The Director's Cut

by JS Taylor

  I laugh, and Callum opens the trailer door.

  He gestures that I should step inside first, and I’m surprised at how much room there is. It really is massive.

  One wall is all mirrors, with a table chock-full of make-up and hair products. There are palettes of eye-shadow, foundation, and blush, long bottles of hairspray, and countless other products.

  None of them are brands I recognise, and they all have an industrial look to them. As though they were bought in large quantities.

  There are huge lights above the mirrors, and it’s so bright inside, it’s almost dazzling. The lights throw out a lot of heat too. And there’s a waxy smell in the air, as though products are already melting in here.

  There are two director-style chairs in front of the mirrors. And to my mixed embarrassment and delight, there’s a chair with a big gold star and my name on the back. Another bears Callum’s name.

  A girl around my age stands behind my chair. She has a perfect hot pink bob and impeccable goth-style make-up, with lipstick to match her hair.

  “Ms Green?” she asks.

  “Hi,” I say shyly, extending my hand. I’m wondering how she could apply her pale foundation so perfectly. She looks like a box-fresh doll.

  The girl shakes my hand warmly, and the long lashes of her eyes blink. “I’m Kristy.” She has a neutral English accent, which I can’t place geographically.

  “Call me, Issy,” I say. “Please.”

  I look towards my chair. “I didn’t know they did that in real life,” I say, pointing to the star.

  Callum is behind me now.

  “Absolutely they do,” he says. “You know what actors are like. We have to be told we’re big stars at every opportunity.”

  He stands beside me.

  “Kristy?” he says, struggling for the name for a moment.

  Kristy’s hot pink lips break into a wide grin. “I can’t believe you remembered,” she said. “It’s been years since I saw you last.”

  “I never forget a pretty face,” says Callum. “But you fooled me. Your hair was blonde the last time.”

  “Yeah,” says Kristy, grinning and tugging a strand of hair. “I like to keep things fresh.”

  “So, you’ll be doing our make-up?” asks Callum.

  “Yes,” says Kristy. “Mr Berkeley said you wouldn’t mind sharing me with Ms Green.”

  “Absolutely not,” says Callum. “In fact, I can do a lot of my own. Free you up to make Isabella even more gorgeous.”

  “Really?” Kristy sounds relieved. “Honesty. That would be great. I’m on a tight schedule. I was up arranging things for Ms Ennis’s make-up artist, and I’m running behind.”

  “No problem,” says Callum, and he seats himself in the chair next to mine. “Isabella, you are in good hands,” he adds. “Kristy is one of the very best. Mr Berkeley must have pulled some dark deals to win her over.”

  Kristy grins.

  Callum begins plucking bottles and lotions from the array in front of him.

  “You can do your own mark-up?” I say curiously.

  “More or less,” says Callum, frowning in concentration as he selects products. “I started on the stage. Worked my way up through a lot of lowly roles. You do your own everything when you’re at the bottom.”

  “Oh.” I take a seat, thinking about this.

  I guess Natalie started at the top, and more or less stayed there. No wonder she and Callum are often at odds. I can’t imagine Natalie offering to do her own make-up.

  The door thuds open again, and another girl launches through the trailer door, brandishing a hair dryer. She has shoulder length hair, strobed with perfect blonde highlights. And her generous curves are crammed into a floral print dress, with a large amount of cleavage spilling over at the top.

  She has an unusual kind of face. Not pretty exactly, but kind of cute, in an owlish way, with large brown eyes and a chin which tapers away to nothing.

  Then again, with Kristy’s perfect doll features, she’s got a tough compare.

  “Ms Green?” she asks. I nod, and she gives me a tight nod in reply. “We’ve got one of the female cast then,” she says, sounding annoyed. “No one can find Ms Ennis. And we’ve only got an hour to get them all on set.”

  She’s speaking only to Kristy now, as though Callum and I weren’t even here.

  Then, without another word, she takes two strides towards me, grabs my head, and begins working product through my hair.

  I try not to flinch in shock as she manipulates my head this way and that.

  Is this normal? Maybe she’s done this for so long, she’s used to treating people like pieces of meat. I can’t say I like it much.

  “Hi,” I say cautiously as she manhandles my head. “I’m Issy.”

  “Hello,” she says distractedly, “I’m Scarlett.” She reaches forward and shakes my hand whilst I’m still seated, without breaking from her hairdressing.

  “After Scarlett O’Hara,” she adds, “so no jokes, ‘cause I’ve heard them all.” Her accent is East-End London, which makes the demand sound even harsher.

  I catch Callum’s eye, and he raises his eyebrows at me.

  “Sorry for the rush,” Scarlett says, seeming to mellow a little, now she’s pulling around fistfuls of my hair. “We’re all very behind today.”

  She lifts a few strands and sprays what feels to be an entire bottle of product along them. Then she fires up the hairdryer and begins enthusiastically blow-drying.

  As Scarlett works, Kristy steps forward with a clutch of make-up brushes in her hand.

  “Mr Berkeley said daytime make-up,” she muses. “And Issy, you have such huge eyes, I think we’ll have to tone them down a little, ok?”

  “Ok.” I don’t know what else to say.

  Kristy picks up a pot of nameless goo from the table in front of us and paints a thick daubing of it on my mouth.

  “That’s to stop your lips drying out in the heat of the trailer,” she explains. “I’ll put on lipstick last.”

  As Scarlett pulls my hair around, Kristy’s face zooms in front of mine, taking in different angles. Then she pulls back, assessing me in the mirror.

  “Pale, with golden tones,” she mutters, popping open a huge black box to reveal a huge palette of skin tones.

  Kristy spends a few minutes blending a few of the shades on her hand, and then tries a stroke of colour on my jawline.

  “Perfect,” she says with satisfaction as the colour vanishes into my face.

  She takes a large brush and begins painting a liquid carefully onto my face.

  “This is fixer,” she explains. “To stop your make-up sliding off in the sun and the lights.”

  Then she takes a concealer pen and paints under my eyes a bright white.

  “Don’t worry,” she says, “I’ll blend it in.”

  When she’s finished, she takes another brush and paints on a thick layer of foundation. It’s the texture of a mousse, and I can almost feel my pores clogging.

  As Kristy adds layer upon layer of make-up, I let my mind wander. And I find myself thinking about Ben Gracey.

  It still seems like too much of a coincidence to me that he showed up in Barcelona the same time as the reporter. Maybe James is giving him too much credit.

  If only I knew the story behind Ben and Camilla, I could make a better assessment.

  I think about this. I can’t really call Camilla and ask her. It’s too personal to talk about on the phone. I’ll have to wait until I see her in person, so I can gauge from her face whether she minds telling me.

  At least that shouldn’t be too long.

  Unless another leak happens.

  “Ok, stage one is done.” The sound of Kristy’s voice jolts me out of my reverie. And my eyes focus on the face in the mirror before me.

  Wow. That’s unbelievable.

  Kristy has transformed my face from human to mannequin.

  I blink at the effect. The foundation is so perfect, I hardly look real.
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  I’m not sure I like it at all.

  “Your skin was quick to do,” Kristy is saying. “I get actresses with so many spots, they’re in make-up for hours.” She seems pleased.

  “Callum, when I’ve finished with Issy, I’ll have some time to touch you up,” she announces. Callum, who’s leaning close to the mirror, dabbing a brush under his eyes, nods in agreement.

  Finished? Surely she can’t mean to add any more make-up?

  “The last movie I was on,” explains Kristy, “the actress had such bad acne, we couldn’t conceal the bumps in make-up. The director had to CGI every close-up of her face after filming. It cost thousands.”

  I smile in response. Scarlett is still tugging my hair this way and that, and it’s hard to make conversation.

  It turns out that Kristy wasn’t even halfway done. After making my skin look airbrushed, she turns her attention to sculpting my nose and cheeks with blush and bronzer, and finally shaping my eyes.

  She decides against false eyelashes, and makes several re-applications of eye-shadow.

  “Such unusual eyes,” she murmurs, working with her brush. “They look like a really soft blue, but they’re actually a kind of grey, aren’t they?”

  “I guess so,” I reply, not sure whether an answer is needed. There’s a long silence as she studies her eye colours, and finally decides on a blend.

  “Well,” Kristy announces as she finishes my eyes and begins outlining my lips in a soft pink. “You certainly have a face for screen, Isabella. My biggest problem has been keeping you natural. Don’t worry though,” she adds, “I’ve mastered it now. We’ll be faster tomorrow.”

  I blink at my reflection. Whoa! That is a lot of make-up.

  “You’re sure it looks…natural?” I manage, staring at the mirror. I don’t usually wear much make-up, and it feels as though it’s been laid on with a trowel.

  Kristy nods.

  “When the lights get on you, they show up every little imperfection,” she says. “This will blend right in, I promise. You’ll look exceptionally beautiful,” she murmurs, making a final pleased assessment of my face. “I’ve never met anyone with grey eyes and black hair before. It’s a really stunning combination.”

  For a brief moment, I’m pleased how the layers of make-up hide my blush.

  “Thanks,” I say, not really knowing what to say.

  Certainly my face in the mirror does look beautiful. But to me, it’s in a slightly eerie way. Surely people shouldn’t look this perfect?

  “It will look totally natural on camera,” reassures Kristy, sensing my uncertainty.

  I turn my head, hoping she’s right. Certainly, I can’t go out in public with this much make-up on.

  “You really do look beautiful,” says Callum from his seat next to me. “You’ll have to get used to it.”

  I roll my eyes at him. But I don’t mind the compliment so much, coming from Callum.

  Scarlett is giving my hair a final blast of hairspray. From what I can see, my long dark curling hair doesn’t look a great deal different in shape. But it now has a high shine, and each curl is more defined.

  I move a tentative hand to my hair and find it’s set in place, like a helmet.

  “Don’t touch it,” snaps Scarlett.

  “It looks lovely,” I smile, aiming to appease her. She gives a half grunt of acknowledgment.

  “Just be careful around open flames,” she says, “those products can react.”

  I give Callum and alarmed glance, but he shakes his head reassuringly.

  “She’s just teasing,” he says.

  I glance up at Scarlett’s face, but she’s giving nothing away. I make a mental note to get a smile out of her by the end of the film. She sure doesn’t seem like she enjoys her work.

  Chapter 17

  As I emerge fully made-up into the early morning sun, it feels as though an age has passed.

  Hair and make-up is tiring. It’s not even 9am, but it feels as though it should be much later.

  Callum is now having his hair mauled about by Scarlett, so I’ve got a few minutes to myself. I take a breath, trying to dispel any thoughts of tiredness.

  Instead, I let my eyes sweep around the location scene.

  The milling people have a greater urgency about them now. And I see that several large cameras have now been wheeled into place.

  So that’s where I’ll be acting.

  My gaze has settled on a part of the square which has been constructed especially for this movie. The crew have built a fake café front, complete with glass windows and outdoor seating.

  What an amazing transformation.

  The set is ringed by cameras and sound equipment, and looks impressively real from where I am.

  Then, in the middle distance, I see a tiny figure.

  Natalie.

  My heart sinks. If she’s only arriving now, surely this will hold things up? It took a whole hour to get my hair and make-up fixed. I’m imagining, with Natalie’s diva expectations, it could be longer for her.

  She sees me and waves, adjusting her direction to track towards me.

  I wave back.

  “Hey,” she calls as she nears me across the square. She narrows her eyes at me as she approaches. “Who did your make-up?”

  Her voice sounds casual, but I can tell she’s not pleased.

  Here we go. Back to bitchy Natalie again. I knew yesterday couldn’t last.

  “Um, Kristy.”

  “Uh huh.” Natalie nods slowly, as though assessing. “Well, you’ve certainly got the screen look,” she says finally.

  Now she’s close to me, I feel myself enveloped in a waft of her strong perfume. To my surprise, I notice her hair and make-up are flawless.

  “You went to hair and make-up already?” I ask.

  “Oh, yeah.” Natalie pinches a strand of her copper coloured hair distractedly. She lowers her voice. “Got my own staff, you know. And I hate being made up in those hotboxes.” She gestures towards the trailers. “I just melt.”

  “It looks great,” I smile, aiming to bring her back into a congenial mood. I mean it too. She’s really pretty as a regular person. But with screen make-up, she looks incredible.

  “Thanks,” Natalie smiles back. “Usually, I don’t mind using the set staff,” she confides. “So long as they come to my room, of course. If I come on set to be made-up, then all the crew and extras come by to stare at me.”

  She shudders dramatically.

  “But I checked in advance, and they’ve got that Scarlett girl on the hair,” continues Natalie.

  She looks from left to right, as if filling me in on a secret. “And I refuse to have my hair pulled around by that witch,” she says. “We do not get along.”

  I’m silently thinking that there is a long list of people Natalie does not get along with. But I can see some of her point. Scarlett was certainly heavy-handed.

  In any case, I’m filled with relief that Natalie is ready. I was anxious we’d all have to wait for her to go through hair and make-up. And I can’t imagine James would have reacted well.

  Natalie gives a large yawn, showing perfect white teeth.

  “I can’t stand getting up so early,” she complains. “It’s not fair. Not all of us are morning people.”

  I sense that the early start has driven away any good feeling which might have been fostered in Natalie last night.

  “Did you see your wardrobe yet?” I ask.

  Natalie is dressed in frayed white-denim hot pants, a low-cut gold top, and yet another pair of wedge sandals.

  “Oh, I do my own,” she says airily. “I’ve done that since my third movie. I have very distinct colouring,” she adds, “and you just can’t trust wardrobe to get that right. I’ve ended up looking real washed out, because they’ve made dumb decisions.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “I thought this would be just the thing for ‘Lisa in Spain’,” she adds, referring to her character’s name. “Don’t you think?” />
  I nod uncertainly. To my eyes, she’s dressed in her own regular style. But perhaps that’s the point. Maybe mega stars like Natalie, get cast to play themselves.

  “Did you get anything to eat?” asks Natalie distractedly, staring across the square.

  “Uh huh. A croissant.”

  “Was that all there was?” she asks.

  “I think so.” I cast my mind back to the catering van. “I think there was some omelette thing.”

  Natalie rolls her eyes. “I told Carol,” she says, “to ship in the gluten free muffins they have in Wholefoods.”

  She pats her tiny stomach. “If I have any of that pastry stuff, I will just bloat out like a balloon,” she sighs, shaking her head. “And what are they supposed to do, if I don’t fit any of my outfits?”

  Her green eyes are fixed on mine, demanding my agreement. I nod uncertainly.

  “Listen,” says Natalie, “I’m going to be a little late on set. Because, you know, there’s just some things I have to get sorted before we start.”

  Her eyes sweep the square and land on a figure by the catering van.

  It’s her assistant Carol, and best I can see, she’s brandishing a food box.

  “Looks like she may be bringing your muffins,” I suggest.

  “Uggh. Maybe,” says Natalie. “If only I could be sure of that.”

  She whips out her phone and punches in a number.

  “I’d better call her,” she mutters, pressing to dial, even though Carol is less than a hundred metres away.

  I see Carol jump and fumble to take out her phone.

  Natalie begins issuing urgent instructions into the handset.

  “Everyone on set!” It’s James’s voice, and I swing around to see he’s assembled everything for the first scene.

  Nervously, I make my way towards him.

  I am suddenly feeling insanely out of my depth. I have never been on a location scene before. I have no idea where I should be standing, or what’s expected of me.

  And worse, there are all these people I don’t know, wielding cameras, and arranging things.

  Just get through today, Issy, I counsel myself. You’ll figure it out.

  Callum arrives by my side and takes my arm.