Page 100 of Let’s Make a Scene

“Do you know it all, now?”

“Nope.” I grin.

“We’ve just watched Cynthie filming a scene, and I wondered if that felt different from how it was last time around?” Brooke’s question takes me by surprise, mostly because it’s exactly what had been on my mind.

“Yeah, it’s different. Lady was Cynthie’s first film too, and she was untrained. It’s miraculous really, that she was capable of the performance she gave—that she had so much raw talent. She had a lot less control then. It was all instinct and that was…”—I exhale—“exhilarating, actually, to act against. Although it scared the shit out of me at the time.”

Brooke chuckles.

“I’ve seen the stuff she’s made since, but I haven’t actually watched her work, and what I just witnessed was, well, a master class. And that’s all Cynthie.” I shake my head. “She made that for herself, took all her talent and honed it. The control, the composure… it’s different…” I trail off here, and I can’t help thinking how hard today must have been for her, and how she still managed to turn up and do her job, to do it impeccably. I’d be willing to bet she doesn’t give herself credit for that. Perversely, I also think maybe it’s a shame that some of that wild, reckless spirit seems to have left her.

“She was pure joy whenever she was performing back then,” I say distractedly. “It was like looking at the sun come up.”

I catch myself, clear my throat.

“Um, is that all you need?” I ask. “I should really be going.”

“Yes,” Brooke says, with a small, secretive smile that makes me nervous. “That was perfect.”

Chapter 32 CYNTHIE

“Listen,” I say as I watch Patrick Swayze on the screen, “I could write a thesis on this scene. I could have a PhD in Dirty Dancing.”

“Swayze is on fire in this movie,” Patty puts in, taking a swig from her bottle of beer.

“No arguments here,” Arjun agrees, his arm around her.

“So hot,” Hannah adds emphatically.

“Is there more pizza?” Liam emerges from under a pile of blankets.

“Only the vegan one,” Hannah says, checking the boxes that sit on the coffee table.

“Oh.” Liam sighs. “Nah.”

“I knew this would happen,” Hannah scolds. “We ordered the vegan one for you because you said you watched that documentary and you were never touching another animal product again. You said you were vegan now; you gave us all quite a lengthy sermon on the subject.”

Liam blinks. “I am vegan…” he says.

“Tell that to my double pepperoni pizza,” Patty snorts.

“… most of the time,” Liam finishes. “It’s just the pizza smelled so good…” He drops his head. “I fell at the first hurdle, didn’t I? I’m the worst vegan in the world.”

“I don’t think you can really call yourself any kind of vegan if you eat cheese and meat,” Hannah points out.

“But I always use almond milk,” Liam says earnestly.

“I heard almond milk is terrible for the environment,” Arjun puts in, and Patty jabs him in the stomach, while Liam looks crestfallen.

We’re all sitting in my hotel suite, snuggled in front of the big television after a long day of filming. In the last thirteen years, Alveston Hall has become a private residence, so we couldn’t stay there again. I don’t suppose Gayle would have let them put me in my snug little attic room where I shared a bathroom with Hannah anyway, but I still feel a bit sad about it.

On the other hand, it would probably only have further complicated matters with Jack. Imagine trying to make myself a cup of tea in the kitchen where we once had sex on the floor. My head goes a bit light at the memory—a memory I’ve been replaying more and more lately if I’m honest.

The first week of filming has gone well enough. My anxiety comes and goes, but for the most part I’ve managed to keep it together… even if some of the work feels like it’s been done on autopilot, which I hate. I imagine Shawn’s voice in my head chastising me about it, telling me that I’m phoning it in, that I’m losing the audience. Somehow Jack always seems to know, and he’ll appear like my personal emotional support film star, handsome and kind, and just quietly, stubbornly there.

We’ve spent the week pretending to be a couple whenever Brooke is around, which is—and I cannot stress this enough—all the time. We have to keep touching each other and looking at each other and holding hands, and it is fucking with my head in a big way, because I know what acting feels like, and that’s not what this is. It’s not real, but it’s not exactly pretend either.

As if I have summoned him, there’s a knock on the door and he comes in, looking tired and rumpled.