Chapter 5: The American Soldier's Wife and the Black Neighbor
"Cut!"
William's shout startled Nancy badly.
He jumped up from the chair in front of the camera and strode straight toward her.
"Longing! Affection! Do you understand those words?" he barked.
"Can you stop standing there like a dead pig?! That's your husband—he's about to be shipped off to the Middle East!"
He had expected that girls recruited from strip clubs wouldn't have much acting ability.
But this?
He hadn't imagined she'd fail even at something this basic.
Even if it was a low-budget film, William still had standards.
That said, Nancy's attitude was excellent. The moment she saw William lose his temper, she immediately lowered her head and apologized.
"I'm sorry, Director. I messed up. Please give me another chance!"
To be honest, Nancy had felt like she was dreaming these past few days.
As a bottom-tier stripper, she had admired glamorous Hollywood stars from afar—but never once imagined she'd stand in front of a camera herself.
She cherished this opportunity more than anything.
Looking at her pitiful expression, William hesitated.
In the end, he swallowed his frustration.
Switching actresses probably wouldn't help. At best, he'd get someone just like her—no acting skills, decent looks, a good body, and nothing more than a barely qualified amateur.
"Remember that reluctant look. The kind that says you can't bear to part," William said firmly.
"Do you get it? I already explained the plot. If you have to, read the script a few more times and put yourself into the role."
He glanced at his watch.
"All right. Take a break. Ten minutes—we roll again."
---
William returned to his chair behind the camera, picked up a bottle of water, and took a sip.
Ten minutes later—
"Action!"
At William's call, Nancy took a deep breath.
She opened her eyes and looked at the man playing her husband.
"Oh, darling… I'll miss you so much," she said, gazing at the American soldier in uniform with forced tenderness.
"When you get to the battlefield, don't forget to write to me."
It was obvious she was inexperienced—borderline overacting.
But it was still far better than her earlier corpse-like stiffness.
"Sweetheart," said Carl—the actor playing the soldier—
"I'm going to serve my country. You should be proud of me."
As he spoke, Carl wiped the tears from Nancy's cheek.
Of course, Nancy couldn't actually cry.
The tears were eye drops—something William had taught her earlier.
Carl's acting wasn't great either, but at least it was noticeably better than Nancy's.
"Cut! That one works. Next shot!"
At those words, both Carl and Nancy let out a breath of relief.
Several scenes were filmed at the doorway.
Scene One: Carl leaves for deployment; Nancy sees him off as his wife.
Scene Two: After Carl drives away, Jamal—the Black neighbor—appears and comforts Nancy.
Scene Three: Nancy's plumbing breaks, and she asks Jamal to help fix it as he passes by her door.
Scene Four: Carl returns home early after being wounded, shouting Nancy's name joyfully at the doorway.
Which meant—
The next take was Jamal's entrance.
"Jamal!" William shouted toward the Black man crouching nearby.
"Coming, Director!" Jamal replied enthusiastically.
Even though it was a low-budget film, it was still a proper leading role.
Jamal hadn't been hustling around Hollywood as an extra for just a day or two. Most of the time, he landed roles as corpses—or characters who died within seconds.
At best, he'd get a back shot, a role that didn't even show his face.
Calling Jamal over, William began breaking down the scene.
"Remember—your eyes need to be as creepy as possible. The kind of look that makes people want to punch you just for existing. Got it?"
"Uh… I'll do my best, Director," Jamal nodded.
William patted him on the shoulder.
"Don't stress yourself out. Just pretend you're watching a dancer in a club. You know what I mean?"
Jamal nodded again.
Before long, both actors were in position.
"Action!"
At William's call, the performance began.
Nancy covered her mouth and stared into the distance.
With her face partially hidden, the acting demands were lower this time. Combined with the misty effect from the eye drops, it worked—just barely.
"Oh, Miss Nancy," Jamal said as he entered the frame,
"why are you crying here all alone?"
He stepped close and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
At that moment, William steadied the camera and slowly adjusted the focus, tightening the frame around the space between Jamal and Nancy.
Then he cut to a close-up of Jamal's hand.
It had to be said—Jamal had a natural talent for this.
That unsettling gaze and sleazy expression came effortlessly. There was no need for a second take.
"Excellent! Cut!" William shouted.
One-take scenes saved money—and William appreciated that.
The outdoor shots went smoothly, and all four scenes were wrapped quickly.
Next came the indoor sequences.
"All right, Carl," William said.
"You're done for today. You can head out early."
The rest of the story no longer involved the American soldier.
Carl's part was finished.
William reached into his pocket and handed him two hundred dollars—the agreed-upon fee, since Carl's screen time was short.
"Thank you, Director!" Carl said happily, taking the money.
A few lines of dialogue for two hundred bucks—he was more than satisfied.
More than that, though, he couldn't help noticing something else.
Even though this was a low-budget film, William carried himself like a veteran director. Listening to him explain scenes was oddly enlightening.
So Carl hesitated, then spoke up.
"Uh, Director… would it be okay if I stayed and watched the rest of the shoot? I can help out with crew work in return."
William paused, surprised.
He hadn't expected an extra to be this dedicated—or this eager to learn.
After a moment, he nodded.
With Carl helping out, the equipment was quickly moved indoors.
Soon, the kitchen set was ready.
"Listen, Nancy," William said seriously.
"In this next scene, Jamal will take off his shirt. You need to show desire—but also resistance. Like you want it, but your conscience is fighting your instincts."
"Jamal, your part's simple," he continued.
"You crawl out from below, complain about the heat, and take off your T-shirt. Just act natural."
Both nodded in understanding.
William wasn't worried about Jamal.
Nancy was the real concern. Her figure was outstanding—but her acting could only be described as disastrous.
"Director! I'll do my best!"
Nancy clearly noticed his hesitation and spoke up earnestly.
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