4

A CROWDED SCENE ON A BUSY LOS ANGELES SIDEWALK. GRADUALLY, THE CAMERA FOCUSES ON A YOUNG WOMAN WALKING TOWARDS IT. SHE IS WEARING A SHORT, BRIGHTLY PATTERNED SKATER SKIRT, A CROP TOP AND ALL STARS. HER LONG AUBURN HAIR IS TIED UP INFORMALLY WITH A LOOSE CHIFFON SCARF. SHE IS WEARING SUNGLASSES, MULTIPLE EARRINGS AND A BELLY STUD. AS SHE GETS CLOSER TO THE CAMERA SHE TURNS AND WALKS UP A SET OF STEPS TO AN OFFICE ENTRANCE. WE SEE HER TALK INTO AN ENTRYPHONE, AND WE SEE THE NAME “MARK RYMAN PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS’ ON THE BUZZER. SHE WALKS INTO THE BUILDING. THE CAMERA CONTINUES TO TRACK HER FROM THE REAR. WE SEE HER APPROACH A RECEPTION SPACE, THEN TURN RIGHT. THE RECEPTIONIST JUMPS UP AFTER HER.

MARK – Well, as long as you’re dressed like that, we can’t go on calling you Paul can we?…hmm…you look kinda like a girl I used to see when I was back in college. Whaddya think about being a Debbie for a little while?

-

We’d started filming just a couple of weeks after the audition. Within 24 hours I’d fallen completely and utterly in love with filmmaking. When I wasn’t directly acting, I’d be with the lighting guys, asking them about how they set up their equipment, or the camera technicians talking about angles and set ups. And that moment when the director called “Action” and the cameras began to roll, it was as though a portal had been opened into a whole other world. It had been too long since I’d left stage school, too long waiting tables. I was back in my element now.

That’s not to say it wasn’t hard work. With Rachel away on location, the studio had set me up for the duration of the shoot in a hotel in Beverley Hills. I’d get picked up by a car at seven in the morning to go into the studio, and rarely got back before nine. A quick supper via room service and then more often than not, I’d facetime Meg for a long chat before I went to bed, to be repeated the next day. Since I’d opened up to Meg about how I felt we’d become even closer. She’d listen, fascinated, as I described how shooting had gone each day and I’d taken to sending her regular progress photos - sometimes me in costume, sometimes Ryan and other members of the cast. We were scheduled to shoot a pilot episode over ten days, with a view to it going out across a number of networks in a couple of months. Depending on the reaction to that, we had scripts for a series of ten episodes.

-

A STUDIO APARTMENT IN ONE OF THE LESS ATTRACTIVE LA SUBURBS. DEBBIE IS SAT AT A SMALL CHIPBOARD VANITY UNIT APPLYING HER MAKE UP. SHE IS WEARING A LONG, FLORAL PRINT SATIN ROBE. A KNOCK AT THE DOOR. DEBBIE OPENS IT ON THE CHAIN, CHECKS WHO IS THERE, AND LETS MARK IN. HE LOOKS AT HER, RAISING AN EYEBROW.

HE STARTS TO LEAVE. DEBBIE WALKS HIM OUT ONTO THE SMALL STAIR LANDING OUTSIDE HER APARTMENT DOOR. HE SAYS GOODBYE. DEBBIE STEPS BACK INSIDE, CLOSES THE DOOR, AND LEANS BACK AGAINST IT, HER PALMS FLAT AGAINST THE WOODEN SURFACE, LOST IN THOUGHT. MARK WALKS DOWN THE STAIR AND EXITS THE BUILDING. HE STOPS OUTSIDE AND LOOKS BACK UP TOWARDS DEBBIE’S APARTMENT. THEN HE MOVES AWAY, INTO THE NIGHT.

-

On the third day of filming the lighting rig went down and Mike told us to take an early lunch whilst the technicians tried to fix it. I’d been shooting a scene with Ryan and he suggested we head off to grab a bite to eat. We walked across to the studio canteen. I smiled – the clientele were a surrealistically diverse group of actors and extras from the assorted films currently in production on the site and reminded me of seeing the two French Revolution ladies chatting on the day of my audition. I told Ryan the story. “That’s nothing.” he grinned “Last week a couple of elves were busted in here for crashing their Maserati into an Apollo lunar module.”
I giggled, and he went on.
“Anyway. How’s Hollywood, then, so far?”
“Fantastic. But I guess it takes longer than three days to get to know the place.”
He smiled. “You’ve made a great start. All the technicians love you already just for taking an interest in what they’re doing. It’s unusual to have an actor like that.”
I shrugged “It’s just so interesting finding out how it all comes together.” I took a sip of coffee. “How about you? How did you get into the business?”
“Used to be a carpenter. Had a buddy on the site I was working on wanted to be an actor. Always talking about nothing else. He turned up one day saying there were some auditions going on. I dared him to go, and he said he would if I went along as well.”
“And it was you that got the part?”
“Yup. Bit awkward the next day back on the site. But he was fine. We still see each other.”
“You still do any woodwork?”
“Yeah, I bought some land up in the hills in Montana. I’ve been building my own place up there. Slow going though – need to do less acting but it’s hard to turn down the bread.” He grinned again.
I hesitated before asking my next question. “Listen. You know my background, right?”
He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“That I’m trans.”
He shrugged, questioningly “Yeah?”
There was a moment’s silence before he went on “Sorry. I thought you were going to ask me another question?...”
“No. That was it.” I looked up from my coffee at him. He was sitting with his back to the window, partly in silhouette. He sat square and upright; broad shouldered, grounded. Like the world could go to pieces around him and he’d just get on with his day, unphased. I could see how he’d been a carpenter.
Just then a rumble of thunder passed overhead and the tin canteen roof reverberated to the arrival of the rain.
“Shit. Looks like we’re gonna get wet on the way back.” We moved to the doorway to survey the torrential downpour outside. “Here.” He handed me his jacket. “This’ll keep the worst of it off you. Shall we make a run for it?”
He grabbed my free hand as I held his jacket over my head and we dashed off into the rain, whooping. We were back at the studio in probably less than a minute, but Ryan was still soaking wet. His coat had saved me from too much damage. He ran his hand through his hair and then shook it to remove the water. I handed him his jacket back. “Thanks.” Instinctively I reached up on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He held his fingers up to where I’d left a trace of lipstick, muttered something I couldn’t make out, and disappeared into the studio.