….
Lena Crawford stood behind the camera, doing her best not to dwell on one unavoidable fact.
She was about to direct Regal Seraphsail.
For her, he wasn't just another actor stepping into frame. He was the first person who had believed in her when no one else did - the one who had given her a chance to work as an assistant director under him, long before her name carried any weight of its own.
Was she nervous?
No. Nervousness would have been manageable.
This was something closer to a quiet unraveling.
But it was also true that she had been preparing for these three weeks.
Shot lists color-coded by priority, backup plans for every conceivable problem.
Notes on each actor's previous work, their tendencies, what kinds of direction they responded to best. She had even practiced her camera directions out loud at home until her husband told her she was talking in her sleep about rack focuses.
Lena glanced at her notebook - covered in annotations, questions she had prepared, reminders to herself about tone and pacing.
She'd written 'BREATHE' in the margin of every page.
Huffff… Huffff…
Huffff… Huffff…
Then another, letting each one out slowly through her nose, grounding herself.
She forced her thoughts back over everything it had taken to reach this moment.
The projects that had been shelved days before shooting because a producer decided a woman 'didn't quite fit the tone'.
The meetings where her ideas were praised, only to be repeated minutes later by someone else and suddenly taken seriously.
The jobs she lost after being labeled 'difficult' for pushing back, or 'unreliable' for refusing eighteen-hour days without warning.
There were the pilots that never made it past development, the scripts that stalled in limbo, the long stretches where she had to choose between family emergencies and professional momentum - knowing the industry rarely forgave either choice.
And just when Regal had been ready to invest in her own script, everything paused.
A break of over a year and a half, away from sets and schedules, because she had gotten pregnant, carried a child, and given birth, all while quietly wondering whether stepping away meant she would never be asked back.
It had taken her husband's steady support, months of doubt, and more stubbornness than she liked to admit to return.
And yet - here she was.
She had made it through the first week of directing a new sitcom called Friends.
She genuinely liked the material: the rhythm of the dialogue, the chemistry the writers were building toward, the feeling that this could grow into something lasting.
When Regal had called her personally, she hadn't even pretended to hesitate.
He had backed her early, never talked down to her, never treated her as a novelty. In many ways, he had been her professional godfather.
But what truly convinced her was meeting the writers and feeling how deeply they cared about the work.
There was no chance she was going to mess this up.
Not even if it meant being the first person to call 'action' for a director who had reshaped Hollywood in the span of five years.
"Lena?"
She was startled. "—Ah!"
Regal stood beside her, lightly tapping her shoulder.
"Are you still with us?"
"Yes. Yes." she said quickly. "Sorry. I spaced out for a second."
He studied her for a moment. "You sure?"
She nodded, squaring her shoulders. "Completely."
"Well…" he said, stepping back toward the set. "-that's good to hear."
The moment passed, and Lena snapped fully into focus.
They had three days to establish Gunther, get clean, usable footage of the main cast, and lock the pilot before Regal gets busy with [Deadpool] release in February.
His time was valuable, and that alone would have been enough pressure. Add to that the fact that this was her set, her responsibility, and failure simply wasn't an option.
….
She forced herself to sound more confident than she felt. "We should start with the basic movements. Just go through the routine - making coffee, wiping down, the usual barista stuff. We'll capture it from a few angles, see what reads best on camera."
Regal nodded and moved behind the counter.
Lena returned to the monitor, hyper-aware of every decision she was making. Where to position the camera.
Which lens to use, how tight to frame the shot.
She had watched directors make these choices hundreds of times.
Now it was her turn, and suddenly every option felt weighted with the possibility of being wrong.
"Okay, rolling." she called out, her voice steadier than she expected.
Regal began the sequence - grinding beans, steaming milk, wiping the counter. His movements were precise, controlled, every action deliberate and complete.
Lena watched the monitor, frowning slightly.
It looked.... Professional.
Exactly how someone would perform the actions if they were demonstrating them.
But it didn't look real.
She let the take run to completion, buying herself time to figure out how to articulate what was wrong.
This was the part she had been dreading - giving notes to someone who had infinitely more experience than her, who could probably direct this scene better than she could even if he wasn't the one in front of the camera.
But that wasn't her job right now. Her job was to make this work, regardless of who was performing it.
"Cut." she said. Then, before she could second-guess herself: "Can we talk about what we just did?"
Regal stepped out from behind the counter, attentive. "Sure. What are you thinking?"
Lena pulled up the playback, gesturing to the screen. "See here? The way you're moving - it's very clean. Every action has a clear beginning, middle, and end."
"That's a problem?"
"For this character, yeah." She paused, trying to find the right words.
This wasn't like the notes she had heard Regal give on his sets - he would usually describe what he wanted emotionally, let the actor figure out how to achieve it.
But Lena had learned direction from multiple sources, and her approach was more technical, more specific.
"The issue is that it looks performed." she continued. "Like you're showing me how to make coffee rather than just making coffee. Does that make sense?"
Regal's eyes were still on the monitor, but Lena could tell he was processing rapidly - the way he did when problem-solving on set.
She had seen this before during production meetings when confronted with technical challenges.
His mind worked through solutions faster than most people could articulate the problem.
"Muscle memory without conscious engagement." he said. "The body's doing one thing while the mind's completely checked out."
"Yes."
"Give me one second." Regal closed his eyes briefly, and Lena recognized what he was doing - she had seen actors do this before, but never with this kind of speed. He was resetting internally, recalibrating his entire approach to the character in real-time.
When he opened his eyes and moved back behind the counter, something fundamental had shifted.
"Yeah… Let me try something."
"Go for it."
….
"Rolling when you're ready." Lena said.
This time the transformation was immediate and startling.
Regal's movements lost all their careful precision. His hands moved with the kind of unconscious efficiency that came from repetition - reaching for things without looking, movements overlapping in ways that suggested someone whose body knew the routine so well their mind didn't need to supervise.
He wiped the counter but missed a spot. Started steaming milk while the grinder was still finishing. Small inefficiencies that made it look completely real.
Lena leaned forward, surprised. "Cut. That was - how did you change it that fast?"
Regal looked at her with a slight smile. "You gave me a clear direction. Once I understood what wasn't working, it was just a matter of adjusting the internals."
"But that was one take—" She stopped mid-sentence, the thought trailing off as she met his gaze and saw the calm certainty there.
Of course.
She felt a small shift in her chest, the tension easing as the realization settled in. This wasn't something to be surprised by.
This was Regal.
And suddenly, it all made sense.
Lena realized what she was seeing.
This wasn't someone fumbling through their first acting experience. Regal had been studying this craft seriously - maybe not publicly, or in big roles, but with the same intensity he brought to everything else.
"Okay." she said, recalibrating her own approach. "Let's add the dialogue. Same energy - you're so bored with this routine that the words are just noise."
"The 'here's your coffee' line?"
"Yeah. And this might sound strange, but you're not really talking to Ross in the scene." She explained. "You're just making the right sounds while your mind is already somewhere else."
Regal nodded once, and Lena saw him make another internal adjustment - subtle, but present. Like watching someone fine-tune an instrument.
"Whenever you're ready."
He went through the sequence - making the coffee, sliding it across the counter. Then: "Here's your coffee, Ross. Extra foam, just like always."
The line came out perfect.
Lena felt a mix of relief and something else - genuine admiration.
"But can we go for one more for safety." she said. "Same energy, same throw-away delivery."
They ran it again.
Even cleaner than before - Regal had fully inhabited the adjustment now, making it look effortless.
"That was sport on." Lena called.
As the crew reset for the next shot, she found herself re-evaluating her entire approach to the day. She'd been terrified of directing Regal, worried about giving notes to someone more experienced. But the reality was different than she'd anticipated.
Yes, he was more experienced - as a director. But as an actor, he was skilled enough to take direction efficiently while humble enough to not let ego interfere with the process. That combination was rare.
One of the camera operators - Mike, who had worked on Regal's previous films - approached her during the reset.
"That was impressive." he said quietly.
"He's better than I expected." Lena admitted.
"Not him. You." Mike adjusted his rig. "You gave clear, specific direction without hesitation. Didn't matter that it was Regal - you treated him like any other actor and got exactly what you needed."
"He made it easy by adjusting so fast."
"He adjusted fast because your direction was good." Mike countered. "I have worked with a lot of first-time directors. Most of them are too scared to give real notes to actors they admire, or they give vague emotional direction and hope the actor figures it out. You were specific and technical. That's why he could make the change immediately."
Lena hadn't thought about it that way. She had been so focused on her own anxiety about directing someone of Regal's stature that she hadn't considered how her preparation - all those reference videos, all that analysis of real baristas, all that specific observation - had actually equipped her to give the kind of clear direction that made quick adjustments possible.
"Thanks." she said.
Mike nodded and walked away.
Lena looked down at her notebook - all the obsessive preparation and contingency plans and reminders to breathe. She had been carrying it like a security blanket, afraid to trust her own instincts.
But her instincts had been right. The reference footage had been useful. The specific technical direction had worked.
She closed the notebook and set it aside.
Time to actually direct instead of hiding behind preparation.
….
Three days later | Evening.
Regal sat on the edge of the bed, still in his jeans and t-shirt from set, exhausted in a way that felt different from his usual post-production fatigue.
Gwendolyn emerged from the bathroom, toweling her hair. "Long day?"
"Very."
"How did it go?"
"We wrapped Gunther's scenes for the pilot. Lena got everything she needed."
"So Mr. Director? How does it feel to be Mr. Actor for once?" Gwendolyn asked amusingly.
"It was a good experience."
"So, do you want to act more?"
"Maybe? Not in anything big. But these small roles, where I can show up, do my part, and leave... There is something appealing about that. With no pressure, and responsibility beyond my own performance."
"Like a break from yourself."
"Hmm, something like." Regal smiled. "You know what? Maybe you should also act. It would be fun acting with you."
"No thank you."
"What? Instant rejection?"
.
….
[To be continued…]
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