The Actor's Secret

by Susan Stevens

  The Actor's Secret

  By Susan Stevens

  (c) Copyright 2013

  All Rights Reserved - Susan Stevens

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage or retrieval system without express written, dated and signed permission from the author.

  Chapter 1

  Beyond The Glamour

  Sephora rolled over, her eyes opening with a snap. The sun was shining brightly in the window and, squinting at the clock, she saw that she still had half an hour before her alarm went off.

  She was too excited to remain in bed, and so she got up, her bare feet hitting the floor almost in a run as she headed to the bathroom. Glancing in the mirror, her barefaced reflection stared back at her, wide eyed.

  Sephora was in her early twenties, twenty two to be exact, and she was one of the few women who simply looked her age, not older or younger. Her eyes, what she thought were her best feature, were big, with long lashes, mostly brown with spots of gold and green in them in the right light. In high school, she had learned to wear greens and yellows from the eye shadow palette, to bring those out. Her lips wouldn't quite be described as full or large, but they weren't thin either. Her cheekbones were high, although still covered with the baby fat of youth, leading the eye to a slim neck and torso, eventually. Her body was exactly between skinny and athletic, and it was a matter of preference whether men found it attractive or not. She had never had to think about her weight, or her body, growing up in a small town. But now, working in Toronto, the Hollywood of Canada, every person around her was a model or an actor, obsessed with every half pound of fat that they happened to gain after their morning fat-free latte.

  She washed her face, and put on some makeup, mostly a few swipes of mascara and concealer to hide dark shadows and the hint of acne she still had. Leaning forward, she brushed her dark hair into a high pony tail, keeping it in place with a few bobby pins, and then brushed her teeth before going to get her morning coffee.

  Today was her first day at her new job, on the set. It wasn't glamorous, she wasn't going to be an actor or a director or even a makeup artist. Sephora was just a lowly production assistant, or P.A. on the set of YYZ, a show that took place in Toronto's Pearson Airport, and followed the lives of several factious workers. It was quite popular, and even had syndication in Europe, being known for its drama, high budget and creativity. She and her friends had seen about every episode back home, and when she studied film production in university, she had always related back to YYZ. And now, she was going to be working on it.

  Overly excited, she had laid out her clothes and packed her purse the night before, even pre-toasting a bagel with cream cheese so that she'd be ready to go. She had a few friends who lived in Toronto, and she was supposed to meet them after she was done work, so she put her phone charger in her bag, prepared for a long day out, and was out the door forty five minutes before she meant to leave.

  Sephora took the University subway line south to Union, looking around at the early morning commuters and wanting to scream with excitement, to tell everyone where she was going. At Union station, she grabbed a bus to Lakeshore Studios, where they would be filming that day. Toronto was extremely well connected with transit, and it wasn't expected that she drove. Even on days when they would be on location, she was told that there would be shuttle buses to take them to the far reaches of the earth, if need be. So for now, the three dollar subway ride suited her and her budget.

  She signed in at the reception desk, and they directed her to her sound stage. Sephora was not prepared for the sight that greeted her.

  There were about 100 people milling around the sound stage, each intent on a mission. Makeup artists ran by, brushes in hand, and racks of costumes almost knocked her over. The sets that she knew so well, such as the main office, the inside of a plane, and the gift shop, were standing in various places of the soundstage, surrounded by cameras and lights. It felt weird to be looking right at them, after watching them on the screen for so long.

  A woman with a headset and a clipboard, in her mid thirties and looking exhausted, walked up to her.

  "Can I help you?"

  "Oh! I'm Sephora, I'm new. I'm a P.A...?"

  "Great, you're here!" The woman ran her finger down a list on a clipboard. "So I know that the job duties outlined like...everything. That's ok with you, right?"

  "Whatever you need!" Sephora grinned and the woman nodded.

  "Ok. I'm Marcy, by the way. I'm a producer. So if you head on over there..." she pointed to a table where there seemed to be an infinite supply of various pieces of equipment. "You can pick up a headset. Tune it to channel 3, that's the frequency we use for mass communication. If you ever want to talk to anyone privately, ask them to call you on your headset on another frequency. Today, it's a lot of finicky tech bits, so you're assigned to working with Garrett, just get him whatever he needs, keep him happy, fetch him from his trailer when we need him, that kind of thing. Got it?"

  "Got it!" Her smile became wider as she went over to the table. Garrett St. Clair was the lead actor on YYZ. In his mid thirties, he had risen from being a Broadway star to a TV actor. He was successful, having a few long running shows before coming to YYZ. Like most men, actors or not, Garrett had a reputation as a womanizer, and he was always photographed at bars and nightclubs, a different woman on each arm and a sly grin on his face.

  As soon as she put on her headset and introduced herself across the channel, the order came for her to head back to the parking lot to meet Garrett's car and escort him to makeup. She had to ask someone where makeup was, and tried to pay attention to how to get there from the opposite door. She was determined not to make a mistake on her first day.

  There was no mistaking the car when she got to the parking lot. A sleek black limo pulled out and out stepped Garrett, in the flesh, which to her, felt just as surreal as looking at the film sets. His brown hair was tousled and cut so it fell just above his eyes, falling over the sunglasses that covered half his face. His jaw was set, almost as if he was clenching his teeth, and she noticed up close, he was paler, and a bit older than they made him appear on the show. He was clad in jeans and a grey tee-shirt, covering lean muscle, and stood half a foot taller than you.

  "Hi, Garrett?" she called, swallowing her nerves. "I'm Sephora, I'm the new P.A. here, and I'm going to be in charge of your schedule today."

  "Amazing. That's your real name?" he replied, without a hint of enthusiasm. Sarcasm dripped from his voice, but she told herself not to be daunted by it.

  "It is," she was used to this question. "So, they need you in makeup right away, and you are filming scene 23 first..if that means something to you," she glanced at him and his mouth lifted in the corners of a grin, despite himself, as they walked back into the building. "Can I get you anything from Craft services?"

  "Coffee, double double, and toast, plain, dry. Couple of rules kid, working with me. Don't be annoying, don't ask for an autograph, don't hover like a love sick puppy. Don't question what I ask for, and don't ever, and I mean ever, enter my trailer unless I tell you to," he half barked at her as they made their way into makeup. "And don't take all day, ok?"

  Without thinking, her arm shot out, grabbing his as he stumbled and they both fell into the wall. It was awkward, but not painful, and she straightened herself up.

  "Are you ok?" she asked, alarmed. He nodded, and pulled his arm away quickly, clearly not wanting her support. He looked around, as if he was afraid of being caught, and then started walking again, moving so fast she had to take a few quick steps to catch up.

  "Fine. Too much fun
last night," he muttered as they reached makeup. She didn't miss the hand he had clenched into a fist as they walked, rubbing occasionally at his leg.

  Garrett plopped himself down in a makeup chair, taking off his sunglasses as the makeup artist approached him. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery underneath, and they had shadows so dark they were almost black. She rolled her eyes as she did so.

  "Again, Garrett? Where did you go last night?"

  "Two blonds and a bottle of vodka," he snapped. "Not that it's any of your business. Hey, kid!" He looked up to meet Sephora's eyes in the mirror. "what did I just say?"

  "Right!" She shook herself, startled and headed to the craft table to grab his food. At the last minute, she also filled a cup of peppermint tea, remembering how many times it had saved her from a nasty hangover, and loaded everything onto a small tray, bringing it back to the makeup room.

  She waited until the makeup artist had stepped away for a moment before handing it to him. He raised his eyebrows at the extra cup.

  "What's this?"

  "Peppermint. In college it saved me from more than one horrible morning after."

  That smile tugged at the corner of his mouth again and he nodded.

  "Thank you. That's kind of you."

  "You're welcome," she said, surprised. The pretenses he had displayed earlier seemed to be gone, at least for now.

  Sephora was directed to be with Garrett all day, but after her thoughtful offering of peppermint tea, his mood seemed to have lifted a bit. She had been afraid, in the parking lot, that she was going to crash and burn on her first day, dealing with temperamental actors, but it seemed to be alright.

  She got confirmation that all was well all week long when she showed up in the morning and was assigned to be his production assistant.

  "He asked for you," Marcy explained, on Friday. "Told us you were the only one on set who wasn't a complete idiot. Which is the mildest insult he's spewed out all year, so you must have him in a good mood. He's not...hitting on you or anything, is she?"

  "No," Sephora shook her head. "He's been fine. Except..."

  "Except?" Marcy's face darkened. "He's a difficult one, girl, and he's not known for being a gentleman, so if he's grabbing you or anything like that, tell me and I'll get you on a different assignment, ASAP."

  "No," she shrugged. "It's just...is he ok and all? There's been a few times I've gone to get him in the trailer, and he's come out not looking so hot."

  "He's drinking like a fish again," Marcy rolled her eyes. "Wonderful."

  "...must be," Sephora replied, even though she didn't quite believe it. Having just finished university, she was fully aware of what the effects of weeklong benders looked like, and how someone attempted to work while smashed. Garrett's behaviour didn't quite remind her of watching her friends act like idiots. It was something more than that.

  Still, she dismissed it with Marcy's urging and went about her job. When she went to Garrett's trailer with new sides that had just been delivered, however, he didn't answer her knock. Confused, since she had just left him there, and he wasn't one to wander off, unlike some actors (she knew that the female lead, Debbie, practically needed to be locked in to keep track of her). She knocked again, and then put an ear to the door.

  From inside, muffled, she could hear noises, although she couldn't make out what they were. Looking at her watch, and then at the sides again, which had more highlighted changes than normal, she decided to let herself in, praying that he was just busy and he didn't have an extra rolling around on the floor with him. She even closed her eyes as she entered, hoping that she wouldn't accidentally see something she would need to sign a non-disclosure about. She knew the rules, but she needed to get the script to him now.

  She probably did need to sign an NDA, once she opened her eyes. But it was not what she expected.

  Garrett was in the corner of the trailer, his knuckles white as he gripped a chair to keep him upright, despite being doubled over and choking. He was swaying alarmingly, his shirtless torso covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His left leg was trembling, and he seemed to be fighting the weakness, even as she saw the colour drain from his face.

  "Oh my God!" she rushed towards him, dropping the sides to the floor and grabbing him around his waist, her hands making him gasp in shock. His skin was burning to the touch, and his eyes were cloudy and confused when he met hers. "Are you ok? Oh my God!"

  She half guided him, half shoved him into the chair that he was intent on holding onto, reaching for her cell phone to call 9-1-1, panic clear on her face. His hand immediately went over hers, covering the phone.

  "No!"

  "No?" She asked, confused. With effort, he pointed towards a pill bottle on the table, half empty with white tablets. She grabbed it, glancing at the label and vaguely noting that they were painkillers. He held up two fingers and she shook out the pills, handing him them and offering the water bottle that she had strapped to her waist. He downed both, panting, the tremors of pain racking him for another few moments before he was able to relax. Eventually, her grip on her cell phone loosened as she crouched on her haunches, her hand in his, waiting. Finally, he looked up at her. "What in the hell was that? Because that sure as hell was not a hangover or withdrawl, booze or drugs."

  He sighed, squeezing her hand and then letting it go, able to sit up straighter.

  "Didn't I tell you never to enter my trailer uninvited?"

  "Right..." she replied, still shaken. "Are you ok?"

  "I'm fine!"

  "...That's what I look like when I'm fine too," she muttered, moving to sit cross legged on the floor, her legs burning with lactic acid. He sighed.

  "You aren't going to let this go, are you?"

  "Nope," she shook her head. "Although I had a feeling it wasn't booze or drugs."

  "Why?" He asked, curious.

  "I just finished university in a small town where all you do is go to house parties. You never showed up smelling like booze, you don't have a secret flask, and your symptoms weren't on a schedule. So what's up?"

  "You know I can make sure you never work in this town again," he replied, although his tone wasn't threatening. "I'll say you're spreading viscous rumors because I wouldn't sleep with you."

  "Oh," she raised her eyebrows. "Because people will believe that. You'd sleep with a pencil sharpener if it had a skirt."

  He laughed at that, his eyes twinkling. They fell into silence a few minutes and then he spoke again.

  "Seriously, love, you can't tell anyone, or I'll be ruined."

  "I won't," her heart was beating hard in anticipation. What secret was he hiding?

  He took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly.

  "I have Rhabdomolysis. It's a big fancy name for the fact that I feel like shit on a daily basis, and eventually my muscles are going to waste away for good. It's already starting, which is why I nearly crushed you on Monday. It causes about a bazillion other symptoms, none of them pleasant, like puking or making the world spin. It's the reason why I left Broadway. At least on film I have hours and hours to sit around all day. On stage, I couldn't do eight shows a week anymore, for three hours straight each time."

  "Does anyone else know?" she asked, and he shook his head, his eyes wide.

  "And you can't tell anyone either, it'll ruin me. No set will insure me to work, my career will be over. And that's already going to happen far too soon anyways. I've managed to keep it a secret, disguise it under the mask of being a boozy pimp who never sleeps and does a liquid dinner every night. The mornings I'm hungover are just bad mornings, when the pain is worse. There is very rarely any actual boozing it up, and the girls are hired and staged to add affect to the story, most of the time. I even try not to take the prescription pills, because it makes me feel like I'm walking underwater. I need to keep my mind clear, but sometimes...like now, it gets too much. Even 6 months ago, I never would have had to let someone see what you just saw, I would have been able to hide it if someone burst in on
me..."

  "Are you going to die?"

  The look in his eyes was all she needed to know, and she looked down at her hands, taking a deep breath.

  "When?"

  He shrugged.

  "It's different all the time. Sometimes, they tell me a few years, sometimes they tell me all it takes is to be alone and go into cardiac arrest or something."

  "I'm sorry," she replied, placing both hands on his. "I didn't know."

  "But that's the best part about you," he flashed her his signature grin. "You thought I was an alcoholic and instead of giving me shit and zero sympathy, you brought me peppermint tea and tried to make me comfortable. Mostly, they try to make as much noise as possible and knock me upside the head a few times."

  "Oh, well, no problem," she lifted her shoulders. "Anything to help."

  "Really?" he asked, and this time his voice was serious. "Because I have a feeling I'm going to need some help."

  "Sure," she raised an eyebrow. "What do you need me to do?"

  "Help me hide this," his voice was pleading. "Tell them I'm having a diva moment when I need to puke. Tell them I'm stuck in traffic when I can't get out of bed." He was already trying to get up and she bounced to her feet, wrapping her arms around his waist. The colour was returning to his face, and she was acutely aware of the fact that he was half naked, his torso bare against her tank top. His eyes were sparkling now, and she loved the tiny winkles on the corners that appeared when he smiled. He wrapped an arm around her waist as well, his face just inches from hers. "Thank you."

  "No problem," she breathed, her eyes meeting his. She could feel every breath he took, and she was certain he could also feel how fast her heart was beating. This close to his face, he looked like perfection, and it made her breath also come in short gasps.

  She pulled apart, before it go too awkward, and looked at her watch.

  "Do you need to stay in here for a bit more? I can tell them you're having a diva moment."

  "Please," he nodded, and then grabbed her arm before she left. "Thank you."