Eager to begin my casting duties, I officiously grab a pad and pen and introduce myself to him. I ask him about the odd-looking people. The production manager rushes over and tries to shoo me away. Adam stares down at his black Converse hi-tops and mumbles something about getting back to me later. Later never comes.
Days go by.
I notice that Adam is spending an inordinate amount of time with Harley, a sexy, Harley-driving production designer. They huddle together, discussing scenic art and swing shifts while I stare at the veneer walls and watch the production accountant twirl her frosted curls as she flirts with a new P.A. after the old P.A. gets fired for eating too much trail mix off the craft-services table. Movie hierarchies are the same from set to set. The actors barricade themselves in their trailers and when bored, fuck the cute P.A.s. Twice a day, Howie comes by and asks me about the status of the extras.