The Strong Silent Type (Kevin Costner fanfiction)

Atoll Resident 89

The sun was not even a sliver over the horizon before Cecilia found herself on the 101, headed for Studio City for her first day of filming.

In her lifetime, she was late for almost every commitment, but today, she was two hours early.

"I need to mentally prepare myself, I think. Kinda like how an aviophobe would go to an airshow before a flight. The worst that could go wrong has already gone wrong inside my mind. It's all about conquering the fear with imagination alone, and expelling all the bad energy via meditation."

"More like medication. No offense, hon, but you sound like a total hippie." Jennifer replied at the wheel with stifled laughter.

"Don't question my methods!" Cecilia teased.

As she rolled up to the curb outlying the building, an indescribable anxiety began to take root in the deepest pits of Cecilia's bowels.

"Good luck, babygirl." Jennifer declared assuringly with a bare face, her hands at 10 and 2.

"Thanks for the ride, bitch. I owe you one." Cecilia replied as she closed the car door.

"Don't sweat it." She assured. "It's a good thing it's dark out, so no one can see me without makeup!"

"Oh please. You're fucking gorgeous. It's a good thing I'm not lesbo or I would be your stalker, fool."

Jennifer laughed and drove off.

Cecilia sat down on the curbside and took out the collapsable mirror from her backpack and checked her face. Another actress had once recommended to her light makeup, makeup so sheer and naturally pigmented that it was nearly indistinguishable from her pale nude face.

In the mirror she briefly admired her strawberry blonde hair that always seemed to look better unbrushed and her wide set brown eyes that sometimes looked green in the sun. It took her years to learn to love herself, and now that she does, she's perfected the art of making herself look effortless, and she's proud of it.

She even plucked a fresh cigarette from the box and lit one up under a sinking moon. Smoking was a pleasure reserved only for moments marked indelibly by the throws of stress.

The studio agent, Michelle, had given specific directions to her over the phone last week. The extras would meet on a backlot near the entrance gates at 7 am for a quick rundown before filming.

The only thing she knew about the film was the title of her assigned role, Atoll Resident 89.

She had played an extra for various student directed films and minor producers since she was in high school, but this was the first for a major motion picture.

She had a measly two hours to evade prying security guards and to bask in her own existential dread.

Do I look promising?

Is there potential in me?

Am I malleable?

These kind of questions raced through her mind in her idle time. She wondered what first impressions she evoked in the perceptions of strangers, especially ones in suit and ties, as the stars began to fade out with the rising of our closest star.

Suddenly, Cecilia heard what sounded like a large metal door slamming. She quickly put out her cigarette in the concrete and swept it under a crevice with her foot. Nonchalantly, she looked over at the source of the sound, which came from beyond the gate.

Two men appeared aggrieved and in the midst of conversation.

"You're hounding me." One said, while adjusting the tilt of his glasses.

"I need you to trust the vision," The other said, apparently dressed in costume. "Who's the one that's been here every morning?"

"I care about this project just as much as you do. You have to realize that we aren't carrying equal weight at this point."

Cecilia turned her head back around towards the parking lot. She had an uneasy feeling as if she was listening to something she wasn't supposed to be hearing.

She attempted to subvert their talk by instead watching the last of the night's stars fade into the blue.