Hollywood Dirt
Page 26
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“Nothing.” The man’s hands moved nervously in the limited space between them, his gaze flitting to Cole’s eyes, then down, then back up, the entire production a little nauseating. Literally nauseating. Cole grabbed his arms, stilling the movement. “Stop that. Talk.”
“Summer… she’s not an actress. No background in film. I asked her already. Tried to get her a job.”
Cole shrugged. “And?”
“And…” Ben looked away. “She can be a little headstrong.”
The corner of Cole’s mouth turned up and he smiled. “Yeah. I got that.”
“Maybe you should let me bring it up to her. I don’t think…” He twisted his mouth, and if Cole could open his lips and drag the words out of him, he would. Instead, he waited.
“I don’t think she likes you very much.” The words rushed out of the man quickly, and he gripped his seatbelt as he said them, his eyes jumping to the side.
For the first time since Nadia left him, Cole laughed. Not long, just a few beats in time, but he felt a pinch of something tight relax, felt a bit of himself come back. I don’t think she likes you very much.
“Good,” he said, shifting the car back into drive and turning down the dirt road. “That’s a good thing.”
CHAPTER 31
“The only reason I'm in Hollywood is that I don't have the moral courage to refuse the money.”
~ Marlon Brando
I was in my bedroom, fishing items out of the laundry basket, when the knock came, the crack of the door heard, then Ben’s voice. “Summer?”
I stepped out of the bedroom and into the hall, my steps hesitant until I saw that it was just him. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” he repeated.
We looked at each other for a long moment, then burst out laughing.
“So tell me,” I said, my butt on the back porch, my feet in flip-flops on the top step, the lines of the wood against my bare thighs. “How badly did I screw things up?”
I cradled a Miller Lite in my hands, Ben’s colder than mine; I had grabbed the fridge door the minute Ben’s car left the yard.
“Pretty bad,” Ben laughed, pausing in his sip to straighten up, his index finger pointed straight out, a furious look on his face. “Get OOUUUUTTT!” he mimicked, and I covered my face, laughing.
“Pretty bad,” I agreed, finishing the remainder of the beer and setting it down on the porch. “Did I at least look kick ass?”
“In your baggy tee, grandma bathing suit and ripped shorts?” he grimaced. “Oh yeah. Totally kick ass.”
There was a quiet moment as he took a sip, and I swatted a mosquito, crickets starting their cadence from across the field.
“He wants you to star in the movie,” Ben finally said, his eyes on the field, his hands joined together around his beer.
“What?” I stared at him, willed his eyes to meet mine, a joke on the edge of my lips. But when he turned his head to me, when his eyes met mine, I saw the sincerity in them. Saw a bit of something else, too. Sadness? Worry?
“Are you serious?” I demanded, jumping off the porch and standing before him, my hands on my hips. “Bennington…” I searched for his last name.
“Payne,” he supplied.
“Bennington Payne, are you yanking my leg?”
“I’m not.” He tilted back his beer and took a long pull of it, a line of condensation running down its stem. “He does. Wants you to take Minka Price’s place. Thinks you’re perfect. Authentic.” The word ‘perfect’ was enhanced by a gesture of the jazz hands variety.
I had to sit down, could feel the growing crescendo of the crickets closing in on me, the evening heat suddenly too much. I’d been hoping, three days earlier, for a job delivering donuts on set, brewing coffee, running copies. Now… Minka Price’s role? Mrs. Holden would be crushed. She had made plans to come back during filming, her heart set on meeting the actress in the grocery store, or the gas station, or on an evening walk, her pen and notepad conveniently nearby for an autograph and Oh, do you mind a photo? I sat on the closest step and tried to process this.
“It’s a no-brainer, Summer,” Ben said quietly. “No one gets an opportunity like this. Girls in Los Angeles screw, kidnap, and kill for something like this.”
I smiled at the image, a hundred big-breasted bottle blondes in different compromising positions, hands outstretched for a role that seemed undeservingly before me. I couldn’t act, had never tried. Hadn’t taken drama in high school or participated in church plays. And now… to take Minka Price’s place? Town would have a field day, whispers flying at a furious pace, the gossip mill twisting my good fortune into something ridiculous, that much was certain. I’d be famous. Not Price famous but still. I hung my head between my knees and took in a deep breath. I didn’t want to be famous.
“It’d be a ticket to the show…” Ben said soft and teasingly. A ticket to the show. Yes, being in the movie would put me in the middle of the action, would show me everything that I’d been worried about missing and then some. It would be very exciting. I’d seen the budgets, seen the amount of money—Cole Masten’s money—being poured into a production that would trump any event in Quincy’s history. A sudden thought hit, the first one that should have come to mind earlier. “How much does it pay?”
Ben shrugged. “No idea. But you could ask Cole.”
“Summer… she’s not an actress. No background in film. I asked her already. Tried to get her a job.”
Cole shrugged. “And?”
“And…” Ben looked away. “She can be a little headstrong.”
The corner of Cole’s mouth turned up and he smiled. “Yeah. I got that.”
“Maybe you should let me bring it up to her. I don’t think…” He twisted his mouth, and if Cole could open his lips and drag the words out of him, he would. Instead, he waited.
“I don’t think she likes you very much.” The words rushed out of the man quickly, and he gripped his seatbelt as he said them, his eyes jumping to the side.
For the first time since Nadia left him, Cole laughed. Not long, just a few beats in time, but he felt a pinch of something tight relax, felt a bit of himself come back. I don’t think she likes you very much.
“Good,” he said, shifting the car back into drive and turning down the dirt road. “That’s a good thing.”
CHAPTER 31
“The only reason I'm in Hollywood is that I don't have the moral courage to refuse the money.”
~ Marlon Brando
I was in my bedroom, fishing items out of the laundry basket, when the knock came, the crack of the door heard, then Ben’s voice. “Summer?”
I stepped out of the bedroom and into the hall, my steps hesitant until I saw that it was just him. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” he repeated.
We looked at each other for a long moment, then burst out laughing.
“So tell me,” I said, my butt on the back porch, my feet in flip-flops on the top step, the lines of the wood against my bare thighs. “How badly did I screw things up?”
I cradled a Miller Lite in my hands, Ben’s colder than mine; I had grabbed the fridge door the minute Ben’s car left the yard.
“Pretty bad,” Ben laughed, pausing in his sip to straighten up, his index finger pointed straight out, a furious look on his face. “Get OOUUUUTTT!” he mimicked, and I covered my face, laughing.
“Pretty bad,” I agreed, finishing the remainder of the beer and setting it down on the porch. “Did I at least look kick ass?”
“In your baggy tee, grandma bathing suit and ripped shorts?” he grimaced. “Oh yeah. Totally kick ass.”
There was a quiet moment as he took a sip, and I swatted a mosquito, crickets starting their cadence from across the field.
“He wants you to star in the movie,” Ben finally said, his eyes on the field, his hands joined together around his beer.
“What?” I stared at him, willed his eyes to meet mine, a joke on the edge of my lips. But when he turned his head to me, when his eyes met mine, I saw the sincerity in them. Saw a bit of something else, too. Sadness? Worry?
“Are you serious?” I demanded, jumping off the porch and standing before him, my hands on my hips. “Bennington…” I searched for his last name.
“Payne,” he supplied.
“Bennington Payne, are you yanking my leg?”
“I’m not.” He tilted back his beer and took a long pull of it, a line of condensation running down its stem. “He does. Wants you to take Minka Price’s place. Thinks you’re perfect. Authentic.” The word ‘perfect’ was enhanced by a gesture of the jazz hands variety.
I had to sit down, could feel the growing crescendo of the crickets closing in on me, the evening heat suddenly too much. I’d been hoping, three days earlier, for a job delivering donuts on set, brewing coffee, running copies. Now… Minka Price’s role? Mrs. Holden would be crushed. She had made plans to come back during filming, her heart set on meeting the actress in the grocery store, or the gas station, or on an evening walk, her pen and notepad conveniently nearby for an autograph and Oh, do you mind a photo? I sat on the closest step and tried to process this.
“It’s a no-brainer, Summer,” Ben said quietly. “No one gets an opportunity like this. Girls in Los Angeles screw, kidnap, and kill for something like this.”
I smiled at the image, a hundred big-breasted bottle blondes in different compromising positions, hands outstretched for a role that seemed undeservingly before me. I couldn’t act, had never tried. Hadn’t taken drama in high school or participated in church plays. And now… to take Minka Price’s place? Town would have a field day, whispers flying at a furious pace, the gossip mill twisting my good fortune into something ridiculous, that much was certain. I’d be famous. Not Price famous but still. I hung my head between my knees and took in a deep breath. I didn’t want to be famous.
“It’d be a ticket to the show…” Ben said soft and teasingly. A ticket to the show. Yes, being in the movie would put me in the middle of the action, would show me everything that I’d been worried about missing and then some. It would be very exciting. I’d seen the budgets, seen the amount of money—Cole Masten’s money—being poured into a production that would trump any event in Quincy’s history. A sudden thought hit, the first one that should have come to mind earlier. “How much does it pay?”
Ben shrugged. “No idea. But you could ask Cole.”
