The costume designer, Marc, sat sketching something in a notebook at his desk. He was an older guy with gray hair and thick black glasses, and he boasted a resume most people would kill for. Giving one last silent prayer, I cleared my throat, trying to get his attention.
“June Laurie, what are you doing back so soon?” he asked, his warm smile lighting up his kind face as he turned. Maybe this wouldn’t be too difficult after all.
“Hi Marc,” I started, my voice shaking a little.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, picking up on my obvious distress. “I didn’t leave a pin in something, did I?”
I had to laugh at his guess, despite the fact that my tears were two seconds away from ruining my makeup. “No, you didn’t leave a pin in my costume,” I assured him.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” he asked again, using the kind, fatherly tone I noticed he never used around The Tall Ones.
“Your costumes are brilliant. You know that already, I’m sure.”
“But?”
“There’s not really a ‘but’. I mean . . . not a real one. It’s just that, I have certain—”
“Standards?” he offered, as though he had been expecting me to come and say something to him. I didn’t say anything, but nodded in agreement, wondering how much of a diva I looked like right at that moment. Here I was, refusing to wear the costume someone had handmade for me. “Ryan and Benjamin told me about your hesitation with the vaudeville costume earlier,” he elaborated, making me instantly want to go and hug both of them for standing up for me.
“I don’t want you to think that I’m ungrateful for all of the work you’ve put into my costumes, it’s just that, I can’t feel good about myself in something like this, and if I’m feeling this uncomfortable, I think it’ll come through in my acting,” I explained all in one breath, knowing that if I didn’t get the truth out right then, it would probably never come.
“Listen, I can make some compromises on your costumes from here on out now that I know you’re uncomfortable being overly sexy,” he began, hinting that there would be a stipulation. “But your main vaudeville costume is pretty much locked in. I don’t think I could get approval for a change on that costume at this point even if I wanted to.”
“I totally understand,” I said, hoping that he could tell how grateful I was that he was being so wonderful about the situation. “Is it too late to change this costume?”
Marc looked me over for a moment, surveying the short shorts and tank top I wore. “They might kill me for making a last-minute change,” he said, looking over his glasses as if to make sure I understood the gravity of what he was doing. “But I should have a fitted black T-shirt that’s about your size and some red lace shorts that are slightly longer. That’s the best I can do for you on such short notice.”
Without a word, I ran over to the man I had just met that morning and threw my arms around his neck, giving him a tight hug. “Thank you so much,” I said over and over as I released him. “I’m sorry I’m such a pain.”
“You’re not being a pain if you’re being true to yourself,” he said wisely. “I expect you won’t judge my lifestyle, so I won’t judge yours. Besides, now that I know what you’re comfortable in, it won’t be very difficult to adjust accordingly for the next few episodes.”
“I really do appreciate it,” I said, meaning every word. Relief swept over me as I began to feel like I wasn’t a complete sellout.
“That’s the only reason I’m helping,” he answered kindly.
*****
By the time six o’clock rolled around and I was ready to do my last scene, I was feeling exhausted. Candice sprayed some water on my face out of an aerosol can to "freshen me up," though I doubted it would do anything to hide my fatigue. The twelve-hour days on set were going to take some getting used to.
“This looks much better,” Candice remarked, referring to my last costume of the day.
“I still wouldn’t wear it, but it’s better than a corset or those impossibly short shorts,” I admitted, feeling much better after my little talk with Marc. My last costume was Imogen’s everyday clothes, though they weren’t exactly "everyday," since she was supposed to be so involved with vaudeville. I wore white socks that ended just above my knees, a pair of high-waisted black shorts, and a white, cotton, cap-sleeve button-up shirt tucked into the shorts. It looked very hipster while still managing to be old-fashioned. Actually, if anything, I thought it looked like some sort of Japanese street fashion.
“Wish me luck,” I said to Candice as I left the makeup trailer for the last time that day. Benjamin and Ryan were surprisingly nowhere to be seen, and I assumed they must have actually had a scene to act in.
“No,” was Candice’s reply as she popped the tab on a can of soda and pulled out a magazine. Her abrasiveness was definitely something I’d have to get used to. It did help that I knew how she’d act if she actually didn’t like me, though—she would just treat me like she did The Tall Ones. But that was the least of my worries at the moment. The thing that had been occupying the back of my mind the entire day (well, the entire week, if I’m being honest) was my next scene.
The anticipation that I felt for this last scene for today’s shoot made me feel tingly and even a little giddy. I hardly noticed anything around me as I walked to the set and made my way back to Imogen’s apartment with Lukas. We were the only two people in this scene, and I was almost a little sad that they saved it for the last shot of the day, since I was tired and might not be able to enjoy my first (but hopefully not last) kiss with Lukas Leighton properly.
In all honesty, I hardly paid any attention to the lines leading up to our kiss during the first take, and I probably stumbled over all of mine, but nobody called "cut," so it must not have been too bad. The only thing I cared about at that moment was getting to kiss the oh-so-coveted Lukas Leighton.
And here it was.
He was standing right in front of me, saying some line from the script that I had completely forgotten and looking exactly the way every boy in the world should look. I was vaguely aware that Lukas had given me my cue by saying, “Maybe this will answer your question,” though I wasn’t even sure if that’s what he said. Instead, I did my best to look sultry and kept my eyes locked on him.
Lukas’s hand cupped my face, his thumb running across my cheekbone, and he closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss me. I must admit that it took all of my strength not to collapse into a heap right at that moment. That particular response wouldn’t have benefited me at all, since it would mean that I didn’t get to kiss Lukas. Instead, I braced myself for what I was sure would be the best moment of my life. Lukas’s free hand had gone to the small of my back, but was now lurking dangerously close to him getting slapped. Not that I would have considered slapping him . . . especially with the cameras and entire crew watching.
I followed his lead and closed my eyes until I felt the pressure of his lips against mine. It was definitely a very different kiss from the one I had shared with Joseph on stage. This kiss was more skillful and experienced, like kissing was an art that Lukas Leighton was very practiced in. Something about the way he kissed me was heavy and important, like a statement that goes over children’s heads but adults nod somberly in response to, as if they could understand the weight of a single uttered phrase from their years of experience. This kiss definitely held significance that I couldn’t understand with my years of stage kisses and lack of real kisses.
When Lukas pulled away and looked into my eyes, he wasn’t red in the face or embarrassed like Joseph had been. Instead, he was sure of himself, and some dark joy played in his crystal blue eyes. All I could do was stare at him helplessly and feel like I had just had my legs taken out from under me. I completely forgot to act at all as I stared at him with unabashed adoration.
Apparently my candid reaction was exactly what Bates had wanted, because the second he yelled "Cut!" he poured praise over Lukas and me. I tried not to smile too much at how perfectl
y the director felt the scene had played out, but I did make a mental note at what good natural chemistry Lukas and I had. It made me wonder if maybe we could be together. I could imagine the headlines in the magazines without trying too hard. They'd call us LuJu, or Jukas, or—okay, the nickname needed work, but we could be Hollywood’s perfect couple—the kind that people were jealous of because of how blissfully happy they were.
It’s not really getting ahead of yourself if your fantasies are true, right?
CHAPTER 13
When Joseph and I got to school on Tuesday morning, I had already told him everything that had happened on set about a million times. He was amusingly excited to hear about Ryan and Benjamin and how nice and quirky they were, but he didn’t really do much to hide his dislike of Lukas when I told him about our scenes. I ignored his less-than-enthusiastic response to my favorite part of the story and decided to just focus on the rest of my experience, knowing I could at least count on Xani to be excited about Lukas.
“Were your costumes really that bad, or were you just overreacting?” Joseph asked as we walked through the quiet, dark school to zero period theatre. “Because I could see how the fact that you’re brought up to be modest might make a ‘normal’ outfit seem uncomfortably immodest.”
“Well, my pajama shorts went up to here,” I said, indicating a place on my leg I didn’t even realize it was possible for shorts to end. “And my dress pushed me up so much that I practically had cleavage up to my neck,” I said the second part a bit too loudly.
“Whoa, June. There are some things I really don’t need to know,” he said, bringing his hands up as if to wash them clean of my misfortune, smirking all the while.
“Yeah, you can go ahead and joke about it now, but when you see just how terrible the costumes really were, you’ll be on my side.”
“Well, maybe by the time you go back for your scenes on Thursday they’ll realize the error of their ways,” Joseph suggested doubtfully.
“Actually, you’ll be very proud to know that I spoke with the costume designer and he agreed to make me more modest costumes from now on,” I informed him, beaming at my own personal triumph.
“Wait a minute, let me get this straight," Joseph said. "You—June Laurie—stood up for yourself?”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” I asked. “He even changed my awful pajamas so they weren’t all that bad.”
“I’m impressed,” Joseph said sincerely, giving me a quick squeeze as we walked.
The immodest costumes wouldn’t have been such a big deal to me normally. I mean, I am an actor and I’ve worn tank tops or short-ish shorts in a lot of the school plays, and they never really bothered me. I think the reason this situation felt different was because they were obviously trying to make my character sexy, rather than someone who just happened to wear those kinds of clothes. I definitely didn’t feel comfortable being portrayed as "sexy" June. On my most sexy day I was prettily awkward at best.
The second we sat down in the auditorium to wait for Mr. Carroll to start teaching, Xani was flanking me, asking endless questions about Lukas Leighton.
“June doesn’t really enjoy talking about Lukas Leighton, so you may be hard-pressed to get any information out of her,” Joseph said sarcastically. Xani and I responded by rolling our eyes in unison.
“Did you kiss him? Was it perfection? Oh, I bet he’s just the most amazing kisser,” Xani gushed in her thick southern drawl. Joseph looked like he might be sick, as per usual, when Lukas was involved.
“My kissing scene with him was at the end of the day, so I was really tired,” I said regretfully. “But even then, it was the most perfect thing ever. He’s just so good at it!”
“You’re so lucky, June,” Xani said jealously. For the first time since I’d known her, Xani looked at me with admiration rather than the normal dislike. It was a shocking—but nice—change.
“If there’s any chance I can introduce you to him, I will,” I promised suddenly, not quite sure of where that offer had come from.
“I think I would die. Really. I would just say ‘Hi’ and it would all be over,” she said happily.
“It looks like Mr. Carroll is about to start class. We should probably stop talking,” Joseph said stiffly, keeping his eyes locked on the stage where Mr. Carroll had just entered.
“Even your Lukas Leighton aversion can’t annoy me today, Joseph. But nice try,” I said happily, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. Talking to Xani had made me infinitely more excited about the whole experience yesterday. It was nice to have someone who was actually excited for me and understood the monumental importance of kissing Lukas Leighton.
Joseph didn’t reply to my sudden outburst of giddiness; he just swallowed hard and tried not to let his eyes look like big, round, dinner plates.
After school—and about two hundred retellings of my day of filming—Joseph dropped me off at my house with the promise that he’d be by in a few hours to watch a movie. Gran, who was less than enthusiastic about my love for Lukas Leighton, was waiting in the kitchen with an open bottle of beer. I stopped suddenly in the doorway, looking at the contraband sitting on our kitchen counter.
“Gran, have you been drinking?” I asked, shock filling my voice.
“Yes, June, you’ve driven me to drink,” she said sarcastically. “No Bliss, this is for you.”
I simply stood and stared at her for a long while, wondering why the obvious hadn’t set into her mind yet.
“Uh, Gran . . . you know I don’t drink, right? Never have. Never will. Because if this is some sort of test to see if I have been, I can assure you—”
“I know you haven’t been drinking,” she replied, waving away my words with her hand. “It’s not for you. It’s for your hair.” She stated this as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“I don’t think I follow,” I answered, still confused by what she was saying.
“We’re going to mix beer, egg whites, and mayonnaise and put it in your hair. It’ll make it shiny.”
I brought my palm up to my forehead and closed my eyes patiently, trying not to look too piqued. “Gran, how many of these crazy food things actually work? Because I’m starting to feel like a human buffet with all of these bizarre remedies.”
“Well, you got a part on Forensic Faculty, didn’t you? That has to count for something,” she said.
“True,” I answered slowly. I looked over at the open bottle, which was already filling the kitchen with a sickly smell. I honestly didn’t understand how anyone could drink something that smelled like that, but if I had to suffer for my art and put the reeking liquid in my hair, I guessed it was the price of fame. “Do you have any nose plugs?” I asked finally.
*****
Joseph came over at eight o’clock with two orange sodas and a movie in tow. I placed a bowl of freshly popped microwave popcorn on the coffee table in the living room and plopped down on the couch, gratefully accepting the icy soda he handed me.
“So, what’s on the agenda for tonight?” I asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the small stack of movies he had with him.
“I brought a few options. I have a Lillian Gish movie, in case you wanted to tap into your favorite silent film star for inspiration. Or I brought a few newer movies. Whatever you’re in the mood for is fine with me. I like all of them,” he said with a shrug.
“I choose Lillian, of course,” I replied.
“Lillian it is.”
Joseph popped the movie into the DVD player and took his place beside me on the couch. I scooted close to him so that I could rest against his side like I always did, and he looked over at me quizzically, sniffing as he did so.
“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“June . . . why do you smell like alcohol?” he asked, a look of puzzled surprise on his face.
“Oh. Right. Gran made me put it in my hair . . . apparently it’ll make it shinier. Of course, that also means I’ll be smelling like alcohol for the rest of m
y life.”
Joseph turned back to the TV to process this information for a moment. “Does any of that stuff actually work?” he asked finally, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“I don’t think so. But it definitely makes Gran happy, so I’m fine with it,” I responded with a laugh.
We were silent for a moment, watching the black-and-white film with its dramatic music and vaudeville-style acting. I happily snuggled closer to Joseph and rested my head on his shoulder as we watched.
“So I think I’ll buy Homecoming tickets on Thursday while you’re filming. I just figured we should buy them now so that we don’t have to worry about it later,” Joseph said.
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. I’ll pay you back soon, I promise,” I told him with a smile. Even though neither of us really liked to dance, I figured it would still be fun to get dressed up and go somewhere together.
“Don’t bother. I’ve been working for my dad doing some filing for his business, so I’ve got a bit of money saved up.”
“But you shouldn’t have to use the money you’ve saved on me. Besides, I’ve got a job now too, remember?” I said matter-of-factly.
“Good point. But I still want to do this properly, where I buy your ticket and pick you up and everything,” he answered seriously, making it sound much more like a date than it was supposed to be.
I didn’t say anything at first, wondering how I could best respond. Normally I would say something like, "You make it sound like we’re going on a date," but something told me that I shouldn’t joke around so much about that kind of thing. Joseph had recently become much more touchy about that topic, and I wondered if it was because he was going on a mission in a few years and didn’t want people to think he didn’t have his priorities straight. So instead of making a joke or asking why he’d been so serious lately, I just said, “That’s really sweet of you,” and left it at that.