Actress Under Siege: A Fairytale
- 5 days ago
- 6 min read
What begins as an unexpectedly early call time turns into a surreal day inside a television studio under lockdown. Between missing scripts, improvised scenes, and hours of waiting with nowhere to go, the cast and crew navigate chaos with humor and resilience. In the end, it’s not the performance but the endurance that defines the day.
A Morning That Started Too Early
Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in the magical mesa of Bacatá, a high plateau city nestled in the Andes Mountains. In this northwest corner of South America, snow, rain, and sunshine can all arrive within the span of an hour.
This particular Wednesday was special—one of those paradoxical Bacatá days: unusually sunny, strangely hot, yet touched by a cold sun, part of its ever-changing celestial weather patterns.
But at seven in the morning, before the morning light had fully arrived, Petra was fast asleep in her cozy bed when the telephone rang. She groaned and reached for the landline.
“Hello?”
“How quickly can you get to the studio?” It was Meder, the coordinator.
“What are you talking about? You told me my call time was at noon today. Technically I’m still dreaming,” Petra said, with a yawn.
“We need you to get to the studio as soon as possible.”
“What's going on?”
A pause.
“We just need you here sooner. They’ve switched scenes,” Meder replied flatly.
Petra sat up in bed. Traffic would be hideous at this hour, but at least she'd be wrapped before the day ended.
“Well, it’ll take me a little while to get ready before I hop in the car,” she said.
“Wardrobe wants me to remind you to bring as many outfits as you can. Ciao.”
Click.
Petra stared at her phone. Someone was grouchy this morning.
She stretched and sashayed over to her closet. Silvia, the costume mistress, had been very specific the night before: “Just bring everything you can.” Petra pulled her carry-on suitcase from under the bed and grabbed a few extra bags. She hummed as she packed—mini skirts, leopard print pants, jean jacket, black leggings, white leggings, snake print leggings, and about twenty different tops, plus a few sweaters and ponchos. All perfect for Maria Begonia, her character.
It was going to be an interesting day. She hadn’t played Maria Begonia in quite some time. Ernesto, the writer, had been otherwise occupied in more… liquid pursuits. This could be her triumphant return.
The birds were still screeching as she left her apartment. Petra smiled. It was going to be a great day—back to work.
Two hours later, she arrived at the pearly gates of AVBTPC (A Very Big Television Production Company). At the entrance, several men in military-style clothing waved baseball bats and wooden sticks, surrounded by a crowd of civilians, jockeying for position.
Petra squinted. Were they filming a war movie? She wondered if she could sneak into that project—play a nurse, maybe a spy.
She dialed Meder.
“It looks like they’re filming at the gate.”
“Drive around to the back,” he said.
As she stepped out of her cherry-red hatchback, Meder jumped in front of her.
“Just leave your car here,” he called.
“Oh! You gave me a scare. Can’t I park inside with the others?” she asked, smiling sweetly.
“There’s no room.”
“Oh dear.”
“I can help you with your bags.”
“Thank you.”
She pulled out her ID, showed it at the back entrance, and after a buzz and a heavy metallic click, the door opened.
Finally, she was back at her dream job—acting in the telenovela Reina de Oro, Corazón de Drama.
The Studio Behind Closed Doors
The parking lot was full. As the door clanged shut behind them, Meder stopped and turned to her.
“The studio is under siege.”
“What? What are you talking about? It looks like they’re filming outside.”
“The people at the front staged a protest. They’re not letting anyone leave. They broke the security guard’s arm.”
“Oh my God. What about the guy at the back gate?”
“He’s one of them.”
“And you told me to come here knowing this?”
Meder shifted awkwardly.
“We need you. You’re in the big party scene. It airs tomorrow.”
“Hijueputa,” Petra muttered.
She suddenly thought of the roach motel commercial—roaches check in, but they don’t check out. She was trapped.
Taking a deep breath, Petra adjusted her bag and stepped forward, every bit the professional actress, even under siege.
She thought of the roach motel commercial ,'roaches check in, but they can't check out.'
Petra made her way to the green room, where Silvia, the costume mistress took her bags.
“We found out last night you’d be in the scene. No time to shop. Sorry.”
“I don’t mind,” Petra smiled. She had come prepared.
“Let’s get you made up,” said Amparo, pulling her into the chair.
“Was this already happening when you got here?” Petra whispered.
“Yes, but we’re not supposed to talk about it,” Amparo replied, pointing toward the door.
Forty minutes later, Petra was camera-ready. A few actors lounged outside, playing cards.
“How many scenes have you filmed?” she asked.
“We’re still waiting for pages,” Gonzalo snarled from his seat.
Gonzalo was the resident hottie actor. Short, slim, bald, with a wicked smile and sense of humor, he loved joking with her. Her gaze rested on his lips and she wondered if he was a good kisser...then his words sunk in. Petra snapped out of her reverie.
"Wait, you mean the scene hasn't been written?"
"Nope," he answered with a raised eyebrow. Such a shame he was married.
Scripts, Chaos, and Improvisation
Six months ago, they were just another show with a good script. Now they were the number one telenovela. As ratings soared, scripts trickled in slower and slower—sometimes just a page at a time.
Petra wandered through the production complex, far from the mob. In the adjoining building, the network continued its broadcast as if nothing was happening, ignoring the chaos outside.
Her phone rang.
“What’s this I’m seeing on the news about a blockade? Are you there?” It was her mother. The siege had gone international.
“It’s nothing,” Petra said lightly. “Just a small protest.”
She wondered how long this would last. Should she claim a couch? Ration snacks?
“Petra!” Gonzalo ran toward her. “We got the pages!”
“How?” Ernesto's office was in a different building. There was no way to get there without going around the front to where the mob was.
"Meder jumped over the wall and got the pages. They're xeroxing them now."
"I have to go Mom," she said into the phone. "They're calling me."
"Keep me posted!"
There were four scenes—Petra was in two. The first was shot quickly; she improvised most of her dialogue. The fashion show and party took much longer. The entire cast was there, along with dozens of extras. Everyone was in constant motion, people darting in and out while small adjustments were made over and over again, even when everything had seemed perfectly fine just moments before.
Waiting It Out Like an Actress
By 4 p.m., the cast had technically wrapped. Technically. No one could leave.
And so began the waiting.
Petra and Gonzalo found a checkers board outside. They had already exhausted war and gin rummy. This felt like progress.
The sun went down. Conversations slowed. It started to feel like they were never actually leaving.
At nine o'clock, Meder finally appeared.
“You can go home now.”
No applause. No music. Just relief.
Petra waved to the regular security guard at the back entrance—the one she actually knew—and walked to her car, grateful it was still there.
And just like that, the day ended—not with a bang, just the quiet exhale of having made it through the wait. Not a single mention in the news, as if the whole thing had politely agreed not to exist.
And yes… everyone lived happily ever after.
Or at least made it home in time for a late dinner.
Note: Any resemblance to real events is purely coincidental… and I'm sticking to that story.