Chapter Six | To Quote Tim Gunn... Make It Work!

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"Maggie, can you try this one a bit more unhinged?"

Ahh, yes, the piece of direction I was born to receive...

We were standing in the gravel driveway of Button House on a chilly afternoon, filming an especially fun scene for my character — it was the end of my first episode, and Annalynne Font the reality star had decided that her reality show would only work if she moved in and brought in some hot singles, effectively turning it from a ghost-hunting show to a Walmart version of Love Island.

The line was "... And get me some gold wine glasses, that way maybe Netflix will pick us up!"

I'd been playing it bright and cheery, but the direction of unhinged struck an excited chord in my chest. This is what I loved about acting — taking a piece of text and exploring all the ways you can infuse it with meaning and context and emotion to reveal a totally different effect.

I nodded to the director with a smile, the cogs in my brain whirring to internalize the word, ready to see what would come out. We reset, the camera going back in place and Charlotte and Kiell going back to their original marks — Kiell did a little rewind motion that made me chuckle — and took the scene again. This time I delivered the line with stone-cold, wide-eyed seriousness, as though Netflix was the promised land and I was Moses.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charlotte begin to crack, her mouth twitching, but I held on. When the director called cut, we all fell apart.

"I'm sorry," laughed Charlotte, grabbing my hand apologetically. "I'm so sorry it was just so serious!"

"Unhinged like that, Simon?" I asked through a chuckle.

"Erm, yes—" he said with a smile. "Bit scary but yes, do that. Let's do one more for safety, Charlotte, no laughing."

"Got it," she said, her mouth twisting as it tried to stifle her giggles. We made eye contact and shook our heads, trying to recalibrate.

"Serious!" I said, jumping up and down.

"Serious," she echoed in a stern voice.

When we took a ten minute break I headed to the crafty table to grab a coffee — but Ben was already at the machine.

"Excuse me," I said in a jokingly serious tone. "But some of us actually have to work today."

He looked over his shoulder and chuckled, turning to face me. His face still looked drawn, as it had for the past few days. Though he had kept up a jovial attitude, I could tell that his break-up — even if they hadn't been official yet — had been a blow. It was one of the reasons that I had kept my developing attraction to him firmly under wraps, focusing instead on being a professional and pleasant colleague, and, when he needed it, a supportive friend.

Just now, though, I was a teasing coffee-fiend.

"I'm just kidding," I qualified, realizing he might be a bit too tired for sardonic poking. "Obviously you're working very hard."

He was solely in writer-mode this morning, dressed in jeans, a grey long-sleeve shirt, and his dark-rimmed glasses.

"Oh I am," he said, a sparkle of mirth pushing through the tiredness. "It takes a lot of caffeine to watch you walk around in those shoes all day."

We glanced down at the towering hot-pink stilettos I was wearing.

"Seriously, how the hell do you get around on those things?"

"Oh, they give us free lessons at the Forever21 School of Broken Ankles."

He chuckled into his coffee.

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