Method Acting Ch 15 Dress Rehersal

Dakota

"So Dakota, I think everyone has the same question; what was it like filming this movie? I mean, it's pretty different from what you've done in the past."

"Well, I like to think I'm a good actress. I mean, I didn't

only

play Princess Jewel all those years; there's three other movies I managed to squeeze in there and none of them were period pieces," Dakota said.

"Oh I know, but, this is kind of beyond that isn't it? I mean...your previous work was kind of a kid's show, and then the movies were these romcoms and date night movies. This...heavy drama, really erotic content, BDSM, just...that had to be a big switch."

Dakota knew the answers she was supposed to give. Since she didn't have a publicist, the film producers had gotten Pascal to hire one. She'd spent hours with them discussing how to handle what they called the "sex questions." She'd done it five times already. But those publicists weren't concerned about

her

brand; they were worried about the movie.

Looking into Jimmy Kimmel's bearded face, his nervous but encouraging smile, she just couldn't. She turned her head away. She could barely see the audience in the glare of the lights, but she knew they were there.

"So, how many of you want me to talk about walking around the set naked?" Dakota asked.

There was immediate applause, but it trailed off. She guessed that Jimmy had made some sort of a face to indicate this was

not

a gag or a joke he was in on.

"How many of you are on the edge of your seat, waiting to see if I'll slip up and talk about cast members being naughty with me, even if it never happened?"

This time there were a few shouts and hollers, but they all sounded male and were quickly shushed.

"How many of you saw or heard my interviews on the Tonight Show? The Late Show? How about the View, for the morning people? I actually had hopes for them. You'd think in a room full of women they'd focus on something besides me showing my privates on film. I suppose I should just be grateful nobody's asking about my clothes, right?"

There were a few

very

nervous chuckles from the audience.

"You've all heard me talk about the filming. Being cold, how everyone looked at me, whether Danny was nice to me, how helpful the intimacy coordinator was. But you all want to hear that again. You want me to talk about the sex."

She turned back to Jimmy. "Deer in the headlights" didn't even cover how nervous he looked.

"I haven't been asked a single question about the plot, you know that?" Dakota continued, "I think it's important. You have an unconventional relationship, one that gets shunned by most of the mainstream populace. And you have one person in it suffering with their gender identity. And it's not sensationalized or politicized. They don't focus on the issues with legal restrictions, homophobia, transphobia, none of that. It focuses on the relationship. Two people, working through these issues, in a relationship, just like straight people would. I think it's important, and I think it's meaningful, and I think Teri and Jacquemin did an amazing job translating that to the film."

There was some more enthusiastic applause and Jimmy applauded and agreed with her. She could see he was going to pick up the thread, move off his script, but she was losing control, and not just of the interview. She could feel it. She felt bad for him, but she had to end it.

"But nobody cares about that," Dakota said, "Everyone just wants to talk to me about being naked, about on-screen orgasms and whether I faked them or not. But if I'm talking about it, that becomes why I'm in the movie. I'm the sexy part, and Danny's the meaningful part. I happen to think my work was meaningful too. I just did it mostly nude, because that's what that kind of relationship is like for a lot of people, and it's how the director decided to portray it."

"I hope people go to see an intense, meaningful story about a difficult relationship between an unconventional couple. But I know a bunch of people will buy tickets just because Princess Jewel is naked on screen. If you want to go to the movie just for that, either so you can get off, or complain about you not seeing me as a role model, then you have to own that yourself. I'm done giving everyone else excuses."

She got up and walked off the set. She dimly heard an eruption of applause behind her in the studio, but her ears seemed like they were underwater. She ignored the assistants, producers, or whoever it was that tried to get her attention, literally slapping away a hand as it tried to grab her (ironically, using a move Samira had taught her). She just headed for the nearest exit sign. Once she got outside, she took a deep breath like she'd been suffocating. Given Los Angeles's air quality that was silly, but psychologically it was great.

Dakota wandered down a street and into an IHop. She got a look because she was very overdressed; she'd worn a dress that was halfway between elegant and club wear but it was way more than you wore to breakfast unless you were dining with royalty or doing the walk of shame, and she was far too put together for the latter.

I'll have to pay for this if I get anything on it,

she thought, and almost broke out in a fit of giggles.

She got herself a plate of pancakes and absolutely drowned them in maple syrup. It had been her comfort food since she was four, and the reason her mother had gotten her a personal trainer starting at ten. She guessed she had about five minutes until the outside of the building was swarmed with reporters. She'd have to call someone to get her.

There was one person she wanted to call, who she knew would give her encouragement and confidence to go on. But she had no way to reach them.

When the publicists finally sent a car to get her 40 minutes later, four police had to hold the paparazzi and reporters back. And there was a solidifying drop of syrup on the skirt of the dress.

Sam

"Miss Nazari?"

"Yes Zara?"

"You asked me to let you know if there was significant news coverage of a woman named Dakota Song?" Zara asked.

Sam felt fifteen different emotions hit her at once. Then she took a deep breath and pushed them all aside. "Yes, Zara, what is it?"

"I'm...I'm having trouble understanding it all, honestly miss. It has something to do with an interview she gave, I believe. I do not follow such news and things; I am afraid I am missing context-"

"Why don't you send me the major links, and I'll look it over? Thank you Zara."

"Yes Miss Nazari," Zara said.

All efforts by Sam to get Zara to address her by anything other than "Miss Nazari" had proved futile. Though if she was honest, Sam thought it made sense coming from the woman. They weren't that far apart in age, but Zara presented herself as much older.

She reviewed the links. First she watched the clip that had apparently gone viral the night after it was released. The Jimmy Kimmel show had given up its usual approach of taping the show and airing the chronological taping, and instead the host had preempted the interview with an apology and a statement of support before showing Dakota answering his initial questions, and then basically derailing the whole segment.

"You throw tantrums with the best of them, Princess," Samira muttered.

The next link went to an interview where Regis Pascal had fully supported Dakota. "I did not cast Dakota so people could gawk at her. I did it because she was right for the role. She worked harder than anyone for the movie. If all people want is to see her without clothes, I would rather pull the film. I am in talks about this now."

Sam raised an eyebrow at that, but reading further, people said that Pascal was known for throwing tantrums himself. Many had pointed out he'd made similar "pull the movie" threats about his last three films, but ultimately they'd been stunts to drum up excitement and controversy, so no one took him seriously.

Next was a published statement from her co-star, Danny Miles.

"It's the same old bullshit; I get asked about my craft, playing a trans character, and learning how to play someone into BDSM. She gets asked if her nipples were cold on set and how we filmed when she was on her period. You know I learned almost everything about my role from Dakota. She was almost my acting coach on that film. And she brought in...well there was so much she contributed to that film besides her body. But that's all anyone can talk about and it's sad."

All of the shows she'd called out had issued apologies. She'd been invited back to the View for a special interview, but the news went on to say that Dakota had cancelled all publicity appearances related to the movie with the support of Regis Pascal, though some people speculated that the movie's producers had pulled her for fear of her damaging the brand and hurting box office figures.

Dakota had just said the quiet part out loud, shaming people for going to the movie just to see her nude. The producers, however, were kind of counting on that to fill some seats in the theaters. They loved the controversy of calling out the misogynists, but they didn't actually want to scare them away.

Sam went back and watched the interview again, focusing on Dakota the whole time. When she finished her third rewatch, she reached up and wiped a tear away, then hit the intercom.

"Zara? I need you to put me in touch with an American film agent named Eli Chambers..."

Dakota

> I'm proud of you Princess.

The message had come from an unknown number, but Dakota hadn't needed to look it up. She'd received it in the middle of a meeting with Eli, Regis, Danny, and people from the publicist and she'd had to choke back a sob. Then she'd run from the conference room and bawled in the bathroom.

When she gathered herself, she went back to the meeting.

"I'm not doing any more press," she said.

They'd announced that already. This meeting was about whether that was a real announcement or if they'd have to come out later and say, "We just meant right after the interview; we needed to compare notes etc. etc."

"Honey, you made good points. Nobody's blaming you for that," Pascal said, shooting a daring look at the PR rep.

"And everyone's already talking about them. I made enough noise that they'll keep talking about them. I'll show up for the premiere. I'll do the red carpet. Other than that, no."

"I can carry the torch," Danny said, "We want them focusing on my character anyway, right?"

They continued hammering out a PR campaign without Dakota. She just sat in her chair, almost cradling her phone, looking at the message.

Sam

=============

I'm sorry.

It's all I can offer you, because it's all you'll allow me to.

But I know I can't make it through this premiere without you there.

I don't deserve a favor. I don't deserve your attention. I didn't even deserve your message.

But I'm begging you anyway.

Please come.

- Princess

=============

The invitation was on cardstock almost thick enough to be the wood the paper originally came from. It was textured and embossed with gold calligraphy she bet a lot of her peers couldn't read, even the ones who'd learned English first. The capital letters looked like the calligrapher had gotten bored and begun artfully doodling after they finished the letter.

It was the premier of

Cord Progression

, being held in five days. To Sam's surprise, it was in LA at the Chinese Theatre, not in France. Then she remembered that Pascal wanted this film to entice mainstream American audiences.

She had serious doubts about "mainstream" but "entice" probably fit.

She'd checked in on the buzz about the film off and on for the last couple of weeks. Pascal had made no secret of the fact that he was putting the movie out when he did so anytime another "Oscar bait" movie came out people couldn't help bringing up

Cord Progression

as the first one out of the gate, so to speak. Dakota's viral interview had reignited some buzz about women in Hollywood, and a bunch of big names had given statements supporting her or stayed conspicuously silent. A few had also scolded her, effectively saying that she knew exactly what she was doing taking her clothes off on camera after being a child star for years and her objections to the interviews were either naïve or very calculated.

Sam smirked. They were partly right; Dakota's outburst had been the righteous anger of the young, acting with that sense of invincibility that made them ignore potential consequences. That wasn't why Sam had been proud of her for saying what she did. But her source of pride made her fret over the invitation.

Zara came into Sam's office to drop off some folders. "Zara," Sam said, stopping the woman, "Would...this isn't strictly job related. It's...not related at all, actually, but...could I ask you some personal advice?"

"Of course," Zara said.

Sam handed over the invite. "If you got this from one of your children that...you were estranged from, what would you do?"

"I would go," Zara said immediately.

"Just like that."

Zara shrugged. "They're my children. First it is our duty to support them and build them up, but beyond that, I love them. This...this seems like someone desperately crying for help and support."

Sam took the invite back and stared at it.

"May I ask

you

a personal question, Miss?" Zara asked.

"It would seem fair," Sam said.

"This isn't a child of yours. Is it the Dakota woman you've been following?"

Sam felt her face flush and wanted to snap at Zora for snooping, but she wouldn't have had to snoop; she had access to Sam's office and had walked in more than once when a paused video or article was on one of the screens. "Yes," Sam admitted.

"You sent her a message before, about her outburst during the interview?" Zara asked.

Sam nodded, but then look up, confused. "I thought you said you didn't follow any of that stuff."

"I do when my boss is interested," Zara said, "And I have children. You get very good at playing along when people think they're being clever. My oldest thinks I don't know his college roommate is much more than that. I don't know if he's just embarrassed or actually scared that I'll disown him or something, but I know they've been together for a year. I figured it out with you because you were doing exactly the things I do to keep track of him while he's away. Like I said, there's only two reasons to support someone like that: family or love."

"I hurt her. I...I was afraid I'd broken her."

"We hurt everyone we know well," Zara said, "Love is when you recognize it, admit it, and try to stop. Everyone today thinks love must be romance or sex, but Allah's love has many levels and nuances. For her, who wrote the note? It's forgiving and giving you another chance. Whatever you did? She seems to have forgiven you. Her message makes it sound like she hurt you. If you do not love her, you owe her nothing. If you do, you still don't

owe

her anything. But you need to move past it enough to work it out with her."

"But...I thought the way she acted...she'd moved past me. She doesn't need me anymore."

"And now she's telling you that's not true," Zara said, nodding to the note, "Like I said; you don't owe her anything. But I'm guessing you gave her permission to go off on her own when you sent that message. She's asking you to come back and be with her instead."

Sam felt tears prick her eyes. "You're only a few years older than me, how can you seem so much wiser?"

"Children. They give you joy and wisdom...and they take everything else. I am in bed by eight most nights, and not because I am seducing my husband. He called my hair the finest black silk, and he almost wept when I gave him my body. Now my body looks like the bags of rice at the market, sagging and flabby everywhere. And up here?" she said, pointing to her hijab, "Looks like an old spiderweb, all gray and white."

Sam and Zara both laughed. Zara reached over for the invite. "I'll get you a flight and let the right people know you'll be unavailable for a few days."

Dakota

Dakota was too much of a coward to see Samira herself when she arrived, so she foisted it off on Pascal, forcing him to arrange it. He still thought of Sam as some sort of celebrity, so he was more than willing.

Pascal had messaged her and let her know Mistress Samira had been recovered and taken care of. Dakota knew Mistress Samira had brought her own dress, but agreed to a hair styling and makeup session, which Dakota paid for.

Dakota donned her own dress, with a little help. She hadn't decided on anything until she knew Mistress Samira was coming. Then it had been easy; she was dressing for her mistress.

That in itself was kind of ironic, considering the "outfits" her mistress had usually demanded.

She had collaborated with the designer in advance and chosen one that she thought was a little symbolic; it had a collar high around her neck that linked to wide strips of fabric. The strips came diagonally down across her breasts and linked to the "sleeves" that looked more like extra long opera gloves. Then they wrapped around her back and down to form the belt of the skirt. It left her shoulders, most of her back, and her midriff uncovered, though if she'd wanted to she could have had mesh put there. There was a bit of underboob showing, and Dakota definitely felt like if she jumped too much her tits were going to drop out of it. The skirt was tight and went down to her calves.

The whole dress gave the impression of being wrapped up, or "bound" in it; the legs didn't have much room to move, the sleeves kept the arms close, and the strips of fabric just reinforced the "tied up" look. She also had a light shawl to ward off the chill.

Dakota had rented a small townhouse a few miles from the center of LA to stay in rather than going to a hotel. Mostly that was so she could avoid as much press as possible. She'd only been in town since that morning and gone directly to the house.

The doorbell rang. Dakota slipped into her heels, clomped to the front door, and opened it.

Mistress Samira had on a blood red dress. It looked halfway between a business dress and a more fashionable one. It hugged her figure but wasn't skintight and had sharp lines; the shoulders were cornered, and the collar was high around three quarters of her neck, but left a triangular opening in front that ended in a straight bodice. The fabric of the dress looked stiffer than the flowing drapery effect of Dakota's own. Her hair, of course, was pulled back in a tight bun. Her eyes had been shaded to match the dress, but she had on very dark blue lipstick, almost black. And she wore heels as high as Dakota's, meaning she still towered over her, and would probably tower over most of the people at the premier. She looked down at Dakota.

"That dress looks nice on you," she said.

Dakota felt her jaw quiver. Her eyes stung. She leaned forward, but hesitated.

"You may hug me...if you do not cry," Mistress Samira said.

Dakota practically fell into the taller woman's arms.

=-=-=-=-=

The ride to the theater was quiet, but Dakota had tentatively reached out a hand to grip Mistress Samira's, and the other woman had allowed it. Dakota looked out the window, gripping the other woman's hand, for most of the ride.

"What am I?" Mistress Samira asked as they got closer to the theater.

"What?" Dakota asked.

"The red carpet," Mistress Samira said, "People will want to know who I am, or at least what my relationship is to you."

"Oh. Well, you don't have to do any of that. I can get them to escort you around and you avoid the actual carpet walk," Dakota said.

"Is that what you want?"