In Love With The Wrong Simpson

Chapter 2

People often say acting is one of the best jobs available. Though they’re not completely wrong, they only think so for all the wrong reasons. Sure, if you’re lucky, it pays well. Yeah, for certain opportunities, you may end up on TV. But all of these silly people spouting their hopes and dreams are forgetting one key factor: the craft service table.

For anyone who is unfamiliar with what a craft service table is, let me paint you a picture: imagine all the exotic fruit you can name, and double the amount. Think of all the junk food you could manage to stuff inside of you on your cheat day, all beside platters filled with the healthiest foods that would put Jessica Simpson to shame. And all of this is completely at your disposal. In fact, if you play your cards right and know when to go for it, you can practically be getting payed for eating until your stomach feels like it will explode.

Currently, I am acting in a commercial for an insurance company. Though as you may have guessed, this is not exactly my topic of concern. To be quite frank, I would rather be working at a damn Chuck E. Cheese and cleaning up people’s puke than be acting. But alas, my parents are actors, their parents were actors, and they’ll all be damned if their only grandchild will not continue on the legacy.

There are many reasons acting is so terrible to me. For one, being expected to execute your lines in a perfect fashion while multiple balding adults stare into the depths of your soul is a bit intimidating to say the least. 10 hour days, a few port-a-potty bathrooms, and the occasional perverted old director are just some of the many reasons why I am in hell while on set.

Honestly, the worst part is that I am forced to go to a public school. Now, I’m sure public school is great and all… if you’re not an actress and/or the daughter of two famous movie stars. To say that I’m an outcast is quite the understatement.

So, as I am contemplating how miserable my life is and am chowing down on bags of chips during my break, I am interrupted by my phone ringing. Given that I so rudely hung up on Adriana last night, I can only imagine who is calling me.

I decide not to pick up. Maybe I can tell him I was in the middle of a shoot.

ring ring

He calls back again. And then a second time. Finally, I give up and pick up.

“Hey, Cody.”

“Hey, this is the third time I called you. Where were you?”

I don’t see why it matters where I was, seeing as my phone is always with me. But instead I say, “Sorry, we were still shooting.”

“I thought you told me you always had a break at 3,” he countered.

I looked around momentarily and made eye contact with one of the boys on set before averting my gaze. “Well, one of the shots was messed up so I was asked to reshoot something.” I bit my lip, wanting desperately for this excruciatingly painful conversation to be over.

He was silent for a moment on the other end. “Alright.”

Neither of us said anything for a good moment or two. I allowed myself to sneak a glance back to the boy on set. He was still looking at me, smiling. I finally returned his smile with a small one of my own, before turning completely around and pressing the phone harder to my ear.

“So… how are you? Did you need anything?” I ask.

“Yeah, there’s this party tonight. I was wondering if you’d want to come.” He paused. “You know… as my date.”

In a sense, it was almost comedic how awkward our relationship was. I mean, we have been dating for what, a year now? And yet we seem to be stuck in the cringe filled stage people like middle schoolers are always stuck in. Though in our defense, we haven’t always been like this. There was a time when dating Cody actually felt...nice. Lord knows what has happened since then.