by Orts, Teresa
Megan’s eyes hardened behind her sunglasses. Then the awkward silence filled the car again. She seemed immersed in her thoughts. Her eyes fixed on a black Hummer ahead of us.
“I guess I can’t really fool you… There’s actually something that’s bothering me,” she announced. I could tell by the seriousness of her voice the conversation was going to take a twist that I might not like. She slid her sunglasses up and caught my eye as she drove. A piercing pain punctured my stomach. She’d caught me off guard. I wasn’t ready to discuss Nate with her.
Megan brought the car to a halt behind the black Hummer. The traffic was terrible and a caravan of cars blocked the road. “Do you remember Alex Giordani? He was at Ethan’s party.”
I nodded silently, inviting her to continue.
“He just got signed to play the main character in a new production, and I’ve been offered the supporting role.” She tapped her fingers anxiously on the steering wheel.
A wave of relief invaded my body. She wasn’t going to bring up Nate.
“And that’s what you want, isn’t it?” I asked, as I couldn’t imagine what the problem was. Megan appeared in movies often, and I didn’t understand why she was worried.
“The thing is that I don’t know if I want to do this anymore. I think I need a break. I want to have a normal teenage life. I do enjoy acting, but I never chose this. My parents did. It isn’t my choice anymore. It’s become an obligation.” Megan spoke with a trembling voice.
“What are you going to do?” I didn’t really know how I could help her overrule her parents’ decisions.
Megan resignedly raised her eyebrows. “Mom already signed me up for the role and she didn’t even ask me.”
“Can she do that? That has to be illegal,” I said in shock.
Megan shook her head from side to side. “She’s my manager and my legal guardian.”
The car behind us honked. The traffic was flowing again, but we hadn’t noticed. We could see the sign for the studios at the end of the street. Megan shunted the accelerator and sped toward it.
She spoke in a tone as if to convince herself. “This movie is different. This is a bigger budget movie. Up to now, most of the films I’ve done were independent and almost no one watched them. Some of them didn’t even make it to the theaters. After this, I won’t be able to walk on the street without being recognized.”
I knew Megan enough to realize she was speaking with real anxiety. From what Mom told me, Megan’s parents were pushy and expected her to “maximize” the talents God had given her. Leaving the family pressure to one side, I knew Megan loved acting. She needed a friend to reassure her she could definitely fill her shoes, and that was where I came in.
“You have to do it,” I said firmly.
“What?” Megan murmured, stunned. She drove past one of the studio warehouses with a number “1” painted on the steel gate.
“I’ve heard you explain too many times what you feel when you’re acting. You can’t let your parents’ pressure make you forget that. Think of it like this: opportunities like this won’t come often, so you need to make the most of them. You’re sixteen, and in two years you’ll be able to have absolute power over your own decisions. This situation is only temporary.”
“What about my life? My friends?” Megan complained, bringing the car to a halt outside warehouse number 12. The huge steel gate was wide open. We could see the crew working around the set.
“We’ve known each other for a long time, and I don’t care what changes around you. We can see right past the fame nonsense. To me, you will always be Megan.”
Before Megan could formulate a word, I continued, “You can’t let this one fly by you. You have to do it.” This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I wasn’t going to allow her to ruin her career.
Megan turned off the engine and took a deep breath before turning to face me. I was stunned to see that her eyes were brimming with tears. She was definitely going through a tough time. She made me feel guilty by having been so upset about Nate’s behavior. Megan’s worries involved life-changing decisions; mine were high school absurdities. I reached out and gave her a comforting hug. I wanted her to know she needed to gather the courage to do this.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” I whispered, holding her hand tightly. “Will you be able to stay at school?” I tried to keep my composure, hiding the thought that potentially losing one of my best friends frightened the hell out of me.
A faint smile appeared on her face. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
I smiled back. “I’m going to miss you anyway.”
I wasn’t going to admit it to Megan, but her need for a break was completely justified. I’d heard Mom commenting that the workload that Megan’s parents put her through was crazy for a sixteen-year-old. Megan’s Mom signed her up for anything that came her way: movies, TV shows, ads, or plays. For Megan’s sake, I was glad to know that absolute control over her career was only two years away.
“And on top of this,” Megan added, “to add to the pressure, Shreyashi Sandhu, the woman who plays the chief detective in this series, absolutely hates me. The other day I was hanging around the set and I overheard her telling one of the producers that she wanted me out of the series as soon as possible.”
“Megan, you need to relax. You enjoy playing whoever it is you’re playing, and I’ll keep an eye on Shreyashi Sandhu!”
But I was concerned that Megan was going to snap at any moment. Unbelievably, the wellbeing of her entire family, including her six-year-old sister, rested upon her shoulders. Neither of Megan’s parents had a job—something she tried to keep secret.
Megan fixed her hair using the rearview mirror and, employing her best acting skills, put on a smile that seemed almost genuine. She was indeed a great actress. Probably no one else suspected what was going on inside her. We got out of the car and then saw Megan’s mom pacing up and down by the warehouse gate.
“Here we go…,” Megan murmured to herself.
“Megan, you’re late for makeup. Go get changed!” Megan’s Mom ordered, escorting us into the warehouse.
There were around thirty crew members buzzing around the courtroom set, which was illuminated by bright lights. The rest of the warehouse was almost in complete darkness. The director was instructing two cameramen how to move the cameras’ position to get a new angle of the set.
“You can watch from here,” Megan said, setting a canvas chair behind one of the cameras. Then Megan and her mom hurried down a corridor.
A makeup artist was applying eyeliner on a woman. She was on the defendant’s seat. She checked herself in a mirror handed to her by a makeup artist. Then she dismissed her with a disdainful wave of her hand. A second makeup artist walked onto the set and reapplied her makeup again, but after checking herself in the mirror, she still didn’t seem satisfied with the result.
The woman took off her blazer and handed it to a member of the crew. Minutes later, someone brought her a new mahogany-colored blazer that she also refused. I hadn’t watched the show, but I was confident the woman behaving like a diva was Shreyashi Sandhu. She treated the members of the crew like her slaves. She seemed to think everyone in the building was there to satisfy her needs, and hers alone.
The director was behind a small TV screen that was displaying the set. He was talking to the light technicians and they were switching on and off different sets of lights.
Twelve actors appeared through the corridor and took the jury seats, and an African-American man sat at the judge’s stand.
Megan emerged from the corridor with a lot of makeup that made her look really pale. Her lips were purplish. She was wearing a pair of pants and a sweater twice her size. She seemed very thin in the baggy clothing. Megan took the stand and sat next to the judge.
A man clapping a board sign with a digital watch screamed, “Action!”
“Defense, please take the stand,” the judge announced with authority.
S
hreyashi Sandhu got up and approached Megan. She strode up and down, rubbing her hands. “When did you start feeling sick?” Shreyashi asked without directly looking at her.
“A year ago,” Megan replied, as if she were talking to her own hands.
“Where was your family’s residence then?” Shreyashi paced up and down the stand.
“In Brooklyn, but I spent most of my time in the Bronx…” Megan spoke so quietly I could barely hear the words.
Shreyashi cut Megan off. “Please refrain from answering anything other than my question.” She came to a halt in front of Megan. “Was your family residing in South Bronx when you said you started feeling effects from the gas leakage from Bangnen Chemicals?”
Megan began to sob. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, seemingly getting back her composure. In between sobs, she mumbled, “No, we moved a month after I started feeling sick, but I was spending most of my time in my aunt’s house in the South…”
“Objection, your honor, she can’t prove that,” Shreyashi said, turning to face the judge.
I suspected Shreyashi was enjoying bullying Megan, even if it was required by the script.
“Please proceed,” the judge instructed. His hands hid under the sleeves of his black robe.
“Isn’t it true that during that month, your aunt was in North Carolina visiting some relatives?” Shreyashi said, smashing her fist on Megan’s stand and producing a loud thud.
Megan was blubbering inconsolably. She covered her face with her hands while she murmured something to herself.
“Cut!” the director shouted, and all the actors rushed off the set to get breakfast from a table that had been set up on the side.
Megan was all smiles. She dried her tears with a tissue that her mom handed her. I had to admit I was surprised by Megan’s performance. She was undoubtedly a terrific actress. For a moment I’d forgotten that this wasn’t actually a courtroom.
“We’ll do the next scene in five minutes!” the director announced.
Shreyashi stormed to the director’s side. She didn’t seem pleased with his decision. I realized why Megan had placed my chair next to this camera. I was right behind the director and the producers.
“She was rushing through the script,” Shreyashi said quietly but firmly to the director.
“I think it came across quite naturally. I’m pleased with the take.” The director looked away.
“We need to do this again. She was trying to steal the spotlight by rushing me through my lines. You know the studio won’t be happy if I’m not happy,” Shreyashi threatened, her finger pointing at the director.
The director rolled his eyes at Shreyashi and called out, “Change of plans. We’ll do a couple more takes just for safety!”
Megan was by the food table. Her mom hadn’t left her side for a second.
Shreyashi vanished through the corridor, and since my mission was accomplished for now, I went over to grab myself some breakfast.
“If you mess up again, the studio’s going to think you’re not good enough for this. You need to focus. Why did you bring Sophie? She’s a distraction to…”
Megan’s Mom’s words petered out as she saw me coming over.
“Megan, you were terrific. You actually made me believe this was happening for real.” I grinned.
“Thanks, but I don’t think the director was too impressed. He wants another take.” Megan groaned, disappointed. She poured herself some orange juice, which she gulped down in seconds.
“He was satisfied with the take. It’s you-know-who who wanted another take,” I whispered into her ear.
A light crease appeared in Megan’s forehead. “I knew it!”
Megan’s Mom was getting coffee, but I could feel she was watching me. She was worried I was going to distract Megan.
I wasn’t sure what to think about her mom. Megan had confessed that her mom wanted to get her sister’s acting career started, even though she was only six years old. Megan was especially protective of her sister and wanted her to have a normal childhood. She always told her she could try acting when she was old enough to be sure that’s what she wanted to do.
“Please take your places!” the director shouted.
All the actors went back to the set and I went back to my chair.
Thanks to Shreyashi, the same scene was repeated nine times. The director seemed absolutely frustrated with her behavior, but she seemed to have enough authority to get away with it.
Shreyashi’s strategy was to wear Megan down by repeating the same scene over and over. The lines for Megan’s character were quite dramatic and you would expect, after repeating the same scene a few times, the intensity of her performance would diminish.
I was utterly impressed by Megan’s maturity and professionalism. After I warned her during the breakfast break, Megan knew what Shreyashi was after, and she was going to give her none of that. The more Megan repeated the scene, the better she transmitted the character’s emotions. Some of the other actors on the set looked astonished by her acting.
Shreyashi was trying to get her fired, but what she didn’t realize was that she was really giving Megan the opportunity to show the director that she was worth her weight in gold.
They worked for almost ten hours. They lost me after the first six. Megan was great, but I didn’t understand what the big deal was about acting. Repeating the same lines all day long was anything but enjoyable to me. Probably Megan thought the same about studying what happened to human civilizations thousands of years ago. Most actors seemed to do it for the attention and for the shot at fame, and that was obvious. That was not Megan.
My gaze fixed blankly on the set. Megan’s sobbing echoed in the distance. My mind filled again with questions about Nate’s cruelty. I knew he was popular and that he had no interest in changing his social status by being associated with me. But still I was having trouble coping with his premeditated harsh words. He’d deliberately intended to humiliate me.
I felt angry with myself for falling into such an obvious trap. Why had I been so naïve? Why did I have this stupid idea that Nate was different from the other popular students? He was as heartless as the rest. He had some unsettled business with Ethan and had decided to sort it out that night. He didn’t care whether I got caught in the middle, and to make matters worse, he didn’t even want to be seen with me after what he put me through.
I didn’t want to be angry with him. No, that was a waste of energy. He was another victim of high school absurdity. We were told fairy tales about high school kings and queens and the privileges of popularity, but everyone forgot to mention that this will mean nothing the day we’re thrown out into the real world. Why waste any time with it, then?
I wanted to feel indifferent toward Nate, but I couldn’t control my anger. He’d shown no mercy and meticulously chosen his words to inflict as much harm as possible.
I couldn’t wait for my high school years to be over. I wished for the day this would seem a distant memory. I was ready for my life to start, and sadly I knew, until I got to New York, this wasn’t going to happen.
“Sophie, I got you a taxi to go home. It’s waiting outside. We might not finish until midnight, and it’s getting late,” Megan’s mom whispered into my ear.
She was right. It was 8:30 p.m., and I had to go home. I promised Mom I would catch up with all my schoolwork for the following day.
I nodded and silently grabbed my jacket from behind the chair. I tiptoed out of the studio. Megan was in the middle of a scene and I didn’t want to interrupt her. A black SUV was waiting for me at the studio gate, and I climbed into the backseat.
*
When I arrived home, Mom was watching TV in the living room. As soon as I opened the door, she fired off her questions. “How was it? Did you like it?”
She was lying on the sofa, barefoot. The lights were half-dimmed.
“It was fun, but I don’t really see myself doing it. I’m afraid you’re stuck with your history freak daug
hter.” I grinned, planting a kiss on Mom’s cheek.
I dropped my jacket on the armrest and sat next to Mom to watch TV with her. I was exhausted just from spending the day at the set doing nothing. I couldn’t even imagine how tired Megan must’ve been right now.
“Long day, huh?” Mom said, bringing her feet onto the sofa and crossing her legs.
I nodded, thinking of Megan. Mom playfully tucked a lock of hair that was falling over my face behind my ear.
“That girl shouldn’t be working so many hours. No acting for you, then?” Mom said, slightly disappointed.
“Nope, I’m not such a hard worker. I’m more of the lazy kind.” I laughed.
Mom was wearing a Moroccan silk dress—another of Dad’s souvenirs from his African trips. She looked beautiful. I hoped I’d inherited her genes. It was as if Mom was aging in reverse. The more years went by, the younger she looked. Her petite silhouette and her long hair were more characteristic of an adolescent than a middle-aged woman. Last week in the supermarket, the cashier referred to her as my sister. That comment lightened Mom’s day.
Mom was watching the news, and as soon as the commercial break was over, the TV screen caught her gaze. She raised the volume with the remote control.
The news anchor presented the block.
“Preston Gorringe announced at a rally in San Diego today that he’ll be running for the California senate.”
An image of Preston Gorringe addressing a crowd appeared on TV.
“I have served this country for six years. While fighting our war on terror, I came to realize that the battle to preserve the American dream starts here on the streets of California. From Berkeley to Fresno, the middle class of this state deserves better from its politicians.”
The crowd broke into applause.
“This nation has led the world for the last century, and despite the current economic predicament, we are not going to let China or anyone else take our place. We have always been at the top, and we will use whatever resources we need to make sure we stay there.”