Second Act (His Chance Book 1)

by Alexa Land

  He scowled and muttered, “I hated Liam. He just seemed so selfish to lead Alex on like that. And even when he finally gave Alex what he thought he wanted, he was so cold about it.”

  “Was he selfish though, or was he just afraid to love Alex? We know Liam’s family was deeply homophobic, and if Liam admitted he was gay, it would have cost him everything, including a huge inheritance. Plus, this was thirty years ago when people were a lot less enlightened, so it wasn’t just Liam’s family that would have had a hard time with it.”

  Riley’s scowl deepened. “If you love someone, nothing else matters. Fuck what society or your family thinks!”

  I grinned and said, “If only Liam had been as strong as you are. We would have ended up with a very different story.”

  “I’m starting to understand why people like fanfiction. I totally want to sit down and write a different ending for Alex. I don’t think Liam deserves him, though. Maybe in my version, a handsome prince will ride in and whisk Alex away to a better life.”

  “I’d definitely read that.”

  Riley picked up a makeup sponge and went to work dabbing pale foundation onto my skin. After a while, he said, “You know what’s really fucking weird to me about filmmaking? The fact that it’s all shot out of order. So like, tonight your character is dying, and Monday morning, he’ll be happy and hanging out with his friends. He hasn’t even slept with Emily yet, which causes the fight that happens right before this scene. In fact, the fight itself hasn’t even been filmed yet, so you just have to walk outside and die, with nothing leading up to it. Where’s the logic in that?”

  I couldn’t help but grin. “I know. It’s weird for me, too. I’m trying to get in Alex’s frame of mind, and you’re right, I have to go from the end of his life back to filming scenes where everything seems fine between him and Liam. It’ll be even stranger when I shoot the scenes in San Francisco. They’re mostly flashbacks to some of this group of friends’ happiest times.”

  “I know it’ll all make sense when the film’s edited,” he said. “But in the meantime, it just seems like a hot mess. I can barely imagine it coming together.”

  “It’s always like that, not just because it’s filmed out of order, but because so much is enhanced during post production. One of the most important parts of any film is the score, and when you watch the dailies without any music, everything just falls flat.”

  “Do the actors ever get to watch that raw footage?”

  “Sometimes, but that’s usually the director’s call. I haven’t seen any of what’s been shot so far, and maybe that’s a good thing. It might end up rattling my confidence.”

  “This is a strange business, and I still have a lot to learn. This is only my third film,” he said. “I love it though, and I really hope I get a job on another movie after this.”

  I murmured, “Same.”

  When Riley and the hair stylist had both finished with me, I went to the wardrobe trailer. It was already cold out, but I knew it’d get much colder as the night wore on. Shooting was scheduled from eight p.m. to midnight, which as Riley pointed out was, “…a hell of a long time to pretend to die.”

  Fortunately, I was given a skin-tight, thermal body suit to wear under the jeans and baggy, white T-shirt. “We had to cut the sleeves off so they wouldn’t show,” the wardrobe assistant told me, “but it should help keep you warm. Best of all, it doesn’t add any bulk, so Alex will still look frail under his oversize clothes.”

  Phoenix had given me fleece-lined slippers and a huge ski jacket to get into and out of quickly between takes, so I put those on along with my wardrobe. I looked and felt ridiculous, but the goal here was warmth, not fashion.

  Just as I stepped outside, a production assistant came up to me and said, “We’re ready for you on set, Mr. Kandinsky.”

  I corrected him for at least the tenth time. “Thanks, and please call me Will.” I knew he wouldn’t do it, though. This kid was all of nineteen or twenty, and he still thought actors were something special. A few years in the business would probably cure him of that.

  Phoenix caught up with me as I headed to the back of the house and asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I want to throw up. How do I look?”

  “Pretty much like you feel.” At least he was honest. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing though, since your character is supposed to be drunk and upset.”

  “True. Have you seen Lorenzo?”

  “I set up a chair for him right next to Riley’s, and he’s already taken his seat because he doesn’t want to get in the way. He’s nervous for you, but he’s trying to pretend he’s not.”

  As soon as we rounded the corner, the knot in my stomach tightened. This was the first time I’d be shooting a scene by myself, and to see the entire crew getting into place was more than a little intimidating. So was the fact that Lang had blocked out four hours to shoot what would end up as less than ten minutes of the movie. Even when you factored in frequent breaks, he was clearly planning on shooting these scenes over and over until I got it right.

  Lorenzo leapt to his feet as soon as he saw me, and I hurried over and gave him a hug. I tipped my head back as I did that, so I wouldn’t mess up my hair and makeup. Riley was organizing a portable makeup table right beside us, and he said, “Go ahead and give him a real hug. I really don’t mind retouching your face.”

  Before I could do that though, a member of the lighting department asked me to take my mark outside the patio door. I left the jacket behind, then stood where he told me, so the crew could adjust what was meant to look like moonlight.

  Once they were satisfied, Gage Lang joined me and asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “Great. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

  He didn’t seem like he believed me, but he pressed ahead with, “To set the scene, Alex and Liam had both been drinking, and they just had a fight. Liam went upstairs, and now Alex is about to step out onto the patio. After that, we’ll film the scene where he runs across the field to the edge of the cliff. He’s heartbroken and we need it to be emotional, but we don’t want a soap opera here.”

  “Okay. I’m ready when you are.”

  When everyone was in place, a hush fell over the set, and the assistant director said, “Roll camera…and action.”

  I then learned exactly how many different ways there were to walk through a patio door.

  For a solid hour, we did take after take, and as usual, Lang gave me minimal feedback. He’d say things like, “Give me more, Will,” inevitably followed by, “Not that much,” even though I was sure I’d made only the tiniest adjustment.

  It was a relief when he called for a break. Lorenzo held my coat while I stuck my arms into the sleeves, and he asked, “Are you freezing?”

  “Not really. The crew is basically acting as a wind break between me and the ocean. I’m sure it’ll be worse when I’m standing out in the field, assuming we ever actually make it past this first bit.”

  Phoenix brought both Lorenzo and me cups of hot tea with lemon, and he smiled at me as he said, “You’re doing great, Will.”

  I raised a brow and asked, “What are you basing that on?”

  “I’ve been watching what you’re doing, and it’s terrific. Your character is obviously upset, but you’re not overdoing it.”

  “Lang isn’t happy with it, though.”

  “Sure he is,” Phoenix insisted. “Remember what I’ve always told you about him? He just loves to have a lot of takes to choose from.”

  “But he let us get away with one take for that love scene.”

  “That was a very rare exception, and now he’s gone back to his usual style of directing. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “Fucking up?”

  Phoenix shook his head. “Keep giving him options. If he asks for forty takes, that doesn’t mean you finally ‘got it right’ on number forty and that’s what’ll make it into the movie. He might end up going back and using the first take,
or the fifth, or the thirtieth. It just depends on what he sees in the dailies.”

  “When you put it that way, I actually feel better about it,” I said.

  We only did three more takes after the break, and then Lang nodded to the assistant director, who said, “We’re moving on to the next scene. Will, go ahead and take your dinner break. We’ll call you back after the crew has a break too and sets up the next shot.”

  I invited Phoenix and Riley to join us in my trailer as I put on the slippers and coat, but they both declined. Phoenix grinned and said, “You two need a little private time.”

  That made me turn to Lorenzo and ask, “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing, really. I just made you some dinner, but don’t worry, it’s not a heavy four-course meal. I knew you wouldn’t want that tonight.”

  He encouraged me to go lie down when we reached the trailer, probably because he wanted to surprise me with whatever he was making. I took off the coat and slippers again and joined my cat on the bed while Lorenzo got busy in the miniature kitchen.

  A few minutes later, he appeared in the doorway holding a pair of red plastic trays and asked, “Want to eat back here? It looks pretty cozy.”

  “Sure.” When he put one of the trays in front of me, my jaw dropped. He’d perfectly recreated the school lunch I’d told him about, with a tiny pizza, fruit cup, carrot sticks, and a chocolate chip cookie.

  “I was going to serve it at lunchtime,” he explained, “but you were napping. Then I thought it might be a welcome distraction during filming, so I packed it up and brought it along.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “You just amaze me. No one else would think to do this for me, not in a million years. All I had to do was mention my favorite lunch as a kid, and here it is. You even found the little cafeteria trays.”

  “I got lucky with those. The guy who runs craft services had a stack of them stashed away, from when he catered a movie with a lot of kids on set.”

  “This is just so special. In fact, I should get a picture.”

  I ran off to find my phone, and after I returned and snapped a few photos, Lorenzo told me, “You might want to eat the pizza before it gets cold.”

  I grinned at him as I sat back down. “That just makes it more authentic. If you’re really going for accuracy, you should freeze and thaw it about six times, then forget about it on a shelf for a few days.”

  “I thought this was your favorite lunch. That sounds disgusting.”

  I picked up the pizza and said, “I was a dumb little eight-year-old who thought the best breakfast ever was day-old bottom-of-the-bag French fries. This meal was gourmet perfection in my world.” I took a bite of pizza, then said, “Oh see, you blew it. This is way too delicious.”

  He laughed at me and held his hand out. “Give it back. I’ll go run it over a few times and then serve it to you.”

  I leaned back so he couldn’t take it away. “It’s okay, I’ll muddle through, despite the tastiness. It looks like you even made that fruit cup from scratch, instead of buying the absolute cheapest version you could find at the grocery outlet.”

  “I did include those alarmingly red maraschino cherries though, despite my better judgement.”

  “Well done there. It’s not a fruit cup without those and some pale mystery chunks that make you ask, is this a pear? An apple? Something else entirely?”

  “Now I see why you think I’m such a great cook. You’re used to mystery chunks.”

  “I used to think you were great at it. Look at this, though.” I picked up the cookie and broke it in half, then took a bite and said, “This is warm, luscious, and not even sort of stale. Total school lunch fail.”

  I clicked my tongue and pretended to disapprove, and he laughed again. “The offer to turn your meal into roadkill still stands.”

  “You jest, but where I’m from, roadkill is considered a delicacy.”

  He seemed genuinely alarmed as he blurted, “Did your parents actually feed you dead animals they found on the side of the road?”

  “Don’t be silly. I told you, they didn’t cook. But sometimes our neighbors would invite us over for a barbeque, and they’d serve whatever ol’ Jimmy Joe hit on his way home from the mill. If you ask me, he swerved toward some of them critters on purpose.”

  Lorenzo looked stunned. “You’re kidding.”

  I chuckled and said, “Of course I am. I grew up in northern Louisiana, not on an episode of the Beverly Hillbillies.”

  He burst out laughing and threw a pillow at my head. “I totally believed you!”

  I ducked the pillow and came up smiling. “I know. You should have seen your face.”

  “Do you suppose there are people who actually eat roadkill?”

  “I know there are, but fortunately I grew up in the second-to-last level of hillbilly hell, not the actual bottom tier.”

  After we finished our meal, he set the trays aside, and we both curled up on the bed. He was pressed up against my back with his arm draped over me, and I told him, “You’re a perfect big spoon. I hope you know that about yourself.”

  “Thank you. That’s quite the compliment.” He nuzzled my curls and murmured, “The hair and makeup people are going to hate us.”

  “I’m sure they expected to fix me after dinner anyway.”

  “How are you feeling about the upcoming scene?”

  “I’m nervous, but all I can do is go out there and give it absolutely everything I’ve got. If that’s not good enough for Lang, I’ll do it again and again until he tells me I can stop. I’m planning to leave it all out on that field, so fair warning—I’m probably going to be a wreck afterwards.”

  “I’ll be right there to help you when it’s over.”

  I whispered, “Thank God for that,” and he kissed my shoulder.

  I let myself enjoy the warmth and comfort of his arms for a few more minutes before I sat up and said, “I need to get back into Alex’s mindset, so we should go outside.” He nodded, and we both climbed out of bed and returned to the set.

  After hair and makeup finished with me, I took off the coat and slippers, and Riley asked, “Are you sure you want to do that? It’ll probably be a good ten minutes before they’re ready to start shooting.”

  “I need to feel what Alex is feeling, and he’s not warm and comfortable.” Riley and Lorenzo exchanged worried looks as I walked to the edge of the cliff.

  It really was bitterly cold. A strong breeze cut right through my clothes, even with that thermal layer. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, and then I tried to find Alex. He was in there somewhere. I just had to push away all that was good in my world, until I was left with nothing but pain.

  By the time Lang came over to me, I was shivering and on the verge of tears. He took one look at me and said, “Okay, you’re obviously ready, so let’s do this. You’re going to start at the house, run to your first mark, and drop to your knees. I don’t need to tell you Alex is upset, so dig deep and show us what he’s feeling. Take some time before you get up and slowly walk to your next mark, which is the edge of the cliff. You’ll hold there for at least ten seconds. I don’t actually expect us to get this all in one take, but I want to give you a chance to let the whole scene play out, at least once. Then we’ll go back and make sure we have the footage we need.”

  “Okay.”

  “As you know, there’s no dialog in this scene. It’s all about what you give the camera with your face and body.” I nodded, and he said, “Give it all you’ve got, Will.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  I took my spot on the patio at the back of the house as Lang and the crew got into place. It was a difficult scene to capture as one continuous take, but it would look pretty great if they pulled it off. The assistant director quieted the set, then instructed the cameras to begin rolling before Lang called, “Will, when you’re ready.”

  The first thing I had to do was get myself to my mark. I ran and purposely stumbled across the wide field of dead gra
ss, heading directly for a camera operator on a dolly. As I approached, the camera began to pull back. I started to question if I was overdoing Alex’s drunken run, but I pushed those thoughts aside. If it didn’t look right, Lang would obviously let me know.

  When I hit the mark, I fell to my hands and knees and dropped my head. I stayed in that position as I pulled a few deep breaths into my lungs. Then I reached into the darkest, most broken part of me, and I found Alex.

  I sat back on my heels and raised my head to stare up at the night sky. Tears streamed down my face as I thought about some of the worst times of my life—the powerlessness I felt when I was bullied as a kid. The worthlessness I’d felt as a prostitute. How discouraged and exhausted I became as I just kept failing at my dream of becoming an actor. There’d been so many days when I’d really wanted to give up.

  Slowly, the tears stopped. I got up and walked to the edge of the cliff.

  Alex would have felt empty and alone. Cold and tired. He’d given up.

  In the darkest moment of his life, he didn’t have anyone to pull him back from the edge, literally and figuratively.

  I leaned forward and peered over the cliff.

  His final thoughts would absolutely have been of Liam. I felt what he did, the regret, the longing, the anger, the devastation, all at once. It was too much too bear. I ran my hand over my face to wipe away the tears.

  He couldn’t handle all the pain, so he made it go away. But I was a survivor, and I had something he didn’t—people who loved me and would always pull me back from the edge of the cliff. I never realized just how lucky I was until that moment.

  I wished I’d known Alex, so I could be the friend he so desperately needed. But all I could do for him now was bring a quiet dignity to his final moments. I exhaled slowly and sent a thought out into the universe—you’ll never be forgotten, Alex.

  After a long moment, Lang said, “Cut,” and the cameras stopped rolling. The only sound was the waves crashing on the beach, off in the distance.

  I blinked and looked at the camera, which was six feet ahead of me. I was actually about fifteen feet from the actual edge of the cliff, standing on my mark, which was a piece of cardboard with a line drawn on it to indicate where the cliff ended. Special effects would create the illusion that I was standing at a sheer drop-off.