There was a great bustle on the film set. Technicians were running around, struggling to change the scenery. It seemed like nothing was going right. A few extras, overwhelmed by the infernal heat, were lying down with white towels over their faces in the shade of a trailer. Hands on his hips, planted under a huge beach umbrella, the lead actor grinned sardonically. He held a lukewarm glass of juice in his left hand, and sweat had caused his makeup to smear down his face.
"We're not finishing today. No way."
"You'd better rehearse your lines because you don't know them," the actress replied from a lounge chair beside him.
"I don't know them because they suck. This whole production sucks. We're wasting our time here. I’ll wait five more minutes and then I’m out."
"You risk losing your contract. Calm down, hydrate, and learn your damn lines."
Exhaling from the depths of his lungs, the actor waved his arms in frustration. The truth was, he too had been drained by the heat and no longer had the energy to argue. He flopped into a lounge chair, placed a wet towel over his head, and picked up the script to read. His eyes were foggy and the letters seemed to dance on the white page. He knew he didn’t stand a chance of learning anything, but it was better to have something to do than to wait around doing nothing.
"Good afternoon, excuse me..." the actor heard a voice.
"I'll excuse you if you go get me another glass of juice, and this time make sure there's more ice. Come on, move it!"
The actress lowered her sunglasses with two fingers and looked at him, saying:
"Why are you acting like a diva?"
"Because I'm sick of sitting around doing nothing! We haven't filmed a single scene since this morning. I'm turning to dust on this crappy film set while he's having a spiritual revelation on top of a hill. I’d pray to every god of rain to summon even the saddest little cloud and strike him right on the head! Five more minutes and I swear I’m gone!"
"Calm down, you’ll give yourself a stroke and I don’t feel like acting alongside a paraplegic, seriously..."
"I might as well stay here and roast while waiting to die of dehydration. Where the hell is my juice? My brain’s boiling and you're lounging like you're at a five-star beach resort."
"Just trying to enjoy the sun, you know I’m a solar being."
"That’s why you’re out clubbing all night!"
"Don’t start with the nastiness!"
"Oh, piss off..."
The actor waved dismissively and placed the script over his face, stretching out in the lounge chair. Then, with a nervous gesture, he tossed it aside. The dry wind began to blow, lifting dust around the feet of those bustling on the set. Somewhere nearby, a sharp crack was followed by a prolonged thud. The commotion around them suddenly intensified, and several desperate shouts were heard. The actress sat up, scanning for the source of the noise. It seemed to come from a large panel that had just collapsed, striking a few people as it fell. Technicians were trying to pull them out from under it. The extras had stood up and were watching anxiously. From afar, the wail of an ambulance siren began to grow louder.
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The actor seemed unfazed by the commotion. Disgusted, he picked up the dusty script, shook it off, and began reading again while lying on his back. The dust made him cough, and he shouted angrily:
"Where the hell is that juice kid? Did he go to Spain to pick the oranges? I swear, I feel like putting a bullet in my temple to get out of this mess! I think I’ve got dust in every hole mother nature gave me!"
"With what, darling?"
"With what, what?"
"With what are you going to shoot yourself? All the guns are props."
"You again? It was a figure of speech, don’t be stupid. Ah look, here comes the poor kid with my juice. Where’ve you been? Grew an orange tree in the meantime?"
Approaching with evident embarrassment, the boy handed him the juice. The transparent glass was beaded with sparkling condensation. Ice cubes clinked in the orange juice.
"It was hard to find ice, but I got lucky—one of the technicians had a mini freezer in his car. At first he didn’t want to help, but I eventually convinced him."
"Well, well, we’ve got ourselves a resourceful kid. While you were out, did you see our godlike director, our Olympian?"
"Yeah, he’s still up there."
"Unbelievable. I’ve never seen anything like it. Who’s ever heard of such a thing?"
The actor jumped up, juice in hand. It spilled, splashing his hand. Disgusted, he switched hands and looked around for something to wipe it with. He approached the boy and wiped his hand on the kid’s shirt.
"There, consider that an autograph. Don’t ever wash it again."
"Why are you mocking him?" the actress shouted indignantly. "He did you a favor. You’re an animal!"
"Yeah, but you like this animal…" the actor said, grinning suggestively.
"I liked you, past tense. Back when you had a shred of integrity. No, don’t get mad. I’m going to lay it out for you!"
The actor angrily threw the glass from his hand. The actress fell silent and covered her mouth. The glass flew within inches of a rushing technician’s face and shattered against the side of the trailer. The extras jumped up, startled. The ice cubes scattered in the hot dust. One of the extras picked them up with a towel and hugged it to his chest with great relief. The others looked on at first with disgust, then admiration.
Amid the continuous hustle, the wind seemed to pick up, lifting even more dust into the air. The actor began to cough in spasms again. From behind the trailer, dragging his feet, exhausted and heat-struck, the assistant director approached the two actors.
"That's it, looks like we’re done filming. We’re packing up and leaving. Sorry," said the assistant director, wiping sweat from his sunburned bald head with a ragged tissue.
"This is unbelievable," said the actor, gasping for breath after his coughing fit. "We’ve been sitting on this crappy set since morning waiting like idiots, and now you're telling us to just leave, just like that?"
"Yeah, we have a contract," the actress added.
"I know," said the assistant director. "I didn’t expect this either. Ever since he showed up this morning holding his father’s head, I knew something was off. But what could I do? Better I tell you the whole story so you understand. He said these were the last hours his father’s head was still 'alive' and he wanted to bring it to the set to make him proud in their final moments together. Then, as you know, he went up the hill with the head under his arm, sat down at a table, and started playing chess with it. Said the heat was good for the batteries and would keep him going a bit longer. Then admirers started showing up, since no one ever had the chance to see the director dining with his father, the great actor. We all know he was the best actor at the turn of the century—nobody denies that. Sure, now it’s just his head, but still… People started taking photos. They made calls, and fans poured in. The line’s beyond the set entrance. After the green screen wall collapsed and we called the ambulance, even it couldn’t get through the crowd. Who knows if those poor folks crushed by the wall will survive. But he doesn’t care. He’s sitting in the sun, calmly playing chess with his father—or well, you know, with his father’s head. I went up there ten times to convince him to start filming. He won’t budge. Last time I went, he told me he’s quitting everything and will make a virtual movie, where his father will play all the roles. He convinced him to get an upgrade and move into the cloud after his physical death. The fans are thrilled. They say it’s the biggest hit, the best idea ever."
The actor signaled him to stop. He curled up in the lounge chair, coughing again, and put his head in his hands. Then in a hoarse voice, he said to the actress:
"Hey, at that little chicken-shack restaurant of yours… still got a dishwasher job open for me?"
The scorching sun shone brightly, casting sharp shadows of the extras fainting from the heat as they stumbled into the trailer.