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13:39 04 September 2013
Theater Arts Academy Venue 7
Portland, Oregon USA

       All I wanted was my tea. I always put it in the same place: the first cupboard on the left, in the first break room. We never used the first break room for filming. Never. But as I entered the hallway, even, there were cameras; there were microphones; there were people milling, buzzing, about, speaking in rapid whispers. All I wanted was my tea.
       “Wait, here she is!”
       “Who, her?”
       “Yes.” The director for my company grabbed my arm, pulling me through the throng and to the door, standing me there. “Someone didn’t show up and they need something today: go improvise.” He turned me to the doorway and shoved my back gently to get me walking.
       All I wanted was my tea.
       He was sitting at the center table, looking grumpy. The cameras were on and he was obviously in character. He couldn’t have been expecting me, but he didn’t break his character: he just ignored me. Man was he good.
       This time, I didn’t stare at him; I didn’t gape; I just wanted my tea: and if I had to get in a character to get it, so be it. Except, my tea wasn’t there. Dammit. I told Joshua that he could drink some of it: not all of it! Crossing to the mini-fridge, I pulled out the jug of milk; the pan I needed was in the drawer; the hot plate was already set next to the sink. Within a minute, I had the milk warming and was leaning back against the counter, watching him as he sulked.
       From the corner of my eye, I could see my director in the doorway, motioning for me to say something. “What’s up?”
       When he looked at me he scowled slightly, quickly, before his expression settled back down to the way it had been. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”
       “Because you look like someone tied you down and then murdered your cat.” I don’t know how, but I think I managed not to smile.         Wasn’t that a clever jab? He went silent. I went back to the pot of milk.
       “What are you doing?”
       “Making hot chocolate.” Plucking the chocolate squares from the cupboard, I started breaking them up to melt, glancing over at him once more: he’d raised an eyebrow. “I don’t drink coffee and Joshua drank the last of my tea.”
       “You know, I saw a box in the cupboard over there,” he pointed far right, offering a slight, helpful, smile: an expression which I returned.
       “I’m picky, and the cocoa’s halfway done anyways.” The chocolate was nearly dissolved in the simmering dairy whilst I stirred it.
       “Are you new here then?”
       “Oh god no: I’m the Financial Manager, and been so for the past five years. This place is afloat because of me.”
       “Oh really?”
       “Yes. Really.” Stirring the pot, I noticed that my drink was done: just a minute and a half and I could be out of the cameras. “You wouldn’t want any would you?”
       “No thanks.”
       “Didn’t think so.” Pouring my drink, I rinsed the pot and spoon quickly, turning to leave with my mug in hand. I was halfway through the door when he called out.
       “I didn’t even catch your name!”
       Poking my head back around the corner, I offered a slight smile I hoped could pass for coy. “Neither I yours.” Weaving through the crowd, I sighed and stepped into my office, closing the door firmly behind me and taking the first sip of my cocoa. I still had too many numbers to put into the computer: it was going to be a long day.