Acting Out [Student/Teacher, GxG]

You Won't Forget Me

The day had finally come where we were scheduled to shoot Act 2B Scene 16, otherwise known as The Love Scene. December 24th —  our last day of filming before we'd be let off for an admittedly brief break to celebrate the Holidays with our families. I wasn't so sure what that meant for me, but in the moment I was more concerned with the day ahead of me.

They'd separated Claire and I as soon as we arrived  and my hair and makeup were done in nervous silence. Even Stacy didn't have any witty remarks for me as I sat in her chair, earbuds in, blasting music as loud as I could handle. If I'd done this any other day, she would've ripped them out herself, complaining about how little she got to socialize during the day, and how Claire and I were the only main cast she actually enjoyed talking to. The fact that she'd obviously picked up on how petrified I was just added insult to injury, and I was humiliated.

What they don't tell you about sex scenes is that they really are the opposite of sexy. After stripping down to just my lacy underwear in the HMU trailer, I spent over an hour with the chair leaned all the way back, staring into space as Stacy went through the intensive process of making me into a Hollywood beauty. It wasn't just my face that needed work this time — it was every inch of my body. She'd moved the heater to right in front of me in an attempt to warm me up, but I was still freezing. It was a little bit like laying naked in front of a campfire in the middle of Winter. I'd never done that before, but I could imagine it wouldn't have felt much different. First, she took a small brush and a pallet of full-coverage tattoo concealer, and got to work on colour correcting the small pink marks that marred the lower portion of my stomach. 

She looked up at me for a moment, a curious expression on her face, before returning to the task at hand. I couldn't put into words just how grateful I was that she hadn't asked the question that I was sure was on her mind. She made quick work of the scar on my ankle, before scanning over my body one last time. Her eyes widened slightly when they settled on my thighs. "They're old," I whispered, and she nodded, covering the spattering of faded scars with gentle brush strokes. Like none of it ever even happened.

She finished by asking me to stand up and and using an airbush to cover me from the neck down in some sort of body foundation. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize the girl looking back at me. I was her, but she wasn't me. I wanted to cry and hug Stacy tight because, for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt genuinely beautiful. I knew I would have to learn to accept my body the way it was — it had survived a lot, and I constantly took it for granted — but right now, if I was going to bare it all for Claire and the world, the small comfort of feeling desirable made all the difference in the world.

She carefully draped a black robe over my shoulders and tied it at my waist, sliding my jacket over it, and guided me to the wardrobe trailer. She did hug me then, careful not to mess up my makeup. "You look perfect, Rowan, and you'd be perfect without all of that shit. You have nothing to worry about with this scene. I know you're scared, but it's all going to be very procedural, and if you're getting uncomfortable, all you have to do is tell Natalie."

"Thank you, Stacy," I mumbled into her hair before pulling away. I managed a smile, and walked into the trailer, getting ready for the next step.

I was given an interesting garment, almost like a thong matched perfectly to the colour of my skin, except it stuck on so that there were no straps to be seen. It was uncomfortable in so many ways, but the only thought in my mind at the time was how thankful I was to have had the foresight to get a Brazilian bikini wax after work the previous day. My razor bumps being immortalized in film would've certainly haunted me for the rest of my life. "Do I get to put this on myself?" I asked the costume designer, a weak attempt at a joke.