“Amber! Honey!” Lyle was desperately trying to save the scene. “Do you want me to hold you?” he coached.

I shook my head. I couldn’t breathe. I grabbed the airsick bag in the seat pocket. Lyle leaned over and began shaking my shoulders.

“Amber, Amber, get a hold of yourself,” he improvised.

I was dizzy, nauseous. The room was spinning. I opened my mouth to say something and threw up into the bag.

“Oh, God.” Lyle flung me away like a hot frying pan. “Cut, cut! For Chris’sake.” He yanked free of his seat belt and stuck his head around the side of the rocking plane. Doug began speaking rapidly through his headset.

“Michael! Cut the goddamn scene!” Lyle held on to the edges of the mock-up and screamed at the booth. “Mike!” He freed one hand and mimed a knife across his throat.

“She’s kind of freaking out,” Doug whispered into his mouthpiece. “I think she barfed.”

“Cut!” The words thundered over the P.A. system. Immediately, the plane stopped rocking.

“Jesus Christ! We’ve got eighteen fucking pages left today.” Mike Hannigan’s voice was loud enough to be heard in the stage manager’s earphones. He threw down his headset and stormed from the booth.

Katie, the makeup woman, rushed over to me. She had chestnut hair, freckles, and a no-nonsense attitude born out of the Midwest.

“What can I do?” she asked, rapid-fire but kind. She tore open a packet of hand wipes and gave them to me.

“I think I’m having… I need something…a…a Valium,” I said between breaths. I was trying not to hyperventilate. I had no choice but to call Nicole “Please, phone my roommate. We live nearby.”

Katie rushed off with my number scrawled on a cocktail napkin with an eyebrow pencil. Hands shaking, I unfolded the wipe and cleaned the vomit from around my mouth.

“Coffee?” Doug stood over me, eyes bright, his pate shining with perspiration. He strained to mask his impatience.

“No, thank you.” I didn’t want to cry. Over his shoulder, I could see Hannigan speaking angrily into the stage phone. “I swear this has never happened to me before,” I said weakly. What was happening to me? I was having some kind of panic attack; stage fright mixed with mock airsickness. Across the room, Mike signaled to Doug.

“Take five, everyone,” Doug called out. “A long five!”

The bell sounded and the stage lights shut down, leaving everything dark except for the plane’s interior where I sat, alone, holding my vomit-filled bag, professionally lit from all sides by thousands of megawatts and an eye light that was positioned to catch my “sparkle.” Doug herded the extras toward the holding area while the crew ran outside to smoke.