The Bodyguard (66)

We walked along the shore for a while, picking up pieces of petrified wood as well as rocks and pebbles and driftwood. The wind was as constant as the river current, and I couldn’t help but feel soothed by its fluttering.

After a while, we came to a washed-up tree trunk, and Jack decided to sit on it.

I sat next to him.

Usually, when you see people for the last time, you don’t know it’s the last time. I wasn’t sure if this was better or worse. But I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to talk about something ordinary. Something we’d be talking about if it were just any old day.

“Can I ask you something about being an actor?” I asked then.

“Sure. Shoot.”

“How do you make yourself cry?”

Jack tilted his head at me like that was a pretty good question. “Okay. The best way is to get so into your character that you feel what he’s feeling—and then if he’s feeling the things that make people cry … suddenly you’re crying, too.”

“How often does that happen?” I asked.

“Five percent of the time. But I’m working on it.”

“That’s not much.”

Jack nodded, watching the river. “Yeah. Especially on a movie set. Because there are so many distractions—so many cranes and booms and crew members and extras everywhere. And it’s too cold or too hot or they put a weird gel in your hair that’s kind of itchy. When it’s like that, you have to work a lot harder.”

“Like how?”

“You have to actively think about something real from your own life—something true—that makes you feel sad. You have to go there mentally and feel those feelings until the tears come.”

“That sounds hard.”

“It is. But the alternative is messing up the shot, so you’re motivated.”

“What if you just can’t cry?”

Jack looked at me like he was assessing if I could handle the answer. “If you just can’t cry, there’s a stick.”

“A stick?”

“Yeah. The makeup folks rub it under your eyes, and it makes your eyes water. Like onions.”

“That sounds like cheating.”

“It’s totally cheating. And everybody knows you’re cheating because they just watched it happen. And they’re judging you. And that makes it all even harder.”

“Vicious cycle,” I said, like Been there.

“Exactly. But I have another trick.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t blink.”

I blinked.

“That’s the trick,” Jack said. “Just don’t blink.”

“You mean just hold your eyelids open in a stare?”

“Be subtle about it—but, yeah. If your eyes start to dry out, they’ll water. Then, presto. Tears.”

“How do you do that without looking weird?”

“How do you do anything without looking weird?”

“Wait,” I said. “Tell me you did not do that for The Destroyers.”

Jack clamped his mouth shut.

I leaned closer. “Tell me that when The Destroyer is weeping for an entire lost universe and it’s one of the most moving moments in the history of cinema that he did not just have … dry eyeballs.”

“No comment.”

“Oh my God! You’re a monster!”

“You asked,” Jack said.

I stared at him.

Then he squinted at me. “You know I’m not really The Destroyer, right?”

“Of course.” Mostly.

“That was a movie.”

“I know that.”

“I was paid to act in it. It wasn’t real.”

But I was still processing. “Should I be mad at you right now?”

But Jack was moving on. “No,” he said, rotating toward me on the log. “You should be admiring me.” He swung his leg over the tree trunk, so he was astride it, swatting at my knee for me to do the same, until we were facing each other, knees touching. “Okay,” he said, leaning in. “First one to cry wins.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m teaching you how to cry.”

“I don’t need help with that.”

“How to fake cry. It comes in surprisingly handy. Just think of it as a staring contest.”

“I don’t want to have a staring contest.”

“Too late.”

I gave him a short sigh of capitulation.

“Come on, come on,” Jack said, waving me closer.

Fine. I leaned forward a little.

Jack leaned forward, too.

And then we were staring at each other, noses a few inches apart—not blinking. The air between us felt strangely silky.

And when it got too intense, I said, “I’ve heard there’s a scientific thing that if you look into someone’s eyes for too long, you’ll fall in love.”

Jack looked away.

Noted.

Then he looked back. “Don’t mess me up. Starting over.”

After a little longer, I said, “My eyes are starting to sting.”

“That’s good. Lean into that. In sixty seconds, you’ll be a professional actress.”