It was true that Suzanne couldn’t take criticism. Even when directors gave her direction, she often took it as criticism. “But Simon, please,” she said, not looking at him. “ ‘Have fun with it.’ Don’t you think I would do that with everything I did, if it was at all possible?”

Simon put his arm around her. “I know you can do this part. Just relax into it. Be yourself and you’ll be wonderful.” He kissed the top of her head and went off to talk to his D.P., as Ted walked up to her with a can of Diet Coke.

“NutraSweets for the sweet,” he said, handing it to her.

“You know what I think?” she said. “Actors are the lowest of the low. Unless they have box office, in which case they’re treated with respect without being respected.” She took a swig of soda. “At least with me, there’s an honest level of contempt. They don’t respect me and they don’t treat me with respect.”

Ted nodded sympathetically. “You ought to be an assistant director if you want to sample the mother lode of contempt. And preferably a second assistant director,” he said, taking her arm. “We need to get you touched up. You’re in the next shot.”

After the scene, Suzanne went over to the prop truck to check on the cookie and candy possibilities. The truck was on the far end of the location, and she normally wouldn’t have gone, but it was a cool fall day and everything looked crisp to her. She had heard somewhere that the light in the desert changed all the time, so she decided to walk to the prop truck and see it change.

She moved through the warm hum of the crew as they checked lights, changed lenses, positioned extras. Suzanne loved crews. There was something reassuring about a crew, something that said maybe it was all worth it after all. She loved the different baseball caps they wore, and their jackets and shirts from films and shows they’d worked on before. And their little stories about things that happened on other sets, the anecdotes about bad food, hangovers, and girlfriends. All the stuff of real life. Suzanne felt good when she thought of being a part of it.

She was humming “There’s No Business Like Show Business” as she arrived at the truck. She headed for the metal steps at the back, and as she rounded the corner she almost collided with Neil Bleene, the younger of the executive producers. “Well,” said Neil, stepping aside, “fancy meeting you here.”