Page 107 of Let’s Make a Scene

We’ve been filming for two weeks, and things have settled into a surprisingly comfortable rhythm. There’s a buzz about what we’re doing, what we’re making here. Everyone can tell they’re part of something special. But today is different. Today is… potentially a problem. One Cynthie and I have avoided talking about.

Steeling myself, I knock on the door of her trailer.

When she opens it, she looks nervous, but she shuts that down quickly enough, her face smoothing out into a mild expression of interest. She doesn’t realize that’s her tell—that there’s nothing mild about the real Cynthie Taylor. Now I’m more convinced than ever that she’s feeling as twitchy as I am.

“Hey,” she says. “I thought I’d be the only one here this early.”

“Big day today.”

She opens the door, gesturing me inside, and closes it behind me. “Yeah.” She laughs but doesn’t quite hit the breezy note she’s aiming for. “It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve filmed a sex scene.”

“It’s the first time we’ve filmed one together.”

We face one another, and the trailer feels so small all of a sudden, like the walls are closing in around us. There’s no space, no room to breathe. I should have done this somewhere else, somewhere wide and open where we could stand ten feet apart, and I’d be less distracted by her, although, who am I kidding? All Cynthie Taylor has to do to distract me is exist.

“There’s nothing personal about this kind of scene,” she says now. “It’s going to be very professional.”

“I know that.” Somehow I manage to keep my tone even. “But don’t you think we need to talk about things, first?”

“Sure.” Cynthie shrugs, back in control of herself. “Communication is important.”

“Right,” I agree. “Right,” I say again as she looks at me expectantly. Now that I’m here, I have no idea how to actually have this conversation with her.

“Are you uncomfortable about filming the scene?” Cynthie asks, a crease appearing between her eyes, and her voice softens. “Because Nisha, the intimacy coordinator, is going to be there, but if there’s anything you want to discuss…”

“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable with the scene,” I say, trying to sort through how I’m feeling. “I think it’s that I’m concerned about what this means for us.”

“For us?”

“There are a lot of… layers at work. We’re playing Edward and Emilia, but we’re also playing the two of us who are supposed to be in a relationship. Brooke’s going to be there. I can’t work out if filming the scene would be easier or more difficult if we actually were together. Everything feels… messy.”

I half expect her to shut me down.

“I know what you mean,” she says softly.

I’m insanely relieved to hear her say it. “So filming an intimate scene in front of people who think we’re a couple might bring up some issues that we should discuss ahead of time,” I point out.

“Okay,” Cynthie agrees. “Let’s tackle it like we would any other part. What’s our motivation? If we were a couple, how would you feel about today?”

I clear my throat. “I like to think I’d be able to keep it professional,” I say, “to separate us from our characters, but I don’t know. If we were familiar with each other’s bodies… there would be more intimacy, wouldn’t there? Between people who really were lovers. An… ease.”

“Hmmm.” Cynthie tilts her head, thinking this over. Unfortunately, when she thinks things over, she tends to bite down on her bottom lip, and then my brain fills with white noise.

“But it’s not like we haven’t actually had sex before,” she points out, and that cuts through the white noise nicely. “We did, you know.”

“Yes. I was there,” I reply, dry as the desert, because she says it like it’s a detail I could have forgotten, rather than something that’s branded into my brain. If your life really does flash before your eyes before you die like a highlight reel, let’s just say that particular scene is going to get some serious airtime.

“Right.” She swallows. “So, it’s not as if we’re not… what did you say?… familiar with each other’s bodies.”

“It was a long time ago,” I say, a little hoarse.

“But we were lovers,” Cynthie carries on relentlessly, and her own voice is low. “Once.”

“I know,” I grind out, shifting on my feet.

“So”—she nibbles on her lip again, and my blood spits and crackles in my veins—“we should be able to act the part. After all, it’s not like we’ve never seen each other naked…”

She steps toward me. Without even meaning to, I step toward her. We’re drifting closer to each other, that damned magnetic pull at work, and I’m struggling to remember what we’re even talking about.