And Playing the Role of Herself (Frankiana)

CHAPTER ONE

The boy looked down and stepped back as I crouched down and reached out a hand towards his face.

"It's ok," I said quietly, stilling my hand, waiting.

His eyes looked up at me hesitantly.

"It's ok, Samuel." I smiled reassuringly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

I reached out again and his eyes widened in fear, but he let me touch his chin and gently turn his head to the side. I froze for a moment, staring at the swollen bruise that ran along the left side of his face, and then gripped him by the shoulders, harder than I should be, allowing the anger I was feeling to show in my face.

"Who did this to you, Samuel?" I hissed. "Who did this?"

"Cut!!!!"

The voice sliced across the silent set like a gun shot, and I could feel the small shoulders under my hands jump in reaction.

I sighed and dropped my hands to my thighs as noise and chatter erupted on the set around me. The camera to my right moved back and I pushed myself to my feet.

"Crap."

The boy giggled and wiped at his runny nose, leaving a shiny trail of mucus across his upper lip.

Lovely. "Becca?" I called over to one of the assistants. "Can we get a kleenex or something over here?"

I was all for realism in television, but there was no way I was going to hug this kid with all that snot on him, regardless of what the script called for.

While Becca, a tiny red-head in a tight, lime-green top, hurried over to the boy, I turned towards the sound of approaching footsteps, schooling my face into polite deference that I did not feel.

"What's wrong, Adam? I thought that was going well."

I didn't, really - I had been too aggressive from not enough sleep, a very long week and a headache - but I sure as hell wasn't going to admit that to this asshole.

Adam Kreizeck was short, obnoxious and sweaty; I had disliked him on sight, and it had become quite obvious over the last week of shooting that the feeling was definitely mutual.

"That's why I'm the director, Miss Mackey, and you are not."

You're the director because you're married to the producer's niece, jackass.

I forced a smile, and kept my thoughts to myself. I hated guest directors.

They threw off everyone's game, screwed around with the normal pace of shooting, and were generally a pain in the ass. Kreizeck's stint as director had resulted in 16-hour days, multiple scenes having to be re-shot, and the killer headache that I'd had for what seemed like the last 72 hours.

"Let's try this again," Adam continued, "with a little more compassion and a little less aggressive. You're trying to help the boy, Miss Mackey, not assault him."

The fact that he was correct in this particular case annoyed me even more than his arrogant smile. I nodded, resisting the urge to slap him.

He snapped his fingers impatiently, bringing production assistants scurrying to his side. "And someone please tell Miss Takahashi we'll be ready for her soon."

"Miss Takahashi," a rich, very feminine voice called, "is already here."

The effect of the voice on Kreizeck was instantaneous. He spun towards the sound with more athleticism than I'd given him credit for and practically sprinted to the front of the set where Kiara Takahashi was settling herself into her chair.