Christine arrived on set early the next morning, hoping the day wouldn't feel as everlasting as the previous day of shooting. The cameramen were busy trying to record as many of the shots they could do in their urban setting, planning to soon move their equipment and set pieces to Paris, their actual filming location. Several people were already bustling about before the cameras began rolling: moving several flower arrangements, setting up a small library, makeup artists preparing for the actors, cast members reciting their lines to themselves, directors guzzling down cups of coffee.
Soon Christine was tugged away into a dressing room to get her appearance ready for filming- slipping a peasant-like puffed-sleeve dress on over a waist trainer, thinly rimming her blue eyes with eyeliner, applying a rose hue to her cheeks, perfecting the shape of her eyebrows, extending the length of her already-long eyelashes, tracing the shape of her soft lips with a pinkish stain, and styling her hair into a wavy low ponytail. Her appearance had completely transformed into that of her character's. She thanked the makeup artist and got up to see the director.
"Ah, Miss Daae. Please begin the scene where you enter the quaint library and interact with the sweet, old librarian in just a moment. Someone get Mr. Lewis onto the set! He's making me late by the moment!" He shouted from his seat overlooking the center of the set.
The older Mr. Lewis was soon brought to the cameras, and he stood by the bookshelves with a hand raised to scratch beneath the itchy powdered wig on his head. Action was called out loudly through a megaphone, and Christine took that as her cue to enter through the faux-door.
"Hello monsieur! I've come to return the book I borrowed the other day." She greeted in a delicate cadence she attributed to the would-be princess.
"Good morning Belle! You've finished the book already? There have been well-educated men who took over a week to get to the end. And they, quite obviously, didn't understand the metaphors and allegories incorporated within the story."
"It was too wonderful for me to put down!" She shrugged, turning slightly away from the camera to place the book in its rightful place.
"I shall accept your word for it. We haven't received any new volumes lately, I'm afraid."
"That's quite alright, I'll take this one to tide me over."
Her fingers elegantly pulled out a brown leather book, showing it off to the librarian.
A surprised expression overtook his face as he responded: "But you've read it so many times!"
"And it never fails to exhilarate me." She smiled with a brief flutter of the false eyelashes.
"Then you may keep it, my dear."
Her eyes widened, "Oh really?! I'm ever so grateful to you, monsieur!"
She bowed her head in thanks and excitedly left the bookstore, the long skirt of her dress billowing out behind her. The director called "cut" once Christine moved out of the shot and gave the pair a few notes on the scene, clearly insinuating that they needed to redo it.
Hours passed of the crew setting up and shooting small scenes, actors growing more and more tired with each take. There were seemingly relatively few things they could actually shoot without the music prepared, but it seemed to take forever to complete even those they planned on doing. Christine would sit down whenever possible, sneaking sweet biscuits or fruits whenever there was a moment she wasn't needed for.
The return home was later than the previous night but happened practically the same way: greeting Mary, eating dinner, and being left alone for the night. Christine decided to begin packing her things for Paris, knowing that she'd been putting it off until the last minute. Her flight was meant to leave after tomorrow, and quite early in the morning. Luckily, the cast wasn't expected to shoot scenes upon arrival. But they would soon meet the musical director and be bossed around by yet another commanding man.
As the young actress folded her clothes into a pastel blue suitcase, she imagined what this man would be like. She assumed that any kind of director was usually a mousy-looking older man that reeked of cigarettes, coffee, or alcohol and criticized the smallest details of his work as it was being performed. Surely this man wouldn't break the stereotype she formed in her mind after 4 years of experience with such people.
