Trouble Me by Beck Anderson

This is an improvement from back when we dated. By the end of that, she wanted to kill me. Maybe not kill me, just break a lot of plates and other expensive things in our hotel room in Cannes. You know, to make the point of how much she disliked me.
    “Are you ready for this?” She tosses her red hair over her shoulder and runs a finger over her teeth, checking for flecks of red lipstick.
    “Game on, sister.” I’m trying really hard to be on her side. The whole shoot will go better if she doesn’t hate me. And she has really good aim. I remember that, so I’d rather not have anything chucked at my head.
    We approach the sidewalk. We’re shooting right by the bull, the one from my dream. Tucker salutes me, and it’s barely a nod, which tells me he’s working hard, and I need to be Mr. Predictable.
    I see McDougal over at the dolly camera, and the director of photography is checking the boom cam.
    My job today? To walk. In a straight line. I’m not even kidding. Oh, and at one point, I have to take Amanda’s hand, and she has to look into my eyes.
    We’ll shoot this for two to four hours. If we really get clicking, there may be a line or two of dialogue. If we get really, really ahead of schedule, I’ll get to hail a cab. And it’s crazy to expect it, but we may get the blocking figured out for how Amanda gets into the cab. We might not shoot it, though.
    When people say to me, “Movies are so glamorous,” they have no idea. I have a stand-in who takes my place when the crew blocks out shots and checks the lighting on scenes, but it’s still a ton of waiting around. When I was just getting started, I was lucky enough to have to stand there for all the set-up too. It was painful.
    I’m better at the waiting now.
    “Stop wiggling. You’re terrible.” Amanda elbows me.
    “What?”
    “Put in your headphones and do your I-think-I’m-Michael-Phelps thing.”
    “Funny.”
    Amanda likes to tease.
    “Really, go ahead. I need you in the zone when you walk down the street with me. What if you’re not in character? The real you walks goofy.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “You don’t even walk in a straight line. Remember that time in Aspen when you bumped into that rapper, what was his name?”
    “Easy Cheez.”
    “Not even close. I thought you were street. You’re supposed to remember all the rap names. Hang with them. Get a grill, tat up, you know.”
    “I don’t remember his name. I do remember that he wanted to kill me on the spot. I wasn’t even drinking.”
    “But you can’t walk in a straight line.”
    “Fine, you win.” I make a motion for my headphones, but Amanda touches my arm.
    “We had fun, though, didn’t we?” She smiles.
    “Are we reminiscing?” I try to keep the tone light, but I don’t think we should go there. It’s territory best left in the past, as far as I’m concerned.
    A tiny, tiny crack in her confidence flits through her eyes. “You don’t like remembering?”
    “It’s not because of you, Amanda. It was a long time ago. I’m a lot different now.”
    “You’ve got a family now.”
    I start a little, until I realize she’s not talking about baby-to-be. She doesn’t know, unless I screw up and say something so she guesses.
    “Yeah, I guess I do.”
    “I’ve seen pictures of the boys. They’re older. What’s that like?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Do they like you?”
    “Yeah, I think they do.”
    “Isn’t it hard, with their dad, well, you know—gone?”
    “It’s hard for them, and it’s hard for Kelly. I just try to help as best I can. They’re great boys.”
    “Maybe you’ll bring them onto set. I’d like to meet them.”
    “No, you wouldn’t. You hate kids.”
    Amanda tugs at whatever small thing serves as an undergarment underneath that tiny skirt. “You’re right, I do. But I’m dying to meet these boys. They must be magical.”
    “Why?”
    “To tame you. To send you to rehab, turn you into the law-abiding Andrew Pettigrew. No more