Advanced Improv

“Cut!” David called. I left my arm draped around Cinthia’s shoulder. The crew dimmed the lighting, giving our eyes a break from the faux desert sun while David reviewed the footage with the continuity director.

Cinthia squinted at me, she hadn’t pulled away yet. It was helpful to play with physical intimacy between shots, but this felt different. “Have you actually been to Cabo San Lucas?” she asked. The tenor of her voice was deeper, which meant she thought we had the scene - she only dropped character after the final cut.

“I haven’t.” I looked in the rearview mirror. The camera operator was adjusting his camera positioning in the backseat. 

“Then where’d the bit about swimming with Mantas in December come from?” 

“I’ve been wanting to go for years, but I’ve never been able to get away. I was thinking about it earlier this week, that maybe this is the year.” Our eyes met, and the image of me asking her to join me in Cabo replayed in my head.

When she spoke again, her voice was higher and slightly coy, like her character’s, “And will anyone be joining you to bear witness when you finally realize this long-held dream?” She pulled away from my arm slightly, feigning offense if I suggested anyone but her. Or maybe the offense wasn’t a feign.

Holding her gaze and settling my arm in a little more, I told her the truth. “I haven’t told anyone else about it until now.” Cinthia raised an eyebrow. She had big, amber eyes that often revealed what the rest of her body withheld - which made her a spectacle to work with in close-ups like this. I continued, “It’s a busy time of year, with the holidays, but I am keeping an open schedule. And an open mind.”

I tried to read her reaction, but Cinthia was no longer making eye contact. She was looking just past me. I turned to see the slight figure of my personal assistant standing outside the door of the Buick. “Justin, so sorry! Your wife is on the phone. Should I tell her it’s not a good time?” She was holding the phone against her chest. I wondered how long she’d been standing there.

I slid my arm from around Cinthia’s shoulder. “What does she need?” If she had heard anything, it was all a part of the job. She would understand.

“She wouldn’t say. I can tell her you’ll call back after the scene?” My assistant was delicate and generally uncomfortable with confrontation. 

“I’ll talk to her. I need to stretch my legs a bit anyway.” I took the phone and stepped out of the car. “Hey dear, what’s up?” 

“Hey - sorry to interrupt. Jessica said you were in the middle of a scene.” She hesitated, “I - I was wondering if you wanted to come home for a bit after you guys are done. I know you are moving locations after today.” Her voice was tenuous.

“We are behind schedule, so the earliest I’d be able to come is tomorrow night. And then I need to be on location the day after.” I made my way past the film crew to get some water.

“I know…it’s just that.” 

It wasn’t like her to interrupt during filming. “What is it, love?”

She sighed into the phone,  “I was on the Cloud today, and I didn’t mean to see it, but I was going through some of my old writings and I saw something you had written. I thought I could get some ideas - remember how we used to trade our writings mid-story, and then finish the endings? I guess I missed that. But this was more of a letter. It was addressed to Samantha, who you worked with on that episode of Last Kiss. Or maybe it was just a coincidence, but…”

“I don’t remember writing that.” It was true. I didn’t. I took a drink of water.

“The letter was very romantic, and I assumed it was just an exercise. You know, something to help you get into character for the shoot. But then you mentioned something about seeing the Monarch migration for the first time, and how you wish you were with her, and it just felt ...well it scared me. Because that’s what we did together last year, when we went to that Zen Center. We watched them through the windows during the lunch buffet.”

“You couldn’t see the trees.”

“Exactly. And you said..”

“I said, ‘Why can’t we live like this all the time?’ I remember.” The crew members were all getting back into position.

“Well, it just broke my heart to think that you wanted to rewrite that memory with someone else. And it made me think about the movie you are doing now, and I know there’s some romance involved…”

“Honey, listen. I don’t remember that letter. I have to connect with - I have to use something real in order to feel these things for my job. In order to be believed. It’s because I have that with you that I am even able to be believed at all.” 

“But how do I know that after reading something like this? How do I know I’m not just another person you are trying to convince?”

“Cinthia, please. You know that because I love you. Because I always have. I don’t remember the letter. I just remember the butterflies, and being with you. And I of course remember the roasted eggplant.” I was hoping for a laugh, but it didn’t come. Instead there was just a long, devastating pause.

“Cinthia - that’s the woman you’re filming with, right?”

“Yes, why?” The lights had brightened. 

“Goodbye, Justin.” She hung up.

David was next to the Buick talking to Cinthia. My assistant was standing discreetly to the side. I walked through the crew, gave the phone back, and got in the driver’s seat.

David was brimming. “Justin! I was just telling Cinthia - the chemistry between you two is perfect right now! And the improv was brilliant. We are just going to do one more cut with a little change. I gave her some notes, and I want you to just respond in character. I think it’s going to give this scene the edge it needs. Like I said, the chemistry between you two right now is so believable, so just keep riding that wave. Everything okay, Justin?”