Episode 6: Mise-en-scene
mise-en-scène: the physical setting of a motion picture
Tallulah woke up to her cell’s 5 o’clock alarm and a shitty headache after crying into the early morning. She only had three hours of sleep under her belt, which would do her no good on her first day on set. Her eyes were puffy, her body ached, and her heart had a bleeding hole in it. She was curled into a ball, bed sheets swallowing her whole. She blindly reached for her phone to hit the big red button that would end all the noise before she retreated underneath the shelter of her sheets. Her fingers traced a name into the bottom sheet repeatedly, as if she’d forget it if she stopped.
V-E-R-O-N-I-C-A
Veronica, Tallulah’s sole inspiration for becoming an actress.
Once upon a time, Veronica Keaton was a promising star in 80s Hollywood. She was a regular cast member as the eldest daughter, Kitty, in a quirky family sitcom, The Good Family. It was a popular show in the beginning, but it only lasted three seasons as the ratings tanked. Her eighteen-year-old mother was only there for one season.
With fame came familiar vices: drugs, alcohol, and sex. The first of such led her mother to cross paths with a drug dealer to the stars, Thibault Edmond. Her addiction and her father were to blame for her downward spiral. A highly publicized scandal was the final nail in the coffin of her wholesome image.
The studio cleverly wrote her character off the show by running off with her rich boyfriend to backpack through Europe. The running gag that stretched through the remaining two seasons was the Good family receiving mailed postcards with bizarre stories from Kitty’s globetrotting adventures at the most inopportune times.
Meanwhile, in real life, instead of being a star, as the companion of a prominent drug dealer, she partied with the stars. Using her industry connections to widen her boyfriend’s reach. When Tallulah was born, Veronica struggled with her addiction and tried to do right by her daughter and tried to leave him, but the manipulative bastard used coke to chain her to him. It was a vicious cycle that went on and on for ten years until Tallulah, alongside her father and his buddies, witnessed Veronica overdose at one of his infamous parties.
Tallulah found Veronica’s limp body and vacant eyes in the bathtub. She yelled for help while everyone downstairs snorted coke with rolled dollar bills, drank their fill, and kissed carefree women. She remembered how Thibault turned on the shower water and patted at an unresponsive Veronica's cheek, shouting at her to stop being such a drama queen. She remembered how one of the party girls had the sense to usher her out of the bathroom to save what innocence she had left, but the damage was done.
Tallulah had little love for her bastard father before that night, but after it, any love disintegrated and blew away like ashes. It took her years before she dared to love another and it killed her knowing that her father somehow played a hand in ruining it.
She picked up her phone to note the time and groaned as she realized she needed to get up and she needed to do it now. It took all her strength to drag herself into the bathroom to get ready for the day. Freshly showered and dressed in plain clothes, she emerged from her bedroom thirty minutes later.
She ventured from her wing, up the stairs, and quietly opened her son’s door.
Tallulah crept up to his bed and laid down beside him carefully. A manicured fingernail stroked the bridge of his nose as a gentle method of waking him up. His nose crinkled and he stirred, his eyelids peeling back tiredly.
She smiled at him softly. “Morning, sleepy head. How was your first night in your new room?”
“The bestest ever,” Milo said, then posed, “Are you sick? You don’t sound too good, Mom.”
She chuckled gently, shaking her head. “No, baby. I’m not sick. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
He frowned up at her and asked hesitantly, “Are you still mad at Dad...from last night?”
Tallulah blinked at the question, cocking her head. “And what do you know about last night exactly, Milo Lachlan? You should have been very much asleep.”
“I might...have snuck out of bed to play Minecraft and heard you screaming at Dad,” he admitted then paused, worry carving a home onto his young face. “Mom, if you’re mad at Dad, should I be mad at him too?”
“No, you shouldn’t, Milo,” she assured. “Don’t worry about me and your dad. What you should be worried about is how you’re going to play all those video games over there in my lifetime?”
She then tickled Milo’s tummy.
He giggled, squirming under her fingers.
“Now, you know today is my first day on set, so I will not be back until way past your bedtime,” she informed after stopping her assault. “Your dad’s assistant, Aishwarya, will be in charge. So, do everything she says. Alright?”
Milo nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She kissed his forehead before she got off his bed. “You get some more rest. You’ve got a few more hours of shuteye before it’s time to get ready for school.”
Upon leaving the room, her footsteps froze as she saw Nick move into the hallway. Dark circles haunted the underside of his reddened eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink last night.
Good, she thought bitterly, clenching her jaw.
He rubbed the back of his neck as he approached her. “You sleep well in your new room?”
“Like a champ,” she lied coolly as she sidestepped him, hastening toward the spiraling glass stairwell. She trotted down the steps, halting at the second to the last step as he said her name. Tallulah closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she turned halfway to confront him as he descended.
“The limo should be here any minute. Ride with me,” he offered.
“Actually, I was just going to take one of your cars. Plus, it would definitely give everyone the wrong impression if we shared a limo,” she rejected and took the last two steps, tossing over her shoulder, “Thanks for the offer though.”
Nick heaved a sigh. “Desiree.”
Tallulah swirled and held up a finger, snarling, “I don’t want to be anywhere near you more than absolutely necessary for the sake of our child and our jobs, Nicholas. But know that there’s nothing you can do to fix this. Accept that now.”
An impeccably dressed Aishwarya sauntered through the front door with a set of jiggling keys and a to-go cup of coffee, her Louboutin heels clicking against white marble floors.
“See you at work,” Tallulah then said and stalked away toward the nine-car garage.
————
After suffering through morning congestion on the infamous Los Angeles roadways and being granted access through the Artistically Extraordinary Film’s security gates, Tallulah parked the silvery Land Rover and took a shuttle van to the film location. The call sheet the Assistant Director sent out a few days ago said she’d be in two scenes today.
1. A kitchen scene with Ryland’s mother, Francine.
2. A nighttime scene with Ryland and his love interest, Rosalind.
The film location was in a blocked-off Pacoima neighborhood. Trailers, semi-trucks, production crew members, and equipment clogged the street.
After stepping out of the van and checking in with the other assistant director, some folks got in line at the catering truck. She settled for a breakfast burrito and hot coffee to give her the energy she needed to survive the day.
A production assistant came up to her and ran through the day’s overall schedule and the list of scenes as he led her to the wardrobe department’s trailer.
Her costume wasn’t anything impressive. Camille liked to express herself by wearing quirky scrubs and outrageous lipstick shades. So, for her first scene of the day, Tallulah was to wear Winnie the Pooh scrubs and orthopedic shoes.
Then she got shooed off to the hair and makeup trailers to spend the next two hours there. Her hair was combed, brushed, blow-dried, flat-ironed, and sculpted into a beehive bun. During that time, a makeup artist worked on her face.
Eugene Aaron wanted her to look raw, so there was no excessive amount of makeup. In fact, the makeup artist added foundation under her eyes to deepen her dark circles. Glittering honey lipstick coated her lips to apparently complement her Winnie the Pooh scrubs. Long coffin red press-ons adorned her nails.
She gazed into the lit vanity mirror to scrutinize the results, concealing her disappointment.
She had no clue that playing a raw character meant looking like Hollywood’s opinion of what a hood chick looked like. The only thing she was missing was a gold tooth.
Finally, the production assistant escorted her to the set, which was inside an ordinary house. The film studio was coughing up three grand a day to use the house for four days while the homeowner stayed at a downtown LA four-star hotel with no complaints.
It was a cozy home fit for a mother, even though camera and lighting equipment and burly men took up half of the living space. The scene was to take place in the kitchen.
Sarah, another production assistant, then handed her the script just as Oscar winner, two-time Tony recipient, and the director’s second but not last ex-wife Diane Gary entered the house with her makeup artist practically attached to her hip, dusting a makeup brush on the hollow of her cheek.
Even though Tallulah briefly interacted with the actress during table reads, she couldn’t help but be absolutely starstruck by the woman’s presence.
It was Diane fucking Gary.
An actress with over fifty films under her belt, an assload of accolades, and forty-four years of experience in the acting game. She was extraordinary in The Woman-King and acted her ass off in The Bankrobber’s Widow.
The two women stood at their marks, rehearsing their lines in correlation with Eugene’s guidance as he instructed all parties on how he wanted the scene to be blocked. Then they were sent away to their own trailers while the stand-in actors were used as guinea pigs to figure out camera movement and perfect the lighting and sound.
During that time, Tallulah paced back and forth, running through the lines with her heart pounding violently in her throat. She would never forgive herself if she fucked up in front of the likes of two icons like Eugene Aaron and Diane Gary.
Do it for Veronica, Milo, and most importantly, yourself, Tallulah encouraged herself within the depths of her mind.
When the two actresses were called back to the shot and Eugene went over his performance notes before makeup artists did touch-ups on them, plucking toilet paper from their collars and running lint rollers over their costumes.
Tallulah handed off her script to another production assistant who promptly scurried off set before she and Diane took place at their marks.
After five hours, Tallulah finally got to shoot her very first scene as a movie actress. A sense of exhilaration coursed through her bloodstream.
“Roll sound,” the assistant director shouted to the sound mixer and boom operators.
“Rolling,” they echoed.
“Sound speeds,” yelled the sound guy.
The assistant cameras declared their readiness.
“Set,” announced the cinematographer.
Eugene leaned back in his director’s chair, bridging his fingers. “Action!”
Diane shuffled in her house slippers up to the kitchen window over the sink, pushing back the short floral curtains to peek outside.
“Mrs. Bridgeman,” Tallulah sighed as she walked up to the woman, gently placing a hand on the woman’s back. “You should be in bed.”
“I’m looking for someone,” Diane cooed softly.
“And who exactly are you looking for?”
Diane looked over her shoulder, her brow furrowing at the question. A ripple of emotions swept across her aging face. First, surprise, then confusion, then a quiet sort of horror.
"I don't...know," she admitted, her focus growing distant. "I don't remember. There's just something inside me that keeps telling me that someone is missing."
Tallulah guided the woman toward the kitchen table and encouraged her to sit down. “I think the person you’re looking for is Ryland.”
Diane cocked her head. “Ryland?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Your son.”
Diane’s trembling hand went to her collarbone. “My son? I don—”
The older woman stopped herself short before she lowered her widening gaze. “Oh, yes. Ryland. My baby boy. I haven’t seen him in so long.”
"He was here yesterday, Mrs. B," Tallulah said as she retrieved a glass cup and filled it with tap water. She approached her co-star with a sharp roll of her eyes, pursing her lips at the thought of Ryland. She offered Diane the glass and reached into her pants pocket for a bottle of sugar pills a props crew member handed to her, unscrewing the white cap and shaking out two pills. Extremely careful not to pop off one of her press-on nails.
The cylindrical boom mic shifted slightly over her head, but she didn’t pay it any mind.
Diane crinkled her nose at the sight of the pills and took them. “Must I?”
“Doctor’s orders,” Tallulah said.
“More like your orders,” Diane grumbled before she tossed the sugar pills into her mouth and downed it with a gulp of water and a grimace.
Tallulah shrugged her shoulders and rounded the table, sitting down on the other side. “It’s my job to take care of you, Mrs. B.”
Diane frowned. “I’m worried about who will take care of my son.”
“Ryland can take care of himself,” Tallulah assured, propping her elbow on the table and her chin on a balled fist. “He always does.”
Her gaze trailed off as if she were lost in thought—as if she worried about Ryland too. Suddenly, she cleared her throat and rose from her seat, wanting to change the subject. “How about a game of Old Maid?”
“Is that your way of telling me I’m ancient?” Diane shot her a soured look.
“And cut!”
They re-shot several more times at length to capture the characters' interactions at different close-ups. There was still one more scheduled scene to be done and she dreaded what was to come.
————
As the house was being set up for the nighttime scene, Tallulah went to her trailer for some peace and quiet. It wasn’t huge like Nick’s, Diane’s, or Naomi’s, but she was extremely grateful to have one. However, it was another hour and a half until she was due for wardrobe again and there was no need to practice her lines in the meantime. She knew them for this scene like the back of her hand. She attempted to use the opportunity to rest her eyes, but the moment she laid down on the trailer’s long couch, there was a knock on the door.
It was most likely an overworked PA sent to deliver a message or a command.
She groaned in frustration as she got off the couch and went to the door, opening it.
“Ye—” The words died in her throat as Nick stood on her trailer’s steps. In the background, crew members scurried about with their tasks. All viable witnesses if she dared to tell the Nick Bryant to rot in hell and slam the door in his face.
She clenched her jaw and arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“You mind if I come in?”
“Do I mind? Yes. Do I have a choice? No,” she said for his ears only, stepping to the side.
He came in.
She pursed her lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I heard your first takes were very impressive,” he informed.
“And who told you that?”
“Diane.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”
They spoke very little in between takes. She didn’t want to make a rookie mistake by trying to start silly small talk with one of the industry’s greats.
“She likes you. An impressive feat, considering Diane Gary doesn’t like very many people,” he stated.
“That’s a confidence booster,” she confessed, a rush of relief washing over her.
“Like I told you last night at the arcade, Desiree. When you act, you outshine everyone.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Let’s be real, Nicholas. That’s not the only thing you told me last night.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “and there’s still a lot more to be discussed between us. Things you need to know.”
“If it’s to tell me about your compelling drug mule saga, I think I’ll pass. Now, if you excuse me, I was in the middle of preparing for the next scene,” she said as she jerked back the trailer’s door handle to open the door, gesturing for him to get the fuck out. “See you on set.”
He went to her, towering over her. His intense blue eyes reflected the words his mouth wouldn’t say: This is far from over.
She gulped but stood her ground. He strode down her trailer’s steps, casting her a last look that rose goosebumps. She sealed herself inside her trailer once more, pressing her back against the door.
“Fuck.”
————
After switching into her next costume in the wardrobe trailer, a different production assistant escorted her to hair and makeup. Her red press-on nails got plucked off and replaced with black ones. Her beehive was freshened up and her makeup was touched up. She stiffened in the salon chair as the one and only Naomi Barrett sauntered into the trailer with a stone-faced male personal assistant and a little army of production assistants to do her bidding.
Almost immediately, the head hairdresser and head makeup artist delegated the finishing touches to their assistants before they scuttled over to Naomi.
The gorgeous redhead plopped down into her salon and whined dramatically, “Where’s my fucking chai tea?”
“Here, Ms. Barrett,” a PA responded with a quiver, offering her a to-go cup.
Naomi took it and took a ginger sip before she spat it out. “Oh my god! This shit’s terrible. It’s lukewarm and way too sweet.”
She shoved the cup back into that PA’s hands. “Go get me another now.”
The PA fumbled with the cup and nodded, beelining out of the trailer to fulfill the actress’s demand.
“How hard is it to get a drink order right? It’s not rocket science,” she huffed. Her audience voiced their agreements, shaking their heads at the PA’s blunder.
Naomi flicked her wrist at them dismissively and told them to go away. The only one who stayed behind was her own assistant who scribbled down her commands.
“Tell Alejandro that I need him to hurry the fuck up with my couture dress. Call Harry Winston to send over some loaners that I can pick from. Confirm the reservation at Lush and send over what I want on the menu. Be sure to remind them I want the entire rooftop dining area. Everything has to be perfect.”
“Leave it to me, Ms. Barrett,” her assistant guaranteed.
The hairdresser and makeup artists swarmed the redhead again, working on her.
The hairdresser asked teasingly, “Celebrating something else?”
“Yes, a reunion,” Naomi admitted with a brilliant smile.
“This doesn’t have to do with a certain sexy co-star, does it?”
Naomi laughed, blushing. “Is it that obvious?”
The makeup artist gasped loudly. “You and Nick are back together?”
Before she could stop herself, Tallulah jerked her attention to Naomi. The makeup assistant turned her chin back to where it needed to be.
“We will be. He just doesn’t know it yet,” she said, ruffling her luscious tresses as she examined herself in the vanity mirror. “Nick can never resist my charms.”
“He’d be a fool not to,” the hairdresser commented.
Naomi shrugged. “We’re just addicted to each other, you know? I know it’s unhealthy, but loving Nick Bryant is like snorting coke. You can’t get enough of him.”
Tallulah clenched her jaw at the comparison.
“All done,” the makeup assistant told Tallulah.
Naomi’s blue eyes looked upon her, placing a hand on her chest as if she were ashamed. “Oh, I didn’t see you there, Tabby. I hope we didn’t bother you with all this silly gossip.”
Tallulah smiled warmly even though Naomi still couldn’t remember her damn stage name. “No, not at all. In fact, I just couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. I wish you the best of luck on your date. Reunions aren't always easy, but I don't think you have anything to worry about.”
“Aw, that's so sweet of you to say."
Then Tallulah excused herself and escaped the trailer, stepping into the night air.
The PA responsible for Naomi’s chai tea hurried by, shooting out an ‘excuse me’ as she rushed past Tallulah and made her way inside with a mouthful of frantic apologies.
Naomi snarled, “Where the fuck have you been?”
Your little girlfriend is a match made in heaven for you, Nicholas, Tallulah thought bitterly as she marched away.
But why did she want to raise hell about it?
