Page 12 of The Fake Script
Alice blinks back in confusion. “Emma? Um, sure. Come in.”
She steps back to let me into a large living area. It’s very Brooklyn loft meets cozy chalet with its wooden flooring, brick walls, hardwood table, and metal chairs that contrast against the plush rugs and comfy-looking couch.
“Emz, someone here to see you,” Alice calls into the corridor on her right.
“What is it?” Emma grumbles, stomping out from what I assume is her room. Then, she sees me, and she freezes. One would think that’s a clear sign she just recognized me, but I know the look all too well. Alice just wore it, like every other person I meet does. It’s the “movie star effect.” A look I used to crave but resent now.
“Hey, I’m sorry to disturb you,” I mumble as she shuffles closer. “Can we chat?”
She crosses her arms and leans against the wall in the corridor. “Why?”
Alice gasps, and I almost let out a chuckle. “It’s about the movie. The director sent me.”
Her shoulders drop, then she rolls her eyes. “What now? Am I banned from the street or something?”
“The opposite, actually.” I flash my signature smile. “You made quite the impression earlier, and he’d like to offer you a consulting job. Basically, you’d look at the script and give us some notes. And you and I would work on my character, one on one, to make sure Diego is exactly the way the fans envision him.”
“Oh mon dieu, c’est génial,”Alice lets out with an elated smile.
I cast her a confused glance.
“Sorry, I’m French. Carry on.”
“Um, right.” I clear my throat, turning back to Emma. “So what do you say? Will you give me pointers and review the script?”
She folds her arms tighter against her chest. “Hard pass.”
“Please, just consider it. You’d be highly compensated.” In truth, I have no idea how much they’re planning on offering, but I’ll up the amount if I have to.
Alice is watching us like a spectator enthralled by a tennis match.
“I don’t care about money,” Emma shoots back, turning away.
“You don’t?” I stammer. In my world, everyone cares about money.
“Have a good night.”
“What do you care abou—” I begin to ask, but she slams the bedroom door behind her.
“Sorry about Emma,” Alice says with a grimace. “We’ll work on her. She’ll come around.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “I think that was a pretty firm no.”
“Ah.” She waves a hand in dismissal. “That’s just Emma. Just like a bear or a lion, you need to approach her with caution, but we always get through to her. It’s nothing a friend intervention can’t solve.”
“That sounds a little dramatic.” And nothing like the girl I used to know.
“Believe me. Dramatic is Emma’s middle name.” She chuckles. “When does she have to report for duty?”
“Tomorrow, eight a.m. at my trailer. I’ll send someone with the script so she can have a quick look tonight if she wants. But are you sure?”
She nods, her eyes lighting up. “Positive. She’ll be there.”
7
Imposter Syndrome
Emma