by Max Monroe
When I walk into the room and head for the craft services table, I spot Birdie and Johnny Johnston smiling and chatting with each other as they grab some plates and utensils and start perusing the food.
Birdie’s long blond hair is now dry from our earlier rain scene, and her outfit has been changed from cutoff jean shorts to this sexy little white dress that shows off an even sexier amount of leg.
Johnny says something to her, she laughs, and I have the odd urge to get up from my seat and interrupt their little powwow.
I’m man enough to admit that I’m a little jealous, but I’m also concerned for Birdie’s wellbeing.
Johnny has classic nice guy syndrome. Everything’s sweet and funny and fun and friendly during the chase, but when a girl gets it in her head that she has the option not to put out at the end of the date, he flips the switch. She’s a cunt and a tease and a total bitch because she dared to object to such a nice guy. I may be an asshole, but at least I’m honest about my motives instead of feeling righteously self-entitled. Honestly, he’s the most dangerous kind of guy, if you ask me.
“Hello?” Tawny’s voice is in my ear again. “Earth to Andrew?” she says, and I move my gaze away from Birdie and her new best fucking friend and back to the woman sitting beside me.
Jesus Christ. What do you want from me?
“Yeah, Tawny?” I ask, and she rolls her eyes dramatically and slaps a flirtatious hand against my bicep.
“God, Andrew, were you even listening to me?” she questions, and I just offer a shrug.
“Mind repeating what you said, and I’ll let you know if I actually heard it?”
“I swear.” Tawny laughs and touches my bicep again. “You’re such a jerk sometimes.”
I shrug again. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”
Lord knows, a certain little birdie has made a point to tell me that nearly every single day since I first met her.
“Like I was saying, we had a lot of fun together on our last movie and I think we should make some time on this movie to have more fun together.”
With the way she’s talking, you’d think I actually fucked her.
“I’m sure we’ll have a real blast during the scenes we’re shooting together.”
“I think you and I both know that’s not the kind of fun I’m talking about.” She eyes me suggestively and leans closer to whisper into my ear. “I’m talking about the kind of fun that involves just the two of us and your big cock.”
Like I said before, Tawny Rose is a fucking viper, but I can’t deny the big cock part is highly accurate. At least she’s spinning her flirtatious bullshit with facts.
But even if I were interested in letting her anywhere near my big cock—which I’m not—this woman’s motives have everything to do with increasing her celebrity. One night in bed with her and I’d wake up to every gossip column across the country talking about our brand-new romance and shit. Hell, she’d probably find a way to fucking film it and have her publicity team leak a sex tape. She might be a good actress, but she is that self-serving and crazy for fame.
“I see you’re just getting straight to the point, huh?” I question, and her face is still far too close to mine.
She winks. “I think you know I’m not the kind of woman who beats around the bush.”
“If I didn’t know that before, it’s pretty apparent now,” I mock and lean back in my seat, putting some distance between her and me, and also taking my time to move my gaze across the room.
It doesn’t take long before a familiar pair of brown eyes is staring back into mine. And then, between one shocked blink and the next, they’re gone, away from me and back on Johnny fucking Johnston.
Oh, hello there, Birdie…
Call me crazy, but it feels a lot like someone is watching me from across the room. A good amount of warmth and intrigue settle like a blanket over my chest.
“So, what do you say?” Tawny asks and reaches out to touch my bicep again.
“I say I’m going to finish my lunch and then head to my trailer to get ready for my next scene.”
“Does that mean you want company in your trailer?”
“Nope,” I answer without hesitation and take a big bite of my sandwich. “Thanks, but also, no thanks. I’m good, Tawny.”
Her face scrunches up like she just ate a lemon, and it doesn’t take long before she’s standing up from her seat on a sneer. But just before she walks away from my table, she leans forward and whispers into my ear, “My offer only stands for so long. So, don’t screw up the opportunity of a lifetime.”
Rare opportunities usually don’t get offered up so easily.
The irony of her words spurs a chuckle from my lips. “Whatever you say, Tawny.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t waste any time striding her crazy ass in the opposite direction from my table. And I sure as shit don’t waste any time pulling my cell phone out of my pocket and sending a text of interference. She won’t realize it now, but one day, Birdie will realize that—today, at least—I was bothering her for her own good.
Me: Enjoying your first official day on set?
I’m more than pleased with how quickly she responds.
Firecracker: Since I got my dreaded first scene out of the way, it’s been going much better.
I grin when I read her words.
Me: First-time jitters are always rough.
Firecracker: Jitters? No, that wasn’t it. I had to pretend to like kissing an asshole.
Pretend? Ha. That’s cute. She lost herself in that kiss—all six goddamn times we had to shoot it so Howie could get all the angles he wanted.
And she wasn’t the only one.
Me: Wow. Sounds like your morning went just about as well as mine did, then.
Firecracker: And what was so bad about your morning?
Me: A polite gentleman never kisses and tells, sweetheart.
Firecracker: I guess it’s a good thing you’re no gentleman then, huh?
I look up at her from across the room, but she’s too busy listening to whatever Johnny is rambling on about while picking out all the M&M’s from the trail mix on her plate to meet my eyes.
One by one, she eats the M&M’s and leaves the peanuts and raisins behind.
It’s kind of cute, but also, it’s trail mix treason. Everyone knows the peanuts and raisins are the best part.
Me: I see you’ve made a new friend.
Firecracker: I did. He’s very nice and welcoming. A true breath of fresh air.
Oh, I’m sure Johnny Johnston is just rolling out the red carpet for her—all in the name of getting into her panties.
Before I can respond with a little warning about Johnny’s fucking friendliness, my phone buzzes in my hands with another message from her.
Firecracker: And I saw you’re making new friends too. Or maybe, she’s already a “friend” of yours?
She typed friend. In quotations.
Well, this is too good to let go.
Me: Sweetheart, is this your roundabout way of asking if Tawny Rose and I are fuck buddies?
When I hit send on the message, I move my gaze over to her table and watch the shocked expression that consumes her face when she reads it. Her response comes in moments later.
Firecracker: HAHAHAHAHA. That’s hilarious that you’d think I even care about something like that. I’ve never even seen American Sniper.
American Sniper? What the hell is she talking about? I shake my head and ignore the random reference in the interest of concentrating on the part of these messages I really care about anyway.
Me: Are you sure, though? Because there was a lot of insinuation swirling around inside that message of yours about “friends.”
Firecracker: Don’t flatter yourself. When it comes to you, I give zero fucks about who your little soldier has or hasn’t laid siege to.
My little soldier?
Me: If you give zero fucks, then why are you texting me about it?
She meets m
y eyes from across the room and glares.
Firecracker: Pretty sure you’re the one who started texting me. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to finish eating my lunch and chatting with someone who isn’t an asshole.
Me: Enjoy your lunch, Birdie. And good luck shooting your next scene. Hell, maybe I’ll stop by and watch you and your new buddy on set. You know, just in case you need any acting tips or guidance.
Firecracker: Pretty sure you’re going to be a little busy, you know, doing your fucking job on set.
She’s right. I’m scheduled to shoot some of Cal’s flashback scenes with Serena Koontz and the AD running the ship. But it’s also highly interesting that she’s aware of that fact.
Me: Aw, are you keeping track of my schedule?
Firecracker: Considering everyone’s schedule is on my schedule, it’s kind of hard to miss.
Yeah, but I don’t take the time to memorize everyone’s schedule.
You mean, you only take the time to memorize hers.
Me: Well, I think you and I both know I’ll be done shooting way before you are. It always takes you some time to get over your nerves and find your rhythm. Not to mention, without me there helping to guide you…it’s probably going to take you a bit longer.
What can I say? I can’t stop myself from saying shit to get a rise out of her.
Once Birdie reads my last message, she pointedly rolls her eyes and flips her phone screen-side down onto the table. A universal signal of I’m done with this conversation.
It makes me grin.
And I’m not actually going to go watch her and her new friend film their next scene. But I have a feeling she’s going to have her eyes out for me the entire time.
Game on, sweetheart.
Birdie
I’d rather get a root canal than film Scene 33.
A week and a half into my LA shooting schedule and I’m starting to find my stride.
I’ve set my mind free from the fear of messing up and focused my nervous energy on voicing my concerns or worries to my director. And Howie has proven to be a dream to work with.
He’s patient and kind, yet knows when to push me and challenge me.
He uses kid gloves when I’m straddling the line of vulnerability and doesn’t hesitate to offer me constructive criticism in key moments that help propel me forward. And, surprisingly, when it comes to the scenes that include me singing onstage with my band, he is open to my input and suggestions.
Yesterday, for example, in a scene that involved Arizona playing for a crowd of thousands, he agreed with my desire to change the set list so that the most powerful song—“Heavy Hearts,” a song I had the amazing opportunity to co-write—would be the last song we played since it was the one the crowd responded to the most.
“I’m really digging the Ari vibe today,” Samantha comments as we head out of the hair and makeup trailer and toward the craft services tent to grab a quick bite to eat. It’s so nice having her out here with me finally. “Maureen did a kick-ass job on your hair.”
“I wish we could bring Maureen back to Nashville with us,” I agree and pull out a few M&M’s from the bag of trail mix I’m snacking on and pop them into my mouth.
“Girl, tell me about it!” Sam exclaims through a laugh. “We both suck so hard at makeup. She’d save us from our messy bun catastrophes.”
Truer words have never been spoken. Both Samantha and I are completely inept at doing our own hair and makeup, and having a goddess like Maureen around to make sure we looked pretty would be a dream come true.
“Amen, sister. A-freaking-men.”
Obviously, that’s a little over the top for my standards, and I shall resort to my old ways of watching YouTube makeup tutorials—and failing miserably in my attempts at the illustrious smoky eye—in my free time.
“All right, next order of business is to get you some food,” she says, diving straight into assistant mode. “Then, you should have about an hour to wind down before you have to be on set again at two.”
“No radio interviews?” I ask, and she flashes a grin in my direction.
“Not a single one.”
A huge sigh of relief escapes my lungs. “Oh, thank everything.”
Sam just giggles, and I follow her lead into the big white tent set up outside one of the studio sets.
“Why don’t you sit down right here, and I’ll grab you something.” She leads me toward an empty table in the center of the room, and I plop my ass down without complaint. “What sounds good, Bird?”
A yawn escapes my lips, and I giggle. “Coffee.”
She smirks. “And what else?”
I yawn again. “Two coffees.”
“Food, Birdie,” she remarks and rolls her eyes. “What do you want to eat? A bagel? A sandwich? Some pasta? They have pretty much everything you can think of.”
Considering it’s almost noon, I’ve been up since four this morning, and I’ve yet to eat anything of substance since the day started, I should be hungry. But should is the operative word. Ever since last night, when I realized my afternoon shoot would involve the dreaded Scene 33, my stomach has been a mess.
The freaking sex scene between Arizona and Cal.
“Honestly, Sam, I’m not that hungry.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You have to eat something.”
“I’m eating right now,” I retort and hold up the bag of trail mix toward her. “See?” I pop two more M&M’s into my mouth and grin.
“That doesn’t count.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m talking about actual food, Birdie.”
“Fine.” I groan. “Just get me something light, then.”
“How about a bagel with some fruit?”
I want to say hell no, but in the name of keeping the peace, I mutter, “Sure. Sounds peachy.”
My assistant turns on her heel and heads out on her food search, and I take the time to pull my phone out of her purse that’s sitting on the table and scroll through my notifications.
Billie: OB-GYN says my vagina is looking stellar. Holding down the baby fortress as it should and everything. A model seven-month pregnant woman, I am.
I’m so glad the appointment went well, but the reminder that I still have to wait to find out if I’m having a niece or nephew until the baby is born is beyond dissatisfying. Ugh. Just tell me if it’s a boy or girl already!
I keep scrolling to a text from Rocky with a link to a comical story about my costar Tawny Rose. Apparently, the diva showed her whole ass on social media the other day—bitching about how difficult it is for a woman like her in show business, and lots and lots of people had things to say about it.
After snorting a couple times at the writer’s metaphorical use of the words “full moon,” I move out of my message folder and into my email.
The two top spots in my inbox are filled by my manager Neil with endorsement proposals from a makeup company and a famous fashion designer wanting me to be the face of their fall line.
And an email from my publicist Candy, asking me if I would like her to put out a statement regarding Tawny Rose’s social media meltdown, sits just below that. Apparently, quite a few magazines and media sources have reached out for my comments. Not happening. The evil part of me would kind of love to let the world know just how difficult that woman makes things for everyone else, but the rational side of me knows, in this case, it’s best to keep my opinions to myself. Those stories aren’t mine to tell.
“Well, hello,” a too-familiar voice says near my ear, and I lift my eyes from the screen of my phone to find Andrew standing beside my chair, grinning down at me. “How are you doing on this fine day, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. Good Lord. Does this guy ever quit with the sweetheart bullshit?
“Pretty good,” I answer but make no move to return the sentiment.
Of course, he doesn’t miss a beat.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I’m doing?”
“Um…” I tilt my head to the side and search his
eyes for a brief moment. “Nope. No, I’m not.”
A soft chuckle leaves his lips. “You know, I get the sense you’re pissed at me, but I can’t quite figure out why…”
Now, it’s my turn to laugh.
He grins. “And now you’re laughing at me.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Are you laughing with me or at me?”
“Do you want the nice answer or the honest answer?”
His grin grows. “Hit me with the honesty, firecracker.”
“Firecracker?” I narrow my eyes.
“Call it an inside joke.”
“An inside joke?” I scrunch up my nose in confusion. “With…yourself?”
“Yep.”
“I’m starting to wonder if you can actually hear how ridiculous you sound…” I cackle. “Andrew Watson likes playing with himself.”
“Let me guess. This is another thing you have a problem with?” he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Call me crazy, but you having problems with me seems to be a recurrent theme.”
Good God, he has taken me so far down the rabbit hole of ridiculousness, I don’t even know what we were talking about in the first place.
“And where’s your new buddy Johnny?” he asks with a cheeky-as-fuck grin. “I figured the two of you would be getting cozy over some lunch.”
“I could ask you the same thing about your friend Tawny,” I snap back and immediately regret it when his lips curl up in amusement.
I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut around this guy. I need to do everything in my power not to react to whatever bullshit he’s peddling. Because Lord knows that’s what he wants. A reaction.