The jackhammer that has been working away in my head all morning seems to be increasing in intensity. I can’t believe we’ve been going over the same scene for the last hour.

Every time I think it’s been a take, Derrick insists it needs to be done again.

Rehearsals have never been this hard.

Last time, he didn’t like the vase on the kitchen table with flowers, which only ended up there because ten minutes earlier, he had insisted the kitchen needed to look a little brighter. Not to mention the number of times we have to stop to prompt Ian for his lines.

I will need to go and find aspirin or something similar on the next break; there’s no way I’m going to get through the day with this massive headache.

“You’re meant to be annoyed. The line is ‘Why does he get all the fun?’ It’s not hard.” I call to Ian and stomp closer to the set.

This man is really driving me up the wall. A cockroach would be more useful right now than this bumbling excuse for an actor.

I see Ian glare at me. There’s something else in his eyes, something I haven’t seen before.

“If you bothered to learn your lines, we wouldn’t need to stop every five seconds.” I flick through the pages on my e-reader.

“Brad comes in and picks on you,” I tell him, looking at the script.

Scott chuckles, and Brad whispers something to him. Briefly, I’m distracted and lose my momentum.

“And then,” I say and turn my attention back on Ian. “And then you say the seven itty-bitty words I just told you.” I lower my device and put one hand on my hips. “Brad and Scott are able to learn their lines and do the take without interruption. Why can’t you?”

Perhaps I have overstepped my mark, but I can’t keep my anger bottled up any longer. Someone has to tell this pompous ass he is useless like tits on a bull.

“Scott and Brad.” Ian mimics me.

My insides feel as though they are going to boil over.

“Instead of being the idiot on the set, you should focus on your acting. I mean, have you even read and studied your lines, or do you just turn up to annoy us?”

“Like you three studied lines the other day at lunch?”

My brow furrows, and I count to three before I feel I can open my mouth again.

“We all know who the blind piece in the gossip column was about, don’t we?” Ian continues.

I don’t want to lose self-control, but at the same time, I cannot let Ian get away with this. If the vase had still been standing on the kitchen table of the set, I would reach for it now, but one of the prop guys has moved it already.

Before I can say or do anything, Scott’s fist collides with Ian’s face.

“No need to get personal,” he hisses at Ian who crumples into a heap on the floor.

He doesn’t stay down long.

Quick as lightning, Ian is on his feet again and lunges at Scott.

Scott is nimble on his feet, and he avoids the forward-moving Ian.

It’s Brad who receives a wayward swing from Ian’s flailing arms.

I scream. Chairs are being pushed over; one of the lights crashes onto the floor, and splinters of glass explode on impact and scatter across the set.

“Stop it,” I yell into the chaos.

Brad swings a left-handed hook at Ian’s chin.

Ian ducks, and it is Brad who is unbalanced.

The spindly figure of Ian lunges at Brad, spurred by some invisible force. His arms wrap around his waist, and it appears as if he’s trying to push him across the set.

Scott comes to Brad’s assistance.

For a few seconds, I can’t work out what is happening. Three bodies go tumbling onto the floor. Prop guys are moving quickly between the fighting men to move precious filming equipment out of the way.

“Stop it,” I scream again. There’s no denying I enjoy seeing Ian get his ass kicked, but I know violence doesn’t solve anything.

I turn to Derrick. “Do something,” I demand from the director, who so far has not moved out of his chair.

With four large strides, he is at the rolling mass of bodies.

I’m not sure how he manages to separate the bundles of testosterone, but he does.

Ian is breathing hard, and blood is trickling down his chin. His lip is split, and I can see a bruise forming around his right eye.

Makeup will have their work cut out to get him ready for filming.

“Gentlemen.” Derrick keeps his hand on Ian, who looks like he wants to kill Brad and Scott. “Let’s take a break. We need to clean up the set.”

He makes no comment about the incident or what consequences will flow from it. I admire his calm manner. The man is a total professional.

I see Ian hesitate.

He turns to leave.

“You’ll be sorry.” His comment is directed at me.

I feel Brad come to stand to my left, and Scott to my right.

“You’ll be sorry you insulted me. Ed will hear about this, and you’ll be sorry.”

I take a step forward toward Ian. He doesn’t scare me.

“Newsflash, dickhead,” I yell at him. “I’m already sorry I’m in this mess. I’m sorry I have to work with you.”

I watch him leave.

Part of me wants to laugh. I know I should take his threat seriously, but with his fat lip, he sounded less than threatening.

His words did not come out clear, and he just looked pathetic and not menacing at all.

I feel Brad’s hand on my shoulders.

I turn toward them.

“You okay?”

I nod. Now that I see the total destruction of the set, the seriousness of what just happened descends on me like a giant weight.

Ed won’t be happy.

This won’t be the last of it either. And he will use this to pressure me into killing one of my men.