The Accidental Movie Star by Emily Evans Page A

her.”
    Ashley texted, “What did you stick in the oil?”
    “Whole potatoes, cored and stuffed with special seasoning. Customers rated ’em an eight.”
    ***
    Ashley left the drama behind her in search of warehouse twelve. It stood near the stucco main office buildings. Ashley jogged past and headed to Dad’s office. She took the elevator to the top floor. Tap, tap, tap.“Dad in?” she asked his secretary.
    “Sorry, dear, he’s got meetings all day.”
    Ashley swallowed and backtracked to warehouse twelve. Just inside, a gray-haired woman sat at a long counter with row upon row of floor-to-ceiling racks behind her. Fluorescent bulbs hummed overhead, and the smell of dusty paper overwhelmed the space.
    “I’m Ashley Herrington, here to assist for the day.”
    The woman slowly raised her eyes from the papers in front of her and gestured behind her. Ashley moved around the counter. Boxes of papers were stacked under the counter and on the floor all around her chair. The lady lifted a piece of paper, stared at the words, then wrote a number in the top right corner. Then she put the coded piece of paper in an outbox to her left. She nudged the outbox toward Ashley. “File these. The shelves and folders are numbered.”
    Ashley lifted the papers and headed into the world of filing. Minutes in the world of filing crawled by like the Dallas Cowboys in the fourth quarter—slow. She really needed to thank Dad for getting her the job on the set instead of in an office because this was painful. Ashley checked the clock on the wall. It had to be almost noon. The clock read nine forty-five . She swallowed and trekked back to the front. “Are there any vending machines near here?”
    The gray head shook. “They didn’t want to risk anything getting wet. Or people taking too many breaks.”
    “So no restroom either?”
    “You have to go two buildings over for that.”
    Ashley went back to row 844 to continue filing and played tunes on her mobile phone until the battery ran down. She filed everything she could, and the only things left in her pile were ones labeled with a number and the letter B. Ashley jogged back to the front. “I can’t find row 72B.”
    The gray-haired lady let her hand drape off the counter and she pointed downwards. “Below this floor. Sub-basement filing.”
    Noon.
    Thank you, God. Ashleyclimbed from the basement storage and dropped off the empty outbox with the filing lady. Filing lady didn’t say thanks.
    Ashley waved anyway and ran for the exit. She threw her arms out in the California air, blinked against the sunlight, and sucked in a breath free of the smell of paper.
    Odd how just being in a filing room could make you so thirsty. She thought maybe it was California’s dry air; or maybe it was the knowledge that the building didn’t have a drink machine. She couldn’t have a drink, so she wanted a drink—the lure of the forbidden. Raising her arms over her head, Ashley stretched as she walked toward her set.
    In addition to boredom and thirst, the repetitive task of filing in the cold basement level of the warehouse had made her stiff. Here she was, living in the land of yoga, and she could barely move. Stretching on tiptoe to work out her muscles, she spotted a new coffee kiosk and went to see if they had hot chocolate.
    They did, but they also had hot tea. In Texas, she only liked iced tea, but California could be chilly, so hot tea worked. Craft services offered tea on set, but theirs tasted like the bottom of the coffee pot they brewed it in, so she’d only drank it once.
    She stirred in milk and sugar and popped on the white lid. The steam of the tea seeped through the hole. Sipping the drink, she made the short walk back, enjoying the warmth of the cup against her cold fingers. Inside, the stage area was quiet, which meant shooting. She eased closer.
    “Cut,” the director said right as Ashley got close enough to watch.
    Ashley hoped they’d resume soon. When Caz transformed