Love Unrehearsed
Page 71
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Ryan shut me up with a quick kiss followed by a playful crack on the ass. “That’s where I’m carving my initials later,” he growled privately to me.
Jonathan was ecstatic. “Maybe one of these days we’ll get to see what kind of performance you inspire him to give when you’re standing on the opposite side of the camera, hey, Taryn?”
I adamantly refuted his comment. Ryan, however, seemed to rather enjoy that idea.
“Never say never,” Jonathan advised.
“And don’t think your little rehearsal with him the other day went unnoticed. I think you’d be a natural.”
I held my hands up to stop his line of thinking—immediately. “Oh, no. I’m only here to watch.”
“Well, I’d have to argue that,” Jonathan continued, turning to Ryan. “Would you be opposed to us using Taryn in the nightclub shot? I think she’d be a better fit.” I shook my head so quickly, the blood sloshing in my brain made me lightheaded.
Stand-in was one thing; to be on actual film was another.
Ryan leaned closer. “Which shot?” A ripple of shock rolled through me next, watching Ryan actually ponder this idea with keen interest. I thought for sure he’d be against it.
When their discussion ended and the attention turned back to me, I had to take a stand. “No. That’s okay. I’m very flattered by your offer but I’m fine right here, staying way out of the way.” Ryan’s encouraging grins and nods weren’t helping, gesturing with pinched fingers that I’d only be in the shot for a smidgen.
“Nonsense,” Jonathan said firmly. “I have Ryan’s permission, so you must do me the honor of one small cameo.”
That one small request generated a flurry of activity. When the time came, I was swept off to wardrobe, where I was fitted with a pair of ass-hugging jeans and a really cool white flouncy halter top with tiny brown beads that nestled near my exposed cleavage.
Instead of me wearing a bra, flesh-toned adhesive lifts were added under my breasts to give them more support. The likelihood of my breasts getting some quality onscreen time seemed to multiply exponentially.
After my makeup was applied and hair fussed with, it was off to the set. Tonight we were on location, having taken over a bar nightclub outside of Vancouver to film in.
My job? To be part of the background. I hoped to hell I’d be able to blend with the other extras in the scene. The bar was supposed to be packed and Ryan had to squeeze through the crowd to make his next mark. I was one of the bodies he had to squeeze past—that was, until another assistant director told me the plan.
I was introduced to several other extras that I would be standing next to for the shot.
We were just a bunch of girls supposedly standing around, swaying and grooving to the music. Problem was—there was no music. Actually the crowded bar filled with a ton of extras was rather quiet considering. The soundtrack
would be
overlaid in
postproduction.
It felt weird to stand there pretending to dance and look sexy in silence. Some sort of liquid sheen was sprayed on our exposed skin to make it look like we were all hot and sweaty. It made my bare arms glisten.
We did a walk-through rehearsal; Ryan had a shot coming into the club, cameras followed him through the crowd, he had to squeeze past me, and then take his final place at the empty seat at bar.
Actress Morgan Harper, who was playing the deceased sister of Ryan’s character, Chase Sheffield, was dressed exactly like me; the costumes were identical. Ryan/Chase was to have another ghostly vision of his sister.
An enormous camera was pointed at me, and as I studied the ominous black lens that would capture me making a complete ass out of myself, the realization of me actually being in a movie pricked at my nerves. My slightly elevated pulse broke out into a full gallop. I might as well have been running in knee-deep sand on the beach for how hard my heart was pounding in my chest. Holy shit.
Calm down. Remember your instructions. Smile coyly. Eye contact with Ryan for a count of five, then look back to the bru-nette whose name totally escapes me right now. I can do this. I can do this. What the hell is her name?
“Cue background; action background.” Before I could entertain additional panic, it was over. I think I smiled coyly—however the hell “coyly” is supposed to look. I hoped I didn’t look away too soon.
Ryan was cool and professionally distant.
He showed me no special favor, no separate inappropriate acknowledgment while we were filming. I could have been just another off-the-street extra as far as anyone could tell. That was fine by me; I didn’t want a fuss.
Jonathan was ecstatic. “Maybe one of these days we’ll get to see what kind of performance you inspire him to give when you’re standing on the opposite side of the camera, hey, Taryn?”
I adamantly refuted his comment. Ryan, however, seemed to rather enjoy that idea.
“Never say never,” Jonathan advised.
“And don’t think your little rehearsal with him the other day went unnoticed. I think you’d be a natural.”
I held my hands up to stop his line of thinking—immediately. “Oh, no. I’m only here to watch.”
“Well, I’d have to argue that,” Jonathan continued, turning to Ryan. “Would you be opposed to us using Taryn in the nightclub shot? I think she’d be a better fit.” I shook my head so quickly, the blood sloshing in my brain made me lightheaded.
Stand-in was one thing; to be on actual film was another.
Ryan leaned closer. “Which shot?” A ripple of shock rolled through me next, watching Ryan actually ponder this idea with keen interest. I thought for sure he’d be against it.
When their discussion ended and the attention turned back to me, I had to take a stand. “No. That’s okay. I’m very flattered by your offer but I’m fine right here, staying way out of the way.” Ryan’s encouraging grins and nods weren’t helping, gesturing with pinched fingers that I’d only be in the shot for a smidgen.
“Nonsense,” Jonathan said firmly. “I have Ryan’s permission, so you must do me the honor of one small cameo.”
That one small request generated a flurry of activity. When the time came, I was swept off to wardrobe, where I was fitted with a pair of ass-hugging jeans and a really cool white flouncy halter top with tiny brown beads that nestled near my exposed cleavage.
Instead of me wearing a bra, flesh-toned adhesive lifts were added under my breasts to give them more support. The likelihood of my breasts getting some quality onscreen time seemed to multiply exponentially.
After my makeup was applied and hair fussed with, it was off to the set. Tonight we were on location, having taken over a bar nightclub outside of Vancouver to film in.
My job? To be part of the background. I hoped to hell I’d be able to blend with the other extras in the scene. The bar was supposed to be packed and Ryan had to squeeze through the crowd to make his next mark. I was one of the bodies he had to squeeze past—that was, until another assistant director told me the plan.
I was introduced to several other extras that I would be standing next to for the shot.
We were just a bunch of girls supposedly standing around, swaying and grooving to the music. Problem was—there was no music. Actually the crowded bar filled with a ton of extras was rather quiet considering. The soundtrack
would be
overlaid in
postproduction.
It felt weird to stand there pretending to dance and look sexy in silence. Some sort of liquid sheen was sprayed on our exposed skin to make it look like we were all hot and sweaty. It made my bare arms glisten.
We did a walk-through rehearsal; Ryan had a shot coming into the club, cameras followed him through the crowd, he had to squeeze past me, and then take his final place at the empty seat at bar.
Actress Morgan Harper, who was playing the deceased sister of Ryan’s character, Chase Sheffield, was dressed exactly like me; the costumes were identical. Ryan/Chase was to have another ghostly vision of his sister.
An enormous camera was pointed at me, and as I studied the ominous black lens that would capture me making a complete ass out of myself, the realization of me actually being in a movie pricked at my nerves. My slightly elevated pulse broke out into a full gallop. I might as well have been running in knee-deep sand on the beach for how hard my heart was pounding in my chest. Holy shit.
Calm down. Remember your instructions. Smile coyly. Eye contact with Ryan for a count of five, then look back to the bru-nette whose name totally escapes me right now. I can do this. I can do this. What the hell is her name?
“Cue background; action background.” Before I could entertain additional panic, it was over. I think I smiled coyly—however the hell “coyly” is supposed to look. I hoped I didn’t look away too soon.
Ryan was cool and professionally distant.
He showed me no special favor, no separate inappropriate acknowledgment while we were filming. I could have been just another off-the-street extra as far as anyone could tell. That was fine by me; I didn’t want a fuss.
