Great Actor in Hollywood

The blazing heat was nothing new to Bruce Willis. He had encountered worse, but the feeling of stepping into the air-conditioned trailer was still delightful. He sat down on the built-in leather bench; the trailer was dimly lit, with the blinds pulled halfway shut, letting slats of gold slice through the darkness. Around him, the vehicle was spare but functional. 

'That was fun'. He thought back to his scene with Ryan and wondered if he had that much joy acting with someone that young. 

He heard a knock from the door and his assistant, Lena came in cleaning her tortoiseshell glasses. 

"Hello" 

"Look at this trailer. It's lovely" Bruce spread his arms wide. 

"Im sorry, you did get a bigger one in Cop Out" Lena looked down on the piece of paper. 

"No, you're good. As long as Rian isn't an ass to work with as Kevin then they could flip over this trailer for all l care. Now he wants me to do press for that shitty movie. You believe that?" 

"Do you want me to tell's Kevin team" 

"Yes, tell them that I'm too busy working with the next big thing" Bruce grinned and both laughed at the joke. 

"Well, an AD gave me this revised script. They want to do that last scene again" 

"Really? I thought it was perfect" Bruce grabbed the three-page script and put it on the table nearby; his sweat dripped onto the page. 

"Is that all? I need a shower?" 

"Okay" Lena walked out of the trailer and saw an outline of a man disappearing into a blue Sedan. She dismissed it out of her mind as quickly as she saw it. 

After Bruce enjoyed his time with the cold water and the calm silence he grabbed the script. He has been working in the industry for three decades since 1980—the glory years—and scenes like the one in the diner were few and far in between. He loved it and was surprised that he had to redo it. He saw in bold letters on the front page: LOOPER – Scene 32: INT. DINER – DAY and flipped on the second page; he read line by line. 

OJ (Old Joe): "You know there is another girl who works here in the weekends" 

YJ (Young Joe): Jenn

OJ: "Less letters. That be better" 

YJ: "I know this is a hard situation for you. But we both know how this is going to go down. I can't let you walk away from this diner alive. This is my life now. I earned it, you had yours already. So why don't you do what old men do and die. Get the fuck out of my way." 

'This is all the same and usual' Bruce continued to read. 

YJ (continued): You're an aging movie star and I'm still in my prime . 

'What the fuck?' 

OJ: You're right. The only achievement we would have is winning the Emmy for guest starring in Friends. 

OJ & YJ (in unison): TAKE ME BACK, DEMI! TAKE ME BACK, DEMI! 

Bruce threw the page out of the trailer window and stood up to see to collect his thoughts. After a minute, he looked out of the window and lit a cigarette. He saw a handsome brown-haired man with a leather jacket waving at him. 

'I get him back' 

He took a slow drag from his cigarette, then raised his middle finger without breaking eye contact. 

***

'God that took a lot longer than l thought it would'. Ryan was immensely happy with himself and saw an approaching figure wearing an olive-green utility jacket, worn jeans, and scuffed boots.

"Hello Emily, nice to see you" 

"Like wise." She was fixing her hair into a loose bun, strands slipping free around her face. 

"Have you tried craft services?" 

"No. I just got in" 

"You should. But l think we have a scene together soon" 

Emily and Ryan walked into the farmhouse nearby getting ready for the shot. They chatted about Emily's recent marriage to John Krasinski, Ryan's love for the premier league and his favorite team: Man united, and of course the weather. 

They shot just after magic hour—right when the sun dipped behind the soybean fields and the sky glowed a bruised purple. Wind tugged gently at the tall stalks. Somewhere in the distance, a windmill turned, creaking on every revolution.

Rian called out, "Action" 

The farmhouse was still. Fake dust had been added to the floorboards, though most of it wasn't needed. Emily Blunt was already inside the kitchen set, leaning on the chipped counter, holding a fake shotgun that looked all too real under the soft-blue light of the practicals.

Ryan adjusted his mic pack, took a breath, and stepped in.

This was his first scene with her—the first real scene. In it, his character, a looped assassin named Joe, was on the run. Injured, cornered, and desperate, he'd broken into the house looking for shelter. What he found instead was Sara.

And she was protective of her son who had special powers.

Emily turned as he entered, on cue, raising the shotgun. "Take one more step and I will shoot you."

Ryan froze, hands up, but didn't speak right away. That was the line they'd added last night. Rian Johnson had handed him a pink revision page and said, "Just stay still."

"I'm not here to hurt you," he finally said, low and hoarse. "I just need ten hours. That's all."

Emily narrowed her eyes, the gun still level. "What happened to your face?"

He touched the gauze taped across his cheek. "Met someone who didn't like me. Just give me some time. "

She didn't smile. "This is my land. I've got a kid sleeping upstairs. You take another step, I don't hesitate."

Silence.

Then Ryan broke the tension; stepping forward anyway, a small, calculated gamble. Emily stepped back instinctively, still in character, and the gun wavered just slightly.

"Shoot me, and I won't be the worst thing that comes through your field tonight," Ryan said, voice shaking. "Please."

Rian stepped in. "Nice. Good energy. Let's do one where it's less defensive. Ryan, show more need. You're bleeding and trying not to beg. Emily, keep the edge but let a little doubt sneak in when he steps forward. Let's find the layers."

Between takes, Emily sipped her coffee, still holding the shotgun. "You're doing good, you know," she said.

Ryan looked over, surprised. "Thanks. It's intimidating doing this with you."

She raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm scary?"

"A little," he said, half-smiling. "But in a good way."

She tilted her head. "The media calls me an English rose. I'm completely helpless"

"Oh please. Roses still have thorns. And the media calls me talented"

Emily smirked. "Wow, they always lie, don't they?How's Bruce?"

"Great but…uh…better to stay out of his way today"

They rolled again. This time, Ryan came in slower, limping harder, his hand trembling when he reached for the kitchen chair. Emily's character, still fierce, watched him but didn't raise the gun quite as fast.

"You're bleeding," she said. "I've got nowhere else to go," Ryan whispered, holding her gaze.

And for a moment, the scene expanded beyond the script. Ryan felt it shift. It was electric.

Cut.

"That's the one," Rian said from behind the monitor. "Great work, both of you. We'll pick up inserts tomorrow."

Emily slung the shotgun over her shoulder and walked past him toward video village. But before she left the room, she turned back.

"You're doing good, truly ," she said.

Ryan nodded, heart still pounding. He was sweating through the undershirt, even though the farmhouse set wasn't that hot. 

Outside, crew members were packing up cables. A P.A. offered him a bottle of water, which he took with a quiet "thanks." Emily was already talking to Rian, gesturing toward something in the script.

As Ryan walked toward basecamp, his boots crunching the gravel of the production path, he realized something: the future he was chasing wasn't some Hollywood spotlight but working with people he liked. Who would want to hate the people they worked with, anyway?