Because Fat Girl

Chapter Twenty-One

An hour and a half later, I stumbled my way back up the stairs, only half conscious after the most heavenly massage of my life. I’d had a knot in my shoulder for god knew how long that was now gone, and my feet felt like I was walking on air, all the tension released from my body. I saw Francine in the sitting room off the kitchen, but I barely registered her presence, my body instead focusing solely on the sunlit sofa next to her.

“Are you stoned?” Francine asked as I staggered over and plopped down on the cushions.

“High on Melody,” I explained.

“Melody, like music?” She looked at me like I was unstable.

“Chris’s massage therapist.” I closed my eyes, grateful I was wearing a stretchy Nooworks jumpsuit so I could cuddle up into the cushions.

When I opened them again, Francine was gone. Dazed, I glanced around looking for some sign of my production team but found no one. Wiping a bit of drool off of my chin, I stood and began to search the house. They weren’t in the kitchen, living room, entryway, or dining room. They weren’t outside on the upper or lower lawns, and they weren’t in the gym, garage, pool house, lounge, or game room downstairs. Tentatively, I headed upstairs, past where Chris usually kept a security guard during parties to avoid people going into his private rooms. Having never been invited upstairs before, I was hesitant to start opening doors randomly, so I pressed my ear against them instead, searching for some sign of the production meeting I was supposed to be attending. Nothing.

Heading back downstairs, I wondered how long I’d been asleep. The house was big, but not so massive I wouldn’t be able to hear people talking. They must have gone somewhere. Feeling horribly awkward, I grabbed my bag and keys and headed to leave when I saw a wall open, and Drew emerged from it.

My heart skipped in a way that made me long to be someone else, the kind of woman who could walk over right now and kiss Drew Williams and not have it wreck her life. I wished I was Cecily, unashamed in her obsession with men, unabashed in her need for them. But I’d seen the consequences of that kind of lust. I didn’t want to end up losing my queer community, or worse, pregnant in Arcadia. The only little man I wanted Drew to help me get was an Oscar, and that wouldn’t happen if I kept being pushed out of meetings.

“Where were you all?” I asked.

“In the screening room.” He pointed to the invisible door behind him. “You were sleeping, so we started watching clips.”

“You didn’t think to wake me for the meeting?”

“You looked like you needed the rest.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t know if that was kindness or commentary on the bags under my eyes. I did need the rest—he was right about that—and the combination of massage and nap had been lovely, but it meant my team had started without me, possibly even made decisions without me. I couldn’t let it happen again. “In the future, please wake me up for all meetings.”

“You didn’t miss anything.”

“Obviously, I missed something,” I said, pulling my giant production notebook out of my bag, determined to catch up. “Tell me about each clip. Or better yet, let me watch them.”

“I don’t think you’ll find them as funny as we did,” Drew said, opening the door.

“We’ll see.” I pushed my way past him and into the room, where Chris and Francine were laughing at the screen. On it, Chris and Shelene Elliot were continually breaking character with bursts of giggles as they tried to kiss.

“What’s this?” I asked, pointing at the scene.

“It’s the Tendered Secrets gag reel.” Drew chuckled as the director yelled at on-screen Chris and Shelene. “They made a special one for the cast and crew that won’t be released to the public, because Chris looks like an idiot. He insisted on doing his own stunts for the first few days until he fractured his wrist.”

At that moment, on-screen Chris slid past his mark, bumping into a wall, sending the crew on screen—and Drew and Francine off screen—into hysterics.

“Laugh all you want, but that hurt!” Chris exclaimed while his on-screen self moaned in pain as the medic rushed toward him.

“I thought you were watching screenings of actors for our movie,” I said.

“We wouldn’t start without you,” Drew answered.

“Oh.” I softened as I realized that the only thing I missed was Chris making a fool out of himself. My team had been kind and waited for me. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Drew gave me a big, reassuring smile as I sat down next to Francine, who was chuckling as Shelene Elliot begged on-screen Chris to please let the stunt doubles do their jobs.

“Okay, enough laughing at me for one day.” Chris turned off the projector. “Let’s get this meeting started.”

“I’m sorry for being late.” I was suddenly aware we were two hours behind schedule thanks to my massage and nap.

“It’s only a few minutes; we’ll make it up,” Francine said.

“Weren’t we supposed to start at ten?” I asked, looking at my watch.

“Noon.” Francine pressed play on the remote Chris handed her.

“You did it again.” I glared at Chris.

“Always so regimented,” Chris said, sitting down on the other side of Francine. “You should be thanking me for the massage.”

I took a deep breath and sighed. “I am grateful. Thank you, the massage was a lovely gift, but please just tell me the truth next time.”

“Chris likes his little games.” Francine’s tone made me wonder what kind of games Chris had played with her. I didn’t get a chance to pry, though, as she passed out binders to each of us.

I liked Francine. Her organization and preparation rivaled mine. When we met over tea for the first time, she came with a full presentation of ideas and options for casting the script, all of which I loved. During our read-throughs with actors, she’d been professional and serious about her work, while also bringing levity and humor when it was needed to break the nerves of the actors. She wasn’t flashy like most people in Hollywood but had the kind of minimalist sophistication of style that you only saw in Paris or New York. Best of all, she didn’t fawn over Chris, Drew, or any of the other celebrities we encountered during our auditions. She’d been in the industry long enough that star power had lost its appeal. Instead, she was interested in casting based on talent and chemistry, which I loved for our movie.

“My team and I have put together a compilation of possibilities for casting,” Francine explained as she plugged her computer into Chris’s projector. “I’d like to start with our two leading ladies. Open to the tab marked ‘Laura and Mikayla,’ and we’ll begin.”

Francine had been busy. The perfectly labeled and organized binders she’d handed us were full of headshots, resumes, and in-depth charts with various options for casting.

“My top choice for Mikayla”—Francine pressed play on the projector—“is Miel Garcia.”

The screen lit up with a light-skinned, dark-haired woman with doe eyes and a confident smile. She was wearing a simple cotton T-shirt, boyfriend-cut jeans with a little paint on them, and ballet flats. Her hair and makeup were done simply as well, but despite the girl-next-door wholesomeness of the look she’d chosen, Miel was still impossible to take your eyes off of, alluring and completely comfortable in the spotlight. There was no denying Miel Garcia was a star, one that would shine in this role.

Unfortunately, she was competing against other, more established stars for the part. Drew and Chris had called in favors, and we got some famous actors to come in and read for Mikayla, including Kristen Bell and Anna Kendrick, among many other lesser-known but equally talented women, all of whom we watched play out their version of my sister on the screen.

About an hour after starting, Francine turned off the screen. She then pulled over a big corkboard with the character names on it and grabbed a stack of headshots. “Thoughts on Mikayla?”

“Obviously we’re going with Anna Kendrick,” Chris said, closing his book.

“Not obviously,” I quickly added. “I love Anna, but she’s not the right fit. I think we should go with Miel. She felt the most natural for the part.”

“Miel was great, but she’s a no-name,” Chris rebutted. “We need a star.”

“Diana is correct—I think Anna is great, but not for this role.” Francine moved headshots around her board. “I like Miel if we go with Henry Murdoch as the father. Explains her height.”

“And if we go with Stan Brown?” Drew asked.

“Then we should go for Reese Witherspoon,” Chris said.

“Ooh, if we go with Reese, we should try for Fred Dalton.” I loved the idea of Reese and Fred as father and daughter in this movie. “He’s tall and has the regal Southern feel like the dad in the story.”

“He’ll be hard to get,” Drew said.

“Is he expensive?” I asked.

“No, he’s dead,” he explained.

“Oh, damn, that sucks,” I replied.

“I’ll tell his family you send your condolences.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking or if he really knew the Dalton family. With Drew, it could be either.

“We can’t get Reese. She’s booked with her own projects.” Francine pointed to Chris’s binder. “Hence why she’s not in here. Can we stick to people we know are available, please?”

“Miel is available,” I noted.

“I don’t understand why you’d settle for a no-name when you can get a real star,” Chris complained. “Fine, Anna isn’t right for the role, but Kristen Bell is available and hugely popular right now. People will come just to see her, and we need asses in those seats or all of us are screwed.”

Chris was right. I hated to admit it, but he was right. People would come to see Kristen Bell. Still, Kristen didn’t fit like Miel did.

“We go with you.” I pointed to Chris.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’m right for the role of Mikayla.”

“But you’re perfect for her husband,” I countered.

“Take on a minor role of an asshole, abusive husband? My agent would flip.”

“You’re investing in your own film,” I said. “Showing your broad range as an actor. Your agent could spin it.”

“The brother-in-law barely has any lines,” Chris pointed out.

“We can fix that. I know the writer.” Ideas were already flowing in my head. “And he has a hot sex scene where you could show off your famously rock-hard abs and tight ass. The ladies, and multiple men I know, would come just to see that.”

“Sure you don’t just want to see Chris naked?” Drew smirked at me.

“Please”—I scoffed—“half the time I’m begging him to put a shirt on around here. But you can’t deny people would come to see that.”

“You know I’m not just a piece of meat.” Chris’s tone was playful, but there was an underlying note of insecurity.

“This would be different than anything you’ve ever done,” Francine considered.

“You’ve wanted to show range as an actor,” Drew added.

“If I did say yes, which I’m not saying, we still need more big-name supporting actors if we’re going with Miel as Mikayla,” Chris rebutted.

“Okay.” I flipped through the notebook Francine gave me, a plan coming to mind. “Drew as the ex–football star neighbor.”

“Assuming I’m done with Total Destruction 3 in time,” Drew said.

“You’ll be done,” I reassured myself as much as him. I needed Drew on set; I couldn’t deal with Chris on my own. “We can push your scenes until the last weeks to make sure.”

“Miel as Mikayla”—Francine moved headshots around on her corkboard—“Chris as the husband, and Drew as the neighbor. I like it.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“Me, too,” Drew agreed.

“If we go with Miel, we need someone big for Laura,” Chris insisted.

Francine pulled out her options, and my heart broke a little. I’d always imagined being a triple threat, starring in the films I wrote and directed. But one screen test told us all that I should leave the acting to the professionals.

Still, I was protective of this role. I’d fictionalized the plot, changed details, and amped up drama for the movie, but at her core, Laura was me. I was the fat queer kid who grew up in a small, conservative farming town. I was the teenager who ran off to the big city the minute she graduated to find gay people like her. And I was the adult who got dragged back to that same conservative town full of my complex and complicated family when my brother died.

Every time I felt like giving up, every time I thought I would end it all, I told myself, “This will make a great story someday.” I imagined myself up on the screen, playing out the happily ever after that I’d desperately needed to believe would happen. I’d lived for that moment, and I wasn’t going to give that part of myself away to just anyone.

“I think we go with Kali,” Chris said.

“Absolutely not,” Drew rejected.

“She’s too thin for the role,” I pointed out.

“She’s gained some weight back,” Chris said.

“What she’s gained is a reckless and out-of-control drug habit, from what I hear around town,” Francine countered.

“Not to be an asshole, but how much weight are we talking?” I asked. I hated that we were debating the size of a woman’s body, but I refused to let my fat character be played by someone who didn’t have to shop in the plus-size section of stores. Kali used to be a fat icon, and a few years ago she’d have been perfect for this role, but lately she’d been on some kind of crash diet—or drug binge, depending on which tabloid you read—and had gone from a size eighteen to a size six.

“She can gain enough for the role,” Chris affirmed.

“It doesn’t matter, because she’s not doing it,” Drew said.

“Drew, please,” Chris said, and it was the please that made me pause. Chris was pleading, which meant this wasn’t just business. It was personal.

Chris, Kali, and Drew had been inseparable as teens, constantly seen in all the tabloids together, a modern-day Brat Pack growing up with all of their awkward and rebellious years broadcast for the world to see. But lately, Kali had been missing from their trio, and the gossip sites were full of rumors that Kali and Drew were secretly lovers, and Chris had been jealous and broken up the gang.

Had famously gay Kali fallen for the kindhearted Andy like I had? Did Drew really have a thing for queer women? Or were Chris and Kali the ones secretly in love, leaving Drew scorned? Also, why hadn’t Kali shown up to Jaqueline’s birthday?

I shook my head, realizing I sounded like one of Cecily’s gossip magazines. It didn’t matter what had happened between the three of them in the past; what mattered was who would be playing Laura in the future.

“Is she any good?” I asked Francine. “I didn’t see her in the auditions.”

“That’s because she didn’t show up,” Francine said.

Drew threw out his hands in an exasperated gesture.

“You know she needs this,” Chris appealed.

“She can’t even show up for the fucking audition!” Drew yelled, getting up and pacing the room. “I’m sorry, Chris, I really am, but I don’t want Kali on this film.”

“You don’t give up on family.” Chris stood up, facing Drew head-on.

The two men stared at each other, a standoff between friends, with Francine and me as bystanders. I’d never seen either of them this heated, and I didn’t know whether to speak up or let them glare each other to death.

“I think we should stop for the day.” Francine stood and walked between the men, breaking the tension. “We can return to Laura later.”

“I leave for filming tomorrow.” Drew ran a hand through his hair and sat down in a chair.

“And I meet with Focus next week,” Chris pointed out. “Silvia is going to expect our top picks.”

“We’ve all agreed Miel, Drew, and Chris are in?” Francine said, and everyone nodded their approval. “Then I can package them up and send it over. That should buy us some time to agree on a Laura.”

“Fine,” Chris seethed, his jaw clenched as he picked up his phone and headed toward the door. “Now, if you don’t mind letting yourselves out, I need to make a call.”

“Wait.” I ran after him, my heart racing. I wasn’t going to let this conversation end without standing up for my best friend. “We need to talk about Janelle.”

“What about Janelle?” he shot back.

“I won’t do this film unless she is my DP,” I declared.

“Then don’t do the film,” Chris replied coldly, his jaw set, eyes red. He turned and walked away, leaving his words to linger like a dagger in my heart.

I turned to Drew, desperate for an ally in this fight. “Can you please talk with him?”

“Let it go, Diana,” he mumbled, his face in his hands.

“Drew,” I pleaded.

“Not now, Diana.” Drew stormed off after Chris.

“What the bloody hell was that about?” Francine stood, dumbstruck.

“I was hoping you would know.” I shook my head.

Together, we packed up the binders, tidied up the screening room, and headed out, speculating the whole time about what might or might not be going on between Drew and Chris, our guesses getting ever wilder until we were giggling at ridiculous theories involving orgies and sacrificial pets. We hadn’t solved our casting issues, but I left there feeling a little more hopeful and a lot closer to Francine.

“It will work itself out.” She patted me on the back as we headed toward our cars.

“Promise?” I leaned into her.

“No.” Francine laughed. “But you’ve gotta keep the dream alive.”

With that, she got in her car and drove off, leaving me standing alone in Chris’s driveway, wondering if today’s turmoil was a normal part of the movie-making process or if we’d just irrevocably lost the jovial nature of our producers. Part of me wanted to go back inside and demand that Chris tell me what the hell was going on, and another part of me wanted to run after Drew and kiss away any tension. But the bigger part of me, the part that saw through all this Hollywood bullshit to the core of my longing, really just needed to be able to talk to my sister and best friend about all of this, but neither of them wanted much to do with me right now.