An Object in Motion

Chapter 8: Unstoppable Force

"We're meeting tonight, yeah?" Tom interrupted Harlow's train of thought (and her stretch), reminding her that they had planned to get together to discuss their character's arc sometime before they filmed together much more and Harlow found herself hesitating. She had felt so brave putting herself out there and asking Tom to meet with her outside of filming originally but now? Now she wanted nothing more than to sleep, perhaps for days.

"Or we don't need to." Tom offered, sensing Harlow's hesitancy. "You've had a long day, I'm sure."

"No, no, we should meet." Harlow interjected. "When will you be done today?"

"It might be late." He warned. "Close to midnight late."

"I can take a nap." Harlow shrugged. "Or just be a big girl and drink copious amounts of coffee to stay awake between now and then."

"I would highly recommend a nap. Naps are underrated. I might take a nap today." Even the topic of sleep made Tom yawn, inciting the same in Harlow. She weighed her options of never moving again or getting out of her chair, changing, and going home, knowing which was the right answer, and now that she was invested in doing the right thing, she felt a certain obligation to take advantage of the momentum she had already built.

"I need to go before I fall asleep right here. Just come over when you're done? Mei can give you my address." Tom nodded in agreement as Harlow pushed herself out of her chair, leaving the trailer to return to her own with a wardrobe intern to change out of her costume and into her thick sweater and jeans. Harlow avoided her reflection in the mirror in the bathroom, knowing if she looked even half as physically drained as she felt, then she couldn't possibly handle what she'd see in the mirror. Mei took Harlow to her car in a golf cart and wished her a safe drive, leaving her in the protected lot to get into her rental car and go home.

Harlow had her door open and one foot in the car when she heard someone call her name. She turned her head and saw a familiar head of dark hair with a single, hot pink highlight driving toward her. Harlow bit the inside of her cheek, wondering if she could feign having not heard her name and just get in her car and go. But she knew that would be rude and the first lesson she learned as a child was to be kind to everyone on set.

"Hey Amanda." Harlow greeted as Amanda stepped out of her golf cart.

"I was hoping to catch you before you left, Mei pointed me this direction. I'll be quick, I promise, I'm sure you want to get home, but I wanted to say thank you." Harlow could see the tips of Amanda's ears flush almost as pink as her hair. "This was my first big project, I've been an assistant writer for years and I knew I was overreaching in my writing, but-"

"It was a better ending." Harlow cut in, hoping to keep the conversation short. "Much better than what they originally went with."

"Well, yes, I agree," Amanda snorted, "but I wanted to thank you specifically for telling Mr. Dawson - your dad - to have me be part of the rewrite."

"Oh." Harlow said, having not expected that. "Well of course you should've been part of it, it was your idea."

"Yes, but there were far more senior writers that could've fixed up what you and Mr. Lynch did. You didn't have to bring up my name. But I'm grateful you did." Amanda's smile was small but honest, and Harlow was shocked to see what an impact she could have on another person. She had heard fans say it a million times - that they were her biggest fan and she had personally impacted their lives - but she only believed it so much after hearing the exact same thing for so long. But this was the first time Harlow heard it from someone she knew personally. Someone she worked with whose talent she could support.

"Anyway, that was it." Amanda cut into Harlow's silent thoughts and put her hand out for a handshake. "I know it's premature, but I've loved working with you. I hope we get to do it again soon."

"Me too." Harlow shook Amanda's hand, watching Amanda head back to the golf cart before she got into her car, the space silent the moment she closed her door. It was too quiet, Harlow felt, she needed noise to fill her head so she turned on the car and blasted the radio on whatever local station had the loudest music and began the drive back to her house. Refusing to be alone with her thoughts, when Harlow got home, she turned on the TV, finding an old movie to watch as she tried to settle in for a nap, but when she closed her eyes, all she could see was the way her father had looked at her when she pleaded with him. 

She had promised herself all those years ago that she wouldn't ask for help. That she had gotten herself into the mess so she needed to get herself out of it, too. She had never once used it as a bargaining tool but that day had felt bigger than her. Like she needed to do whatever she could to make the script revision happen.

But she hated the way her father had looked at her. It was too familiar.

"You wouldn't have been able to help." Harlow tried to assuage her father's guilt. "You've been super busy in England trying to stand up your production company, I completely get it. I've been doing this long enough that I should've known better."

"Your mom would hate me for this." Dean answered after a long pause, looking at his daughter with a cutting sincerity. "She would have expected me to notice something was happening and drop everything to help you."

"I could never ask that of you." Harlow argued. "Besides, I'm an actor, I didn't want you to notice anything was happening." She tried to lighten the mood with a joke but it was weak and overplayed. "I'm fine, dad." She grabbed his hand and forced him to look at her. "I got what I deserved. I knew better and I still did it."

Dean hadn't liked that response, Harlow remembered behind closed eyes. He pinched his lips to one side and tilted his head, a classic sign D.K. Dawson had thoughts he didn't know how to express, just like he had looked earlier that day. She remembered that look. It lived in her memory like a scar: the way his expression folded in on itself, not out of anger, not even disappointment, but grief. Not for what had happened, but for all the ways he hadn't stopped it. For all the ways he hadn't been there.

Harlow shifted on the couch, pulling a blanket over herself without taking her eyes off the movie flickering in front of her. She didn't even know what it was but she let it run. Anything to keep the silence from closing in.

She thought about Roy's impending departure. About Tom's voice on the other end of the night. About Amanda's flushed gratitude, about the studio lights, the pins in her hair, the old tattoo she'd buried, the new one that meant nothing. So much of her life had been about pretending. Pretending to be someone else, pretending nothing hurt, pretending she was fine.

But that morning, she hadn't been pretending. Not when she asked for help. Not when she pushed for the rewrite. Not when her voice cracked and her eyes blurred and she let herself just fall into every feeling. To just be Harlow.

Maybe that was what being better looked like. Not being fine all the time, but being honest. At least a little.

She closed her eyes again, her breathing starting to even out. She didn't know if she would sleep. But for the first time in a long time, she wasn't opposed to the idea.