We aren’t touching, but in this moment, we are completely together.
“Break’s over, come on, we’re burning—well, twilight!” Polly yells, and the spell is broken. Everyone scrambles back onto the set, noise flooding back in. We take our places again, and this time, I feel like myself, the self that has complete mastery over his career, if not his personal life.
“Camera speeding,” the DP says.
“Quiet on the set.” Polly commands. “Aanndd action.”
Jenna rushes into the frame as I’m rushing out. We stop, just past each other, and angle back to stare at each other for a beat. We hit our marks, and it’s just the right amount of time. The hum in the air says we all feel it, the actor’s sixth sense that the scene is working.
“You’re leaving,” Jenna says. There’s the right amount of excitement in her voice as she blurts her line as though it’s completely spontaneous. Her eyes scan my face as though looking for answers.
“To find you,” I reply, even though her character already knows.
“Well...here I am,” she says. She adds a little catch in her voice after the well that I wasn’t expecting. It makes her sound like she wasn’t sure she would come. It makes her sound vulnerable, which is a smart acting choice. Then she reaches out and runs her finger along my shirt collar. “Look at you.”
In that moment I don’t feel like Bobby. I feel like myself.
And I feel like Jenna is seeing me as herself, not as Grace.
Even if that isn’t true, and I’m projecting, I can tell it’s exactly the right way to play this scene. The words may have been scripted in an over-air-conditioned room somewhere in Burbank, but the feelings behind them, the actions, are purely our own.
“Why would anyone look at me with you in the room?” I reply, and then without a thought as to where to place my hands on her face, or how quickly to make the move, I pull her in. My eyes search hers for a moment of doubt and don’t find it. Once I’m certain, I tilt her chin up to me and as my lips land on hers, I come home.
I forget about the movie, though in my mind, we’re whirling as though we’re in one. Her mouth parts for me, but only the barest amount, and my tongue finds the softest match in hers, tasting of sparkling water and that honeyed flavor I always associate with Jenna.
No one is watching. Everyone is watching. It doesn’t matter anymore.
Jenna and I have kissed all the ways, in all the places, and we’ve been damn good at it every single time. This one is no different. I stroke my thumb over her cheek, and her mouth opens even more, our tongues tangling as her breasts press against my body. Her familiar orange-blossom scent invades my nostrils. I’ve waited so long for this, but it’s even better than I’d anticipated, and I press just a little more into her, to satisfy the growing hardness in my jeans...
“Go ahead and cut,” Polly says.
...And with that I remember where I am. If I were the blushing sort, I’d be red right now.
“So much better. I honestly think we’ve got it, but let’s do some more to catch some other angles.”
I’m silent, and staring at my co-star, waiting for a sign, but Jenna has reverted back to her professional actress mode. She’s pulled out her phone, and is texting after a quick nod to Polly.
Was she really just acting the entire time? She’s good. Better than I knew she’d be. I’m ready to award her an Oscar.
Me, on the other hand...I don’t know what I am right now. But whatever it is, I have to rewind, recall my feelings, and experience this all over again so the cameras can get another shot.
We run the scene from the top. Jenna nails every moment, possibly even better this time. I touch her face just as perfectly and meet her lips just as naturally this second time and it transports me all over.
I wonder if the whole set can feel the connection we have, the chemistry that sparks and smokes and explodes like a mad scientist’s kit every time we touch.
“Cut!” Polly yells again. “Wrapped. Nice work, everyone. See you bright and early, and hopefully in the sunlight.” She hops down from her canvas chair to converse with the cinematographer.
Meanwhile, I turn to Jenna, ready to talk this out. But all the sweetness is gone from her face again.
“Thanks for the pep talk. See ya tomorrow,” she says, already texting furiously as she starts to walk away. My entire life is starting to feel like a montage of scenes where I look after her as she walks away.
I’m so stupid.
Even if she can recall the feelings from the past for inspiration in a kissing scene, she’ll also remember the other feelings. By reminding her of the good, I automatically remind her of the bad.
And besides—she’s an actress. Better than I am. She’s always been. I’m an idiot for believing the scene meant things would be different between us.
I change clothes at Wardrobe and start toward my trailer to collect tomorrow’s call sheet and lines to take home. After briefly considering grabbing some beer on my way, I decide that won’t do a thing but fuzz the edges of my already tenuous control.
I have to talk to Jenna.
It’s the only way I’ll get the answers I need to sleep tonight.
I walk up to her trailer door, but it’s shut. I stand outside trying to decide if knocking is rude or fine or if she’s even there at all. But before I can make a decision, I hear her voice through the window. She’s talking to someone, maybe on the phone? I can’t make out any silhouettes through the curtains, and I definitely don’t want to get any closer in case she can see out.
“I’m going to get through this, Walter,” I hear her say. “But doing this movie might just be the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”
Then she pauses, I assume to hear whatever Walter is saying back. The worst mistake she’s ever made? That hits me hard in the gut. Am I really making her that miserable?
I’m so overwhelmed, I barely register the next thing she says.
“I know,” Jenna coos, “I love you too. Bye.”
Before, he was a hypothetical. Now I have a name for the bastard. A stupid name, too. Walter. She loves a guy named Walter.
I clench and unclench my fists. I automatically hate him.
Except, that’s not true. It’s me that I hate. I hate myself for trying to make peace with Jenna. I hate myself for caring about who she’s dating.
But most of all, I hate myself for ever letting her go in the first place.
Jenna
There are times when you are kissing someone else, pressing your lips against them, and hoping they respond in kind. There are times when someone is kissing you, them in charge, you passively receptive.
And then there are those magical moments when two people are kissing each other. Where you explore and claim, act and react, sharing your breath in perfect rhythm.
That is what it was like kissing Tanner today. How had I forgotten about that? About how even a simple kiss, the most basic expression of affection between two people, could feel more intimate than sex?
I remember now, that it had always been like that with us. His mouth had always known just what to do against mine, and vice versa.
The barest brush of his lips had always left me hungry for more.
That would be acceptable, barely, on its own. I could come back here to my trailer, pull up my dress, and satisfy the aching want by myself. I could pretend that it was just the physical perfection of today’s scene that had me in a tizzy.
But it isn’t just the memory of his body weight settling between my legs that’s been stirred up. It’s my longing for the things that went along with perfect kisses. It’s the hand-holding, the late-night phone calls that went on until night disappeared into morning or we fell asleep with phones pressed between cheek and the pillow.
It’s the overwhelming urge I have to skip the rest of my solo scenes today and run to Tanner’s trailer.
It’s the realization that I’m not over him, and never will be.
I need to talk to so
meone, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be Tanner. So far, I’ve hidden the pain this entire venture has caused me, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to expose it now. Why would you offer a weapon to the person who used it on you before?
There’s only one person in my life that I trust to honestly and compassionately give me some advice. I reach for my phone and hit my number one speed dial.
“Girl,” comes the answer after only two rings, “what happened?”
Walter Harris – fashion designer and best friend extraordinaire—reading my mind before I even say a word.
Walter and I met almost ten years ago, when I judged a fashion design reality show for a season. He didn’t win, but it was the producers, not the judges, who made that decision. I felt so bad, I hired him on the spot to design a gown for the Met Gala. All of three minutes into draping, we were giggling together so hard I ruined the pattern.
I’ve been the face and body of every W. Harris line ever since, and Walter has been my bestie and personal designer. It kills me that the world hasn’t gone as gaga for his designs as they should, but I know Walter is one Vogue review away from fame, and I am doing everything in my power to make it happen, including a contractual obligation to use one of his looks for a huge scene in this movie.
Carrie thought I should have asked for more money, but I put my foot down. If I only get one diva moment in film, it’s going to be beneficial for someone other than me.
“We did a kissing scene today,” is all I have to say, and he groans as loudly as the springs on the bed I can hear him flopping down on. We’ve had a lot of gossip sessions snuggled up in his bed, eating popcorn and bitching about fashion.
One of the first things we bonded over, though, was heartbreak. Right around the same time Tanner was publicly humiliating me, a man named Roger was doing the same to Walter. Roger was his boss, to make matters even worse, and so Walter not only lost his relationship, he lost his job. Hence ending up on a reality show, instead of in an atelier like he should have been.
Every single Fashion Week and tons of events and parties involve Walter and Roger pointedly ignoring each other, at least until the champagne starts flowing along with the insults. I once heard that following them is Anna Wintour’s favorite pastime.
He’s always been envious of my ability to avoid Tanner, and so he was completely horrified that I was voluntarily doing this movie. After reading me the riot act, though, he’d hardly stopped for a breath before plunking a mug of tea in my hand and starting work on my first-day speech.
Granted, he warned me it would take more than one speech to survive this shoot, but I also thought it would take more than one kiss to destroy me.
“How bad is it? If I had to kiss Roger in front of cameras, they’d probably also get a porn and then a snuff film out of it.”
“Who would be doing the snuffing?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. Suffice it to say, that’s about the same predicament I’m in.”
“Jenna, my love. There are going to be mixed emotions and confusing signs and a few quivers in your… lady parts during this shoot. The most important thing for you to remember is that this is a job, and you are a professional. It’s just like that speech we wrote for you to slay Tanner with on day one. That is your first focus.”
“Right. Yes. I am a pro. This is a job.”
“Good. Say it every morning and every night. And remember, if you can get through this, you never have to see him again. At least, not after the press junket and all the premieres, that is.” I can hear the teakettle whistling on his end, and a wave of homesickness washes over me. What I wouldn’t give for a long, lavender-scented bath and a cup of Earl Grey. Instead, I have two more scenes to pull myself together for and nail.
Movies, it turns out, are more exhausting than a full day of go-sees in Milan.
“This is not comforting,” I tell him. “But I’m not going to break now.”
“Damn right you’re not! Jenna Stahl is a beast. Everyone knows it. You’re the hardest working girl in fashion; you aren’t going to let a man fuck up your acting career. Let this fuel your fire, love.”
“I am. I’m going to get through this, Walter. But doing this movie might just be the worst mistake of my life.”
“That’s your fear talking,” Walter said in his sweetest big brother voice. “And you know you’re stronger than all that. I love you, boo.”
What would I do without my Walter?
“I know,” I reply, “I love you too. Bye.”
The minute I get off the phone with Walter, I feel relieved. He’s right. I built my first career on long hours and never allowing any frustration to show. I can do that here, too. Every bit of the confusion and angst I’m feeling can be channeled into my performance. I text my PA to grab some Earl Grey and meet me in Makeup to run lines.
I don’t have a single Tanner scene for the rest of the week, and I am not going to spend that time dwelling. I’m going to spend it slaying.
One week after Kissgate, I’m proud to say that I have survived sans Walter. Mostly.
I did call him once when I was sure Tanner saw me completely naked while I changed from one costume to the next behind the wardrober’s makeshift curtain, but it turned out to be a false alarm.
I survived the rest of the week with little to no Tanner interaction. That’s because I’d been working on scenes with Kate, the actress that plays my character Grace’s best friend Kit, and he’d been doing the same with his on-screen buddy Shawn. We were shooting just a few stages away from each other tons of times all week, but I engaged in some expert avoidance tactics to give myself a little space. Tactic one: eat lunch in my trailer. Who needs to get into the mess of people at the crafty tent when you can bring your own healthy food from home and enjoy it in the comfort of your “office?” Same goes for breaks. Yes it is nice to chat with the crew, but not if there’s a risk that someone with whom you do not want to chat joins the convo.
Do these moves sound somewhat juvenile? Perhaps. I don’t love conflict, as has been pointed out to me by every family member, friend and boyfriend…forever. But right now I have a very legitimate reason. I am at work, and I cannot blow this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity because of a boy. If that means a few solo lunches, so be it. I am a professional.
That is the mantra I repeat in my head as I walk from the safety of my trailer clear across the studio lot for the next scene of the day. Again, I’m shooting sans Tanner, so there should be nothing to worry about.
Then I see Angela Clark rushing toward me, arms flailing.
“Hi! This is perfect! I was just coming to get you! Somebody said you eat lunch alone in your trailer every day? What’s what about?”
Angela is the publicist for this movie. She works for IK PR, one of the biggest firms in town. I know them well because they sent assistants swarming to every single restaurant, coffee shop, yoga class and drug store run of mine after Tanner and I broke up. They were trying to sign me. They wanted to help, “guide me through this challenging time in the spotlight,” they claimed. I successfully avoided them and any bad press back then, and yet here we are again.
What an annoying coincidence.
“We need to talk press,” Angela says. The tone in her voice makes it sound like press is brain surgery.
“Sure,” I say, “What’s up?”
“No. We need to talk press with you and Tanner together.”
“Why is that exactly?”
“Because you are co-stars in what is going to be the biggest romantic comedy since Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks were on screen. It is huge, and I need a strategy, especially considering your whole -”
“Fine,” I say. I don’t want to hear whatever it is Angela has to say about our whole anything.
“Let’s arrange a lunch somewhere fab!”
By somewhere fab she means somewhere public. I’ve been around long enough to know the tricks of the PR trade. Angela takes Tanner and me somewhere for a bite then
pops out to the bathroom leaving us alone at the very moment a paparazzo just so happens to walk by the table and snap a shot of us canoodling over sushi. Boom! We’re all over the gossip magazines under headlines like, Janner, Together Again?! Janner Swooning Over Sushi! Janner On AND Off Set Love?? It’s the oldest trick in the book.
“Sorry, but I’m too busy to go off set. Let’s just sit down and chat at the tables in the craft service tent tomorrow,” I say, then watch Angela’s face fall.
My face, however, is beaming. I have somehow mustered the courage to stand up to this slippery pro, and I am incredibly proud. I cannot wait to tell Walter! He loves to say that there’s a special place in hell for PR execs.
“Boorriinngg,” Angela says, “But fine. Do you want to tell Tanner?”
“No,” I say, “You can tell him.” And with that, I’ve successfully handled two conflicts in one conversation. My work here is done.
The next day I find Tanner and Angela at a table in the far corner of the food tent. It’s a little more secluded than I would prefer, but there are still dozens of people swarming around. There’s no way someone could sneak a picture without it being clear we’re just on set, and that is not enough of a story for the gossip queens to promote. Of course we’re on set together. They need more. Mission accomplished.
“Okay,” Angela starts. “This might be a little awkward, but it’s time for the firm to develop a strategic plan for feeding information about you two to the media and paparazzi.”
“You need a strategy to leak stuff?” Tanner asks, as though he doesn’t understand what she’s talking about.
I let a smile sneak out. He sees and gives me a these people eye roll. I look away. We are not going to leave this meeting buddy, buddy.
“Yes, Tanner. The press is ravenous to find out more about a former celebrity IT couple working together for the first time, ten years later. It’s so juicy.”
This time Tanner and I both roll our eyes directly at Angela.
One More Time Page 5