Fat Funny Famous

Chapter 6

"Happy sex day, everybody!" I sing loudly as I enter the bedroom set. We're on a sound stage, but you wouldn't know it; the room is dressed like a romantic beach hut interior, with a four-poster bed draped in floaty white curtains and a photo-real ocean view outside the windows. Apparently, the real-life room where the royal couple spent their first night wasn't nearly as elegant, but don't let the truth get in the way of some producer's wet dream.

The director calls me over. Olivia is standing beside the bed with Erik. I ignore him and focus on her, admiring the dance of her braids around her shoulders; my nerves won't allow me to even glance in Erik's direction. We're both wearing matching white towelling robes, as if we've been interrupted in a hotel room together and this was the best we could do to cover up on short notice.

The reality is the robes hide our very strange modesty undergarments known as shibues: a bit like an adhesive beige thong with no side strings. I've been lucky enough to score nipple covers as well. It's going to take a vat of almond oil to de-stick me after this is done...

Olivia says, "Okay, guys – the studio has been going back and forth on this scene, as you know. My belief is that the narrative doesn't need it, our audience will be wider without it, and it will ultimately be cut, but-"

I interject. "But our executive producer is a dirty old perv who wants his stars to mash their sexy bits together for his pleasure?"

I could swear that Erik snort-laughs softly. Olivia shrugs. "I didn't say it and if anyone asks, I'll deny we ever had this conversation. But, yes, I think this is more about what certain execs believe will sell tickets based on their individual preferences rather than market research."

"It's fine," I say, even though it doesn't really feel fine. "I signed the contract knowing this was part of the gig. And, I mean... People do shitty jobs all the time and survive – like unblocking toilets or popping pimples. My friend used to work at a dog grooming salon – she told me about how they have to squeeze the anal glands of the little dogs, like, squirt their backed-up poo-juice out of their buttholes, and one time she got squirted in the face and some got in her mou-"

"Thanks, Mila," says Olivia, waving me down with a look on her face as if she could taste the anal juice. "So, you've both done your rehearsals with the intimacy coordinator yesterday."

We nod. The process was about as sexy as a tampon up the nose. The IC was a pleasantly plump woman who directed our movements as if we were puppets playing Twister. Right hand, left butt cheek, left hand, right shoulder, kiss left neck, hook right ankle left hip... We'd been fully clothed, and I'd made jokes the entire time, ensuring that there was zero chance of the atmosphere turning intimate.

"Great. We'll try to get through this as swiftly as possible, but you both know that scenes like these can take a few hours." She smiles sweetly. "Get ready, we'll have makeup do last minute touches, then get started."

The lovely makeup team hurry over. Erik sheds his robe and I quickly turn away, heat rising in my cheeks. My makeup artist says, "Honey, can you lose the gown? I need to get some bronzer on your butt."

"That's what she said," I say, shucking out of the cotton robe, my skin goose-bumping in the chilly studio air. I've never been a prude – I've been skinny dipping, I did a lingerie shoot with Maxim, I once flashed a bartender for a free tequila slammer – but there's something about standing here clothed only in strategically placed coverings that makes me feel more exposed than being fully naked. Like how you feel way more naked wearing socks while you're nude rather than just being nude.

Eventually, I'm bronzed enough to pass muster. Someone fluffs my hair (on my head) and then the DOP is calling for us to take first position so he can check how everything looks.