Breaking Character

by Maggie Twain

  If I could see my face right about now, I’m sure it would look more confused than its ever been. “What are you talking about? And will you tell me what’s so funny?”

  He claps me on the arm. “You do know what acting is, right?”

  “Acting?” I hiss.

  He’s looking at me like I only have half a brain, which I’m beginning to wonder might be the case. “Acting! He was rehearsing a scene with a young man called Jimmy I picked up at some diner in town.” He struggles to suppress the laughter. “Oh, I guessed at the time that you stupidly threw meatballs over Arthur because you thought it was a real situation,” he scratches his head, “but what I’ve only just now come to realize is that after two days, a firing, and having my client move in with you, you still don’t have a clue.” He’s shaking his head and looking at me like I’m the eighth wonder of the world.

  “Clue about what?” I shrug, I’m so confused right now. “And who’s Arthur?”

  “Arthur is Max! Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused, and all for a stupid misunderstanding.”

  My eyes glaze over. “Wait … do you mean to tell me … Jimmy was in on it?”

  “Yes!”

  Wow. That might explain Jimmy’s nonchalance after we both got kicked off set.

  Now it’s Izzy’s turn to burst out into laughter. “Oh, Mel, this beats all else hands down.” She hugs me and I feel the heat rising to unbearable levels. She plants a kiss on my cheek. “You see, this is why I love you.”

  The man, whatever his name is, looks up and mouths something to the heavens. “And the two of you haven’t even …. I mean, no wonder the poor guy can’t think straight when he’s got all that on the brain. Look, will you just do us all a favor and spread your legs for the man.”

  I gasp at that. The nerve of this guy. I twist at my necklace. “But…”

  “Oh, what now?”

  I play with my cuff. “Max mentioned something about, um, there being mistresses.” I don’t want to be just another one of his women.

  He raises his voice, “they’re not Max’s mistresses, they’re Arthur’s!”

  “But Arthur is Max.”

  “Yes! His fucking character.” He moves his arms outwards to encompass the entire set. “You can see where you are, right?”

  I’m still squinting in confusion. “But Art…, um, Max told me to my face that he caught my friend Jimmy in bed with one of his mistresses.”

  He sighs into his hands, actually steps around the back of the server, places an arm around my shoulder and guides me to his table. “Why don’t you sit and listen for five minutes.”

  I still don’t like his tone or patronizing nature, but I do realize that this might just be the only person who can give me any idea as to what’s going on, so I bite my tongue and stay quiet.

  “This will taste so much better now.” He takes a large bite from his untouched danish and follows it down with some cold coffee. “Ok, let’s start from the beginning…” he tells me everything, about the rehearsal plan, this character Arthur and who he is, and most importantly, that Max uses a special form of acting called method acting, which entails him actually becoming and believing that he is, in fact, the character he’s playing. “Do you understand now? Max no longer believes he’s Max, but Arthur instead.”

  Come to think of it, Max never once introduced himself as either man, Max or Arthur, and I reason that maybe in both cases, he assumed that everybody would know who he is, or perhaps Arthur is just a very rude person.

  I realize now that I’d seen instances of both men; Max’s playful nature and willingness to do the right thing and Arthur’s cruelty and refusal to see the error of his ways. This is why I could never quite give myself over to him, it just never felt right, despite how great an actor he obviously is, it just always felt conflicted.

  I also suspect now that Max was holding back as well, because he too could have come into my room and done as he pleased, heck, I craved it, but that deep down he wanted me as himself so that it could be real. At least that’s what I truly hope.

  It’s a lot to take in and I still don’t know quite what to make of it. Who really is this man I’m unable to get out of my head? I feel bad because I’d always assumed Max was a bad man when he wasn’t at all. I just have to ask, “what’s Max like, really?”

  His entire demeanor changes, his face and voice both soften. “Max is the greatest man I know and that’s saying something for someone of his stature in Hollywood.” His lips turn down. “To tell you the truth, most of them are complete jackasses, take Bret Dangerfield, for example, but not Max. No, you’ll soon learn to love him.” If I don’t already.

  I begin to feel something stirring inside of me. So there’s this Hollywood movie star, one of the most famous and admired men in the world, not only that but, as it turns out, he’s actually pretty damned awesome, oh, and for some strange reason, he happens to like me. I need to see him and fast so that we can put both of our demons to rest.

  “Whoa, where are you going?” He grabs my arm as I come to stand.

  “Where do you think?”

  He shakes his head. “Trust me, now’s not the best time, but I think I have an idea.”

  Ten

  Max

  “No way!” Jonny’s shaking his head profusely. “I won’t do it.”

  “You do know you’re under contract, right?” Dangerfield has him by the balls and everyone knows it.

  “I don’t care,” he subconsciously jerks his head over in my direction, “you should see the state of my ribs, I can hardly breathe.”

  It looks like twenty-seven takes aren’t enough because the editors are asking for more, including at least one where the scene's performed from start to finish without stopping. I’m still in such an unusual state of mind that personally, I’d prefer to take the day off in order to get my head straight. The problem is that this is hardly the business where you can just call in sick, not when the studio has to pay the wages of over three hundred people, many of whom aren’t exactly cheap and are all depending on you, not to mention about a hundred extras we presently have standing around in 1930s togs waiting for something to do. So far we’ve done nothing all day and it’s approaching time for lunch. Whether we film or not, I don’t give much of a damn either way. If we film, I get to go home sooner, if we don’t then nobody gets to see how badly I suck today.

  Dangerfield’s jaw clenches. “Damn it, Jonny, you knew what you were getting into when you accepted the part.”

  Jonny sighs and nods his head, which means he’s acquiescing, so I pull out my belt and dangle it suggestively whilst giving him my best evil grin.

  He throws up his hands. “That’s it, I’m out.” He’s not joking because he’s flinging down his hat, removing the braces and kicking off his boots without a care. Last but not least, he shoves Dangerfield as he passes, which is a no-no in this business.

  “You motherfucker!” The producer takes a step towards him as he walks away and for a minute I’m expecting him to jump on his back but he reconsiders and just shouts, “I’m gonna make sure you never work in Hollywood again.” A cliche line if ever there was one, but that’s why Dangerfield pays other people to write his scripts.

  I can’t help sniggering to myself and I approach Dangerfield in an attempt to console the man. “If it makes you feel any better, the chemistry between us just wasn’t right. There are better lieutenants and besides, what kind of teetotaler works at an illegal whiskey distillery anyway?”

  Dangerfield’s eyebrows pull comically together and I get the impression he’s not in the mood for dealing with my idiosyncrasies. He walks away without a word. This whole movie’s going to shit.

  Suddenly, there’s a lot of angry people around, shouting and swearing, and no wonder because it takes a lot of time, effort and money to get so many extras ready in costumes and at a stage where shooting can begin. One of them catches my attention, a young guy leaning back against one of those old phone booths
without a care in the world. Indeed, he’s about the only one not stamping around losing his shit. There’s no doubt about it, but I’m looking at the same kid who started this whole thing.

  “What the heck is he doing back on set?” I mutter under my breath. He’d been ejected along with Mel. The assistant director just happens to be passing so I grab his arm. “That guy over there…” I physically point him in the correct direction.

  “Nice to see you too … Arthur … you’re hurting me … oh, what about him?”

  “Look familiar to you, does he?”

  “Ah, yes, I know what you’re thinking but we were in such a desperate need for extras that we had little choice. We went scouring the town for anybody and everybody and found him watching SpongeBob Squarepants on a tablet. He was happy to help out.” He squirms so I ease my grip.

  “Listen, Lyle, why don’t we stand him in for Jonny?” I say it like I completely mean it, because I do, and Lyle’s head snaps back.

  “E … excuse me?”

  “You heard.” I rub my chin. “You have to admit, there’s something about the way he’s leaning against that booth, all cool, totally unruffled and unflappable that’s pleasing to the eye, almost like he just doesn’t give a shit.”

  He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind but when Arthur Templeton has a suggestion, you don’t just ignore it. “Oh, wow, um, it will mean having to reshoot the bed scene with Olivia.”

  I shrug. “With Jonny gone, we’d be doing that anyway.”

  “No, you don’t understand…” he begins but Lyle’s far too nice, or cowardly, to finish that sentence, so he calls the director, Alvin over, and Olivia comes with him. Lyle fills them in on my big idea.

  Olivia’s first to react. “No fucking way! If I’m seen in bed with, you know, one of those, it will forever damage my career as a…” she wants badly to say sex symbol but instead she just goes with, “actress.”

  There’s silence for a few seconds because everybody finds her remark distasteful, even though they’re all thinking the exact same thing, and meanwhile, Alvin’s trying to figure out a way of saying no tactfully. “You see, the thing is, Arthur…” he’s struggling with this.

  I do him a favor by cutting him off. “Listen, people are getting restless, if we shoot with him,” I say as I jerk my head towards the kid, “it probably won’t make the final cut, but at least we’re putting these people to use somehow. If we get a few good angles, we might even be able to use the reel from Jonny’s efforts and get the boys in CGI to fill in the gaps.” I show my palms. “Hey, it’s a small part, we might even be pleasantly surprised and guess what else, he’ll cost less than the half a mill you were paying Jonny. I have it on good authority this guy will do whatever you want for a round of pancakes.”

  They’re all looking at me with wide-eyed demonic expressions, Olivia especially.

  I put my arm around Alvin. “Hey, just humor me, alright?”

  He exhales profoundly. “Alright, but only because my father always said there’s nothing harder to control than idle men. Let’s face it, at this stage there’s not a lot more that can go wrong with this production.”

  Olivia’s skin turns white. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  I walk over to where the kid’s still leaning against the phone booth whilst everyone around him’s pacing up and down, stamping boots or talking about insurrection. “Hey, kid, you remember your lines?”

  “Huh?” He has a glazed over look behind the eyes and I question whether he even knows what day of the week it is, but they soon find focus. Eventually, he shrugs, “sure.”

  “You want to be in the movie? I’ll buy you all the pancakes you can eat.”

  He shrugs again. “Whatever.”

  I pat him on the shoulder. This is going to be either really great or a complete and total fucking train wreck.

  “Somebody get that kid some pancakes!” Alvin shouts after Jimmy nails the scene in one take.

  Suddenly, there’s a buzz around the set, and there are some seasoned actors with a body of serious credits behind their names all going up to shake Jimmy’s hand. Somewhere around here, Jonny will be throwing up as he laments his mistake but I’m getting the idea it’s too late for him.

  I wait until the fuss recedes to approach Jimmy and shake his hand. “Hey, don’t get a big head, alright?”

  “Can I stay and watch?” He’s not awed by me in the slightest, which isn’t normal for someone his age. Come to think of it, I have no idea how old he even is though I’m getting the idea that any guess I make will be far off.

  “You, kid, can do whatever the fuck you want and if there’s anybody around here who says you can’t, just come to me and I’ll be having words with them.” I can’t stop grinning as he takes the chair with the assistant director’s name stamped on it before slumping off carrying it into the crowd.

  It’s now that I see somebody else standing in that mass of spectators and then everything that’s happened these last thirty minutes is forgotten because it’s Melissa who’s staring back at me. Between us, a half dozen buggies roll past, parts of the set are being dismantled or hastily changed for the next scene and people are shouting all over the place, but neither of us notices any of it because through the chaos, we’re the only two people who exist in the entire world and there’s nothing else that even matters. She mouths something for my eyes only, I can’t lip-read but I’m guessing she said, “I can’t wait to see you.” I’m about to silently mouth a message back when I feel a hand slip inside my arm.

  It’s Olivia. “Come on, Arthur, we have ten minutes to do an interview.”

  I go with her and when I glance back over my shoulder, Mel’s already melted into the crowd.

  “Does this have to be done now?” I enquire as she guides me towards a small table shaded beneath some trees.

  “Now, tomorrow, and another two the day after that.” Her grip around my arm tightens noticeably as her hip presses against mine and it’s not lost on me that one of the world’s most desirable women is attempting to get a rise. Unfortunately for her, I feel absolutely nothing.

  I’m introduced to the journalist and told what publication she works for, I know of neither and their names are lost to me the moment I hear them. She’s also brought a photographer with her and he’s hovering around on the edges, doubtless waiting to get rare snaps of me with Olivia. We take our seats, Olivia beside me and her hand never leaves mine. I understand why she’s doing it, we have to make it look real, after all, though there’s only one girl whose hand I should be holding right now, whose ass I should be sinking into. I place the journalist in her mid-thirties, blonde, fairly easy on the eye, and she’s looking at me like she’d willingly burn down her entire town for just one night.

  She crosses one leg over the other and allows the blonde to fall off her shoulder. “Congratulations on your relationship. Perhaps we’ll start by asking how you managed to find each other?” Immediately, I can tell it’s one of those publications. No mention of the movie, just the celebrity gossip.

  “I had to date somebody because of the fuck up with the marketing budget,” I’m first to answer, “and Olivia was one of the names on the shortlist.”

  I feel her hand pulse inside of mine. She’s very quick to get her answer in. “Well, we go back a long way as friends but have only ever worked with each other on this project. I guess you can say that our feelings developed due to our proximity.”

  “Awe,” the journalist tilts her head and I notice her eyes flick across my crotch on the way up to making eye contact. “Max, what is it you like most about Olivia?”

  I know of nobody by that name, so I just stare into the nearby trees where there’s a green heron perched on a nearby branch, tweeting, singing, and I watch it with a mild interest. The photographer’s slinking around on the outside, a never-ending stream of clicks emanating from the camera shutter.

  “Arthur?” It’s Olivia. “What is it you like most about me?”


  “Huh? Oh, well, you were here at the time, I guess.”

  Her nails dig into my hand. “He jokes, all the f… , all the time, which is one of the things I like most about him. But when we’re alone, he tells me he admires my intelligence, abilities and work ethic.”

  Hmmm, yeah, work ethic, what more could a man possibly want in a woman?

  The journalist writes something down on her pad and for the next few minutes, she speaks only to Olivia, which suits me fine. I think only about placing my thick shaft between Mel’s ample tits as she milks me. Finally, she asks, “what about you?”

  “Oh, um, what she said.” I gently nod my head toward the woman seated beside me and the journalist returns to writing something down on her pad. Again, I could hardly give less of a shit what she says in her magazine.

  “That’s wonderful, I think we have everything except for a kiss.” She says it as she stands, a look of expectation in her eyes, and now I’m wondering who the fuck I’m supposedly meant to kiss.

  Olivia stands as well, resolving my confusion as the photographer primes and my co-star pulls her lips towards mine. I twist my head at the last second so that she kisses my cheek.

  “You got all you need? Good,” I don’t even wait for an answer and am already striding back in the direction of the set. There’s a bulldozer I’m supposed to drive through a rival’s speakeasy.

  I feel Olivia’s hand on my arm and she spins me around to face her. “What do you think you’re doing?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “After what you made me do with that halfwit, the least you could do is help to restore my prestige and status.”

  “Bah, who cares,” I make to move but she turns me back and slaps me across the face. She’s annoyed even further because my only reaction is to laugh, deep and loud right from the belly.

  “You, Max, are without doubt the most unprofessional actor I’ve ever had to work with.” There’s something behind the eyes, a touch of madness perhaps. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly what’s going on and it’s an affront that you would reject me for some two-bit whore of a waitress.” She knows what she’s doing, she deliberately went there to get a reaction out of me, and for all of Arthur Templeton’s faults, insulting his woman is not something he stands for. She moves to slap me again but this time I catch her wrist.