Page 87 of Love Scenes
Between takes, there’s no longer the silent hostility that’s been storm-clouding over us these last few days. It’s now a soft drizzle of hurt, slowly filling the space of words, gaps that grow wider with each shot notched off the list.
Mom and Melanie finish with Vera and Ruth sitting side by side on Ruth’s couch, listening to the radio together. It’s only when Tyler announces a picture wrap for both of them that they simultaneously sob, laughing through their tears. Their work gets a long, deserving ovation from our crew, the two of them hugging and waving, drinking in the fanfare.
It’s up to Joe and me to take it home.
The last moment of the whole shoot belongs to Elise and Calvin. The infamous dead chrysanthemums in the trash. At a different point in my career, or even a different point in this production, I’d have asked why there’s still a garbage can in this otherwise-empty apartment.
I don’t have to now. Not every detail needs to be examined with a magnifying glass.
Joe—Calvin—waits in the doorway. Elise gives him one last look. All it takes is a look. She throws out the flowers, holding on to the vase, and they leave, ready to carry their individual boxes to the new home they will share together.
Our final take—an extra one Tyler’s asked for to be sure—begins the same as the ones before it. I throw away the flowers, then walk toward Joe, who is supposed to place a hand on my back and guide us out into the world beyond the apartment. A world the viewer won’t see.
Joe doesn’t reach for my back. Instead he spins me toward him. I have a hand around the vase, and it nearly slips out, saved only by the sudden lack of space between our bodies. Chest to chest, I can feel his heart pushing against me, pounding. He looksdown, head tilted, eyes asking for permission, which I grant by lifting up onto my toes to meet him.
Our kiss is every word unspoken. All the pain we have to leave behind. The hurt we cannot fix and the hope we need to face tomorrow. It is slow and bittersweet, lip to lip without a breath.
This kiss is a goodbye.
When he pulls back, once again we’re in limbo. Not Elise and Calvin. Not Joe and Sloane. At least not the versions of ourselves we last left. We are the two of us in that perfect place, the magic of set life, where nothing is quite real and everything comes easily.
He reaches for my hand, and we walk out of the apartment with fingers interlaced, going until we’re off the set and into the back, the land of black paint and wood slats holding up prop walls.
Tyler calls cut.
Joe looks at me, our fingers still intertwined.
Suddenly it’s a blur of cast and crew, everything happening faster than I can process. Tyler announces we’re picture wrapped onHorizons.Mom kisses me. Guy hugs me. Tyler wipes a tear and nods. Joe’s hand is free from mine and I don’t remember when it happened. There was a gentle surrender between us, released like a breath, gone as quickly as it came.
This movie is officially done. Until we meet again for the inevitable reshoots we will need for small beats, of course. And the ADR sessions to cover spotty dialogue.
That’s for later.
In this moment, everything has come to its end.
24
A Few Weeks Later
I can’t believe we’re finally doing it. Brunching like the millennials we are.” Daya picks up the sugar ramekin and pours some onto her spoon, then dumps it into her coffee. “Thanks for agreeing to come all the way to Burbank for this, by the way.”
“It’s no problem. We could’ve gone anywhere. I’ve got nothing but time these days.” I take a tentative sip of my iced coffee. “Love to be an out-of-work actress.”
We’re seated along the front wall of a jam-packed breakfast spot, tucked into the corner of a generic strip mall, as so many of LA’s best food spots are. The restaurant is loud and a little cramped. The clinking of glasses and plates provides a constant percussive symphony. Our view overlooks a parking lot, where Camrys and Benzes and Priuses battle for diagonal spots down one-way lanes.
“Girl, I remember when that was me, but forreal,” Daya says. “Be grateful you will never know the struggle of paying for threedollars’ worth of gas in dimes because your parents refuse to support your misguided dream of being a star.”
“I am definitely grateful for that.” Daya has a knack for keeping me aware of my place in the world. After a lifetime of constant accommodation, it’s refreshing. “I’d still like a job, though. Very much.”
“I’d tell you to come read for a part in my project, but you-know-who came in for it yesterday.”
My stomach drops. Suddenly the idea of eating the matcha pancakes I’ve already ordered sounds impossible. “Oh.” I feign nonchalance, taking my second sip of coffee in the span of ten seconds.
“Oh no. It’s likethat?”
“We’re fine. Cordial.”
“Legitimately have never described a relationship as cordial in all my trips around the sun. I’m gonna try it out now. I feel like that’s me and your mom. Cordial.” Daya tests out the weight of the word with several different intonations.
