"Tell me where he is," the cowboy yelled, dragging an axe behind him, "or I'll split your fucking head open like a grapefruit!"
"No, no!" Anna screamed, shutting the door in his face. He jammed his boot in the door, and his immense strength won out, knocking her to the ground.
"Now say goodnight, lil' doll," he smirked, raising the axe high in the air and bringing it down on her head.
Lurching upright, Anna gulped lungfuls of cold air. Her heart pounded within her chest, and icy sweat coated her face. Dawn approached, lending a pink glow to the threadbare cotton drapes in her tiny Hollywood apartment where all the other small-time actresses lived. It was still hours from the shoot, but the girl leapt out of bed and poured herself a glass of water, eager to wash away the imaginary taste of strawberry syrup from her mouth.
Gripping the rickety writing desk, Anna waited for her hands to stop shaking. There was a tiny vanity mirror where she'd rehearse her lines, over and over again, until the character consumed her whole and she was living on another planet. Each time, it took longer and longer to remember she's still in a tiny, cramped apartment, barely three paces across, with hardly any heating and where the lights died after 9pm.
The other actresses went out after dark, to dances or to their second jobs. But this. Anna wanted this. After a couple of days, she began believing she liked it as well. In her quest for perfection, the fictional characters were as real to her as her family back home.
"Today, we'll see whether it's worth it," Anna whispered as she brushed her hair, careful not to wake the other girls.
Despite the cold, Anna opted to walk the entire two miles to the film lot. She clutched the quilted shawl to herself, hoping the smell of home and her mother's hands would ground her in this reality. It didn't. She hoped too, that the breeze would clear her head and rid her imagination of all the characters she'd portrayed. It didn't either. Yet, after reaching the studio, Anna was still lucid enough to realise the set was already buzzing with activity. Her eyes widened at the scale of it all: an immense open ballroom with crystal chandeliers, a fancy restaurant decked in mahogany, and a three storey hotel hewn from marble pillars. Everywhere she went, the crew were shifting rows of costumes and fixing up lights, eager to stick to a schedule. Once again, she wondered if she'd bitten off more than she could chew.
Lost in her thoughts, she whirled around as Kristoff approached her.
"You're early," he commented.
"Early bird catches the worm," Anna answered. The ease with which she switched into a Brooklyn accent took Kristoff by surprise.
"You're really a chameleon," Kristoff shook his head, "why don't you head over to costuming and see if you can make yourself look the part?"
Shrugging, and with no one to tell her what to do, Anna helped herself to simple working clothes off a random costume rack - befitting her factory girl character from upstate New York. The life of an urbanised, city-dwelling girl who smoked and swore and took the bus to her manufacturing job, was as distant to her as another world, but still she persisted. With minutes left, Anna opted to do her own makeup before a windowpane. She caught a reflection of some bright lights, and turned to see a multitude of stylists and crew fussing over a blonde actress - and her heart clenched when she realised who it was.
At once, Anna checked the script again, for the casting names she'd completely glossed over in favour of memorising the lines.
Veronica May-Porter - Elsa Sheridan
"Elsa Sheridan," Anna gasped to herself, "that's who I'm supposed to be working with?"