“Are you okay?” I ask Rama quietly.
He nods, looking away, but his hand brushes against mine under the table.
He confided to me recently that his father isn’t happy that he’s doing the series, and I know he’s been nervous about today’s scene, which has Rama’s character, Atid, breaking down.
I hung around to lend support, but I’m afraid I wasn’t much help. Maha got hard with him, forcing him to immerse himself into his role and to produce the raw emotion Maha wanted for the scene. I’ve been through similar experiences with directors, and it’s never easy, and I could tell Rama was stressed about how long it was taking him to get it right. In the end, he fell apart, some inner wall crumbling as though from an earthquake, leaving him in tears. My heart broke for him. The crew dispersed, and someone lowered the lights, while I wrapped him in my arms, holding him while he sobbed onto my shoulder, assuring him that this was nothing unusual for an actor and that he was doing fine.
And then our short break was over, and it was on to the next scene.
Now, hours later, Rama picks at the food the waitress brought him. I spoon more pork onto his plate and entice him to eat a bit of my spicy fruit salad, telling him about a scene I botched in my last drama. When I finally manage to coax a smile out of him, the victory is sweet.
“Thank you,” Rama says an hour later as we break from the group and walk to our cars.
“For what?” I ask.
“For helping me out in there. I didn’t expect that crowd. And today after filming.” Shaking his head, he murmurs, “I understand what you told me, but I still feel as though I failed. I took so much of Maha’s time and energy to pull what he needed out of me, and everyone had to wait.”
“Do you think anyone there would have wanted to take on that scene?” I ask seriously. “I assure you, they wouldn’t. I wouldn’t. That was intense. And you went through the pain and did a beautiful job. I promise you what Maha did was something he’s done over and over again with many actors, not just with you.”
Rama stares at me a moment, eyes two dark pools of obsidian, and I have to remind myself that we work together and nothing more, or I’ll ruin everything by pulling him into my arms. Worse than that—I’ll become what Preed accused me of being. With a nod and one of his soft smiles, Rama walks to his car. I watch him drive away before sliding behind the wheel of my Mazda MX-5 Miata and starting the engine.
The next day Rama and I have just arrived at the studio when Maha calls us to practice a scene with the acting coach, a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense attitude. The first time Rama met New, he seemed uncomfortable with her. Today his expression is carefully blank. We seat ourselves on the sofa in the main room, and she pulls up a chair.
“Let’s run-through the scene after the football match,” New says.
Rama and I take a moment to strip ourselves of our identities and become our characters, then stand and begin the scene, which is an argument between Atid and Kusa over events of the previous evening. It ends with a kiss, an explosion of feeling, but as we are only rehearsing, Rama and I leave it at a brief touch of the lips.
I should have realized this wouldn’t satisfy New.
“Wrong, wrong, wrong.” She flaps her hands at us. “Two lovers who are arguing do not kiss like fish against glass. I don’t give a damn that this is a rehearsal. The point is to do it the way it’s supposed to be done! And your words aren’t heated enough.” She smacks my arm with the script. “Atid is showing a great lack of trust in you, Kusa! What have you done to deserve that? Nothing!” She points at Rama. “More indignation!” She steps away. “Ramp it up, boys. Let’s try this again.”
Rama seems to take New’s scolding as a challenge because in the second run-through I feel his anger flare to life. It incites my own, and when we come to the kiss, I grab Rama by the shoulders and pull him against me, feeling the puff of air that leaves his body at the impact. As I’m about to press my mouth to his, New stops us.
“Hold it. I saw more passion when you were eating your dessert last night at the restaurant. Get with it, boys. Have neither of you ever been in love? I can see I’m going to have to walk you through the whole thing like this is primary school. Go again, then.”
We run through the scene a third time, and when we get to the kiss, New’s hand shoots between us, keeping us apart. “Good. Now hold it right here.” She withdraws her hand. Rama and I stare at each other, only inches between us. “Slow motion. Come together. Rama, take Pravat’s upper lip between yours. Pravat, I want both hands on his back, pulling him closer. Good. Good, now, Pravat, suck on Rama’s lower lip. Harder, like you’re trying to bruise it. Yes, like that. Your anger feeds your desire. Better, much better. Yes. Let’s take it from the top. I won’t stop you this time, so give me your best.”
A moment comes when a scene just clicks. I become my character and my co-star becomes his and the scene our reality. This process is necessary in order to produce good work. I’ve experienced it again and again, but with Rama, everything is somehow enhanced. I can’t explain it except to say that rather than losing myself and becoming someone else, I actually meld with the character, experiencing everything in high intensity.
And, like magic, the scene comes alive. I’m Kusa, so angry with Atid and his inability to understand me. I want to force him to hear me. To really know me. At the same time, Pravat wants to force Rama to see him. When we kiss, the emotion pours out of me and into him. Kusawants to consume Atid, just as Pravat wants to own Rama. Nothing else matters.
When New’s voice snaps me back to myself, she sounds amused. Evidently, we hadn’t heard her calling to us the first couple of times. Adrenaline washing away, I think,That was a good run through.
Then, as I watch Rama lick my kiss from his lips with a flick of his pink tongue, I think,Good God, I’m in trouble.
CHAPTER EIGHT: Rama
“What’s put that moony look on your face?” my sister asks.
“What moony look?” I scoff. “I’m just thinking.”
Settling into the chair opposite me, Chinda asks, “About what?”
“Rehearsals.”
“Are they going well?”
I nod.