The Last Take

by Tabitha Bree

  “I wanted them to write Best Director on it but they said there wasn’t enough space,” I say, slumping my shoulders.

  Joel looks at the cupcake with his mouth downturned and nods, showing his appreciation for my work.

  “I’m not sure this film is going to win me an Oscar any time soon,” Adam says. He’s still frowning, but his lips curve up in an almost smile.

  “Maybe not, but you’re the best director to me. To all of us, right?” I gesture to Joel and George, who reluctantly agree as Adam smirks at them.

  “I’m not much of a sweet tooth,” Adam begins as he looks up at me, his eyes lingering for a moment before he goes on. “But that’s—”

  “—very thoughtful,” George finishes for him. “You’re a doll.”

  “I try my best,” I flick my hair. “Anyway, I better get some lunch before the hungry crew polish it off.”

  As I walk away, I’m ninety percent sure Adam will toss the cupcake in the trash.

  But it’s the thought that counts.

  “A yoga instructor?”

  “No.”

  “A professional boardwalk roller-skater?”

  “No.”

  “Um… a fake tan ambassador?”

  Gus laughs. “No.”

  It’s another lovely afternoon on stage-door duty, and I’m passing the time with Gus, trying to guess why he moved to LA. Because it wasn’t to be a stunt guy.

  “I’ve got it! One of those character impersonators on Hollywood Boulevard.”

  “Does anyone come to LA wanting to be one of those guys?”

  “Okay, I give up. You have to tell me,” I say, dropping my arms by my side.

  Gus faces the ground, rubbing the back of his neck all bashful-like. “I don’t know. It’s such a cliché.”

  “We’re in Los Angeles!” I spread my arms out wide. “The City of Dreams! We love clichés.”

  He snorts. “City of Broken Dreams.”

  I tilt my head, waiting for him to answer. He lets out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, because you’re so relentless.”

  I grin.

  “I wanted to be an actor.”

  “Is that it?” I squint at him.

  “Yes?”

  “That’s not embarrassing,” I say, scrunching my face. “Every second person who moves here wants to be an actor.”

  “Which is exactly why it’s embarrassing. I obviously haven’t been successful.”

  “You get to fly around on wires like a superhero!” I exclaim. “You have the coolest job in the world!”

  He smiles crookedly at me. He has a few more freckles, and his hair isn’t quite as quaffed, but the uncanniness between him and Damon really is amazing. Chiseled jaw. Defined cheekbones. Hazel eyes. The works.

  “Yeah… I can’t complain,” he says, adjusting his ripped shirt that matches the one Damon is wearing identically, right down to the tiny blood stain on the shoulder. “At least I’ve got a job in the movies, right?”

  “I would pick up trash all day and still love this job,” I say, staring dreamily out at the expanse of trailers. “Oh wait, I do pick up trash all day!”

  Gus laughs.

  We spend the next twenty minutes chatting, covering the basic getting-to-know-you stuff. He likes mountain biking. He’s single, but went on a promising date with some guy called Mitch last week. And he’s a Gemini. But when we get up to family, the conversation stops flowing as freely. I can’t help but feel a little guilty hearing about how much he misses his family, being so far away from them. Especially when mine are just a couple of hours away and I choose not to see them.

  “That’s a wrap for the day,” I say to Gus when I hear Joel through my walkie earpiece. “They’re really powering through it now, aren’t they?”

  The crew spill through the doors, packing up and saying their goodbyes. Which means it’s the PAs turn for trash duty. And by the PAs, I mean me and Jackson, because Kylie has come up with an excuse to help in the production office so she doesn’t have to spend the next hour sweeping and collecting empty water bottles.

  By the time I come back outside with an enormous bag of recyclables, most people are gone, so I’m surprised to see that Adam is still hanging around outside the catering truck.

  The door opens, and the chef hands him several containers that I’m assuming are full of food. I watch as Adam nods at him, taking the containers and putting them in his car.

  I don’t take him as a leftovers kind of guy. He is the kind of guy who could afford fancy restaurant takeout every night. Or maybe he has a girl waiting for him at home, with dinner already on the table. Try as I might, he hasn’t told me anything about his personal life.

  He is the toughest of nuts to crack.

  As he climbs into his car, he sees me looking, and I wave goodbye to cover my creeping. He gives me a tight smile and shuts the door.

  12

  Adam

  I pull into my driveway but instead of going inside, I take the containers out of the car and start walking up my street. It’s dark but still warm, the late September breeze rippling down the back of my t-shirt.

  I turn the corner and emerge where there is a bit more life happening. People going out for dinner, catching up for a drink. But all I can think about is crawling onto my couch with a cold beer and ordering a pizza with extra cheese. There are only so many hours I can spend with other people before I’m tapped out.

  “Haven’t seen you in a few days,” Bob growls from his setup next to the sidewalk. Today he’s wearing a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt and his trucker cap is sitting next to him. His wispy gray hair flicks around in the balmy air.

  “I’ve been working pretty late most days,” I reply, handing him the containers. “Here.”

  Bob takes the food from me, opening each lid like he always does and sniffing the contents.

  “That chicken thing is pretty good,” I say, pointing to the biggest container. “And that round container is apple pie.”

  “I don’t get the obsession today with putting nuts in everything,” he says, flicking through a salad with a wooden fork. “And these little red things.”

  “I think it’s pomegranate.”

  He waves me off with another grunt. “How’s it going, anyway?”

  “Eh… it’s fine.” I shrug.

  “That pretty boy still giving you grief?”

  “I haven’t met an action hero I can’t handle,” I laugh, looking down at his arm, which is extra swollen today. “How’s that wrist going, Bob?”

  Another rumble echoes in his throat. “I’m getting old, that’s how it’s going.”

  “I told you I’d pay for you to get it looked at.”

  “I don’t need to see a quack in a white coat to know I’m getting old.”

  I draw my eyebrows together. For years I’ve known Bob. Not once has he let me take him to get checked out, or to buy clothes, or to get a sleeping bag, for that matter. He had a fit the time I offered to pay for an apartment. The only thing he ever accepts is catering leftovers, or the odd crumpled bill to go buy some lunch. He’s independent, I get it. And he doesn’t complain a lot either. Unlike most people these days.

  Our conversations never last that long, which is fine by me. We are both about as chatty as a doorknob. And sure enough, he starts investigating the containers again, cuing me to leave so he can eat his dinner in peace.

  “What’s this about?” he says, opening the brown paper bag and lifting out the cupcake. I forgot I put it in there. “Do they feed you this little girl food at work?”

  I smile, looking down at the slightly smudged golden man nestled into the frosting.

  “Actually,” I lean down, taking it out of his outstretched hand. “I’m going to keep this one.”

  I walk all the way back to my house holding the cupcake like a complete tool. It’s not until I’m fishing around in my pocket for the house keys I notice the front door is already open.

  Wide open.

  I step through the doorframe,
peering into the darkness. I can’t hear a thing. Whoever they are, they are the worst burglar alive, because they forgot the television, an expensive watch I got as a gift and never wore, and a MacBook Pro sitting on the counter. I snort to myself.

  Unless they’re still here.

  I stiffen as the thought comes to me. What if there’s a burglar rummaging around in my things upstairs? Or a crack head off the boulevard waiting to whack me? Or a disgruntled actor I rejected on a previous film? People get crazy over that kind of stuff. And we all know how Joker ended.

  I walk slowly into the living room, and there is still no sign of anyone else. But I hear a creak upstairs, and the hairs on the back of my neck stiffen.

  “Hello?” I call out, trying to keep my voice even. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.”

  And then I have a thought. What if they are looking for trouble? What if this is how I go? Suddenly, it all flashes before me. The slideshow at my funeral, with pictures of me wearing my headset and barking orders at people. Posters of all the terrible movies I’ve made. People dressing up as action heroes and aliens and rabid monkeys as a tribute to me. I can already feel myself rolling in my grave.

  “He lived a solitary life,” the priest would say during my obituary. “Alone in his West Hollywood condo with his cat Rufus, who ate half his face before neighbors started complaining about a smell and the body was found.”

  Dee and Joel would sit in the front row, because I have barely any family left. Maybe Bob would come. The wake would be his last free meal from me.

  I hear another creak and my heart pounds.

  Oh God, I’m not ready to die.

  I cannot leave this world as ‘that director guy who made all the really bad but popular films and died alone with his cat’. At least my dad left behind a legacy.

  There’s another creak at the bottom of the stairs, and Rufus comes darting toward me. But he’s followed by a much taller specimen, shielded by the darkness. It all happens very fast, and all that I can manage is a jumble of gibberish and growling as I throw the only thing I have as a weapon.

  There’s a loud shriek as I hit my target.

  “What the fuck!?”

  If the shriek didn’t give it away, the voice does.

  It’s a woman.

  I scramble for the light switch on the wall, flicking it on, although it isn’t immediately obvious who the person is because of all the cake and frosting covering her face. She wipes it out of her eyes before shrieking for the second time. “What the fuck?!”

  I stare past the crumbs.

  “Kimberly?”

  She flings a chunk of cupcake onto my hardwood floor. “Yes, it’s me! What the hell did you do that for?!”

  I look at Evie’s gift, smothered all over Kim’s face.

  Well, that’s one way to greet your ex.

  To say it’s an uncomfortable silence is inaccurate. An uncomfortable silence would be correct for two exes sitting in a living room, not speaking. But for two exes sitting in a living room, not speaking, after one of them has hurled a cupcake at the other one’s face, I need a new word.

  “I’m sorry, I really didn’t know it was you.”

  “Who else has a spare key?” she says indignantly, like it should have been expected that she was creeping around in my house.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t live here anymore,” I say, wanting that beer more than ever.

  “I had to collect a few things.”

  “So you decided to come here when I wasn’t home and sneak around?”

  “I wasn’t sneaking around.” She rolls her eyes. “I just finished a shoot not far from here and figured now was a good time.” She extends her big giraffe neck, looking around the room. “I see you’ve done absolutely nothing with the place.”

  “What I do with the place isn’t really your concern anymore.”

  “I’m not concerned,” she says. “It just figures, that’s all.”

  “What does?”

  “That everything is exactly the same. That you’re exactly the same.” She shrugs her lean shoulders. “I knew I was right to leave.”

  “It’s funny you mention that, because you never actually told me why you left. I just got home from work one day, and all your stuff was gone.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  “Adam, I tried to talk to you for weeks. You were never around! And don’t act like you were so cut up about me leaving. It was clear this relationship was never going anywhere.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You say that like it’s my fault.”

  “Um, it IS your fault. We were together, what, eight months?”

  I shrug. To be honest, I have no idea how long we were seeing each other.

  “And in all that time, you never let me in. You barely even spoke to me when your dad died.”

  “It was a weird time,” I say, watching Rufus lick the frosting off the floor.

  “You never saw a future with us. Just stop pretending. It’s not like it matters now, anyway.” She flicks her cakey hair over her shoulder nonchalantly.

  I stare at her, trying to remember how I felt when we first started dating. Models weren’t my usual go-to, but Kim seemed different. She liked foreign films and rescuing animals and she had traveled all over the world. It wasn’t like we stayed up all night talking, but she seemed like someone I could spend time with without wanting to jump off a cliff. And that was saying something.

  Then somewhere along the way, she wanted more. More dinners out, more holidays, more talking about feelings. Intimacy, she called it. Ugh, what a buzzword.

  And then she got strange with me, and distant. Like I was always disappointing her. I couldn’t keep up. And, although it makes me feel bad to say out loud, I had no interest in keeping up. I let her be distant. It was just… easier that way.

  “Anyway, I’m seeing someone else now. I thought it was time to get the rest of my stuff.” She pouts her lips.

  “That’s great, I’m happy for you.”

  “Yeah, he’s into cats too. So I can take Rufus off your hands.”

  “What?”

  “The cat,” she points to him like I’m stupid. “I’m taking him home today.”

  “He is home.”

  “Adam, please. You never wanted him. You said he would shed fur and make the place smell like tuna.”

  She is right. I did say that. But… I’ve got used to having him around. I look down at his little furry face, now covered in gold-speckled frosting. A pang grips my stomach as I realize I’ll now be here, really alone.

  Not that I would ever say that out loud.

  “Fine.” I stand up from the couch. “Is that all?”

  She smiles tightly and follows my lead. It forever shocks me she can stand properly in the enormous heels she wears. And she definitely doesn’t need the extra height.

  From memory, my five-nine stature was another issue she had with me.

  She hooks her handbag over her wrist so her hands are free to scoop up my roommate. “Come on, baby. Mommy’s got you now.” Rufus licks her cheek, and she giggles, like it’s an actual sign of affection and not just because she has a tub of Pillsbury frosting all over her face.

  “Dave’s going to be so excited to meet him,” she says as she puts Rufus in the passenger seat of her car. “He joked about getting us a cat last Christmas, but I told him Rufus doesn’t play so well with others.” She shuts the door and I look at him through the window, wondering if he feels as crappy as I do.

  “Hang on, Christmas?”

  “Yeah,” she says, smiling at the memory.

  “But we were still together last Christmas?”

  She sighs, like me pointing that out is ruining her smooth getaway. “Let’s not hash out ancient history.”

  I laugh through my nose, shaking my head at the ground. And to think I actually felt guilty about how everything went down.

  Kimberly walks to the driver’
s door, but stops before getting inside.

  “Don’t take so long to open up to the next one, okay?”

  I clench my teeth. Is she giving me relationship advice when we just established she cheated on me?

  But I don’t have the energy to bite back. I just give her a thin smile and commit the vision of her with cupcake smooshed all over her face and hair to memory.

  I may not have a sweet tooth, but looking at how it all ended up, that cupcake was the nicest gift Evie could have given me.

  13

  Evie

  The skies are clear and the sun is out for our first day shooting on location. Which isn’t exactly uncommon for California. But it’s convenient none the less.

  We’re filming on Big Rock Beach in Malibu. Tucked away off the Pacific Coast Highway, there is only one access point, which makes it easy to control random people coming into the shoot. The only drawback is that the shoreline is very narrow, and disappears during high tide. Which is why we are all standing back, waiting for the water to shrink away from the sand. Luckily, I have some extra company today.

  “Okay, give me the rundown on everyone,” Sylvia says, looking at the crew over the top of her sunglasses. I managed to get her work as an extra for this scene. It’s not her dream job, but it beats making turkey on rye for fifteen dollars an hour.

  “That one behind the camera is George, and I also like to think of him as my unofficial uncle,” I start, pointing as I go. “The girl with the curly hair is Dee. She’s the best. That’s Brian with the boom.” I look at Sylvia’s tiny bikini. “Best to avoid him today. That’s Joel, he’s very chill. And that one with the brown hair next to him is Adam.”

  “Ah… so that’s Adam.” She tilts her head back to take a good look. “Interesting.”

  “Why is that interesting?”

  She makes a little high-pitch noise. “No reason.”

  We have a smaller crew today, which I’m happy to say doesn’t include Kylie. Try as I might, she still has no interest in being friends. But at least she’s stopped trying to sabotage me at any opportunity. I suspect Dee spoke to her after our conversation. Like I said, Dee is the best.