I feel myself blush. “Okay. I’d ask the same of you.”
“You got it.”
We share a shy smile, before Colin returns to the stove and stirs the contents of his pan again.
He asks, “Would you do me a favor and run lines with me, as I finish making breakfast?” He motions to the nearby kitchen table and sure enough, there’s a script sitting on it, its pages tagged with a host of colorful sticky notes.
“You got it, boss.” I sit down at the table, put down my coffee mug, and grab the script. “Oh, wow. You’ve got six scenes! I didn’t realize that.”
“Only three where I speak, though.”
“This is so exciting!” I flip to one of the sticky notes and peruse the page. It’s riddled with highlights and scrawled notes in the margins, all of which I find fascinating. “So, you’re Private Sherman?”
“Yeah. I’m the ‘dumb jock’ who gets blown to bits in an accident during basic training.”
“Oh, no. Poor Private Sherman.”
“His memory lives on.”
“Which scene do you want to work on first?”
“Let’s do the poker party. My easiest one. Green sticky note.”
I open to the designated page and skim the dialog. As Colin said, the scene depicts a poker party among Colin’s character and the other soldiers in his unit. It’s a light-hearted scene, it seems to me. One that’s meant to establish each character’s essential personality, with Colin’s character coming off as a bit of a cocky fuck.
“Just so you know, I’m not gonna act right now,” Colin warns. “I’m gonna speak my lines in a neutral way, so I don’t get locked into specific inflections and speech patterns before we shoot the scene for real in front of cameras.”
“Okay.”
“That’s what my acting coach told me to do, so I retain spontaneity for the real thing.”“Awesome.”
“I don’t want you thinking I’m the world’s shittiest actor.”
I chuckle. He’s so cute. “No judgment. I know you’ll smash it when the time comes.”
Colin turns around and leans his hard ass against the kitchen counter next to the stovetop. “The thing is . . . everyone else in the cast has lots of acting experience. Gary—the director—said I’ll bring ‘fresh energy’ to the cast, but I don’t know. It’s pretty intimidating being the new kid on the block and working with all these seasoned actors.”
“Well, they might have more movie acting experience than you. But they don’t have more performance experience. They’ve never performed in front of thousands of screaming fans, all over the world. And it’s not like you’ve never been in front of cameras before. You’ve modeled and done countless interviews and music videos. Plus, you did that stint on Sing Your Heart Out! You were great on that show, by the way. So funny and charming.”
Colin’s face is unreadable to me. Without replying to my pep talk, he turns off the stove, grabs plates from a cupboard, and begins plating our breakfast.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, when he still hasn’t said a word. “You promised we’d speak our minds this week, remember?”
Colin sets my food before me and sits next to me at his round kitchen table. “I’m thinking you’re sweet. Also, that’s all the same stuff Gary said when he initially offered me the role. What I fear, though, regardless of what Gary said, is that he actually hired me as nothing more than a publicity stunt—because me being in the movie, even in a small role, will bring my band’s fans into theaters and reach a whole new demographic that normally doesn’t give a shit about Seth Rockford movies.”
“Okay, but do the two things have to be mutually exclusive?” I ask. “I’m sure it’s true, if you weren’t Colin from 22 Goats, the director wouldn’t have known you exist, unless on this alternate timeline you’d decided to become an actor in LA. However, just because you’ve got fans to contribute to the marketing effort doesn’t mean you didn’t also earn your spot in the cast. I heard the audition story you told at the rehearsal dinner. Nobody cast you without first confirming you’d be perfect for this role. I have to believe someone as brilliant as Gary Flynn wouldn’t cast anyone in any movie, if he didn’t honestly believe in them. That man is a living legend. Why would he risk screwing up this movie—and his legacy—for a PR stunt? No way, Colin.”
Colin is blushing. “Thank you for that. That was all great to hear.”
“It’s all true. So, tell your pesky imposter syndrome to stop talking shit inside your head, or it’ll have to answer to me. And let’s not forget, I’m the woman who handled Caleb Baumgarten’s bullshit for nine months. I’m not someone to be trifled with, honey.”
Colin bursts out laughing. “Clearly not.” He picks up his fork, which makes me do the same, and we begin eating the scrumptious meal he’s prepared for us with gusto. As we eat, I compliment Colin on his culinary skills, and he tells me how he made the food. Which then leads to him telling me stories about how his mom and two older sisters always kept him busy in the kitchen as a kid. Until, eventually, we’re pushing aside our plates and I’m picking up Colin’s script to help him run lines on the poker party scene.
“That was awesome!” I say, after Colin’s delivers his last line in the scene.
“Did I get all the words right?” he asks.
“Every single one of them.”
“I have to get all of them exactly right. No improvisation allowed, unless the director specifically asks for it.”
“You delivered every word perfectly like a true professional.” I wink. “You want to run the other two scenes now?”
Colin looks far more relaxed now than he did before breakfast—like a whole new man—as he nods and replies, “Let’s do it.”
We run his two other two scenes with lines, and Colin mostly nails his dialog, only requiring a few corrections.
When we’re done with both scenes, I put his script down on the table and praise him.
“Now that I’ve heard you,” I say, “I’m positive Gary Flynn didn’t hire you as a PR stunt. He hired you because you’re a natural.”
Colin’s face lights up. “That’s the exact word Gary used about me! Same with my acting coach!”
Oh, my heart. He’s darling in this moment. So vulnerable and sweet. I lay my hand on his on the table. “I’m so happy for you, Colin. I know you’ve dreamed of being an actor since you were a kid. I’m so excited to have a front-row seat to you making your childhood dream come true.”
Colin looks utterly shocked. “How do you know I’ve wanted to be an actor since I was a kid? I’ve never told anyone about that. Not even my family.”
“You told Logan when I was in the room, hiding behind the couch.”
He laughs. “What?”
I giggle. “You guys were watching a horror movie. My mother said I was too young to watch it with you, so, when she went to bed, I snuck out of my room and hid behind the couch to watch. And that’s when I heard you telling Logan that’s what you wanted to be when you grew up—an actor in a movie, like the one you were watching.”