"Cut! Change the extra—get someone who can sell heat!"
The director's voice hit like a slap. People flinched, cables hummed, lights clanged. I slid further into the fake cinema seat so no one could see my hands shake.
"Jay, you're up," the assistant director said at my ear. He was whispering like the whole world couldn't hear. That was fine; my ears worked better with cheap soundproofing.
"Which scene?" I asked. I kept my voice flat. Male voice. Jay. Business as usual.
"Front row. You and the guy next to you. No tongues, just chemistry. Make it look real," the AD said. He slid a papery direction into my hand: Lean in. Close eyes. Sell longing.
"No tongues," I repeated. The AD gave me a smile that meant "don't mess this up." The director already had a list of a dozen extras to replace; my name was at number twelve because I could fake being a guy and I could move like I wasn't afraid. Rent-a-Jay from the street, two hours, quick cash.
"Action," the PA called.
"Okay, Jay. You're a customer with a secret. He is the guy who sees it. Make it believable," someone murmured from the wings.
The man next to me was introduced like that: "Guy with the secret." He smelled like good detergent and something more expensive. I felt him settle in the seat with purpose, the way someone carries cash with care.
"Look at me
