Strictly Behind the Scenes

ChapterTwo

The light cloud of dust settled as quickly as it formed. Elle laid on her chest in the dirt, the damp patches on her shirt and pants now embedded with tiny pebbles and dust particles.

She stayed down, too exhausted to pick herself up.

“Sorry, let's get you up,” She latches on to the bicep of the arm stretched out to help her up. As she is pulled to her feet a sharp pain courses through her elbow, leaving a warm sensation.

She brushes her hand across the length of her pants and sleeves, brows scrunched in concentration.

She let out a grunt as she raised her head to see Henry standing a few inches near her, his sight set on the red liquid that had begun to flow down her forearm to her fingertips.

Out of the corner of her eyes she sees Micheal stomping away, but she doesn't think much of it and continues scrubbing her clothes.

“Let me help you take care of that.”

Elle shook her head. “No, thanks, it.. it's not necessary, I’ll clean it up myself.”

“But you'll bleed on your shirt, we wouldn't want that,” he inched closer, a worried look in his eyes and his hand deep in his pants pocket digging for something he could use to get her clean.

“Here. I can tell you're not comfortable with me, but please just use it to clean up.”

She stretched her hands to take the handkerchief he offered. “Thanks,” she flashed a small smile, with Henry reciprocating.

Well, I have to be with Micheal right now, bye,” She immediately adjusts her clothes and speedily walks across the field to the set.

With careful steps, she walked into the air-conditioned building, quickly scanning the vast building for Michael.

She finds him sitting at the vanity, a slender woman gliding a makeup brush along his face and neck while he glances through the thick booklet in his hands.

Taking long strides, she moves in his direction, taking deep breaths while muttering assurances to herself.

A few steps to her destination, her body goes rigid.

The makeup lady was now whispering into Micheal’s ears, her palm cupping one side of his face and the other placed on his lap to support her weight as she leaned in.

The act itself, though alarming, wasn't what affected her.

What made her stop in her tracks was the piercing glance they both shared, looking straight at her while they gossiped and the loud cackle that followed.

Elles' thoughts ran a marathon. Her hand formed a fist so tight her fingers dug into her palm.

In her mind she wondered what would make them give her that mocking stare, that condescending laugh, the mystery gnawing at her.

She released a shaky exhalation, she had to push away the uncertainty and concentrate on getting her job done, she couldn't confront him now anyway.

So she suppressed her raging feelings and made her way to Micheal’s side.

“It's time for your shoot.”

“And who are you speaking to in that way?”

“W…what?” Elle responds in a whisper, her brows furrowed and eyes narrowed at his outburst.

“I didn't stutter.”

She felt like she was dreaming. This was routine; she’d inform him when it was time to shoot his scenes and escort him to the appropriate set stage.

But here he was blowing up on her like her actions were an anomaly. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and collected herself, carefully selecting the best words to use in the situation.

“I'm sorry if I came off as disrespectful.”

“If? Oh, quit trying to be modest, you knew exactly what you were doing. Take accountability for your senseless actions.”

Elle's hand balled into a fist once more, the fingers now picking at the scabs on her palm as she melted in place, tongue-tied.

She could feel the set freeze in time once more, the hum of hair dryers and industrial fans spread through the room as the building went silent.

“Yes, yes. I am sorry for….”

“Ugh, another apology. When will you start being useful?”

Elle’s lips opened and closed like a fish in water, nothing but air passing through them. A thin sheet of tears spread over her iris.

“Useful?” Her voice came out barely audible, each syllable accompanied by a whimper.

“We both know you're a mess,” his tone was sharp as a rock as he leaned into the chair, “Can’t wait to be done with this so I can hire someone who can properly manage talent.”

Now she could feel the glances graduate into blatant stares, ears perked up like antennas ready to soak in every bit of the drama unfolding.

“You can't do that.”

He gave a light shrug, the sparkle in his eyes that once enchanted her now replaced with a cold stare filled with pure resentment.

“I can do whatever I want, and please, when you are ready to shed those tears, do it outside. I don't need any distraction.”

Elle immediately felt her body warm up, a surge of unfiltered sadness and frustration flushed over her. This didn't feel like a script anymore, and she knew it even if she badly wanted to deny it.

Her insides bubbled, and she felt like she’d burst at any moment. With her body on autopilot, she twirled on her toes and began to put distance between herself and Micheal, each step heavier than the last.

“Come back here, I am not done with you,” Her legs didn't stop moving, neither did the strings of threats that followed slow her down.

“Calm down Mike, calm down,” She bit down on her lip on hearing the nickname echo from a distance. Choosing not to put a face to the female voice, she didn't turn back.

Two seconds more and she’d have snapped. She could feel the frustration bubble over, her palm tightening with every word he said. She swore she’d always be professional in her workplace and she wasn't about to let Micheal ruin her streak.

As she neared the exit, a pair of worried eyes traced her steps. She didn't need to look to know who they were. The piercing gaze made her wobble in her heels a little, but she caught herself as she strutted into the sunset.