Christmas fell on a Friday so Greg wants us in on Saturday. I don’t mind and it’s my fault the schedule got pushed back to begin with. Besides, it gets my mind off the depressing holiday. We are so close to finishing. Only a couple more scenes and we’ll be through. Then maybe I’ll celebrate. I’m not sure how, because it’s still unclear to me if this film will be a success or a flop. Its success will have an impact on what kind of future roles I’ll be offered.

Holt comes in looking hungover as hell. He reeks of alcohol. Greg pulls him aside and has a few words with him. Then he comes over to me.

“I’ve decided to start the final scene today. The set is the same, only your lines will change.”

“Today? But I haven’t studied my lines.” I reel in astonishment.

He lightly taps my arm. “Yeah, well, Holt is a little under the weather as you probably noticed. We need to do the final bit where he doesn’t have to say much, other than lie there after he’s been shot. It’s all on you, baby. I’m sorry.”

He hands me my sides so I can get to work. I’m familiar with the lines, but this may not go as well as I want. Better start studying.

Once everything is in position, they call for Holt and me. He’s been identified as one of the bank robbers and is wanted by the police. We’ve driven to the station and I’m begging him not to turn himself in. He gets out of the car and two police officers recognize him. They call out and tell him to put his hands in the air. I hear and run out. He yells, “Get back in the car, Christine.” But I don’t listen. He doesn’t want me to get hurt, so he’s not paying attention to the officers. I am, though. They repeatedly tell him to get on the ground, but he won’t because he’s still telling me to get in the car. Then I scream as he reaches inside his jacket. But this time, tears gush down my face. I shout, “Listen to the cops, Finn. Do as they say.”

“I have a letter for Sammie and you.” By this time, the cops are swarming. They have no idea what he’s reaching for. All they know is he’s wanted for armed robbery and murder. Suddenly, shots ring out. Holt’s body jolts with the impact, then hits the ground. We’re shrouded in silence for a couple of moments. Then I scream. And scream. My shock dissolves as I run to him, where he lies, his life bleeding away. Glazed eyes meet mine, only no life remains in them. I break down on top of him, holding him. My body trembles as violent sobs take over, and the best thing about this particular scene is with him supposedly dead, he can’t hug me back.

“Cut.”

Leaning back on my knees, I look down at myself and say, “I hope that was good because I’m a fucking mess with all that fake blood.”

Holt groans and says, “Your fucking screaming killed my head.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much when you know you have to be at work at 5:00 a.m.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you back.”

“That’s all I’ve been trying to do, Midnight.”

The asshole actually smirks at me, which I find funny. I knock his shoulder before getting to my feet and striding away. Danny taps my arm and says, “That was perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I move over to Greg for confirmation. “We don’t need another take on that?”

“Fuck no. It was great.”

He runs over to check out the replay on it. About thirty minutes later he’s back telling me we’re good.

Holt hasn’t been allowed to get up yet, because we have one more scene to shoot. It’s me pulling the letter out of his jacket, the one the police thought was a gun. Then I go ballistic on the cops. That’s where the scene ends.

The final scene in the movie is when I read the letter from him. We’re filming that today too. Christine’s heart is torn to pieces when she finds that her husband saved all his money for them to have a clean getaway. But first we have to film them taking Holt’s body away in the ambulance.

I have to admit, when the cops try to drag me off his body, I’m pretty damn convincing as I yell at them.

“He didn’t have a gun! He came here to turn himself in! You murdered my husband! You shot a defenseless man!” Tears still gush down my cheeks.

“He was reaching for a weapon,” one argues.

“He was reaching for this!” And I pull out the letter and shake it in front of him. It has some of the fake blood on it. “How is this possibly a weapon?”

My face feels swollen from my tears. I hope it looks that way as well, because now I have a headache too.

A female cop helps me up as the ambulance arrives. I stand and watch as they put Holt’s body in one of those bags. As an actor, I’m not sure I could stand that. It’s completely gruesome to me and let’s not mention the claustrophobia. I have to hand it to Holt. He doesn’t flinch. Once the ambulance doors close, the scene cuts.

Greg and Danny seem almost giddy.

“Midnight, we want you to try for the final. Do you think you can do it? If not, that’s fine. The thing is, your face is perfect. It’s a fucked-up mess,” Greg says.

Ordinarily, I might be insulted, but he’s right. I check the sides and there’s nothing there, other than what’s in the letter. All I have to do is check it out and act like I’m reading it. They’ll do a voiceover with Holt and me actually reading it later in the studio.

“Yeah, since I don’t really have any lines, I don’t see why not.”

“That’s right,” Danny says. “All of that will be done in the studio. The thing is, we need you to look utterly grief stricken. Remember, the letter tells you of his rock bottom depression, how he never thought he could manage without the money, but how he saved the small nest egg for you. So you have to look shocked when you get to that part.”

“Got it.”

It takes what seems like an eternity to clear everything away from the car, so it’s just me sitting in it for the final scene. All I do is pull the letter out, stare at the bloodstained envelope for a few minutes, and then with trembling hands, pull the pages out.

I open them carefully, as though they mean the world to me, and slowly read them to myself, keeping in mind what it’ll sound like when the voiceover happens on film. Tears stream down my cheeks, which is getting old because all this crying has made me borderline migraine-ish, but I power through. The camera behind me zooms in over my shoulder to his written words, I will always love you and be with you forever, if not in this world, then the next. Your Finn.

The thought of losing a loved one nails me and I sob. Literally lose it. I hear Greg yell cut and a loud commotion behind me. Danny comes up to the car, but I can’t move.

“Hey, Midnight, you okay?” he asks.

I hold my hand in the air, asking for a moment. I need to pull my shit together or they’ll all think I’ve jumped into the crazy pool.

I snort back the tears and finally say, “Yeah. Yeah. Damn, I got into character on that one.”

Danny chuckles. “You got into character in every scene. It was phenomenal. And I mean that.”

I stand but my legs wobble. He doesn’t notice because of the happy cloud he’s on.

“That’s it for the day. You can go change out of that mess you’re wearing.”

I’d actually forgotten, given my headspace. “Good. Great. So, what happens next?”

“We wrap up Holt’s scene, and when he’s finished, the two of you can record the letter reading in the studio. And then we go into postproduction. But after Wednesday, you’re done filming Turned.”

“That sounds really weird.”

“It should feel good. But don’t get too cozy with the idea. Now that you have a break in your schedule, your agent can set up that audition for the screenplay I told you about. Rita has everything on it. It was only a matter of freeing up the time for you to do it.”

“Great. Thanks, Danny. For taking a chance on me.”

The letter reading doesn’t go as well as I’d hoped. Even though we’re just standing in front of a mic with headsets on, the emotions aren’t there. It’s set up where I begin the letter and then Holt takes over. My tone is appropriate, serious with as many sad elements as possible, but I end up having to do several takes because I stumble. I find this harder to do than acting on set. I have greater admiration for the people who do animation. I can’t imagine how difficult that would be.

Reading is hard. The damn letter is only two pages. Finn tells Christine how hard he tried over the last couple of years, but the darkness of depression got a hold of him and dragged him into a hole. He didn’t have the energy to pull himself out. Even though he tried, he saw how our lives would be better without him. He was afraid Sammie would grow up in a house with her mom and dad always arguing and that was the last thing he wanted. The money seemed a good way out. He figured he would give us half and we could make a new start somewhere. His intention was to leave us be, so we could be happy.

“You may think I left you without a dime, but that’s not true. I had a plan if things went south. I took out a life insurance policy six months ago. You and Sammie will be fine. Take the money and leave this town. Find somewhere nice, where she can grow up and have a good home. You know, a place where she’ll be happy and safe. Don’t wait, Christine. Do it now. Tomorrow at the latest.”

The letter ends with Finn telling Christine he’ll love her forever and beyond.

After we finish, I set the headset on the podium and smile at Holt. Then I walk out of the soundproof room we’re in. I want to shout at the top of my lungs, scream for joy. But there are only a couple of people here. It’s totally anticlimactic. And so will tonight be. Unless I call Helen.

On the way to my car I shoot her a text.

Guess who wrapped today?

She hits me back with Minnie Mouse?

How did you guess? I add a couple of laughing emojis.

So where are we celebrating tonight?

You pick.

Cool. Be at my place at seven.

I’m pretty sure I’ll be spending the night there. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. I wonder if she’s thought about that. She may have to work. Maybe we should postpone our celebration for a night. But when I think about it, no way will we find a place for dinner without a reservation with such short notice. Best we stick to our plan for tonight.

At seven, I roll into her parking lot. She’s all dressed up, and I’m in jeans.

“What the hell, Helen?”

“You said celebration, so I figured …”

“But damn. You look like you’re going to a premiere.”

“Yeah, about that. Can I get tickets to yours?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I’m not even sure how that works.”

She hooks her arm through mine because she says our Uber is here, and we’re out the door. On the way to the car, she says, “You’ll figure it out. You’re a big star now. I know Turned is going to be the film of the year. You watch.”

“I don’t know why you’re saying that, but if it is, I’m taking us on a trip somewhere.”

“Where?” Her eyes turn into circles reminding me of the moon. Helen had it rough growing up, though I don’t know the entire story. That’s the thing I adore about her. She’s not nosy and doesn’t dig at all. But I recognize things in her, the way her voice changes, the way her eyes dart around, and the way she pretends not to care about things when she does. She’s never traveled, like me. So who else would I want to take on a trip?

“I don’t know. Maybe Hawaii?” I say.

“What about Cabo? I’d like that too.”

“Why not both?”

She sucks in so much air, I’m afraid there won’t be any left for me.

“Really? You’d take me somewhere like that?”

“Yeah. What fun is there in going on a trip like that alone?”

“Well, none, I suppose.”

“So, that’s why you’re coming with me. Makes total sense, right?” I ask.

“Yeah, yeah, it does.”

We bump fists as we get in the car. Helen made reservations at a swanky restaurant. After, we hit one of her favorite clubs. I’m super leery because the last time I was in a club, it didn’t turn out so great.

“You know how uncomfortable I am with this, right?”

She slants a look at me. “I do. But you have to get over that. Here’s how it goes. You watch the bartender like a hawk when he makes your drink. Never take your eyes off it. Ever. If you set that sucker down, do not drink from it again. When you hold it, keep it in front of you so no one can slip something in it. If we dance, you don’t drink out of that drink again. We get new ones. Sometimes I hold my drink with one hand and cover it with the other.”

“You’re smarter than I am.”

“No, I have more street smarts.”

“You’ve been date-raped before.”

She squirms, looks away, then back at me. After one curt nod, she says, “Just remember what I told you.”

We dance and have a great time. I watch my alcohol consumption, because I’m extra cautious with my drinks. Little by little I find I’m enjoying myself. On the way back to Helen’s, she wants to know what’s going on with Harrison.

“I don’t know. Haven’t talked to him in a few days.”

“You should call him.”

“That’s not going to happen anytime soon.”

“He likes you. “

“That’s nice.”

“Really likes you.”

“And how would you know?”

“I just do. I can tell,” she says.

“Hmmph.” If he liked me, then he’d call me, he wouldn’t be freaked out about my past, and I wouldn’t be alone on Christmas and New Year’s. “He doesn’t like me. Besides, that sounds so juvenile.”

“He went to New York. I overheard him talking. Something about his friends there. Men are juvenile anyway. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“I haven’t figured out a lot of stuff yet.”

“I’ve noticed. But don’t worry. It’ll happen.”

I’m too tired to argue. I only want to put my head on a pillow and dream about the sexy Harrison and what he used to do to my body.

The Uber driver drops us off and I climb into my car and drive home. I didn’t drink enough to inebriate a flea. When I get home, I’m unlocking my door when I hear footsteps behind me.

I pull my pepper spray out, ready to shower whoever it is coming behind me.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Jesus, Holt, you’re not supposed to be here.” He holds his hands in the air as I aim my pepper spray at him.

“Whoa, there. I’m not here to cause you any trouble. I’m sober, I swear. I just stopped by to say I’m glad we wrapped today, and also to say thank you.”

“Thank me? At, what, two in the morning? Are you crazy?” What the hell is wrong with him?

“Yeah, sorry about the time, but I wanted to personally thank you for being so professional. You were really great, Midnight. Thanks for everything. And sorry for being such an ass to you. I got totally carried away.” He turns and jogs away. Just like that, he’s gone.

That was so strange, but I don’t stand there and analyze it. I scurry inside and deadbolt my door. I still don’t trust the lunatic. I decide to sleep with my pepper spray next to me. Turns out I was worried about nothing.