I Want Your Heaven and Your Oceans Too

Million Years Ago

"And cut!" Bradley projected as the small assembled crew applauded. "That was amazing, guys. And just so you know, I left the entire champagne bottle improv in. We were still rolling."

Anthony grinned. "The pilot was pissed, yo. The one thing he asked us was to not open the champagne." He turned to Stefani, nudging her lightly. "We were just playin'."

She smiled apologetically. "Sorry about that." Lifting her sunglasses from the bridge of her nose, she squinted in the mid-afternoon sun.

"Don't be. We'll take care of cleaning duty. That," he gestured, "was gold."

She felt herself glow under his praise. Everyone in the cast and the crew alike wanted nothing more than to make him proud and to be the recipient of a clap on the shoulder or a warm smile. He set the precedent for putting everything he had into the film and to receive his accolades made her joyful because she knew that he meant it.

"Hey," he touched her arm, "can I talk to you for a minute?"

He led her aside to a more secluded area of the tarmac, guaranteeing that they wouldn't be overheard.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"What? No, no. The scene was fantastic," Bradley reassured her. "It's just that it seems like there's something bothering you." Running a hand down over his beard, he went on. "The light in your eyes...you always have? It isn't there today."

His voice was kind and although nothing he had said indicated he was upset, she couldn't help but feel she'd disappointed him.

"I--I'm--" Unable to get out the words, she shook her head, moisture inadvertently pooling at the corners of her eyes.

"You don't have to tell me anything that you don't want to." Bradley placed a hand on her shoulder. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

He gave her a shoulder a gentle parting squeeze before setting up for the next shot.

The second they were finished and a break was called, she booked it to her trailer, excusing herself with a hurried explanation that she needed some quiet time before they resumed.

As soon as she shut the door behind her and sunk into the soft confines of the sofa, hot tears fell, in spite of her best efforts and she bit her lip, throat burning from trying to stop the onslaught.

Bradley had not only pushed to get the film green-lit in the first place; he'd also convinced Warner Bros. to take a chance on her when they expressed hesitation that Lady Gaga, with all of her fanfare and pageantry, would be able to pull off such a complicated role. He went to bat for her completely; engineering a screen test that brought out her best and ultimately, his faith in her, she knew, without a doubt, was why she was there in the first place.

Miserably, she wallowed in self-hatred, resting her head in the crook of her elbow. This was her job. More than that, the film was Bradley's masterpiece and the thought of possibly fucking it up because she was in a weird place intimidated the shit out of her.

A rap on the door pulled her from her slumped position and quickly, she wiped her cheeks, sprinting into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face.

"Coming!" She tossed out, en route, cursing internally that she hadn't carved enough time out for a smoke.

"Stef?"