Stars in Your Eyes(3)
If Logan has any feelings on being called a man-child, he doesn’t show them. “Getting punched in the face hasn’t impacted my ability to read,” he says.
Dave’s eyes narrow dangerously for one moment, before he straightens. “Then let’s begin.”
The morning’s drama firmly put aside, the professionals around me open their scripts, and the table read starts. Richard, the AD, speeds through the narration and directions so that the actors can focus on their roles, the writers on edits and Dave announcing his own thoughts every now and then. Even though I play opposite the lead, I don’t appear until a few scenes in, so I get to sit back in my chair and watch the magic of my idols.
Gray is amazing, of course, even half-asleep, with a black eye, and possibly a hangover. He transforms into Quinn Evans: charismatic, smug, an asshole you can’t help but love. Monica already brings tears to my eyes with her reading as his mother, widowed and worried that Quinn will never open his heart to finding true love. Scott, Quinn’s boss, has too understated a role to really take advantage of his enormous talent, but I assume there are publicity reasons he’s been brought on, along with a ton of money. Keith Mackey, playing Quinn’s best friend and comic relief sidekick, lands all the laughs, even when Dave murmurs something to one of the head writers, who nods in agreement and starts to scribble red all over the script.
My heart begins to speed up. I’d started acting in junior high, but this fear—the jump before the performance—has never gone away. If anything, it’s only gotten worse. But once I’ve done it—once I’ve managed to leap from the cliff and fly through the air—the exhilaration soars through me, and every time I seem to forget how much I hate the feeling of nervousness that comes right before I open my mouth.
Keith leans back in his chair with a grin, swiping bleached hair out of his face. “Hey—pretty boy,” he says, glancing up at me.
I swallow. My words begin to blur on my script. “Sorry, do you mean me?”
I can hear the hollowness in my voice. It doesn’t ring true. There isn’t enough authenticity. I clear my throat. Scott glances up from beside me.
Keith goes on like he hasn’t noticed. “Is there anyone else around that you’d describe as pretty?” he says. He barks a laugh, then seems to crack himself up and keeps laughing. Smiles widen at the table.
My hands are hidden beneath the table in my lap. I tug on the end of my shirt. “No—uh, no, maybe not.”
The smiles around the table are a little tighter now. Gray watches me from across the room, eyes focused, calculating, dissecting my entire performance even though it’s only been a few lines. I try to block out the memory of the interview I’d seen, against my better judgment—but it was everywhere, all over social media and popping up in Google alerts every three seconds. A reporter shoves a mic in Logan Gray’s face on the red carpet and asks him, “What do you think about Matthew Cole joining the cast of Write Anything?” Logan didn’t hide his annoyance. He rolled his eyes. “He’s a shitty actor,” he said. “I hate people who get by on looks and charm and absolutely zero talent.”
I try to block out the memory of the interview, but Gray’s voice rises in my head with every vacant word I speak. “Wait, hold on,” I say, turning the page with sweaty fingers. “Aren’t you Quinn Evans? The author?”
The next line belongs to Logan. He doesn’t look away from me as he leans in his chair, rocking back and forth slightly with a squeak, squeak, squeak.
“Gray,” Dave says, annoyance a little more obvious now. “That’s you.”
Gray’s eyes don’t leave me. “So are we all just going to pretend this isn’t happening?”
My heart plummets. Everyone looks up before heads turn and gazes rest on me for a brief second. We all know what he means. Dave clenches his jaw. “Just read your line, Gray.”
“It’s a waste of time,” he says. “I’m not going to do a table read with someone who can’t even figure out his character. That impacts how I end up playing my role. Don’t punish me because you decided to choose Hollywood’s flavor of the week.”
Julie, who plays the main antagonist as Quinn’s girlfriend, whispers loudly enough for us all to hear. “Don’t be a fucking asshole, Gray.”
“Am I an asshole for saying the truth?” He shrugs. “Fine. Okay.”
Heat grows in my throat. I cry easily. That’s always been my biggest problem, my dad used to say. I cry whenever I see cute toddlers hugging puppies. I cry whenever someone is cruel to another person and I’m too angry to speak. I cry whenever I hear a beautiful song. I sure as hell cry whenever my feelings are hurt—when I’ve been humiliated in a room filled with people I look up to and admire. Easily crying has its uses, especially on the stage and in front of the camera, but the tears only add to the humiliation now.
Dave’s mouth hangs open. “Okay,” he says loudly. “Let’s take five.”
Chairs roll back, people begin to chat about their weekends, recent industry announcements, LA traffic, anything but what just happened. I rub my eye as I get up to find a bathroom, walking away from the table before anyone can stop me. I just need a second to look at myself in the mirror, splash some water on my face, and get myself together.