“Naked?” I asked.

“Well, yeah.”

I glanced around the sparsely populated bistro before leaning close to Sam. “I’d be nervous. I don’t know …”

“I understand, Lacey. I really do.” He reached out and touched my hand. “You’re very good. I think you’ll be a real scene stealer.”

I withdrew my hand and lowered my voice as a waiter passed. “But do I have to be naked?”

“Nude, not naked, and it shows a comfort level with Mitch’s character. It won’t be a sex scene. It’s simply a conversation in the nude. You’ll be encouraging him, and we’ll fade out as you pull him into bed.”

“But it sounds kinda long.”

“It marks a critical point. Mitch’s character needs to know that you’re fully committed to the relationship and his artistic ambitions. He’ll be nude, too.”

“Who else will be on the set?”

“I’ll be filming. That’s it—Mitch and me.”

“Can I see the whole script? And when will I meet Mitch?”

“Sure. We’ll send you a copy. You’ll see that those scenes are fully integrated with the plot. I’ll touch base with Mitch about a meeting.”

“Scenes? I thought it was only one.”

“One’s long. The others are brief.”

“Others? Shit, Sam, this is getting to be more—”

“Read the script. You have plenty of scenes with your clothes on.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll read it.”

***

Joy dropped the screenplay onto the coffee table in our tiny but expensive LA apartment. “Overall, it’s a rather small part. The film’s really about the artist. You’re just the girl. And this title, People on the Block, is not very dynamic. I’ve never heard of Sam Hall. Is this guy legit?”

“I think so. He had an entry in the Atlanta Film Festival three or four years ago.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“I guess. It’s a low-budget film. Probably won’t have a wide distribution. Hardly anyone will see it, but I can add an actual film role to my résumé. I suppose it’ll be a step up from the bare-bones theater parts I’ve been doing. Sometimes the cast outnumbers the audience.”

“Beats waiting tables and the rideshare job, huh?”

“Can’t quit those, yet. Living in LA costs too damn much.”

“Is he paying you?”

“He’s going to give me two hundred up front and three hundred more later. Most of the financing comes from crowdfunding.”

“Sounds iffy to me.”

“Have to get my foot in the door somehow. Lots of actors start their careers in low-budget productions. He thinks I’ll be a scene stealer.”

Joy yawned. “Well, best of luck. I need to hit the sack. I’ve got the opening shift at the vet’s tomorrow.” She squeezed my shoulder and retreated to her bedroom.

I thumbed through the script again. A small part, for sure. All my scenes were brief, except that one. Sam promised to schedule it during the first week. Getting it over with sounded good. I showered and turned in but slept fitfully.

***

I arrived early. Sam had wanted to shoot at the airport, but logistics at LAX proved too difficult. The bus station management had been more accommodating. A midafternoon lull in their arrival and departure schedules provided a window. We had to be quick, but the scene was short. Contrary to Sam’s promise, I had not met my co-star.

The script called for me to kiss Mitch before he boarded the bus on his way to New York. I had kissed actors on stage, but on film, it was different—more realistic. Can’t fake it in a close-up or even a two-shot.

Someone called my name. Sam strode in from the parking lot, along with a handful of his friends to serve as extras—among them a really hot guy. Quite chiseled. Very fit. Hum … That had to be Mitch. I could kiss him just fine. Sam made the introductions. Mitch gave me a peck on the cheek.

Sam examined his clipboard. “Okay, here’s the set-up. Mitch, sit here. Lacey, you enter through the main door. You make eye contact. Come together over here.” He pointed. “Say your lines. Then kiss. Mitch goes out to the bus. The camera lingers on Lacey. We’ll insert a fade-out in post. Ready?”

The filming went smoothly. We shot a half-dozen takes, all rather short. As an actor, Mitch was a little wooden, but I got to kiss him each time.

Finally, Sam declared, “That’s a wrap. Thanks, everyone. I’ll be in touch.”

When I turned to leave, Mitch tapped me on the shoulder. “How about dinner tonight?”

***

I lingered in my bedroom and let Joy answer the bell. I had opted for my most modest dress. After all, Mitch would see me naked in a few days. And vice versa. I fantasized about that. Joy’s laughter seeped through the door. Hum … flirting. Time to make my entrance.

Joy’s hands were on his arm. God, he looked sharp. He must have a girlfriend or two tucked away somewhere. I pried him away from Joy, and we sped off in his sporty convertible, top down. How cliché.

The tiny upscale restaurant offered a short menu, but an extensive wine list. Mitch either had money to burn or, more likely, was just running up his credit card.

“So, what have you been in?” he asked.

“A few plays. Small productions. Sam saw me in one. You?”

“A few roles as an extra. I had a line of dialogue in Jupiter’s Moon.”

“Yeah. What was it?”

He laughed. “The line was, ‘Yes, sir.’”

“That was all?”

“Yep. Two words. They didn’t call me back for the sequel.”

“You’ll get more parts.”

Over dinner, we traded stories of our struggles to make it in the movies. Afterward, we got into his car, and he leaned close. “Want to come to my place and go over your dialogue?”

“That sounds like a line to me.”

“So what if it is?”

I found his straightforward approach refreshing. “Okay.”

At his apartment, we bypassed the script and dove straight into bed. In the morning, he rose early to prepare for an audition. While he showered, I dressed and poked around for signs of another woman but found none. He hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend, and I thought it best not to ask. He emerged from the shower looking mighty fine. I loved watching him dress. We exchanged phone numbers, and he drove me home.

Sam called later in the day. “Hey, Lacey. We’ll shoot the bedroom scenes next. I know they’ll be difficult for you. It’s usually best to do that sort of thing first, so you won’t have it hanging over your head.”

“Fine. When? Where?”

“How about Saturday? We’ll do it at Mitch’s. I’ll text you his address.”

I smiled. “Yeah. Send it.” Funny, the scenes didn’t seem quite so daunting anymore.

***

I was naked for two days—filming in the daytime and spending the nights in Mitch’s bed. During the shoot, Sam did his best to be unintrusive. I managed to get through the scenes with minimal discomfort and put the experience behind me.

***

“So, when do you act again?” asked Joy.

“Not sure. Sam’s gone up to San Francisco. He’s fundraising.”

“Has he paid you anything?”

“Not yet.”

“You should have demanded that advance he promised.”

“It’s low-budget filmmaking. He’s barely scraping by. I don’t think he lied. He was up front about the nude scene. I trust him.”

“You’re a fool to trust anyone out here.”

“Cynic,” I shot back.

“Realist, you mean. And where’s Mitch?”

“He landed a commercial. He’s been busy.”

“Likely story. I’ll bet he’s screwing a different woman every night.”

“You’re jealous.”

She smiled. “Damn right.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but the same thoughts ran through my mind. Neither Sam nor Mitch had returned my latest calls.

A week later, I received a text message from Sam, saying that fundraising had been slow. Damn. Could I include an unfinished indie film on my résumé? Hell, yes. I’d make it sound like an ongoing production: People on the Block—filming in progress.

***

A few auditions popped up on my radar. With hundreds of women vying for a handful of roles, the competition was tough, though not unexpected. I had no illusions, but the constant grind of rejections began to wear me down. Joy offered to put in a word for me at the vet’s office, but a regular job would limit my availability. Text messages to Sam went unanswered. And Mitch, that son of a bitch, didn’t respond either. I relegated them to ancient history and moved on.

It must have been a month or so later that I got a text from Mitch, inviting me out to dinner. No doubt, he would shell out for a nice meal, and I would be dessert. I stared at my phone for several minutes, waffling between cussing him out and accepting the offer. Goddamn his good looks. Then lightning struck. My phone chimed—a callback. Suddenly, it became easy to ignore Mitch.

***

Funny, I hated waiting tables while auditioning for roles, only to be cast as a waitress in my first real Hollywood movie—Rosemary’s World, a romantic thriller. The role consisted of two very short scenes, but I would be on screen alongside Hope Hunter.

I couldn’t sleep the night before my initial scene. I had seen many of Hope’s films. Working with her fulfilled a fantasy, albeit a scary one. I showed up early at the restaurant. Several crew members had begun to drift in. I stayed out of everyone’s way while watching for Hope’s arrival.

Finally, someone sent me to a trailer parked out front, which housed the makeup and costume department. The staff prepped me thoroughly, and I returned to the restaurant to await shooting. The crew set up the lighting and rearranged some of the tables. The assistant director called me aside and went over my marks.

As soon as Hope appeared on the set, the director yelled, “Places, everyone!” I had wanted to speak with her before the cameras rolled, but it didn’t happen.

The scene commenced. Hope chatted with others at her table. A couple of minutes in, I approached to take their orders and immediately flubbed my line.

“Cut.” The director held his head in his hands. “What’s your line, Lacey?”

“Uh, ‘What will you ladies have?’”

“It’s not hard. Let’s get it right. Time is money.”

I made it through on my second try, though it was a bit of a blur. We did a few more takes, and it became easier. After the final take, I slumped into a booth and took a deep breath.

Hope slid in across from me. “First film, I hear.”

“I-I blew that line.”

She laughed. “Show me an actor who says he hasn’t, and I’ll show you a liar. You were fine.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hunter.”

“Oh, God. Call me Hope. We’re coworkers.”

“Thank you … Hope.”

“We have another scene tomorrow. Why don’t you come over tonight and run through the lines?”

I couldn’t believe it. Was the offer real? “It’s a minor scene. Are you sure?”

“This business is tough, especially for women. I like to help out whenever I’m able. Here’s my address. I have a late afternoon appointment. Drop by around seven. My cook is off, but we can cobble together something for dinner, that is if you don’t mind leftovers. We’ll nail down that scene.”

***

I nervously pressed the bell at Hope’s luxurious home. My feelings fluctuated between optimism and a sense of inadequacy. I expected a servant to respond, but when the door opened, Hope stood there, casually dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. I felt ugly standing next to her.

“Come in, Lacey. You look great.”

“And you, too.”

She gave a dismissive wave. “Let’s raid the kitchen and see what’s there.”

The spotless, well-organized kitchen yielded several options. We chose a bowl of leftover spaghetti and heated it in the microwave.

“Wine?” she asked.

“That sounds good.”

When we were seated, Hope raised her glass for a toast. “Viva la cinema.”

We clinked glasses, and I relaxed.

“So, your first film, right?”

“I guess. I did a few scenes for an indie that never got finished.”

“That’s an old story. It happened to me shortly after I arrived here. It was called Around the Block or something like that.”

I almost choked on a mouthful of spaghetti. “People on the Block,” I finally blurted.

“Oh, no. Sam got you, too? A nude scene, right?”

I nodded. “And you …?”

“Yep. Me. Did you sleep with Mitch?”

Words failed me, but I gave another nod.

“Those guys prey on aspiring actresses. If you make it big, Sam will sell the footage to celebrity nudity sites. Mitch gets laid, regardless. Everyone wins except the actress.”

“But Sam had an entry in the Atlanta Film Festival.”

“Ha! It was a film festival in Atlanta, not the Atlanta Film Festival.”

I took a big sip of wine. “Why doesn’t someone do something about them?”

“It’s not so easy. You signed a contract, right?”

“But it was for a completed film. They didn’t deliver that.”

“Sure, but there are thousands of unfinished films in this town. It’s hard to make a case that yours is different. Search the internet for my name and the word ‘naked.’ You’ll find my footage—probably the same as yours. Another glass of wine?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Come on. Forget ’em. They’re jerks. Let’s move to a more comfortable spot and run those lines.”

Hope led me to an elegant room filled with plush furniture. I sank into a sofa, and Hope settled in beside me. We opened our scripts and found the scene. She placed her hand on my shoulder. I expected her to read her line.

“Kiss me,” she said.

“What?”

“Kiss me … on the lips.”

“Uh … I like men.”

“Me too. Kiss me anyway.”

She wrapped her arms around me, and we kissed—gently at first, then more deeply. Were the women in Hollywood predators, too? Finally, I pushed apart.

“What do you think?” Hope asked.

“Uh … It was okay.” I edged farther away. “But you said you like men.”

“I do … most of the time, but it’s difficult to find a good man in Hollywood. It’s nice to have an occasional woman to relate to. Stardom isolates you, makes you feel lonely. Why don’t you spend the weekend with me?”

“I … don’t think I can. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

“That’s okay.” She flashed a wistful smile. “Where were we on those lines?”

***

My second scene with Hope went smoothly. At the close of the day, she gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

My acting career stagnated until Rosemary’s World premiered the following summer. Then, I landed a few small roles. They didn’t generate enough income to move to a better apartment, though I did give up the waitressing job.

***

I slept late, then reluctantly rose and scrolled through casting calls online. Damn, it took so much time to sort the wheat from the chaff. Frustrated, I surfed over to a news site. An announcement caught my attention—Hope Hunter’s engagement to Cliff Bain. I wondered if he knew that she liked “an occasional woman.” I had started the coffee when I heard the front door open.

Joy dragged herself into the kitchen, looking like she had been up all night. “I called in sick at work,” she mumbled. “I need sleep.” With that, she stumbled off to her bedroom.

Lately, she had been spending nights out several times a week. She refused to talk about her boyfriend. Probably a married man, rich enough to have a covert apartment for illicit overnight affairs. It’s great to have a boyfriend, but working all day and screwing all night takes a toll.

Hope was engaged. Joy had a boyfriend. Why couldn’t I find someone? No one else seemed to be having a problem. All I did was audition … and wait. I considered going back to bed. Then my phone chimed.

***

I nailed the callback audition and got the part—a role in Juniper’s Weekend—one of only five actors in the cast. The others were veteran performers. I could hardly believe it.

The four-week shooting schedule provided opportunities to get to know my co-stars. As filming proceeded, I learned a lot. The seasoned cast gave me support and encouragement.

One day, near the end of the shoot, the director summoned me over. “You’re doing great, Lacey. We had been considering a more experienced actress, but Hope Hunter recommended you for the part.” That was news to me, but I put my best effort into improvising a professional nonchalance.

It took six months for Juniper’s Weekend to be released. The early reviews were excellent, though most of them complimented the ensemble cast rather than singling out individual performers.

Then, Hope Hunter’s agent asked me to lunch. Stardom suddenly seemed possible. At an elegant French restaurant, I readily accepted his offer to represent me. As we left, a couple at a table by the wall caught my eye—Mitch and Joy. I should have guessed. I felt no anger or jealousy. However, it did bring on a sense of loneliness. Was that the price of fame?

***

A few months after the premiere, Hope called. “Sam’s put your scene on the internet. I told you to expect it.”

“Shit.”

“Forget it. Lots of actresses have that type of baggage. It’ll be ancient history before you know it.”

That seemed overly optimistic, but I thanked her for her support and turned my attention to the future, still in search of a scene to steal and an elusive lover with whom to share my life.