“Pretty rough neighborhood near a public park. Very different from life here in the studio, and extremely different from where I grew up. Let's just say we don't get a lot of that kind of action in Newport Beach.”

“Newport Beach?” Well, that explained the BMW, for Pete's sake.

He paused and shrugged, a somber look overtaking him. “Sorry. That's my former life. My parents are still there, but I live in an apartment in Hollywood Hills just a few minutes from here. Newport Beach is part of my past, not my present.”

I resisted the urge to say, “Must be nice,” and just nodded.

Thank goodness Jason seemed focused on work today too. “Listen, I forgot to ask you about setting up that first shot. We need to talk about lighting for the elevator scene.”

“Oh, right.” I gave him final instructions as we made our way inside the studio. Funny. Once I slipped back into director gear, I relaxed immediately.

Half an hour later, most of my cast and crew had arrived. Erin came bounding in, more excited than I'd seen her yet. “We're filming in front of a live audience today!”

“I know.”

“I'm going to offer to run lines with Brock before he gets his hair and makeup done. That okay?” She gave me a pleading look and I nodded. Minutes later, she and Brock were seated next to each other on the set, going over every line.

I noticed Brock's gaze lingering on Erin as they worked together. Interesting. Obviously Benita noticed too. She fussed with her hair, squared her shoulders, and headed their way, a determined look on her face. I'd seen that look before.

“Brock?” She put her hands on her hips when he didn't answer right away. “Brock.”

He turned her way, eyes widening as he took in her short skirt and tight blouse. “Yes?”

“Time for hair and makeup.”

“Oh.” He grimaced. “We were just running my lines. Can you give me a few more minutes?”

Benita eased the script out of Erin's hand. “Oh, don't worry about that. I'll run lines with you while we get you ready. That way we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Was it my imagination, or had she glared at Erin while saying “kill two birds with one stone”?

Undeterred, Benita continued. “Sound good?”

I half expected Erin to whop Benita upside the head. Instead, in her usual gracious and good-humored way, my easygoing production assistant shrugged and headed across the room to help with the children. Brock watched her until Benita started talking again.

“Well, c'mon.” Benita giggled. “We've got to turn you into a Greek talent scout. Can't wait to show you what I've got in mind. Hope you don't mind if I thicken your brows a bit. And you're going to love the mustache. No one will even know it's fake.”

“Hey, as long as your plan doesn't involve eyeliner, I'm okay with it.” Brock laughed. “You wouldn't believe what I've been through. I had to do this one gig down in Texas that required wearing tights. Never again!”

“I remember when you were filming in Texas. I read all about it in
The Scoop
. Weren't you dating some wedding planner or something?”

“No, we never dated. She ended up marrying a guy named D.J. But you know how the tabloids are. They never get a story right.”

“Yeah. But I read them anyway. They're so much fun.” Benita's giggles echoed across the set as they disappeared down the hallway.

I went back to work, setting up for the day. By ten o'clock, the doors opened for our studio audience, and the seats began to fill pretty quickly. No matter how many times I went through this, having a live audience behind me still made me a little nervous. Added extra pressure I didn't need. On the other hand, pressure always caused me to up my game.

Filming for a thirty-minute show took a lot more than thirty minutes, even on the best of days. We averaged three hours at best, and that was just for the actual filming, not the prep work or the dailies.

The studio audience added an entirely new dimension to the process. Though we instructed them not to bring food, cell phones, or other things that might serve as a distraction, they arrived with them anyway. It was always such a nuisance to have to do a retake because of an interruption from someone in the audience, but we'd grown used to it.

While the hair and makeup folks worked their magic on my cast, we did a quick run-through with stand-ins. By the time Kat, Scott, Brock, and the others emerged in front of the live audience, there was an electricity in the air I hadn't sensed in a while. Yes, this episode was definitely going to be magical.

We set up the first scene, and with my heart in my throat, I called, “Action.” The cameras began to film, and we were on our way with the first shot in the elevator. My actors' performances went above and beyond my expectations, and the response from the audience was energizing. I hadn't heard this much laughter in ages. Perfect.

Well, mostly perfect. We had to do a second take of the last minute or so because I started sneezing. Great.

With the first shot behind us, I set up for the next. Then the next and the next. A couple of shots had to be redone, but we sailed through them the second time around. By the time we ended, Kat and Scott—as bunny-clad Angie and Jack—were holding a real, live baby boy in their arms, and the audience was celebrating as if the whole thing had been real. And the sandwich-wrestling scene had been the very best part! Thank goodness I'd left it up to the guys.

See, Tia? You don't have to direct everything.

The celebration continued long after the audience members left. I'd never seen my cast and crew so ecstatic over a performance. I checked in with Jason to make sure we didn't need to do any retakes, then—after his assurance—dismissed the children for the day. Suddenly I felt like celebrating. Eating chocolate. Drinking sugar-filled soda. Wrestling sandwiches with the hunkiest cameraman in town.

Instead, I quietly crossed the set and took a seat on the sofa next to Kat, still decked out in her bunny suit from head to toe. “Girl, that was the best acting job I've ever seen. You actually looked like you were in labor.”

She smiled and rubbed the stomach of her costume. “Felt like it too. I've been having those crazy Braxton Hicks contractions. They're a pain. Literally.” She laughed. “Anyway, I'll be glad to get out of this getup and home in a tub. My back's giving me grief today.”

I rubbed her tummy, and the baby lurched beneath my hand, startling me. “Yikes. Never felt that before.”

“She's been pretty quiet today, actually. I was starting to wonder if she planned to sleep all day.” Kat yawned. “That's what I plan to do—after a good, long bath, anyway.”

“If anyone deserves a break, you do. I can't imagine working in your condition.” A wave of emotion washed over me. “We're going to miss you around here over the next few weeks. I know we've got a great plan of action for the show, but it's just not going to be the same without you. Can't wait to have you back in the fall.”

“Aw, thanks.” Her eyes puddled. “I feel the same way. But I know my time is up. This little girl has filled my dance card for the next few weeks. Things are as they should be. And the timing is perfect, what with the season coming to an end in a couple months.”

“Yeah.” I shrugged, not really understanding but pretending to.

Kat patted my arm. “You'll get it someday, Tia. A great man is going to come along and sweep you off your feet, and the next thing you know, you'll be married and expecting a little one.”

“Can't imagine it.” I shuddered. “Besides, I practically raised my younger brothers and sister, so my child-rearing years can wait, believe me.”

“You'll change your mind.” She gave me an encouraging nod. “Trust me when I say that my whole world has been flipped upside down over the past year or so. Life has a way of doing that to you.” Her expression shifted, and she released a breath.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She rubbed her midsection and sighed. “Just tight as a drum. You know how it is in the ninth month.”

“Actually, I don't.”

She laughed. “No, I guess not. Anyway, I'd better get out of this crazy costume and head home. You headed upstairs to watch the dailies?”

“Yep.”

“Well, get some rest. You're looking exhausted.”

“It's the house. I'm renovating.” For whatever reason, I suddenly felt like sneezing. The “a-a-a-choo!” that followed was impressive, to say the least.