Everything Has a Cost

Everything has a cost was his line. His one line. Was it a great line? No. It was an OK line, perfectly respectable, nothing special. It was a bit of a cliché, actually. How many characters in how many movies and TV shows had said that line or a very similar line at some point? But it was his line, his one line, and he intended to make the most of it. The director had given him considerable freedom to interpret the line in his own way, to deliver it in whatever way he wanted to deliver it. Everything has a cost. Everything has a cost. It’s not like a person could say it any which way. It wasn’t the kind of line you could say while giggling, for instance. It’s a serious kind of line; it had some psychological heft to it. He didn’t know the whole context of the line—he’d only been given the one script page—but clearly the character wasn’t referring to saltwater taffy for sale at the stand by the seashore. Everything has a cost; here’s a ten spot for some taffy. No: It was a line with some gravitas. But there are many gradations of gravitas, and the director said he could choose the gradation. Thanks, he’d said to the director. No sweat, the director had said back. He had practiced the line at home—he’d been up half the night practicing—and he had found fourteen distinct ways of saying it.

Can I try all of my fourteen ways of saying my line? he asked the director before the first take.

I don’t see why not, said the director.

The director was a very easygoing person. She wasn’t the kind of hard ass he’d expected her to be. He’d heard the stories. Who hadn’t? They were disturbing stories. Nightmare fuel, actually. But she seemed very nice, and he felt comfortable in her presence.

Let’s try the first one, said the director. You ready?

I think so, he said.

He took a deep breath. Was he actually ready, though? He wasn’t sure. According to the script, he would say his line from the passenger seat of a car. The actor playing the driver of the car wasn’t even on set today, and that was fine. The shot didn’t require the driver to be there.

He climbed into the car and adjusted the position of the passenger seat to his liking. He grabbed the seatbelt and then paused midway.

Buckled or unbuckled? he said.

Either way, said the director. Do whatever feels right. In the scene, the car is parked in a parking garage, so I think you could be buckled or unbuckled.

I think I’m going to go with buckled, he said, buckling the belt.

That’s your prerogative, said the director. Hey, I’m cool with that.

He took three deep breaths. He said his line over and over in his head. Everything has a cost. Everything has a cost. Everything has a cost.

OK, we’ll do the first take now, said the director. Ready?

Ready, he said.

OK…action, said the director.

He clenched his jaw. He narrowed his eyes.

Everything has a cost, he said.

Cut, said the director. Shit, I’m sorry. It seems you’re still working off the old script.

Old script? he said.

Yes, said the director. Your line got changed.

The director handed him a piece of paper. He looked at it, and then he looked at the director.

This is my new line?

Yes, said the director.

Bugs, bugs, bugs…for reals, I got bugs in my pants, he said. Is this a joke?

No, said the director.

It’s…very different, he said. It’s a very different line from my other line.

Well, it was a substantial rewrite, said the director.

Everything has a cost, he said. That was a solid line. I really knew how to say that one.

That’s nice, said the director.

I think I really nailed it, he said. Everything has a cost. The way I said it…I think I really said it great. I wish you could have heard it. I wish you could have heard all fourteen ways.

Well, forget about that line, said the director. That line’s gone and it’s never coming back.

In one of my ways, I cocked my brow just like this, he said.

He cocked his brow.

What do you think of that? he said.

I think you should read the fucking line I just gave you, said the director. That’s what I think.

He looked at the script page.

But how am I supposed to say this one? he said.

It’s your call, she said. Say it any which way you like. Ready?

I…guess so, he said.

OK…action, said the director.

He screwed up his face and opened his eyes very wide.

Bugs, bugs, bugs…for reals, I got bugs in my pants! he said.

Cut, said the director. Well, that was a special flavor of horseshit. I really need you to feel it.

The director walked over to the car with a big bag of bugs. The stories had been true after all.