“All right, let’s begin!” Marquita clapped her hands.
Everyone quieted and crowded inside to find their seats around the conference table. Tented white card stock with the actors’ names printed on them marked the assigned seats. At each spot, there was a script, a short stack of index cards, a cup, and a glass carafe filled with water and lemon slices.
As one of the show’s main characters, Ashton was seated right next to Jasmine—something he’d been too preoccupied to even think about before this moment.
He slid into the uncomfortable metal chair and busied himself with flipping through the script, his whole body on high alert as Jasmine took her place beside him. He snuck a glance her way, noting the slide of her long—bare—legs as she crossed them under the table.
“Sorry again,” he muttered under his breath, but she didn’t look at him. A shrug of one shoulder was the only clue she’d heard him.
The other show regulars took their places around the table. On Jasmine’s other side was Miriam Perez, the actress who would play her mother, and Nino Colón, the trans actor who’d play Carmen’s assistant. Miriam was lightly tanned with dyed blonde curls, and Nino had rich brown skin and a stylish haircut. To Ashton’s right sat Peter Calabasas as well as Lily Benitez, who’d been cast as Carmen’s sister. Lily had a mane of dark waves and wore bright red lipstick that complemented her bronze complexion.
Before they started, Marquita introduced herself and welcomed everyone with a short speech. Then she had all the actors introduce themselves in order. Ashton struggled to concentrate, but he noted the range of different entertainment backgrounds among the actors. He’d done telenovelas. Jasmine’s background was in soap operas. Lily had started out as a plus-size lingerie model. Nino had been a dancer on Broadway. Miriam had done stand-up and sketch comedy in the 1980s and 90s. And Peter had been working steadily in TV for thirty years, from sitcoms to police procedurals.
The script began with Carmen discussing her goals for the family business with her sister before leaving for work. This section was in English, and while Ashton’s eyes followed along on the script, he’d be lying if he said he was paying attention. Instead, his mind took him on a downward spiral that started with spilled coffee and ended with tanking his career.
The next scene showed Carmen at work, interacting with her assistant, and then her father. Ashton tuned in enough to catch his cue from Peter, then sat up straight, calling on all his years of experience to speak his lines while mentally beating himself up for blowing his first impression with Jasmine.
They got through the reunion scene, but a later part called for an argument in Spanish.
“You have a lot of nerve coming back here to ask for my help,” Jasmine said from beside him.
Ashton was so attuned to her every movement, he didn’t miss his cue. His character shot back a retort, which he delivered in strong, rapid Spanish. He paused at the end of his lines, waiting for Jasmine’s response. It was supposed to start with, “¿Y quién diablos piensas que eres?” A sort of, “Who the hell do you think you are?” And then she would put him in his place.
Except Jasmine stumbled over her lines, messing up the vowels. She paused, stared intently at the script in front of her, and he imagined her repeating the words in her head. She started again and made it through the entire passage, albeit slowly, and without the fierceness she’d displayed when speaking her lines in English.
They finished the scene, but Jasmine’s difficulty with Spanish puzzled him. Ashton replayed the coffee moment over again in his head, recalling her long pause and the way she’d stared at him after his poor attempt at a joke . . .
Wait, was it possible she didn’t speak Spanish?
Carmen in Charge had a bilingual script, cast, and crew. It was a big part of the promo for the show. How was this going to work if the lead actress wasn’t fluent?
He listened to Jasmine work her way through a scene in Spanish with Miriam Perez. Maybe he wasn’t being fair. Jasmine’s accent was spot on, even if her pronunciation was a little inconsistent.
It was something he particularly worried about for himself. While his English was good, he still had an accent and sometimes came across idioms he didn’t immediately recognize or that didn’t translate easily to Spanish. Would wider American audiences accept a new leading man with a Puerto Rican accent? A few Spanish-speaking actors had achieved success—guys like Javier Bardem, Diego Luna, and Gael García Bernal. Was there still room in that lexicon for Ashton Suarez?
The sudden silence made him blink. Jasmine stared at him expectantly. No, not just Jasmine. Everyone was staring at him. Puñeta. It was his line.
In his rush to flip the page, Ashton knocked over his drinking glass. Lemon water splashed all over his script and the table. He shoved back his chair before it could get on his pants. To his left, Jasmine leaped out of her seat like she’d been stuck with a pin.
Ashton imagined a sinkhole opening beneath him and swallowing him up. That would be preferable to whatever was happening to him today.
“Did it get on you?” he asked under his breath.
“Not this time,” she answered.
It was amazing how much mortification could feel like heartburn.
A pair of PAs rushed in with paper towels to sop up the mess, and Ashton leaned back to get out of their way. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Too much caffeine.”
Jasmine turned a laugh into a cough.
She was laughing at him. Was it a good laugh? Like a haha, we have a shared joke about coffee kind of laugh? Or a bad laugh, like, you clumsy idiot, always spilling drinks?
He didn’t dare look at her to find out, and everyone was waiting for him. His neck felt hot. Another PA handed him a fresh script. This time, he would give it his complete attention. Something he should have been doing anyway. On any other set, on any other day, he would have.
But today . . . today sucked.
Somehow, Ashton got through it. Even though nerves made his skin feel too tight, and he couldn’t stop fidgeting. He was like Yadiel trying to sit through Sunday mass. It was the most awkward table read he’d ever participated in.
Marquita made her closing speech, and this time, Ashton listened.
“That was a great start, team! I’m so excited to be embarking on this journey with all of you. Now, enjoy the rest of the weekend, and I’ll see you at the studio Monday morning, bright and early.”
Before Ashton could turn to Jasmine to apologize for almost spilling another drink on her, she slipped out of her chair and rounded the table to chat with Lily Benitez.
No problem. He’d catch her before he left. He felt terrible about ruining her outfit, and he couldn’t end this day without trying to make things right. This entire production hinged on the two of them selling the audience a romance between their characters. If she thought he was a fool, this would never work.
And he really needed it to work.
As Ashton was saying goodbye to the others, his ears picked up Jasmine’s voice somewhere behind him.
“Oh, the outfit?” She gave an easy laugh. “Spilled a giant coffee on myself right before we started. Had to make do with what was available, you know?”
The person she was talking to chuckled and said, “The show must go on?”
“Exactly.”