Not Another Player

24.Set Shenanigans

Grapejuice // Harry Styles

The sidewalk on the next block is packed with onlookers, cameras aimed right at us as expected. Our production has a total of six blocks shut down on L.A.'s museum row. I'm standing in front of the Museum of Art waiting for the crew to gear up for the scene and sweating bullets even though it's still in the low 50 degrees. I'm fucking nervous. I wish Char was next to me. Just her presence calms me down. But the woman is wiped out from all of her travel and crashed in my trailer the second we got to set.

"For the love of Pete's Sake can we get this shot set up already!" Our director, Bryant Gooding, is losing his shit left and right. But it's taken forever to get the cars in the right spot for some unknown reason.

"Stewart, where the hell did you go?" he shouts.

"Still right behind you, man." I keep the irritation out of my voice because I'm too fucking scared to be irritated. I've been following him like a puppy while trying to stay out of his way. He tends to shout for me randomly and I don't want to be the guy he has to hunt down.

Bryant whips around when I answer him. "Good. Good." He grabs my shoulder and guides me to the car I'm supposed to be driving. In this scene, Emily's character is being held against her will by her evil father. My character is in pursuit trying to free her.

"We'll start with the walk up. Then you hop in the car, say the line and gun the engine. I want burning rubber, got it?"

"Uh, I thought the stunt double does that part." My palms start sweating. I mean, more than they already were.

I'm a fucking mess.

"Later. I need a shot of you pulling away from the camera, so you'll drive it down the street." A shot is code for a hundred takes so he can have it from every angle possible. We're going to be here for a while and I'm going to have to drive this thing more than once.

The only thought running through my head is that I'm going to crash the car. I drive a junker. So does Zack. I've never had access to a car with guts. I've never 'gunned it' my entire life. I didn't train for this. All this time I've been killing myself to get shredded for the fight scenes, but I should have been taking driving lessons.

Fuck me sideways.

I rub the back of my neck then stop abruptly, remembering that make up added some darker color to my skin for these outdoor shots. Apparently, I'm too washed out in the sunlight. Like a fucking vampire.

"You good?" The transportation guy drops the keys to my new arch nemesis into my open palm. "She's easy. Just turn the key, drop it into drive and go. You'll be out of camera range in point 5 seconds."

"Thanks," I tell him, though it doesn't make me feel any better. Images of me crashing the car flash through my mind. I try to swallow away the lump in my throat, but my mouth is dry. I look around for a bottle of water. There has to be something to drink close by. This is a fucking high-profile movie set, not some low budget B movie. Obnoxious bottled water is a Hollywood staple.

"Can I get some water?" I croak out the words, hoping I sound more parched than freaked out. Not two seconds later, a set lackey I don't even know the name of shoves a bottle of water into my hand. I mumble an awkward thanks and guzzle half of it.

Great. Now I'm going to have to take a piss in the middle of the scene.

Movement down the sidewalk catches my attention so I glance in that direction. Only to be met with the exact antidote to my current freak out.

Char.

She's smiling at me, standing next to my assistant who gives me a nod, pats Char on the shoulder, then turns around to head back to wherever he goes when he's not assisting me.