Chapter 65: NG, Sandwiches, and the Twin Mix-Up (2)
Now that he'd calmed down, Bruce noticed the woman at the door—her makeup as loud as her clothes, eyes darting everywhere—was nothing like Phoebe's quirky, genuine openness.
"Ursula?" Bruce turned. "Okay, sorry for yelling, but what are you doing here? Did you come with Phoebe?"
The words had barely left his mouth before he realized how impossible that was; given how tense things were between Ursula and Phoebe, Phoebe would never bring her to set, much less let her waltz up and ruin the take.
Ursula, still shaken from the director's outburst, flipped her hair. "Uh, hi. I'm Joey's... girlfriend. Joey said he was filming here."
Joey finally scrambled out of the pile of tires, rushed over looking panicked. "Ursula! How did you—Bruce, I'm sorry! She... she just missed me, wanted to surprise me..." He was babbling.
"Right..." For a moment Bruce had nothing to say.
Then Monica's voice rang out like a dinner bell: "Lunchtime! Hot roast-beef sandwiches and meat-sauce pasta—come and get it!" She slapped the side of the catering cart, the sound cutting through the awkwardness.
A hand-lettered sign hung on the cart: "Monica's Budget Set Meals—Energy Recharge Specialists."
The aroma—rich roast beef, tangy meat sauce, fresh-bread yeast—hit like a wave of comfort, dissolving the warehouse tension. Crew members rushed the cart like they'd been starving.
Bruce glanced at the crowd now focused on food, then at Ursula's embarrassed face, and finally at Monica efficiently handing out boxes beside a stone-faced Phoebe who hadn't once looked at Ursula or Joey.
"Joey, take Ursula to lunch. We'll reshoot the scene this afternoon." Bruce patted Joey's shoulder.
Bruce grabbed a meal for himself: a thick, juicy roast-beef sandwich, a small container of crunchy coleslaw, and a steaming cup of vegetable soup.
This bargain crew lunch was Monica's achievement—and the reason Bruce could survive the "eight dollars per person" straitjacket Harvey's producer Mark had imposed on them.
Ten days earlier, when logistics chief Maxwell had been driven to the brink trying to find a caterer who could meet that brutal budget, Monica—after hearing about it from Bruce over coffee—had confidently declared she'd take the "impossible job."
She met Mark, crunched numbers like a pro, and quoted $7.50 per person. By showcasing her track record of cutting costs on small catering jobs, she convinced the penny-pinching Mark.
Monica then bought a used catering truck with a tiny kitchen and a push-cart that could navigate deep into the set.
She recruited Phoebe as her assistant: one cooked, the other helped, a seamless team.
Thanks to Monica's efficiency and hustle, the crew escaped the "eight-dollar charity meal" curse and now got a hot, decent lunch every day.
Tray in hand, Bruce felt the food's warmth ease his nerves a little.
He found a quiet corner, flipped a plastic bucket upside-down, and sat to eat in silence.
Phoebe, face cold, kept handing meal boxes to outstretched hands, never once glancing toward Ursula and Joey.
Joey settled Ursula on an old crate away from the crowd, fussing over her with hot soup and a sandwich, smiling and murmuring explanations.
When Phoebe finished serving, Bruce carried his tray over and sat at a respectful distance.
"Phoebe, I'm sorry," he said. "I yelled at—well, at Ursula—but I thought she was you."
He rubbed his temples, voice exhausted. "The pressure's been insane—pre-production, launch, schedule, budget. Barely sleeping. I'm stretched too thin. When someone barged in and ruined the take, I lost it. Sorry if I scared you."
Phoebe stopped what she was doing; the coldness she'd shown Ursula melted away, replaced by understanding warmth. "Bruce, I'm fine. You didn't scare me—just surprised me. Since we met you've always been so gentle."
She squeezed his shoulder. "I get it. This is your first film and you want everything perfect. But while you're giving it your all, take care of yourself. Too much pressure and you'll burn out." She finished with a hug.
Then she spotted Ursula nearby. "Some people dress like they're going to a nightclub just to grab attention. Out here she practically glows in the dark—easy to mistake for someone else."
"So," Bruce said, following her gaze, "Phoebe, you've been delivering meals on set these past few days, and you seem distant with Joey. Is it because of Ursula?" He finally voiced the question that had been bothering him; immersed in the shoot, he'd missed every ripple in his friends' emotions.
Phoebe took a sip of water, eyes on the pair sitting nearby. "Yeah—thanks to my dear sister." She sounded more resigned than angry.
"When? A day or two after you sent Joey to audition at the Old Mill warehouse. It happened at Saul Kim's grimy loft where he keeps making his so-called 'installation art.'"
Bruce blinked. "Saul Kim? That weird artist from the West Village? What was Joey doing there?"
Phoebe shrugged, a knowing glint in her eye. "Who knows? Maybe Joey needed a dose of 'artistic atmosphere.' Anyway, that guy threw one of his 'new work unveiling parties,' cramming the place with people you couldn't tell were artists or props."
A faint edge crept into her tone. "And in that crowd of 'art people,' Joey and my ever-opportunistic sister Ursula—who can spot an opportunity in any pretentious crowd and always dresses to get noticed—connected like magnets."
She imitated Joey's likely dramatic reaction. "'Oh! Phoebe! I mean Ursula! You're amazing! Your energy is just like this art!'"
She made a face. "Something like that: a attention-hungry wannabe actor and a born attention-seeker who creates and feeds on every spotlight. Add alcohol and it's inevitable, right?"
"Joey came back excited like a kid with a new toy." Phoebe's expression flattened. "I told him, 'Joey, Ursula's my sister. I know exactly what she's like—her life's a carnival ride chasing the next thrill. It never stops, and she has no intention of stopping it for anyone. Sure that's what you want?'"
She looked at Bruce. "Guess what he said? 'Phoebe, you don't understand—she's different!'"
Phoebe threw her hands up in classic Phoebe fashion. "That's Joey—he lives on 'feelings,' completely ignoring any warning signs. He chose the carnival ride and honestly believes he can be the guy who makes it stop."
Bruce considered, then tried to comfort her. "Phoebe, listen—maybe it's not as bad as you think. Joey loves excitement, loves attention—we both know that. And Ursula? She seems to enjoy being the center of attention too."
Phoebe nodded. "True. And your point?"
Bruce continued. "In a way they're both into casual romance: one gives attention, the other takes it. They're evenly matched, getting what they need. If they're happy, where's the harm? Maybe you're worried Joey'll get hurt, or that they'll actually last... even get married?"
Phoebe groaned. "I hadn't thought that far; now you've got me worried about it!"
Bruce found the words "lasting" and "marriage" almost funny applied to Ursula and Joey. "Honestly, I think we're worrying too much. They're more like two people who met at an amusement park and decided to ride the roller coaster together. When the thrill's over, they'll naturally drift apart. No need to stress—or to keep your distance from Joey."
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