Chapter Nineteen

            Monday at the studio I’m more nervous than I’ve been since Mila first convinced me to come here in a dress. Not that I have a dress on today. For the first time in a month, I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Well, and my falsies. But I don’t want to look attractive today, not at all.

            Both Mila and Mr. Lawrence give me a look when they see how slovenly I’m dressed, but I don’t care. I’m too panicked about the Michael situation. Should I avoid him and cause awkwardness by making a big deal about the kiss? Or should I just go up and talk to him, and risk rehashing the humiliating experience?

            We’ll have to see each other at some point. I won’t try to run away from him, but I’m not going out of my way to chat, either.

            Rochelle says Michael probably wants to forget the incident as badly as I do. But she doesn’t know Michael. What if he wants to talk about this? What if he gets all upset or angry? What if he mentions this to Mila?

            I walk into the sound stage and there he is, sitting on a couch in Natalia’s character’s apartment. One of the extras, a curvy girl with black hair, sits next to him. They’re looking over a script or something.

            He glances up and we make eye contact. I can’t pretend I didn’t see him. I walk over to grab my copy of today’s lines. “Hello, Michael.”

            “Hey, Shannon.” He smiles warmly at me, then turns back to his companion. “Now the Foley artists, they’re the ones in charge of sound effects. Most of that is digital these days, but you know, fifty years ago, it was a job that took a lot of creativity. Still does, really.”

            The girl is staring at him in rapt attention. “Wow. Tell me more.”

            She doesn’t sound sarcastic.

            The movie director barges in and everyone falls into place. Natalia giggles when she sees how I’m dressed, but I just sit quietly as they film her scene for three hours, and film a scene with me for five minutes.

            Afterwards, I pass by Michael as he’s packing up. Again, we’re close enough that I can’t ignore him.

            “Good shoot today,” I say, awkwardly breaking the ice.

            “Yeah, nice work.” He’s looking at me in that distracted way when someone interrupts you when you’re busy.

            “Same time tomorrow, I guess.” Jesus, that sounded forced.

            “Yeah.” He takes out his phone and checks something. “See you then.”

            “Hey, I’ve been having trouble with my laptop…”

            “Huh? Sorry, can we talk tomorrow? I got a thing.” He then smiles and winks at me, not embarrassed at all, and leaves.

            Well. That went nicely. He wasn’t shook up, wasn’t angry, talked to me and everything.

            Except, something has kind of changed. He didn’t avoid me, not really, but he didn’t yak my ear off like he normally did.

            Maybe he was afraid I’d bring up our awkward encounter.

            Maybe he’s a little hurt and hiding it well.

            Or maybe, now that he realizes I’m not into him like that, I’ve become just a little less interesting in his eyes. A little less important.

            Of course not. I’m being paranoid. I’ve been acting like a girl for so long I’m starting to overthink things.

            And if his ego is hurt, who cares? Not me.

            No way.

*

            I take a rideshare back to the Becoming studios to meet Mila for a late lunch. I don’t really feel like it, but part of me is paranoid that Michael told her about the kiss, though why in the world would he? I eventually wander to her office.

            I guess ‘office’ is kind of a charitable term. It’s a room and it has a door, and there’s just enough room for a desk and two people, if one of them stands. No windows, her desk faces the blank wall opposite the door. Still, it’s better than most of the lower ranking staff get, who are relegated to cubicles, crowded conference rooms, and tables in the hall.

            Mila’s not there, but her purse is, so she should be back soon. Remembering to cross my legs, I sit in her chair.

            I start to get bored, so I go to check and see what publicity shots they’re using for the show. Mila showed them to me before, so I click on the appropriate folder on her desktop.

            I scroll through the various episodes. Yep, here’s the Natalia Jenkins show. I watch a couple of promotional spots. Though they don’t mention me at all, they’re certainly making plans to air it. It’s really a go. I’m going to be on TV. Everyone’s going to see me. Dressed like a girl.

            This is really happening.

            Trying to corral my thoughts, I start flipping through other commercials. Some of the episodes I’ve seen, some are upcoming. I find a folder full of photos of Mila with the various celebrities. Mila with John Calaban, the wrestler. With Otis Blackhawk, the rapper. And with Cinder-Suzie, the pop diva.

            There are a lot of that last person, Mila must be a fan. Who can blame her? Cinder-Suzie’s songs have huge crossover appeal, reaching fans of pop, rap, and R&B. She’s an actress, too, and not one who skates by on her musical fame. She was nominated for an Oscar for her last movie, The Boomtown Shuffle. I guess it doesn’t hurt that she has a face like Josephine Baker, even though she must be pushing fifty.

            Jeez, there’s quite a lot of pictures of her. Mila must really like her. There’s one of Cinder-Suzie on the set. There’s one of her at the beach. One with Mila at some sort of film event. And another with Mila at someone’s house. And there’s a photo of Mila at what looks like a birthday party. Mila is standing in front of a cake with an 18-shaped wax candle. Cinder-Suzie stands behind her, a hand on Mila’s shoulder.

            Wait a minute.

            Mila at her high school graduation. Mila and Cinder-Suzie on bikes. A very young Mila on Santa’s lap.

            I open Wikipedia. Cinder-Suzie (born Caroline Suzanne Anderson) did have a daughter with her ex-husband, Antonio Nevins. The daughter’s name is Faith, and she’d be twenty-three[1]  now.

            Holy shit.

            I’m aware that someone is standing at the doorway. I turn. It’s Mila.

            “Hey, Shannon, sorry I’m…” She squints at the Wikipedia entry about the woman who I’m sure is her mother. I quickly close it, revealing a photo of Mila and Cinder-Suzie at a recording studio.

            “I was just…”

            Mila does not look happy. Not at all. She snakes out a hand and closes the laptop.

            “Figured it out, did you?” I haven’t heard her sound this angry since we first met at the airport.

            I stand. “Honest, I was just looking at the promotional stuff.”

            She sneers at me. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? Not enough that you almost wreck my career? Not enough that I go out of my way to help you? Not enough that you and I were…Christ.”

            I kind of want to leave, but she closes the door. “Mila, I didn’t mean to snoop. It’s none of my business.”

            “Damn right. And if you breathe a word of this, Shannon, you’re going to wish you’d never heard of Becoming. Jesus, I actually trusted you.”

            I don’t understand her anger. I’d never heard anything about Cinder-Suzie being estranged from her daughter. “I’ll keep my mouth shut. But I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this. You’d think you’d be proud…”

            Whoops, wrong thing to say. Really wrong.

            “Get out, Shannon. Now.”

            I slide around her, hugging the wall. I touch the doorknob. Then I stop.

            “No.”

            “Excuse me?”

            I swallow. “I said no. I’m sorry I got nosey, but I think you’d know that if anyone can keep a secret, I can. But I don’t understand why you’re so pissed off.”

            She looks at me with just slightly less contempt. “You don’t understand, do you? You wouldn’t.”

            “So explain it to me. Or not. But after all we’ve been through, I don’t think I deserve to be dismissed like this.”

            She opens her mouth, then shuts it. She sits on the edge of her desk and toys with her stapler.

            “Yes, Cinder-Suzie is my mother. I was born right before her first album went platinum. Mom wanted to keep me out of the spotlight. She hates it when celebrities use their kids as fashion accessories. She wanted me to grow up without a camera in my face.”

            “That makes sense.” I’m trying to phrase this the right way. “But you’re not a child anymore, so why bother to hide it? I mean, having a mother that famous could probably help your career.”

            For a moment, I think she’s going to clock me with that stapler. “I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

            “Then help me.”

            She lets out a sigh. “Shannon, my mother is one of the most powerful women in show business. Of course she could help me. One word from her, I could be producing my own TV show. I could co-direct a small movie. I could cut my own album. If I wanted, I could pick up that phone and be on the cover of Variety next month.” She snaps her fingers.

            It suddenly becomes clear. “And anything you achieve would be your mother’s accomplishment, not your own.”

            She nods, not looking at me. “You know how hard it is to break into the industry. And maybe it’s stupid, but I’d like to do it as Mila, not as The Daughter of Singing Sensation Cinder-Suzie. My mother paid for my private school. Got me into a competitive film program in college. Gave me everything. But I’m an adult now. I’m going to be a producer. And not because my mother is backing me up. That’s why I use my middle name and my father’s last name. Why I don’t talk about my past.”

            I admire her drive. “I think you’ll do it.”

            “Will I, Shannon? You can’t keep secrets around here. Mr. Lawrence knows. Michael knows. And every time I get an assignment, I wonder if I’ve earned it, or if he just wants to keep the studio in my mother’s good graces. Every time I screw up, I wonder if I’m only keeping my job because of whose daughter I am.”

            I so want to take her hand, but I know that would be a mistake. “You’re plenty talented, Mila.”

            She rolls her eyes. “So are a lot of people. And it doesn’t help being Black. Every time I succeed at anything, there are people out there—and a lot more than you probably suspect—who believe I only got where I was because they think I’m a DEI hire. It hurts. Not to mention the fact that I’m—”

            “A woman,” I finish for her. “I can maybe understand that, a little.”

            She gives me a fake smile. “When you’re an African-American woman, everyone assumes that everything you’ve ever achieved, everything you’ve fought for and earned, was handed to you. So I’m sure as hell not going to take something I didn’t work for.” She faces me for the first time since our confrontation. “That make sense?”

            In a way it does. I guess if she asked her mother for help, it would feel cheap to her, like she hadn’t paid her dues. But I’m having trouble sympathizing.

            “You know what’s worse than people thinking you take handouts? Everyone knowing you take handouts. Like, I dunno, when your mom gets sick and your dad gets laid off the same month and you have to go on food stamps for half a year. And your mother has to drive downtown to pee in a cup once a month, because the smarmy governor wants to make sure she’s not using her EBT funds for meth. Or when every Friday in fourth grade, they send you and your sister home from school with a little bag of groceries. I wasn’t the only kid in the program, but I was the only one with two parents. Or when you have to wear your older sister’s hand-me-downs.” I laugh at the irony of that last one. “Sorry, Mila. I wish I had your problems.”

            She gives me a sour look, but doesn’t respond. We kind of just stand there for a few moments. Then she laughs.

            “Jesus, we’re quite the pair, aren’t we? We both want the same thing, and we’re willing to do whatever it takes to get it. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m being ridiculous.”

            My turn to laugh. “Yes. While I’m the very model of restraint and dignity.”

            We smile, but it’s a little forced on both ends. “Can I trust you to keep my secret, Shannon?”

            “I dunno. It’s not like you know some huge secret about me that I’m desperate to keep quiet.” I stand. “Do you mind if I bail on lunch? I’m not really dressed for dining out anyway.”

            She glances down at my slovenly jeans and shirt. “I was going to say. What’s with the grunge look? You looked so cute last week I was a little jealous.”

            I frown. “Can it, Mila. I wish you wouldn’t make fun of me.”

            She takes a step forward and looks me right in the eye. Then she smiles. “I wasn’t.”

            She leaves me alone in her office, feeling very confused.

Chapter Twenty

            “Just laugh, Mila. I know you want to.”

            Mila looks pointedly at her menu. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “You’ve been biting your lip all evening. I look ridiculous. Just say it.”

            The filming of my episode of Becoming is winding down. Today, they decided I really needed to look more like Natalia. Clothes, nails, makeup…and hair.

            I think whoever selected my hair dye picked the wrong color. Instead of Natalia’s dirty blonde coloring, I’m now an intense platinum. It’s a shade of blonde man wasn’t meant to see.

            Mila continues to deny anything is wrong. “It’s maybe not the best color for you, but it’s not bad. Really, I think you’re upset over nothing.”

            “Nothing? I’m surprised there aren’t moths circling my head.”

            She clears her throat, but doesn’t crack a smile.

            “I could stand out in the harbor at night and guide ships.”

            “Want to split an order of potato skins?”

            I’m determined to break her façade. “I can read in bed now by the shine of my hair.”

            Yeah, she’s really struggling to keep her laughter inside. “That’s a very nice outfit, Shannon. Is it new?”

            “It’s Natalia’s. Funny thing.” I lean over the table toward her. “Last year, I used to always fantasize about getting into her clothes. Today, I got my wish.”

            Mila bursts out laughing so hard, the other diners turn and stare at her. I laugh too.

            “I’m sorry, Shannon. They really did a number on you. When filming’s over I’ll take you to my girl. She’ll make your hair look human again.”

            “I’d settle for masculine. Damn, it’s going to be a relief to not have to wear these breasts anymore.”

            Mila tilts her head. “Too bad. Are you going to take your clothes back home with you? Dress up on the weekends sometimes?”

            “Very funny.”

            “I’m serious. Why stop? Now that you’ve got the hang of it, you’re only going to get prettier.”

            “Har, har.” Her joking is getting less funny.

            “Some electrolysis, some hormone therapy…who knows where you might end up?”

            I pick up my menu just so I can throw it down. “I wish you wouldn’t tease me about this.”

            She meets my eyes. “I wish you’d take a compliment. That first week after I met you, I barely slept. I was so sure you were going to screw up and give yourself away, or bail on me. And now look at you. Practically Natalia Jenkin’s little sister. You know what I’d call a guy who could pull that off?”

            I shrug. “Effeminate?”

            “An actor. You’ve done great work this summer, Shannon. I hope you realize that.”

            “Well…thanks for not firing me. Now I have to go back home and explain to everyone where I’ve been.”

            Just the thought of having to face Chris and my parents fills me with dread.

            Mila looks concerned. “Don’t worry. After you get your male makeover, I’ll introduce you to a couple of actors. We’ll take your picture together, and you can make up all kinds of wild stories about working in a movie that was almost released.”

            I smile. Too bad that’s not the truth of what happened this summer.

            The waiter arrives and takes our order. Again, I have a hard time spending what would have been most of my family’s weekly grocery bill on dinner. Better enjoy it while it lasts.

            “Shannon?” asks Mila, when the waiter leaves. “Mr. Lawrence is having a party at The Winchester Hotel Friday night. Want to be my plus one?”

            “I’m not sure.” Ever since I saw Mr. Lawrence slap Michael, I’ve not really had an urge to do things with him outside of work.

            “C’mon. You’re going back home in about ten days. We won’t see each other again after that.”

            The thought gives me a pain in my gut. Mila and I…would you call us friends? We’re not exactly best pals, but I think things have changed since we first met. I can admit it. I’ll miss her when I’m gone.

            “Okay, Mila. What should I wear?”

*

            The producers of Becoming have rented out an entire floor of the hotel. In addition to the main party suite, there are several smaller rooms. Mila and I get ready in one of these.

            We stand side by side at the huge vanity, applying our makeup in front of the mirror. It comes easier for me every time. The foundation, the blush, the eyeliner. Skills that I didn’t possess a month ago, skills I won’t use again a week from now.

            But still, I am kind of proud of myself.

            Mila air kisses her reflection and puts away her lipstick. I glance at her sideways. She’s wearing a sleeveless black cocktail dress. Nothing too fancy. And yet…let’s just say that every time I’m around her recently, I become more and more sympathetic to Michael’s obsession. And more aware of my own embarrassing inner feelings.

            At least Michael has a job. And he isn’t secretly seventeen.

            I smother my pointless crush. “So how do I look?”

            Mila takes a step back and gazes at me with a critical eye. It’s a dress Rochelle picked out for me, dark green, almost but not quite backless, with a slit up one side of the skirt.

            She’s taking too long to say anything. She hates it. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

            “Shannon…”

            “I told her I couldn’t pull this off with these shoulders and this neck and…I should change.”

            “Shannon!” She places her hands on her hips and tilts her head in that way I’ve recently found inappropriately endearing. “Aside from your unfortunate hair color, you look…regal. I mean that. Sophisticated. Maybe even…pretty.”

            I nervously move a lock of hair off my forehead. “Thanks,” I almost whisper.

            “Well, come eleven o’clock, you’re going to be the best dressed woman at this shindig.”

            “Is that when you go home?”

            She smiles. “You’re catching on. Damn, when you go back home to Bunghole, you’ll be a shoe-in for Miss Butter Churn.”

            Her previous compliment fades in my mind. “I wish you’d knock that off.”

            She stops smiling. “Shannon, stop being so sensitive about the drag act.”

            “Huh? No, I mean, stop making fun of where I come from. I don’t live in the sticks, I live in Des Moines. It’s the state capital! We have a university, and first class museums, and…and…”

            There’s Mila’s smirk again. “And indoor plumping and all,” I finish, defeated.

            Mila shakes her head. “I’m just messing with you. Hey, next time we do a shoot in the Midwest, I’ll be sure and look you up…” She pauses. “Nope, total lie. I’ve never been to Iowa and I think I can die happy saying that. But I hope you’ll come back and see me some time.”

            She sounds sincere. “You ready to get this party started?” I ask.

            “You bet. Grab your clutch and let’s get out of here.”

            “Grab my what?”

            She points to the counter. “Your little purse.”

            It’s so tiny it barely holds my phone and hotel key card, let alone my makeup stuff. “This is such a pain to carry. Why don’t you women just put more pockets in your clothes?”

            Mila rolls her eyes and makes a disgusted snort. “You are such a man, Shannon.”

            I follow her out of the room.

*

            The gathering looks like an after Oscars party. Not that there’s a lot of celebrities here. Aside from Natalia and her costar James, I don’t see many other actors. But with all the tuxedos and designer dresses and expensive faces, I know I’ve really made it past the velvet rope.

            Mila immediately ditches me to talk to some friends. She doesn’t introduce me. But it doesn’t feel like a slight. I think she just feels I can take care of myself and doesn’t need to hold my hand.

            Wish she’d hold my hand.

            I spy Michael across the room, but he’s standing with Mr. Lawrence. And they’re laughing. Laughing and joking around together, as if Mr. Lawrence hadn’t just knocked him around and tried to fire him last week. Me, I would have held a grudge. I wouldn’t have forgotten that.

            Maybe that’s my problem. But I don’t think so.

            I take a glass of champagne from a tray. I remember what Mila said and keep my elbows close to my body, so as not to reveal my armpits or to loosen my falsies.

            And I just stand there. Of course I do. Natalia and James are in the room. No one wants to talk to Shannon Ferguson. I’ll just have to go introduce myself to someone.

            Yep, just go right up and start talking. Right now.

            After another drink.

            Hey, Michael’s not with Mr. Lawrence anymore. Now’s the time to mend fences, to show him we can still be friends…

            No, wait, he’s here with that girl from the set. I can’t tell if they’re on a date, but I don’t want to slow his roll. And I don’t want to make him think I’m jealous.

            Where the hell is Mila? I need another drink.

            “I don’t care for these things either,” says a voice at my shoulder.

            Is he talking to me? I turn.

            It’s a handsome guy in his forties, with thick eyebrows and gray highlights so intense they almost look dyed. He smiles, embarrassed.

            “I can’t just go up and talk to people. It feels like junior high all over again. I end up drinking too much and telling my problems to random people I corner.” He grins. “Like I’m doing now, for instance.”

            I know exactly how he feels. “I’m Shannon.”

            “Kevin. Do you work for Becoming?”

            I’m suddenly a little ashamed of my role as a fawning clone of Natalia. “In a way. How about you?”

            “I’m a location scout. I arrange filming locations in the Midwest.”

            This piques my interest a bit. “Where are you based out of?”

            “St. Louis.”

            “I’m from Des Moines.” We clink our glasses.

            “I really didn’t want to come here tonight,” he says in a slightly whiny tone. “But I heard Natalia Jenkins was going to be here and I promised my niece I’d get her autograph.”

            Natalia is busy chatting up some handsome guy who I think I saw in some movie once. She doesn’t look in our direction.

            Kevin downs his drink. “I should go.”

            If he leaves, I’m going to end up standing around on my own. “Eh, hang out for a little bit. They haven’t even brought out the cocaine yet.”

            Poor Kevin looks terrified.

            “I’m just joking.” Kind of.

            We end up talking for about half an hour, mostly making fun of party guests in low tones. Kevin’s fairly funny in a dad kind of way, though he does seem to believe that St. Louis is the cultural and intellectual hub of the entire universe.

            Around about ten thirty Natalia sneaks out on the arm of her handsome companion.

            I say ‘sneaks out.’ She pretends to be secretive, but is so blatantly obvious, so slow, it’s clear that she wants to be noticed and photographed.

            Kevin sighs and puts down his drink. “I guess that’s that. Well, I’m sure I can forge something for my niece when I get back.”

            I laugh. “Look, I work with Natalia. I’ll get her to sign something for her and send it to you.” Because, you know, I’m totes close with Natalia. My BBF.

            His face lights up like a kid at a baseball game. “Would you? Aw, she’d love it. Do I, um, owe you anything for that?”

            “Of course not.”

            “Hey, thanks. Say, do you like bourbon? Someone gave me an expensive bottle earlier. Do you want it?”

            I’ve had a few too many already, and I’ve never actually had hard liquor. “That’s okay.”

            “Seriously, I can’t take it on the plane. You’d be doing me a favor. You could give it to a friend or something.”

            Yeah, maybe Michael or one of the crew would like it. “Sure. Okay.”

            “Great. I’m headed out. I left it in the other room with my jacket. C’mon.”

            I swallow the last of my drink. Honestly, I’m happy for the excuse to leave. Mila has apparently abandoned me, and now I can hop into a cab unnoticed.

            Kevin’s stuff is in one of the unoccupied rooms the show rented out. The place is empty and Kevin has to dig through a pile of jackets and coats before he can find his things.

            He eventually locates the bottle. It’s expensive looking, with wax melted all over the cap. “Here you go, Shannon. Thanks for everything.”

            “No problem.”I set the bottle on a table and reach for my purse. “Just give me your address and I’ll send you—”

            And…he’s moving in for a kiss. Jesus Christ, not again.

            I back away.

            But he keeps moving forward.

            His beer breath is on my face. His scratchy lips touch mine.

            I pull back, but he has me against the wall. This isn’t like with Michael. Kevin has to realize I’m not into this.

            I move my head to the side. “Kevin! Stop it!”

            He starts…oh dear God…he starts kissing my neck. My flesh crawls.

            I push at him, but he’s powerful. “Stop it! I said stop!”

            His hands grab my wrists. And suddenly, I’m very, very scared.

            I struggle. He does not let go.

            I shout. He does not respond.

            He holds me harder against the wall.

            His legs press against mine. I can’t drive a knee into his crotch.

            He starts kissing my bare shoulder. I try to fight him, but he’s surprisingly strong.

            “I don’t want to do this! Stop it!”

            He’s really grinding into me. I can feel his keys or something poking into my stomach…

            Oh, God.

            That’s not his keys.

            “Stop it!”

            He pulls back for a moment. I think I’ve reached him. I think he’s going to let me go. But then he smiles.

            “C’mon, Shannon. No one has to know.”

            And he’s kissing my skin again.

            The only thing that keeps me from flailing, from going ape shit wildcat, is a fear that my dress will slide down and expose my male chest. I don’t know if the revelation that I’m really a man will make things better for me, or much worse.

            “Help!” I yell.

            His hand snakes up and covers my mouth. I bat at him with my free arm, but it’s useless.

            Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

            I’ve lost all sense of myself. All sense of him. He seems to have ten hands. I can feel him tugging at the halter in the back of my neck. In a few seconds, he’s going to have my dress undone.

            Oh, God.

            And then the door to the room opens.

            And there stands Mila.

            It takes Kevin a couple of seconds to realize what’s happened. When he sees Mila standing there, he pulls away.

            He then shrugs and smiles at us.

            Mila quickly and deliberately marches into the room. Snatching up my purse without breaking stride, she takes me by the hand and pulls me into the corridor. We don’t talk, not until we’re in the room where we originally got ready. She locks the door behind us and then faces me.

            “Shannon, do you want me to call the police?”

            I’m so disoriented that for a moment I think she’s threatening me with the cops. After a second I realize that the look of fury on her face is directed elsewhere.

            “Shannon, look at me. Do I need to call the police? I could tell what that guy was trying to do.”

            I suddenly snap back to reality. The cops? The thought of telling strangers what happened horrifies me.

            “No! Please, Mila, don’t make me.”

            “Okay. It’s okay.” She moves to take my arm, then stops. “How are you? Did he hurt you?”

            I’m suddenly humiliated, now that Mila knows. “No. He just…he just got aggressive. I don’t want to talk about it.”

            Mila opens her mouth, then closes it. “Shannon…”

            “I said I don’t want to talk about it. Call me a cab. I’m going home.”

            “I’ll go with you.”

            I feel some sudden misplaced anger. “Will you leave me alone? It’s no big deal! He was just a jerk who wouldn’t take no for an answer. He wouldn’t stop.”

            “Shannon.”

            “He…he wouldn’t stop, Mila. I kept telling him, but he wouldn’t stop.” My voice quavers.

            “Shannon.”

            “He wouldn’t stop! He kept touching me and kissing me and he wouldn’t stop! What…what if you hadn’t shown up? What if…” I can’t finish.

            Mila slowly and gently takes me in her arms. “Let it out, Shannon.”

            The sobs are coming. “I told him to stop.”

            She pats my head. “I know you did, sweetie.”

            “He wouldn’t stop.” I’m ugly crying.

            “Let it out. Let it all out. You’re safe. I’m here.”

            “Thank you, Mila.”

            I cry for an hour. Or five minutes. I can’t tell. Mila holds me the whole time. Eventually, I go dry.

            “I snotted all over your dress, Mila.”

            “It doesn’t matter.”

            “Mila…take me home, please.”

            “Of course.”

Chapter Twenty-One

            When I wake up, it takes me a moment to realize I’m not back in my hotel room. I’m tucked under a warm blanket, wearing nothing but my panties and an unfamiliar t-shirt. Warm sunlight streams through a large window.

            Right. Mila’s house. I groggily sit up. I don’t remember much about going to bed last night. All that champagne hit me at once. This is clearly Mila’s bedroom. I wonder where she slept last night.

            My dress hangs on a hanger on a closet door. I turn away, not wanting to look at it. Instead, I pull on a bathrobe I find laid out at the foot of the bed and go off to search for my hostess.

            This house, though small, is obviously expensive. I can see the ocean from the living room window, and the amount of Spanish tile and exposed brick lets me know that this is not some rental. Mila didn’t buy this place on a junior executive’s salary. She won’t use her famous mother’s influence at work, but clearly this home was a gift.

            I find Mila in the kitchen, preparing something at the granite counter. She gives me a shy smile and passes me a cup of coffee and two Pop Tarts on a plate. We sit at the table, the sea breeze drifting in from the open bay windows.

            No one speaks for a while. Mila breaks the silence.

            “Do you feel like talking?”

            I’d managed to suppress the memories of last night, but now it comes flooding back in all its whiskery, slobbering detail. The coffee cup trembles in my hand.

            “No, I’d rather not.”

            Mila nods. But five seconds later, I’m talking again.

            “What the hell was I thinking, going back to a hotel room with him?”

            Mila slams her cup down. “None of that. Never, ever blame yourself. You got that? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

            I shrug. Sure doesn’t feel that way.

            “Shannon, it’s not too late to call the cops if you like.”

            I let out a sigh. “So he can tell them that I was falling down drunk and all he did was try to kiss me? So the police can figure out that I’m really a guy and he can throw that back in my face? Mila, I don’t want to have to deal with him again. I hope that doesn’t make me a bad person.”

            She takes my hand. “You’re a fine person.”

            More silence. I can tell Mila has more on her mind. Eventually she turns her chair to face me.

            “Shannon, I need to tell you something. I guess it’s no secret that when I first met you, I didn’t like you very much.”

            I have to laugh. “No secret at all.”

            “And, well, maybe I went out of my way at the beginning to make things a little rough for you. I was worried about my job, and I kind of took it out on you. I figured if you were going to play the woman, you should get the whole experience. The uncomfortable clothes, the sexism, constantly having to prove you’re as smart as a man, everything.”

            “Um, I think that was society, not you.”

            “I could have warned you. But I thought it was kind of funny, watching you stagger around in high heels and wonder why you had to constantly repeat yourself around Mr. Lawrence. I could have made things easier for you, but instead, I just laughed.”

            I wonder why this apology is surfacing now. “You could have been better…but you could have been a lot worse. It’s in the past.”

            Mila doesn’t seem to have heard me. “Shannon, I wanted you to know what it’s like to be a woman. But I swear to you…I swear to God…I never wanted you to experience that. I should have kept my eye on you. When I saw you leave with that guy, I was going to follow you. But then Mr. Lawrence started talking to me, and by the time I got away, I didn’t know which room you were in, and it took me a while to track you down”

            She has a desperate look on her face. “Mila, it wasn’t your responsibility.”

            “Yes it was.” There is no arguing with her tone of voice. “You’re a guy. You’re not used to having to be careful in situations like that. I know what can happen when you’re alone with a man. I know that they don’t listen when you tell them to stop. I know what it’s like to have to fight someone who’s stronger than you. I should have stuck with you. And I hate myself for what almost happened.”

            She looks like she’s about to cry, which I honestly didn’t think she was capable of. “Mila, you weren’t the one who put his hands all over me. But you were the one who stopped him. I’m okay.”

            “You know I didn’t want that to happen, right?”

            “Of course you didn’t.”

            “Maybe I haven’t done right by you, Shannon, but I’d never wish that on anyone. I should have let you change out of that dress when you asked. I shouldn’t have brought you to that party.”

            “It’s not your fault!” Geez, you’d think she was the one who’d been attacked.

            She rubs her eyes with her fingers. “Yes. Right. Thank you.”

            Silence descends. I wonder if I should leave. I don’t want to.

            “Shannon? If you’d like…I don’t want you to, but if you’d like to go back home, it’s okay. We really have enough footage. I’ll say you’re sick or something. No one would blame you.”

            Go home a week early? That would have been temping earlier this month. But after all we’ve both worked for, I’m not ready to give up. And I’m not willing to let a guy like Kevin scare me. I picture his smug smile when Mila burst in. Like she’d walked in on a couple kissing, not an attack.

            “I want to finish things.”

            She smiles weakly. “Really?”

            “Really.”

            “Thank you. C’mon. Let me find something for you to wear, then I’ll drive you home.”

            She stands. I don’t.

            “Mila? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. It’s none of my business. But when you were talking about what happened at the hotel. That sounded like the voice of experience.”

            She stands there silently, her eyes cast down, her fist clenching. I shouldn’t have said anything.

            “I’m sorry, Mila…”

            She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I want to tell you.”

            She turns and faces the window.

            “It happened about three years ago. Summer internship from college. I was working on the production of that failed Life With the Loan Sharks thing. It was kind of like what happened last night. A party. A guy I trusted, a guy I knew, offered to walk me home. Asked to come up and talk. And then…” She shrugs. “I never told anyone. Not even my mother.”

            “Oh, God, Mila, that’s horrible.”

            She turns and faces me. “What was really horrible was that he was working on the same project. I kept having to see him the whole time I was there.”

            The bottom drops out of my gut. “See him? How the hell did he even show his face around there again? How could he be in the same room with you?”

            To my surprise, Mila smiles. “You’re such a man, Shannon.”

            “What does that mean?”

            She shakes her head. “It means that it didn’t occur to him that he’d done anything wrong. Most guys don’t. He just edited his memory and made it a one night stand where I took some convincing. And then he could live with himself.”

            I want to barf. I want to throw my arms around Mila. I want to apologize for having a Y chromosome. I rewind every date I ever had. Every girl who told me no. I listened, didn’t I? I didn’t keep trying, did I?

            “I don’t know what to say.”

            She shakes her head. “You don’t have to say anything. It was good to get that off my chest.”

            “Is there anything I can do?”

            “Yes. If you ever have a son, make sure he understands this. All of this.”

            “I will. I promise.”

            We look at each other awkwardly. And then we hug.

            “C’mon, Shannon,” she says after a bit. “Let me find something for you to change into.”

            “Thanks. Thanks…for everything.”

            She squeezes my shoulder. “It’s what you do for a friend.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

            The following Monday, I’m still scared and upset over what happened at that party. But I’m determined not to let it get to me. Assholes like Kevin hurt wonderful people like Mila and I’m not going to let him affect my work. I can do this.

            One foot in front of the other.

            We’re filming another scene for Darkness in the Daytime. And this time, when I’m called upon to read some lines, I don’t hold back. Maybe I even put a little more into it than Natalia did. If she doesn’t like it, maybe she can try harder. I’m certainly not being paid three million bucks for this role.

            Natalia seems to be in a bad mood, and I wonder if maybe today wasn’t the day to show off my acting chops. Oh well. As I gather my things, the assistant director approaches her.

            “Miss Jenkins? Shall I have the car come around?”

            She takes a long drag from her cigarette. “Why?”

            “You’re due at the south lot. Remember? That cameo for the new Joshua Jones film?”

            I accidentally let out an audible gasp. Joshua Jones is a young director and I’m kind of a big fan. He burst onto the scene about five years ago, when, thanks to his work on the low budget gross out comedy, Retail, he was nominated for best director. It was a crude lowbrow movie, but it really resonated with audiences, especially those who worked in customer service.

            I’d dearly love to meet him. I wonder if Natalia will let me come.

            She exhales a plume of smoke. “Tell him I’m busy.”

            “We’ve postponed three times. We owe his production company. Remember how they helped us out during the strike last—”

            “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

            The assistant director is looking panicky now. I know I should leave, but I want to see how this plays out. “They have to get this wrapped up today. It’s just a two-minute scene. You’ll be home by nine.”

            Natalia stands. “I’m not up for it. If they don’t want to reschedule, they can shoot it without me. Bye.” She elegantly flips her jacket over her shoulder and trollops her way off the stage.

            I notice the director making strangling motions at her as she leaves. He then turns to me and sighs.

            “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go ruin Mr. Jones’s evening. Unless I can find some sap to do it for me.”

            “I will!” I bark.

            He stares at me for a second, then smiles. “I’ll call a car for you. Just tell him that Miss Jenkins…um….”

            “Is very sorry, but cannot work on the project at this time?”

            “Sure. Or tell him the truth. What do I care.” He fishes an ID badge from a box and hands it to me. “Just remember, being the messenger was your idea.”

*

            Joshua Jones’s set is made up to look like some kind of skuzzy college apartment or frat house. I don’t see any extras on the set and I wonder what kind of scene Natalia was supposed to be doing.

            My magical badge gets me past security, and I’m directed to Mr. Jones’s headquarters. I’m going to actually get to meet him! True, it’s to give him bad news and probably get yelled at, but still. I’ll be in the same room as the guy who made ‘festering cornswaggling arsewipe’ part of the national dialogue.

            The door is open and I stick my head in the office. A younger guy sits in a chair, playing a handheld video game. And at the desk stands Josh Jones, the man himself. He’s just over thirty, but already has an enormous beer gut, receding hairline, and an unkempt beard that’s going gray. He often casts himself in the recurring role of the Chairman of the Joints, so I recognize him immediately.

            My recent experience has taught me to approach a celebrity like you would an unfamiliar dog: slowly, on their terms, and ready to run.

            I tap on the door frame. “Mr. Jones?”

            He looks up and smiles. “Hi there! What can I do for you?”

            “I’m Shannon Ferguson. I work with Natalia Jenkins.”

            His smile broadens. “Great! Is she here? I was afraid she was going to cancel on us again. I know it’s just a silly cameo, but I’m really looking forward to working with her.”

            Here goes nothing. “Actually, she’s not here. I’m sorry, she can’t make it.”

            His face darkens. “Damn it! We’ve been set up and ready to go for hours! This is costing me a fortune. Chad!” He snaps his fingers at the guy playing the video game. “I’m pissed! Break something!”

            Without looking up, the guy tosses a plastic cup to the floor.

            Mr. Jones turns to me. “Is she on her way? We’re really fighting a deadline here.”

            “I’m afraid not.”

            “Damn it! Chad!”

            Chad Frisbees a clipboard across the room.

            Mr. Jones wrings his trademark ball cap in his hands. “Did she tell you when she’d be available?”

            “Um…no.”

            “Son of a…they’re striking this set tonight! Aaargh! Chad! I’m furious! Knock yourself around for me!”

            Chad begins slapping himself without enthusiasm. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”

            “You call that an ass beating? You’re fired!”

            “You can’t fire me, I quit.” He still hasn’t looked up from his game.

            “Call security! Tell them to have you thrown off the set! And be rough!”

            “I’ll get right on it.”

            Mr. Jones turns back to me with a wan smile. I’m not sure if that routine was for my benefit or if that’s what he’s really like. All I know is that I’m annoyed with Natalia. Some people would really enjoy this chance to work with this crude and talented director.

            “I wish she’d let me know earlier,” he says, half to me, half to himself. “I held up production for a week, just so I could put her name in the credits. Damn.”

            “Boss?” says Chad, from his seat. “We still shooting that scene?”

            “Might as well, though it’s kind of pointless without Natalia. Well, we’ve already paid everyone. Call up casting, tell them to send a girl over. Nineteen, twenty, I don’t care what she looks like. I—”

            Both men suddenly turn and look at me. Mr. Jones smiles.

            “Who did you say you were?”

*

            I’m standing in the party room set, dressed in a sorority sweater and skirt.

            “We just need a close up of you giving the lines. We’ll get the long shots later with a body double when everyone is on set. Sit on that ottoman.”

            I follow directions. This is so exciting! I’m actually going to get to give a line on my own, and not just in imitation of Natalia.

            “So you’ll talk for about twenty seconds, and then Chad will spray vomit all over you.”

            “Um…what?”

            Chad walks up to me. He’s wearing tinted goggles and carrying a tank with a sprayer attachment. “Beef stew and water,” he says with a manic grin.

            “All right!” barks Mr. Jones. “Places!”

            “Wait!” I say with a squeak. “I haven’t seen the script!”

            “Huh? Oh, right. Natalia was going to improvise.” He thinks for a bit. “You’re a girl who’s been hurt by her jerk boyfriend. But you’re going to give him one last chance. Just tell the camera how small and worthless he’s made you feel, but how you still care deeply for him and you’re going to put your heart on the line one last time. When I’ve heard enough, I’ll have Chad let fly with the puke. Got it?”

            “You bet.” I wonder if Natalia knew about the nature of this scene. Probably not.

            “Action!”

            Well, Shannon, you always said you were talented. Let’s show them what you got. I face the camera. I look sad.

            “Well, here I am again. I know I said I never wanted to see you again. That I wouldn’t let myself be hurt like that again. But…I dunno.” I make my voice hitch. “I can’t walk away from us. Are you even listening? Do you know what you’ve put me through these past months? How worthless and ugly you made me feel? How I questioned the very woman I was? Don’t you realize I get scared? That sometimes I just want to go back home? I feel like a fake, someone who’s becoming someone else just to fit the role you’ve decided I need to play.” I glower at the camera. “Are you even listening? Are you? Because I can’t do this much longer. I can’t sell out my dignity and my identity for some stupid dream that’s never going to come true.”

            I keep waiting for the vomit, but nothing. Chad just stares at me, the lights reflecting weirdly off his goggles. I plow on.

            “But you know that’s all empty threats. You know I’m in this for the long haul. Because these past months have been beautiful, too. Sometimes I wake up and can’t believe this is all happening. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s a temporary fix, but you know what? I don’t care. Because I love you. God help me, you’re all I ever wanted. All I need. So just look at me. Look at me! Tell me I mean something to you. Tell me I’m not wasting my time. Answer me! Do you care? Do you?”

            “Cut!” snaps Mr. Jones, angrily.

            Damn. I must have laid it on too thick.

            “Chad, what the hell? You were supposed to let loose with the puke twenty seconds ago.”

            “I’m sorry. I…I missed my cue.” He removes his goggles and smiles weakly at me. “Kinda got caught up in the moment. Been a while since a girl talked to me like that.” He laughs. The crew laughs with him. It’s rather forced.

            “Okay, let’s try it again,” says Mr. Jones. “Shannon, great work. Maybe less intense. I want Chad to puke on you, not propose. Action!”

            Nailed it.

*

            We shoot the scene three times, pausing for me to change my clothes after each take. The vomit is ice cold and my disgusted reaction isn’t the result of acting.

            But I don’t care. It’s a throwaway scene, but I did it. I acted in a Josh Jones production. I can burn my bucket list.

            After I get out of the shower and back into my clothes, someone tells me Mr. Jones would like to talk to me. I find him back in his office, eating handfuls of generic Lucky Charms straight out of the bag.

            He looks embarrassed when he sees me. “My father never loved me,” he mumbles with his mouth full.

            “You wanted to see me, sir?”

            He pats a chair. “Have a seat. Shannon, I was very impressed with you today. Great improvisation.”

            I’m glowing. “Thank you, sir.”

            “Unfortunately, we’re probably not going to be able to use any of that footage.”

            I’m not crushed. I’m not crushed. “I’m sorry. Maybe if I’d had some time to prepare—”

            He holds up a palm. “Your lines were flawless. But that scene was written with Natalia Jenkins in mind. You see, the audience really would like to see someone throw up on her, she’s so pretty and perky and perfect. Whereas you...no one knows who you are. It wouldn’t be as funny.”

            I nod, but there’s something he’s not saying. I’m not pretty. And seeing an ugly girl humiliated, that’s not really entertaining. Josh Jones can be gross and tasteless, but he’s never mean.

He wipes his hands on the arms of his chair. “So that was no reality TV actress I saw out there. Are you in drama school?”

            I blush a little. “Still in high school. But it was an honor to work with you, Mr. Jones. I really enjoy your films.”

            He nods. “I don’t often hear that from women. Thank you. Tell me, are you going to try to make a career out of acting?”

            “It’s my dream. I’d love to be in film.”

            He nods. “Shannon, it was my dream too, back when I was your age. And sometimes it doesn’t seem real. But do you know why I prefer to be behind the camera? Why I never cast myself as a lead?”

            “Because you’d rather direct?”

            He nods, then frowns. “That’s part of it. Some people say I have the talent of a Hitchcock. But more people say I have the body of a Hitchcock.”

            We both laugh.

            “It’s true, Shannon. And…may I be blunt?”

            I know where this is going. “I don’t have the face of a leading lady.”

            He pauses, then nods. “That’s right.”

            Okay, he’s telling the truth. And I really don’t want to be pretty. So why do I kind of feel hurt?

            He continues. “But Hollywood isn’t all top billing. We need people to play best friends, bosses, doctors, coworkers, neighbors, etc. Do you know who Parker Posey is? Or Michael McKean? Or Sarah Hughes?”

            “Um…”

            He holds up his phone and shows me a few headshots. I recognize all of them. They’ve probably been in a hundred movies in total. But I couldn’t have told you their names.

            “Shannon, you have some serious talent. And people are going to tell you that you can’t make it in this business because you’re not, um, uh…”

            “Natalia Jenkins?”

            He nods, relieved. “Exactly. But despite what people tell us, it’s acting ability that makes a good movie. Now, you're going to be a high school senior? Any plans for after graduation?”

            The room is suddenly very quiet. “Um, nothing definite.”

            “Well, next summer, I’m starting a new project. A high school rom com, maybe a little more serious than my previous stuff. I think I may have a small role for you. Very small, but I think you could do things with it. Are you interested?”

            “Are you kidding!” I pull myself together and sit down again. “I mean…yes. My God, yes. Of course. Thank you. Yes. Wow.”

            He smiles. “Great. I’ll contact you through Becoming when the details get ironed out. We start filming around June. Great to have you aboard.”

            “Thank you.”

            “Oh, and Shannon? Maybe go back to your natural hair color by then? Thanks.”

            I shake his hand and wander numbly off the set. Josh Jones, my idol, liked my work. Specially requested me to be in his movie. This is going to be the start of something huge. I can’t wait to tell Mila. Can’t wait to tell everyone on Becoming.

            Becoming.

            Josh Jones thinks I’m a girl. He thinks I’m a woman. That role he has picked out for me is for a female.

            Shit.

*

            “And he invited me to be in his next film! Josh Jones wanted me to act for him!”

            Mila and I sit in the coffee shop where I occasionally hang out. I’d worry about people overhearing our conversation, but this is L.A. It’d take a lot more than a cross dressing teen actor to raise interest.

            Mila sips her tea. “Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?”

            “But he thinks I’m a girl! This role he’s picturing, it’s for a woman. I can’t show up next year as myself.”

            “So show up as a girl. You’ve really got the clothes and mannerisms down.”

            Just when I think she’s taking my problems to heart. Just when I think we’ve kind of become friends. “Will you be serious?”

            She stirs her drink. “I am serious. You’ve been offered a great part in a movie. So why not make it work for you? It’s just a role, after all.”

            I’m annoyed and slightly intrigued at her suggestion. “Well for starters, Mr. Jones will be pissed when he finds out the truth.”

            Mila shrugs. “Will he? You honestly think a guy like that would care?”

            This gives me pause. He did win the GLAAD Media Award a couple of years ago, due to the sensitive portrayal of lovers Beto and Ernesto in one of his short films. Not bad for a movie called Sluts, Butts, and Coconuts.

            “Mila, even if he doesn’t mind, I can’t keep doing this! I don’t want to build a career as an actress, and if I do this again, I’m going to be typecast as a female impersonator. And that’s not what I want. This was a one shot deal, and no one was supposed to know.”

            She puts down her cup and looks at me with an expression that shows she’s not blowing off my concerns. “Look. Don’t think about it for now. After your episode airs, I’ll talk to Josh. Break the truth to him gently. You said your scene got cut from this movie, right? Well, no skin off his nose. It just shows what a versatile actor you are. Maybe I can convince him to recast you in a boy role.”

            I’m not sure this plan will work, but I’m surprisingly relieved to have her on my side. Again. “Thank you, Mila. Even if it doesn’t work out, I did get to be puked on in a Joshua Jones movie. I’ll always have that.”

            Mila frowns. “Yeah. We need to talk about that. You haven’t mentioned this to anyone back at Becoming, have you?”

            “No. Why?”

            She puffs air out of her mouth. “Um, I think we should keep this to ourselves for now. No reason to make Natalia jealous, you stealing her part and all.”

            “What? No, you misunderstood. She bailed. They had to pull me in to finish the scene. Natalia wasn’t interested at all.”

            “Yeah. How can I put this so you’ll understand?” She rubs her chin. “Let’s see, you and your sister are a year apart, right? When you were children, did you ever have a toy that you never touched, that just sat in your closet? And then one day Chris started playing with it and it became your favorite, bestest toy ever that you couldn’t bear to share?”

            “Um…” I remember my baseball glove that had the price tag on it for a year. But when I caught Chris playing catch with it, it suddenly became my glove.

            “Maybe. But Natalia’s not a child.”

            There’s a pause. Then we both laugh.

            “Shannon, Natalia’s used to getting everything she wants. Always. She’s powerful enough to turn down Joshua Jones. That doesn’t mean she wants Miss Cornpone Iowa stepping in and probably doing a better job than she would have. Do me a favor and keep this to yourself until filming’s over. It’s only another couple of days.”

            “Okay, Mila.”

            She finishes her drink. “In L.A. for a month and you already have directors knocking down your door.”

            I shrug, modestly. But yeah.

            Mila winks. “Best part is, you got that part on talent alone. Not looks. Well…” She glances down at my legs. “Not just looks.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

            It’s the second to last day of shooting. Well, for Becoming. The filming for the movie will take several more months. I’m kind of sorry I won’t be there to see it.

            I’m not sure why I bothered to show up today. Mila’s not here, and Natalia’s in full on diva mode. Mr. Lawrence keeps smiling uncomfortably at me, which is his way of saying I won’t be getting any time in front of the camera today.

            Oh well. It had to end sometime. I almost laugh at the utterly ridiculous situation I found myself in, and how, thanks to Mila, I pulled it off. Of course, the good times are over. In less than a week, I’ll be back in Iowa, explaining to my very angry family where I’ve been for the past month.

            Was it worth it? The humiliation, the loss of my identity, the waste of a summer. And not just that. I remember those first few days when Mila truly didn’t like me, and I didn’t have a friend in the world. Realizing how Natalia Jenkins was nothing more than an image on a screen, something invented in a PR department. I think of the awkwardness of Michael’s innocent attempt at a kiss. I think of Kevin and his attempt at….you know.

            But I think of really getting to know Mila. And Rochelle, and Michael. Meeting and impressing Joshua Jones. Maybe learning about the bullshit that women put up with constantly.

            I wouldn’t have chosen to spend my summer vacation this way. But I think it was worth it in the long run. I just hope I can remember that next week, when I have to go back to reality.

            “Hey, Iowa!” It’s Natalia. Filming is over for the day, and for the first time since the zoo, she’s gone out of her way to talk to me. “You got a minute?”

            “Yes. Of course.”

            She leads me back to the green room and perches on the edge of the counter. I sit, uncomfortably, in a makeup chair.

            “So…a little birdie told me you just amazed the heck out of Josh Jones the other day.”

            I freeze. Mila warned me not to talk about this, but it seems Natalia already knows.

            “Now don’t be coy!” she says with a smile. “My sources tell me you took the ol’ brown shower with the grace of a Hepburn.”

            Is she angry? She doesn’t look angry. But she is an actress. “They just needed a stand in. Mr. Jones said the scene won’t even be in the movie.”

            “Don’t be modest! I felt terrible about not being able to make it, but his movies…just not my scene. I’m so proud of you! I wish you’d have said something, I would have taken you out to celebrate.”

            Is she really happy for me? “It was just a silly shot. Just a couple of lines.”

            She tosses her head back and laughs. “Well, it was just a ‘couple of lines’ that got me my first big break. I don’t know why you kept this to yourself.” She slides off the counter, then moves behind my chair. She begins to gently massage my neck.

            “Shannon, I don’t say this often, but everyone here is really taken with your skills. Mr. Lawrence, James, and especially me. I hope this won’t be the last time we’ll work together.”

            I am so surprised at her suggestion that I try to stand up. Natalia gently pushes me back into the chair.

            “I’m serious. I hope you’re not planning on flying back to…where were you from?”

            “Des Moines.”

            “Right….” She seems to consider something. “I had a friend from the area. You didn’t happen to go to Central High, did you?”

            I’m pretty sure she’s mistaken, I’ve never heard of that school. “No, I went to Fredrick Douglass.” Still do, actually.

            “Oh.” She suddenly spins my chair around to face her. “Shannon, I may not have always shown it. I’ve had a lot on my mind recently. But I like you. A lot. And I want to make sure everyone knows what a great actress you are. I want you to think of me as a friend.”

            “Thank you, Miss, er, Natalia.”

            She gently pats my cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

            And now I’m alone. I lean back in the chair. Could I have misjudged her? Maybe she’s just another stressed out professional who didn’t have the time to hold the newbie’s hand. Maybe she really is as nice as she seems on screen.

            But somehow I doubt it. I can’t put my finger on it, but she has some kind of angle. Something to benefit her, not me.

            It’s probably best that I’m leaving town.

*

            Mila calls me before I even get out of the studio. “Shannon! Meet me at my place! Big news!”

            She won’t elaborate. I dump some cash on an Uber to get out to her house.

            “Mila?” I rap at the open door. “Mila, are you—”

            She grabs me by the arm and yanks me into the kitchen. I notice a bottle of champagne on ice, and two glasses. I’m immediately reminded of Kevin, and have to swallow back a little vomit.

            “So what’s the occasion?”

            Mila is practically jumping up and down with excitement. And it’s a little contagious.

            “Mila?”

            “Okay, okay, okay.” She’s giddy. This is so unlike her. “You know who my mother is, right? And you know how I said I would never, in a million years, use her to advance my career.”

            “Sure.”           

            She takes a deep breath. Something has really got her keyed up. “Well, I never made that promise about my friends’ careers.”

            “What…” I suddenly gasp. Oh my God, is she saying what I think she’s saying?

            “Shannon, I hope you’re not mad, but a couple of weeks ago, I told her about you. Everything. The whole truth. I sent her some tapes from Becoming.”

            I’m almost afraid to speak. “What did she say?”

            “Well, after she yelled at me for a half an hour for not telling Mr. Lawrence the truth and making you dress like a girl…”

            “What? What did she say?”

            “She said you were obviously a very talented young man, someone who was willing to do what it takes to make it in the film world. Well, she’s going to be producing a new movie next year, and, thanks to my enthusiastic recommendation, she wants to cast you in a small but significant part. As a guy.”

            Oh my God.

            It happened. It really happened.

            Mila wasn’t just talking. She really did return the favor. I’m going to be in a movie. As myself.

            This whole ridiculous month was worth it.

            “Mila…” I’m choking. “Mila…”

            “Oh, honey, it’s okay to cry.”

            “I’m not crying.” I’m not, but I’m desperately trying to hold it in.

            “Oh, just let it out! This is happy news!”

            I’m determined not to bawl. I scrunch up my face and begin flapping my hands by my face.

            “Oh my God, Shannon, you’re doing the girl hand wave thing.”

            “Damn you, Mila.” We embrace. I cry. I thank her. I cry some more.

            And then we proceed to get wasted.

*

            It’s around midnight. I’m sprawled out sleepily on Mila’s couch, my feet in her lap. She’s methodically painting my toes as she tells me stories about her mother and gives me advice on how to get on her good side.

            “Mila, how can I thank you?” I’m giggly drunk.

            “You can thank me by not thanking me anymore. I know I’m fantastic.”

            “Yeah. You are.” I mean it. She got me into this mess, but she’s paid me back a million times.

            “Well, it’s what you do for a friend. It’s funny, I’ve never even considered using Mom to help out anyone else, but you, you’re the first guy I…” Mila abruptly stops talking and sits there for a minute. Suddenly, she shoves my feet off her lap and stands.

            “Mila?”

            She’s at the window, looking out at the moonlit night.

            “Mila? Are you okay?”

            Silence. And then…

            “Shannon? You know the bad thing that happened to me a few years ago?”

            I stand up and join her at the window. “Of course.”

            More silence. “Ever since then, I haven’t been able to be alone in a room with a man. Not even nice safe guys like Michael or K’shawn. I couldn’t do it. It scared me too much. And now…it just occurred to me that I’ve been alone with you a dozen times this month and I haven’t felt uncomfortable at all.”

            I look down at my cherry red toes and tight top. “I’m not exactly a prime example of manhood.”

            She turns to me and I see the moonlight reflecting on her strangely damp eyes. “You’re still a man, Shannon. You always have been. And I feel safe with you. Maybe that means I’m healing a little.”

            “Oh, Mila, I hope so.”

            She takes both my hands in hers. “I don’t know what it is about you. Probably the clothes.” She laughs. “Maybe that’s what I should have been looking for. A nice, pretty guy who can share my clothes and makeup and never makes me feel like a thing because he’s just as fragile as me.”

            I know what that sounds like, but she wasn’t being insulting. It was kind of beautiful.

            We stand there and look at each other. She truly is a lovely woman, outside and inside. Hard as steel, unbendable, unbreakable, but holding all that pain inside. I want to make her happy.

            I realize how close we’re standing to each other. Our knees are practically touching. She’s still holding my hands. I can smell her perfume.

            She reaches up and strokes my hair. “Too bad you’re not five years older, Shannon.”

            “Yeah,” I manage to squeak. “Too bad.”

            Our heads move imperceptibly toward each other. I can feel her breath on my face.

            We both suddenly pull back at the same time. We straighten our hair in mirror gestures.

            “I should go.”

            “Yeah. I have to get up early. You’ll be okay?”

            I take my purse. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to walk to that Starbucks and call a ride.”

            “See you tomorrow.”

            “Yes. And thanks again.”

            I stroll out into the balmy California night, thinking about everything that happened today.

            Sometimes dreams don’t come true. But sometimes, it seems, they do.

            I picture Mila’s vulnerable, moonlit face.

            And some dreams you don’t dare even think about.

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