Will the Real Abi Sanders Please Stand Up? (6 page)

“Okay,” I say, following her.

We take the stairs to the next level, to a part of the building I haven’t been to before. At the end of the corridor there are a set of double doors, which Tilly pushes open, taking us into a practice room. The back wall is mirrored, and there are practice bars all around the other walls.

“Mats are over there,” Tilly says, pointing to where there are a few standing in the corner. “And they call this place a movie studio,” she adds, scanning the room. “Just look at it.”

I don’t reply, just run to the corner, pick up a mat, and bring it over, unrolling it and laying it on the floor. Then I take off my shoes and stand in the middle. Tilly does the same. I’m not sure exactly what she wants to know. Whether it’s just basic stuff, like how to stand, or what.

“Stand with your feet apart and your knees slightly bent.”
Yay, no stutter.

“I know that,” Tilly snaps, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “I’m not a total idiot.”

This whole situation is just weird. Here I am, facing someone I’ve worshipped for most of my life, and instead of it being the best time ever, it’s turning into a nightmare. I know on screen it’s all acting. But how can she be so totally different from the characters she plays and yet so convincing? It’s crazy.

“S-s-sorry.”
Crap.

“Show me how to kick. The roundabout kick.”

A laugh escapes my lips, and my hand shoots up to cover my mouth.

“What’s so funny?” Tilly demands, her eyes narrow.

“Nothing. It’s called the roundhouse kick.” I chew on my bottom lip. And wait for snarky comment. Except it doesn’t come.

“Show me.” Tilly stands opposite me, in the correct starting position, concentration etched across her perfect, porcelain-skinned face.

I’ve been training juniors for a while, so I decide to treat it like that. I’m not facing a Hollywood star. She’s just someone who wants to learn about kickboxing. And if she wants to get it right, she needs to do as I say. I shake out my arms and stand with my legs slightly apart and bent.

“The roundhouse is a turning kick. Lift your knee up and out, like this.” I show her, maintaining the first position. “And then twist your hip toward your target and flick your upper shin out.” I kick out into the air. “You try. Aim at my leg.”

Tilly lifts her knee, but her hips aren’t flexible, and she misses me by miles.

“Like this.” I face her, twist, and kick out at the same time she moves slightly forward, and I catch her on the thigh.

“Ouch,” Tilly cries, leaning over and rubbing her leg.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Why the hell wasn’t I more careful? She’s gonna really have it in for me now.

“I’m fine,” Tilly says waving her arm dismissively. “Just go.”

I do as she says, but not before catching the grimace on her face out the corner of my eye.

Just when I was starting to feel a little more confident in front of her.

Chapter Five

“Ouch,” I whimper.

“Well, keep still. I told you, this is delicate work,” Mel, our makeup girl (or should I say sadist), snaps.

What I want to know is why no one’s ever seen fit to tell me we have hairs on our ears? Okay, it might not be a topic of everyday conversation, but you’d have thought someone would’ve mentioned it. I had no idea, having never seen the hairs on mine, which is hardly surprising since they’re so fine you’d need a magnifying glass to notice them. Knowing would’ve prepared me for the excruciating pain Mel is putting me through each time she adjusts my fairy ears. Then again, if I had known, it would’ve given me something extra to worry about.

I haven’t seen Tilly since our kickboxing lesson. Is it naïve to wonder if, now that I helped her, she doesn’t totally hate me? I hope she’s recovered from the kick, though. It wasn’t that hard—the same light-contact kick I would use with new junior kickboxing students sparring for the first time—so I’m sure she’ll be okay.

Finally, or should that be frighteningly, I’m going to be doing some real, filmed stand-in work for Tilly. We’re on location in the Hills, and it’s taking hours to get me ready. I’ve been in the make-up trailer since five in the morning, and I’m telling you, if I don’t get out of this chair soon, I’ll pee my pants.

As for what they’ve done to my broken nose, it’s incredible. Mel’s assistant has been working on me for a long time, including adding silicone to the sides—to flatten it, she said, and give it the appearance of being smaller. Well, I’m all for that, but it was a bit worrying when she covered half my face with something that looked remarkably like the filler Dad uses at home to fix holes in the wall. And now my face feels all stiff. I wonder if this is what Botox is like. But I can’t deny that the end result is perfect.

“Sorry, Mel.”

“Abi. This is the
real
side of movie work. Lots of hanging around waiting to be called on set. Hours in make-up. Nothing like people imagine. So if you want to make a career of this, I suggest you get used to it. And…” she narrows her eyes slightly. “Learn to keep still.”

A career of it? She’d never believe me if I told her that, up until a few weeks ago, a career in the movies was the furthest thing from my dreams as was possible. Now? It’s anyone’s guess.

“Sorry, Mel.”

“Don’t keep saying sorry. If you want to survive here, you’ve got to stand up for yourself and not keep apologizing for everything. No one will respect you for it.” She gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’re a good kid. Remember that. And take no notice of anything Tilly says.”

That’s easy for her to say. It will be hard not to take notice of Tilly. And what’s with the
stand up for yourself
bit? Doesn’t she know I get enough of that talk when I’m at home or with Liv and Matt? What I’m doing now, actually being a stunt double, is me standing on my own two feet and pushing myself further than I’ve ever been before, and that includes the kickboxing.

“I’ll try,” I say, trying to stop the grimace from showing on my face as yet another ear hair is pulled.

Mel turns her head. “Bring over the wig,” she calls to her assistant.

She swings around the chair I’m sitting in so I can no longer see my reflection, and then takes hold of a wig that is very long and very dark, almost black, and a replica of the one Tilly has been wearing in her scenes. She stretches out the rubbery head-cap. While she’s pulling it over my head, she accidentally catches my scalp with her nail, which hurts big-time, but I bite on my bottom lip to keep from calling out, determined to keep my game face on.

In my peripheral vision, I notice Mel’s assistant staring at me. Actually, more than staring, gaping—her eyes are wide and her mouth is open.

What’s wrong? I hope my nose hasn’t slipped. Or the ears. Just the thought of having to have them reapplied today is causing me to break out in hives. Tomorrow is soon enough to experience this process again.

Mel must also catch sight of her staring, because she glares at her. “Call wardrobe and say Abi’s on her way, then go to the supplies cupboard and stock up.”

“Okay,” Mel says, changing the subject. “Let’s get you to wardrobe. You know where it is?” She takes hold of my arm and helps me off the chair, marching me toward the door. So I don’t even get chance to see what I look like.

“Yes. But I’m just going to go to the bathroom and grab a quick breakfast, if that’s okay?”

“Okay? Of course it’s not okay. For goodness sake. Didn’t you listen to anything I said? This isn’t a playground. We’re on a tight schedule. You have to be on set by eight. Which is in precisely…” She glances down at her watch. “Which is in precisely twenty minutes. Go to the bathroom, if you must, then get your butt over to wardrobe. Breakfast can wait.” She shakes her head then turns on her heel and walks toward the sink.

I pull out a half-eaten chocolate bar from my bag and shove it down while half walking and half jogging to the bathroom. I go as quickly as I can, cursing the faded spot on the wall where a mirror used to hang over the sink, then high-tail it to wardrobe.

“I don’t have much time. I’m due on set soon,” I say.

Fran from wardrobe waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. They’re bound to be running late.”

Fran’s so relaxed compared to Mel, but I’ll stick with what Mel says, just be sure. I don’t want to get a reputation for being a bad worker.

“Yes, but I don’t want to risk it.”

Fran strides over to one of the rails, which is crammed full of costumes, and takes the one hanging on the end. She pulls off the cover to reveal not
just
a dress, but a freakin’ gorgeous dress with a pale blue bodice, tiny diamond drops around the neckline, and a long handkerchief skirt in a deep midnight blue. It has to be the most amazing outfit ever—and this coming from someone who’d rather wear jeans than anything showing legs any day of the week.

“What do you think? Fit for a fairy princess?” She takes hold of the skirt at the bottom and stretches it out so the intricate pattern on the lace is visible.

“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” I gasp.

“You won’t,” Fran replies, a smile tugging at her lips. “I made it especially for the movie.”

“Wow. I love it.”

“It wasn’t easy, though.” Fran shakes her head. “I wanted to capture the essence of the myth without compromising the contemporary feel. Of course, you’ve got to be able to do all the action scenes, so you need plenty of leg room.”

“What happens if the costumes get damaged?”

“We’ll take the replacement cost out of your wages, so you best make sure you don’t ruin it.” She gives me a threatening glare over the rims of her boxy black glasses, snapping her gum in my direction.

That’s all I need. Instead of them paying me, I could end up owing them money by the end of the shoot.“I-I-I won’t. I mean, I’ll try not to, but, you know, what I have to do… it isn’t easy and…”

“Abi. Abi. Stop. I was kidding.” She can’t finish because she’s giggling so much.

“Oh. I didn’t realize. I thought you meant it.” I start to laugh and hope she can’t tell it’s forced. Because inside I’m not really laughing. I’m just feeling stupid.

“You need to lighten up and not take everything so seriously. Or you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“Sorry.”

“Accidents happen. We expect them to. We’ve got four of these dresses all identical to each other. Two for you and two for Tilly. Which means if one gets damaged you can wear the other one while we make repairs. Come on, let’s get this on, since you don’t want to be late.” She hands me the dress. “Don’t forget this.” She holds out a skin-tone, strapless, padded bra.

“Thanks.”

“It fits like a normal bra, only it’s got silicone inserts to give you curves like Tilly. Call me when you’ve got it on so I can adjust it to the correct shape.”

“Okay.”

After Fran adjusts the bra, which is so embarrassing since it pretty much involves her getting to second base several times over, I pull on the dress. It fastens at the front with tiny, dark blue pearl buttons that are so small it takes me forever to do them. I’m going to be really late, I know it.

“Abi, hurry up. Do you need help?” Even Fran is sounding anxious now, which starts my heart racing.

“I’m coming.” I quickly slip on the matching blue flats Fran gave me and step out into the room and walk towards her. She holds her hand up to her mouth.

“Abi, look at you. Just look at you.” Her eyes are wide and sparkly, unless it’s a magnifying trick of her reading glasses, as she wheels a mirror across the floor and pushes it in front of me.

My heart’s thumping loudly in my ears. This is what I’ve been waiting to see all morning.

Oh. My. God.

My eyes wide, I step gingerly toward the mirror until I’m only an arm’s length away and stare. This is so weird, it’s screwing with my head. How can it be? That reflection isn’t me. Definitely not me.

It’s Tilly.

I am Tilly.

Even down to the nose, which I keep going on about, it’s just like…well, just like hers. I now have a perfectly shaped nose, thanks to the silicone prosthetic. I’ve wanted a perfect nose since forever, and now I have one.

It’s insane.

“Well?” Fran’s excited voice reminds me I’m not alone. “What do you think?”

“I have no words.” And I don’t.

Never in a million years did I imagine they’d be able to make me look like Tilly. It’s just crazy. I’d love to get out my phone and take a selfie, but there isn’t time and Fran might not approve.

“You better get going,” she reminds me as she ushers me out the door.

It’s quite a hike to the set from the wardrobe trailer, so it’s another five minutes before I get there, by which time the excitement has got my heart pounding like crazy against my ribcage. I can’t wait to see what Vince and the others say when they see me.

Zac looks up when I approach, then almost immediately breaks out into a huge smile. He must be on something. Zac doesn’t do smiling. At least not in my direction. Not that he’s rude. Most of the time, he acts like I don’t exist. That I’m invisible. Which I guess I am to him. All he cares about is getting the shot in the can as quickly as possible.

He strides over to me like a man on a mission.

“Tilly, daaaarling,” he leans forward, rests his hands very gently on my shoulders and air kisses me on both cheeks. True European style. “I don’t need you yet. Not until later this morning.” He steps back and smiles. Again.

“It’s Abi,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, trying to suppress a giggle, because for him to think I’m Tilly is ridiculous. Though I can’t help but notice that I didn’t stutter. Is it because I’m so comfortable around Zac now, or is it because I’m dressed as Tilly? Either way, I like it.

He lifts his shades and rests them on top of his head, then looks back at me and shakes his head. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re a dead ringer for Tilly. I could always see a resemblance in your build and the way you walk, but this. And your nose… Mel’s certainly outdone herself.”

I don’t believe it. He’s actually being nice. Not sure I’m buying the resemblance between me and Tilly
before
this make-over, unless I’m not seeing something others are, since he isn’t the first person to say so. Whatever. I don’t care. The main thing is that now that they’ve transformed me, he’s pleased.