A security guard stops me at the front gate where I’m supposed to be meeting Monica. The pale blue house is at least twice as big as ours, but it’s got the same beachy vibe all the houses in this neighborhood have. I wonder if anyone actually lives here when they aren’t filming.
“Badge,” the man says, unsmiling.
“I, I don’t have one,” I stutter. “I’m here to see—”
“She’s with me.”
Monica appears in the doorway of the house, leaning against the frame like she’s straight off the pages of a magazine spread. She was beautiful the last time I saw her, but now, with her hair and makeup done, she looks like a movie star. I blush as the security guy steps aside to let me in. He still doesn’t smile, but I’m smiling enough for both of us.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” Monica says. She gives me a hug and I notice she smells as pretty as she looks, like a field of fresh flowers sprinkled with lemon and sunshine.
“I’m so glad you invited me,” I tell her.
It couldn’t have been more perfect; the day she’s on set every week is the same day I’m off work from the café, like it was meant to be.
“So this is where the magic happens,” Monica says, holding her hand out like she’s setting the whole world at my feet. Which, if you think about it, she kind of is. “Cool, huh?”
“The coolest,” I say, even though it doesn’t look that different from the few commercial sets I’ve been on with my mom.
“Want to see the kitchen?” she asks. “It’s kind of like the hub of the house; we have a lot of scenes in there.”
I nod, more excited about how excited she is to show me everything than I am about seeing the set.
Heads turn as we walk down the hallway and I wonder if people are thinking, There go the Whistler girls. No one would ever say that about me and Mom. It never really bothered me that her last name was different from mine—but it is pretty cool to share a name with someone. It’s like you’re bonded together with them in a way that’s just yours.
“Here it is,” Monica says. We turn a corner into the open kitchen just as two men are carrying some camera gear out. I step back to get out of their way, but Monica pulls me back toward her. “The crew can go around us.”
I stay put like Monica instructed, but smile an apology as the two men pass by. Every time Mom lets me tag along to a commercial set or photoshoot with her, she always makes sure to be extra nice to the crew since they’re the ones who are really working hard. But I guess it’s different when you’re a movie star.
“Here, give me your phone and I’ll take a picture. Stand over there, by the counter.” Monica points toward the kitchen island. “That’s the exact spot where I stand and talk to my TV kids about their days and give them all kinds of great life advice.”
“Right here?” I ask as I step into place.
She nods and holds my phone up. I can feel my cheeks turning red as she snaps a few pictures. Just past her, the real cameras are set up and for a minute, it feels like all my dreams are coming true.
“Would you mind?” Monica says, handing my phone to another guy on the crew. He shrugs and takes it, as if he could tell the star of the show no.
Monica walks behind me and puts her arm around my shoulder, her face just inches from my own. I turn and look at her, then she turns and looks at me, and I have this crazy thought that this could have been my life.
If Monica were my mom, I might already be a famous actress. She would have never held her child back from achieving her dream, especially since it was the same dream she’d had as a little girl. Monica would have let me audition for real parts, helping me succeed instead of trying to protect me from rejection that might not even happen anyway.
“We’re shooting in five, people,” a man with a British accent yells. I hear him before I see him, but the way people scatter at the sound of his voice tells me he’s someone important. Monica, however, doesn’t move.
“Richard, darling,” Monica says. “This is the young actress I was telling you about.”
I hold my hand out to shake, but he just stands there, looking me up and down. I put my hand back by my side and smile, grateful Monica is still there next to me.
“Casey, right?” Richard asks.
I’m willing to nod and claim my new name, but Monica corrects him. “Close, it’s CeCe.”
Richard nods, and then turns, his attention clearly needed elsewhere. “Where the hell is Victoria? We haven’t got all day, people!”
Monica drops her arm from my shoulder and takes my hand, leading me out of the room. “They’ll be a while, let’s go wait in my trailer.”
I follow Monica out the back door toward the trailers that are lined up on the side of Old 98. The trailers I used to walk by, hoping that someone from the cast would stop and notice me.
As we climb the stairs to the middle trailer, I notice her last name, and mine, written on a white sheet of paper taped to the door.
“Would you take a picture of me here, too?” I ask.
Monica looks up at our last name on the door and smiles. We trade places on the steps, and I pose, perfectly framing my name. Hopefully it looks like I’m just casually walking into my personal trailer. One day when I’m on the Tonight Show, maybe they’ll show this photo and I’ll tell them the story about the first day my stepmom took me with her to the set.
Inside, the trailer isn’t nearly as fancy as I thought it would be. There’s an old couch with a little table at one end, and a vanity set up with more hair and makeup products than I’ve ever seen outside of Sephora.
Monica notices me staring and nods permission for me to go look closer. I sit down on the chair in front of the vanity mirror and she reaches over me to flip a switch that makes all the lights around the mirror turn on. I smile at our side-by-side reflections, wishing I didn’t look so much like my mom.
All of Monica’s makeup is organized by type and by color. Her lipstick is lined up like crayons in a box, almost every shade from the palest pink to a red so deep it almost looks black.
“I think you’d look fab in this one,” Monica says, reaching for a soft, pastel pink. I’m about to take it from her hands when I realize she already has the lid off and is twisting it up. She reaches down to lift my chin and shows me how to pout my lips just so.
Not smiling in that moment is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but when she’s finished, we both turn to look in the mirror. I raise an eyebrow, not sure about the color. Luckily, Monica shares my opinion. She hands me a tissue to wipe it off and reaches for a rich red shade instead.
“This was always your dad’s favorite,” Monica says. She smiles a little and I wonder how many other things she knows about Dad that I don’t. That Mom doesn’t even know—she barely ever wears makeup.
I pout my lips and look back up at Monica as she concentrates, applying the lipstick to my bottom lip and then my top. I rub my lips together and watch as she does the same, applying the red shade on top of the lipstick she’s already wearing.
“It’s called Lady Bug,” Monica says. I try to memorize the name so I can buy it when I get home, but Monica hands it to me. “You can keep it, it looks good on you.”
I smile at my reflection in the mirror, wondering if I can get Monica to tell me more stories about when she and my dad were married. Before I can ask anything, the trailer door flies open and a woman with a walkie-talkie sticks her head inside.
“Richard’s looking for you,” the woman says.
“You don’t say, Kate,” Monica says, looking like she’s anything but concerned.
“It’s Laura.” The woman doesn’t look happy. “And he’s going to come and get you himself if you’re not there in sixty seconds.”
Monica sighs as if going on set to act is a chore instead of the coolest thing ever. I wonder if they have a place with chairs and monitors where I can watch like they do on my mom’s commercial sets. But when we get outside, Monica leans down and presses her cheek to mine, doing a fancy French air kiss like they do in the movies. It’s all so Hollywood.
“Until next time, my dear.”
I smile and watch her go. Sad, but excited there will be a next time.