SWNOVELS Reel: Chapter 23
As soon as Kenneth calls cut, I flee the set, stumbling past the craft foods table and the cluster of cameramen breaking for coffee. My heart is a runaway coach led by a team of wild horses. Rivulets of sweat streak through the thick grease paint Trey smeared on my face for the scene. I trip up the short set of steps into my trailer and collapse onto the couch. Even seated, my legs still shake, my hands tremble. I touch my face and my fingers come away streaked with paint, smeared with pain and degradation. In my right mind, I know this didn’t actually happen to me. It was Dessi’s burden, not mine. I’m not in my right mind, though. I’m not in my mind at all.
I’m in hers.
And her outrage claws its way from the grave to burrow in my thoughts. Her humiliation lingers in my bones and cages my spirit. I glance up into the mirror, shocked to see my haunted face instead of hers.
A knock at the door jolts me to the present.
I don’t want to see anyone, but I left the set without even asking if we needed to do another take. We probably do. I lost it at the end of that scene. Swallowing my tears and trying to steady my breathing, I answer. “Come in.”
Canon steps inside, and any composure I had regained dissipates. I figured I screwed up the scene, but his heavy frown and tight lips confirm it. He rarely comes out other than at the beginning and end of each day, or occasionally to adjust a camera shot. We haven’t really talked one-on-one much since the rooftop, so seeing him now in these close quarters, his tall frame dominating my trailer, only disconcerts me more.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a rush, lowering my head into my hands, seeking refuge from his scrutiny. “I know. I lost control of my emotions. I just . . . I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
He doesn’t reply, and the silence gnaws at my ears, nips at my vulnerability. For a scene like that, I dig into my heart to find someone else’s soul, and it lays me open, leaves me bare. I need time to recover myself, to find myself again after pouring everything into Dessi, but there is no reprieve. No time to regroup when the man who unnerves me most stands here, watching me. Judging me? Wondering if I’ll break? Tears blossom at the corners of my eyes while I wait for him to say something.
He moves, but not toward me. I stare at the rug beneath my feet, but peripherally see him walk toward my vanity. When he sinks to his haunches in front of me, I sit back quickly, my eyes going to his face. He stares back, and the now-familiar electric current passes between us. The same thing I sensed brewing in Katherine’s back room, on the roof, stirs the air again.
“I’ll do it better,” I whisper, stretching my eyes so the tears will stand and not fall.
“You can’t.”
“I can. I know I can, if you give me the chance to—”
“You can’t do it better because it was perfect.”
Shock rattles me at his words, and I look up to find him studying me soberly.
“You didn’t lose control. You lost yourself. It’s what you have to do with this kind of work. It demands it of you. You are stepping into shoes that walked a hard road. Prejudice, disrespect, heartbreak—that was all part of Dessi’s life. But so was joy and lots of good. Over the course of this movie, you will absorb the full arc of her existence. Great actors inhabit the character, sometimes so much that the line between fact and fiction, them and you, blurs and you feel everything. That’s what you’re experiencing.”
Using the tissue he plucked from my vanity, he gently wipes at the corners of my eyes then at the heavy grease paint smeared on to darken my skin. With each swipe away of the offensive makeup, my breath comes easier, my heart settles into a more regular rhythm.
“I’ve actually asked Evan to bring a therapist on set for you guys.”
“You have?”
“We should have from the beginning.” He shakes his head, leaving his hand to rest at the curve of my neck. “I was trying to think of everything and missed maybe the most important. Taking care of my actors.”
“You have taken care of us. Bringing in a therapist—that’ll be great.” I place my hand over his at my neck. “Thank you.”
He looks down to where our hands rest together. I jerk away.
“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Lawson was on set today.”
“From Galaxy? From the studio?”
I’m glad for the subject change, but I tense again because the studio execs rarely visit. Lawson Stone would choose today, one of the most challenging scenes of the movie.
“Yup. You know what he said to me after he saw you in that scene?” Canon tosses the paint-stained tissue into a nearby wastebasket.
“What?” Dread and anticipation make my voice tight.
“He said, ‘Well, you were right. You found the perfect Dessi.’”
That startles a relieved sound from me that is half-laugh, half-sob.
“Scenes like that cost you.” Canon takes my hand and squeezes it, looking into my eyes and letting me see the truth, which is rare for him. “You paid the price, but it’s worth it. It will be worth it. You’re doing a fantastic job.”
My heart races but not with doubt or fear, but because I don’t think he realizes he took my hand again. He’s caressing the ink scribbled along my thumb. My breath shortens, huffing past my lips in pants. The scent of him floods the air around me. Earthy and clean and rich and masculine. His pupils dilate and the fullness of his lips thins into a line. He drops my hand abruptly and stands.
“Canon, I—”
“I better get back out there.” He turns and is out the door before I can say anything else. Before I can ask him if I’m imagining this; if I’m alone in this growing awareness, or if he feels it, too. I keep slamming the door on my feelings, but there is a persistent tap, tap, tap constantly tempting me to open it.
Daring me to find out what’s on the other side.