What that bag whoever left on my driveway was filled with—it was fucking tofu cut to look like severed animal limbs covered in fermented raspberry sauce for blood.
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I guess it’s something that no animals were harmed in the making of the little scene outside my door, but that doesn’t put my mind at much ease, either.
The pink cloud I was on, relishing the stalker because she was an indication that my career still had some vitality left, that’s gone now. Ever since yesterday, I’ve been having Trey walk me to and from my car on the set, and Danna called a company that specializes in home security to send out a couple of guys to keep an eye on the house.
So far, there hasn’t been anything else from the stalker, but I’m taking that with a grain of salt.
That’s not what I need to be focusing on right now, though. What I need to focus on is getting Emma to come out of the bathroom.
“It’s really not a big deal,” I call through the door. “Actors do it all the time. It’s called ‘the relationsh
ip weekend.’ It doesn’t mean anything real, it just helps two people connect with each other well enough that they don’t look like novices when it comes time to show some affection on camera.”
“It’s weird,” she says.
“It’s not like I’m telling you we’re going to fuck or anything,” I tell her. “All I’m saying is that this is going to work a lot better if, until midnight on Sunday night, you and I act in every way as if we’re in a relationship.”
“What if someone sees us?” she asks.
“Then the film gets some free publicity,” I tell her. “Now, are you going to come out of there, or am I going to be sending room service to the bathroom for the next three days?”
Every once in a while, I forget that not everyone’s familiar with every trick in the business.
It’s really not that big of a deal. If you get two actors together to practice kissing, you might see some progress, but it’s not going to change the way they look at each other.
If you’ve never shared that intimate moment with someone, you’re never going to look at them the way that Emma and I are going to need to look at each other for much of the rest of the filming.
The trick is simple: you and your costar, whoever it is that you’ve got the onscreen relationship with, you go away together for the weekend, somewhere that doesn’t like cameras where you can act as you will without the scrutiny of the press. While you’re there, for all intents and purposes, you are in that relationship with that other person.
Easy-peasy.
The problem is that Emma doesn’t really seem to like the idea of pretending to be my girlfriend.
At least that’s what I’m taking out of this.
“You’re seriously on the verge of hurting my feelings here,” I call through the door.
“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings,” she says. “I just don’t think I can do three days of kissing and holding hands and ordering each other’s food and all that.”
“Is there any way we can talk about this in the same room?” I ask.
The door to the bathroom opens and Emma walks out slowly, saying, “I’m sorry. I don’t really know why I did that.”
“It’s probably got something to do with that crush you’ve got on me,” I tell her. “Anyway, so are we doing this or what?”
“So there’s no, like, safe zone?” she asks.
“What do you mean?” I return.
“You know,” she says, “somewhere we can go or something we can say to go back to reality.”
“It’s acting,” I tell her. “As it’s your profession, I’m a little surprised to see you so wary of it.”
“It’s not that,” she says. “It’s just—”
“What?” I ask.