Hollywood Dirt
Page 76
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“So that’s what this is? You’re playing the little Georgian’s heartstrings to get your movie a statuette?” Justin’s gaze never left Cole’s, the strength never left his shoulder, his voice didn’t back down, and Cole respected that. Even when he hated it.
“Nobody’s playing that girl’s heart. She won’t give me the time of day.”
Justin laughed, pushing away from the table, to standing, his hands resting on the glass top of it as he leaned forward. “She’s protecting herself, Cole. The best she can. Hell, if I had a snatch I’d put a steel trap on it before I stepped in the same room as you.”
“She’s not protecting herself,” Cole said, his head tilting up to look at Justin, his hands tightening on the edge of the chair arms. That wasn’t what Summer’s frostiness was all about. It was because she didn’t like Cole, despite the attraction between them.
But as he said the words, worked through the thought process, there was, in the back of his mind, doubt.
CHAPTER 84
SCENE 38: ROYCE AND IDA: LOVE SCENE AT ROYCE’S HOUSE
When Mary banged on my door, I ignored it, my arms wrapped around my knees, my thumb pressing at buttons on the remote without thought. I used to wonder why they put a TV in my trailer; it wasn’t like I had time to lounge around and watch cable. But now I knew. It was for moments of panic, the last line of defense against skittish actresses whose toes were itching to leave. Mary banged again, her delicate little fists doing an impressive number on my locked door. The phone on the kitchenette rang, the third time that had happened in the last fifteen minutes.
I had understood the scene, I had known the need for it, I had finally stopped my complaining and been a big girl about it but now time had run out. It was time for the scene. And every pep talk I’d given myself had run out of gas. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it. No.
A new voice joined the chorus outside my door, and I tightened my grip on my knees. Him. I turned up the volume, Judge Judy giving it to some redneck who had promised to babysit a dog, then didn’t. I murmured support and almost missed the jiggle of my trailer’s handle, the door swinging open, the glare of incoming sunshine sliced by one muscular male form. My eyes dropped to the giant key ring now dangling from my lock. Figured. It was only a matter of time. I had hoped for Don. Or Eileen. Or anyone but him.
“I’m not doing it,” I repeated, my eyes back on the TV, and there was still hope, in all of this madness, that I wouldn’t cry.
“You have to do it. You signed a contract.” He spoke from the middle of the room, the door settling shut behind him, his legs slightly spread, hands hanging at his side. This was his first time in my trailer, and it was too small of a space for both of us.
“The contract didn’t say anything about me being naked on camera.”
“Correction. The contract didn’t say anything about you not being naked on camera. That is a very important distinction, and it’s not my fault your dimwit ex missed that.”
There was a horrific moment of weakness when my bottom lip trembled, nerves inside of me breaking, one by one. “Please go away.” My voice cracked on the first word, and out of the edge of blurry eyes I saw him move closer, his knees hitting the floor beside the couch.
“Summer.” His voice was quiet, softer, but I didn’t look over, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my weakness.
“I’m not doing it. I haven’t…” I stared at the top of Judge Judy’s head and blinked quickly. “I haven’t been naked in front of anyone in a long time. Other than… you know.” Other than you. A stupid disclosure to have to add. I ran a backwards palm across my cheek, my pinky catching the moisture of a stack of unshed tears. “And I’m not doing it now, not in front of all of those people—” My words almost hiccupped, and I stopped. Pulled up my T-shirt, over my chin, and pressed the material into my wet eyes. Those lights. God, when he and I were being filmed, you could stand in Thomasville and see the details of our faces, we were lit so strongly. What would it be like to be naked under those lights?
“You’re not really naked—” Cole started, and I snorted against my shirt. The outfit that Wardrobe had dropped off was a set of pasties—two nude ones for my breasts and then one long panty-liner looking one, which I was supposed to stick in between my legs. I had tried it, had peeled off the backing and gently, then more firmly, pressed the cold stickers against my flesh, my reflection in the mirror too much for me to look at. That was when you knew you were doing something wrong, when you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror to face it. Now, under my T-shirt, the pasties pulled a little on my skin when I shifted, a constant reminder of the disaster looming before me.
“Summer…” His voice was calming and sweet, a plea for something, and it made me madder than a branded bull, my hands dropping from my face, the T-shirt falling, my head turning to him. He was still on his knees, and I caught him mid-motion, his hand moving back to his thighs. He’d been checking his watch. Any weakness in me vanished, and I gripped onto my anger and held it like a shield. He’d been checking his watch. Screw the concerned face, the friendly and caring position, Cole Masten, kneeling beside his injured costar, his voice tugging at her to behave. Screw my contract; if I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t have to do it. We’d filmed too many scenes, it’d be too expensive for them to start over with a new Ida.
“Nobody’s playing that girl’s heart. She won’t give me the time of day.”
Justin laughed, pushing away from the table, to standing, his hands resting on the glass top of it as he leaned forward. “She’s protecting herself, Cole. The best she can. Hell, if I had a snatch I’d put a steel trap on it before I stepped in the same room as you.”
“She’s not protecting herself,” Cole said, his head tilting up to look at Justin, his hands tightening on the edge of the chair arms. That wasn’t what Summer’s frostiness was all about. It was because she didn’t like Cole, despite the attraction between them.
But as he said the words, worked through the thought process, there was, in the back of his mind, doubt.
CHAPTER 84
SCENE 38: ROYCE AND IDA: LOVE SCENE AT ROYCE’S HOUSE
When Mary banged on my door, I ignored it, my arms wrapped around my knees, my thumb pressing at buttons on the remote without thought. I used to wonder why they put a TV in my trailer; it wasn’t like I had time to lounge around and watch cable. But now I knew. It was for moments of panic, the last line of defense against skittish actresses whose toes were itching to leave. Mary banged again, her delicate little fists doing an impressive number on my locked door. The phone on the kitchenette rang, the third time that had happened in the last fifteen minutes.
I had understood the scene, I had known the need for it, I had finally stopped my complaining and been a big girl about it but now time had run out. It was time for the scene. And every pep talk I’d given myself had run out of gas. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it. No.
A new voice joined the chorus outside my door, and I tightened my grip on my knees. Him. I turned up the volume, Judge Judy giving it to some redneck who had promised to babysit a dog, then didn’t. I murmured support and almost missed the jiggle of my trailer’s handle, the door swinging open, the glare of incoming sunshine sliced by one muscular male form. My eyes dropped to the giant key ring now dangling from my lock. Figured. It was only a matter of time. I had hoped for Don. Or Eileen. Or anyone but him.
“I’m not doing it,” I repeated, my eyes back on the TV, and there was still hope, in all of this madness, that I wouldn’t cry.
“You have to do it. You signed a contract.” He spoke from the middle of the room, the door settling shut behind him, his legs slightly spread, hands hanging at his side. This was his first time in my trailer, and it was too small of a space for both of us.
“The contract didn’t say anything about me being naked on camera.”
“Correction. The contract didn’t say anything about you not being naked on camera. That is a very important distinction, and it’s not my fault your dimwit ex missed that.”
There was a horrific moment of weakness when my bottom lip trembled, nerves inside of me breaking, one by one. “Please go away.” My voice cracked on the first word, and out of the edge of blurry eyes I saw him move closer, his knees hitting the floor beside the couch.
“Summer.” His voice was quiet, softer, but I didn’t look over, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my weakness.
“I’m not doing it. I haven’t…” I stared at the top of Judge Judy’s head and blinked quickly. “I haven’t been naked in front of anyone in a long time. Other than… you know.” Other than you. A stupid disclosure to have to add. I ran a backwards palm across my cheek, my pinky catching the moisture of a stack of unshed tears. “And I’m not doing it now, not in front of all of those people—” My words almost hiccupped, and I stopped. Pulled up my T-shirt, over my chin, and pressed the material into my wet eyes. Those lights. God, when he and I were being filmed, you could stand in Thomasville and see the details of our faces, we were lit so strongly. What would it be like to be naked under those lights?
“You’re not really naked—” Cole started, and I snorted against my shirt. The outfit that Wardrobe had dropped off was a set of pasties—two nude ones for my breasts and then one long panty-liner looking one, which I was supposed to stick in between my legs. I had tried it, had peeled off the backing and gently, then more firmly, pressed the cold stickers against my flesh, my reflection in the mirror too much for me to look at. That was when you knew you were doing something wrong, when you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror to face it. Now, under my T-shirt, the pasties pulled a little on my skin when I shifted, a constant reminder of the disaster looming before me.
“Summer…” His voice was calming and sweet, a plea for something, and it made me madder than a branded bull, my hands dropping from my face, the T-shirt falling, my head turning to him. He was still on his knees, and I caught him mid-motion, his hand moving back to his thighs. He’d been checking his watch. Any weakness in me vanished, and I gripped onto my anger and held it like a shield. He’d been checking his watch. Screw the concerned face, the friendly and caring position, Cole Masten, kneeling beside his injured costar, his voice tugging at her to behave. Screw my contract; if I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t have to do it. We’d filmed too many scenes, it’d be too expensive for them to start over with a new Ida.
