As (bad?) luck would have it, the band couldn't shoot the video with me but Monica reassured me that it would be fine, and she was right. Actually, it was better than fine. It was perfect, from start to finish. There it was a beautiful sunny day. There was breakfast, a friendly crew and Monica, in her element and in high spirits. There was a massively huge wide open space to shoot in. And there was Esther, waiting for me on the sidewalk downstairs. Very young and very pretty, with dark hair and dark eyes, she was new to the city from Israel. As we headed up the elevator, Esther told me with this really bizarre accent that she was my personal assistant for the day and that she was to do whatever I told her.

After we arrived on the set and introductions were made all around, I put down my things and looked at her blankly for a moment as she smiled at me sweetly, awaiting instructions. That's when what she said on the elevator began to sink in, much to my dismay. I had absolutely no idea what to tell her. I was so used to doing everything myself that I didn't know what to delegate when help arrived. So I stalled by noshing and making small talk with the crew. When I grabbed a bagel and asked if they had a toaster oven in the kitchen (to which Esther piped, "I'll do it for you!") I knew I was in trouble.

I always end up carrying the ball. Case in point: I'm styling this shoot, I'm doing the make-up, I chose the outfit, blah, blah, blah. So far, that's been the case with every shoot I've done for my work. I didn't want it to be that way. I wanted someone to show up who really knew what they were doing and take the reins. But when I first came to NYC, those people didn't have time for me and I didn't have time to convince them to work with me. So I did my own make-up, for example-and after awhile, I got good at it. Doing theater helps because there's no one there to do your make-up for you and the routine of putting it on and taking it off for eight shows a week forces you to really look at your own face and figure it out. When you do a Broadway show, you get a MAC endorsement, which means an endless supply of everything you need.

Don't get me wrong. I don't mind carrying the ball. I did at first, but now I'm so used to it, I don't know how to not do it. Which brings me back to Esther, smiling and patient, looking at me quizzically.

I suppose this is the part where I'm supposed to turn into some grand diva bitch and order her around mercilessly, demand a spinach omelet or something from some exclusive restaurant in the neighborhood, don't speak to the crew-or better yet, don't have them speak to me unless I speak to them first. (I love that one.) Yell at people, I don't know. But instead, we had girl talk while I put on my make up and I made her teach me how to say chatty useless things in Hebrew. When I saw that she had a 35M camera and that she was going to take candid shots all day, I asked her for copies (and later for specific shots), which she happily obliged. "Please make sure there's warm grilled chicken in my salad," I intoned ominously at lunchtime, and then we'd both laugh. That's about as bad as I got.

Actually, I was a total Chatty Cathy on the set, talking to the crew and cracking jokes-probably because I was so nervous initially. Onstage, I'm completely at home, but I'm not as comfortable in front of the camera as I should be. All in all, it was a fun shoot. Everyone could look at the monitor and tell that we were getting some great shots and that it was going to turn out remarkably well.