by Claire Raye
I’m nosily scrolling through as a text message notification from my assistant drops down from the top of the screen, grabbing my attention.
Shannon: Have you fucking seen these?
I quickly read her message now just as curious about the links she’s sent as I am about Paul. Clicking the first one, I feel my heart plummet into my stomach and I suck in a breath, letting it out slowly.
I should’ve known it was coming, that my high would be short-lived, and that he would eventually make his resurgence. “Noel Robinson, Don’t Call It a Comeback” is the first headline and I don’t bother reading the article because I already know what it’s going to say. I click the next link and the title flashes in front of my eyes, “Noel Robinson, the Come-Back Kid” along with the subheading “We should all be on his side”.
I go on to scan the article wondering why I should be rooting for this manipulative narcissist. It begins to list his many accomplishments: All his award-winning movies, his donations to numerous charities and politicians, all the actors and actresses he managed to make into stars. There are even quotes from people in the industry talking about how they can’t even imagine the movie business without Noel Robinson.
And then it’s there glaring back at me, the reason the world should feel sorry for him. Why his crumbling career is far sadder than his on set behavior.
“Sadie Washington has filed for divorce.”
There’s nothing worse, or should I say bigger, than a celebrity divorce and in my case, I look like the gold digger, the bitter soon to be ex-wife, the unsupportive partner. Being twelve years younger than Noel has always been something I knew would come back to bite me in the ass. He was well established in the industry when we met and even back then the press questioned my motives. Nineteen and dating a thirty-one year old man can only mean one thing to the prying eyes of the public and to now to be filing for divorce…
Let the rumors begin.
What the public reading these articles doesn’t know is that every single one of these reporters were paid by Noel or his PR team to write them, to mask the ugliness he created. What’s also in the works is a smear campaign for anyone who chooses to go against what these articles say.
Noel’s pockets are deep, but his connections are deeper.
There were rumors going around that a freelance journalist from The Guardian was working on a story to expose Noel, finding women and men to interview and building a case against him. An attempt to expose all the behind the scenes scandals Noel works hard to keep hidden, but this guy is a little fish in a big pond who was probably caught and killed.
It was brief moment of redemption I thought was coming, but I should’ve known better. The murmurings slowly grew quiet and I knew for sure Noel had killed any story that may have gained speed. It’s just part of this industry, especially when you have the kind of money Noel has.
He is win at all costs.
There’s no reasoning, no logic, no humanity and that’s why I need to get out as soon as possible.
I’m lucky I landed this job, that someone decided to push back against Noel because things will get ugly and my current situation will no doubt be brought into it. All I can hope is that the production studio continues to back me and my movie while this plays out.
Not bothering to click the third link Shannon sent me, knowing it contains the same garbage story, I chuck it to the side. The phone bounces awkwardly on the bed before coming to rest with a thud on the floor as I lie on the bed staring up at the ceiling.
I have to be up in just a few hours, so I pull my pants off and fall asleep without even taking my makeup off.
I awake the next morning to the muffled sound of my phone alarm chiming and my eyes sticky with crusty old mascara.
Sometimes freedom looks a little messy.
The sun is just beginning to rise as I untangle myself from the bed and begin the search for my chiming phone, remembering my childish tossing of it right before I fell asleep. Eventually locating it partially under the bed and upside down, but it’s now loaded down with text messages.
Every single one of them is from Noel.
I quickly open my phone, clicking the messages app, I open the one with his name, but don’t bother to read any of the twenty-seven that came through during the night. The only one that catches my eye is the one that says he’s coming to Los Angeles.
Fuck my life.
I quickly put in a call to my assistant and ask her to spend the day at the house with a locksmith changing the locks and making sure the cameras for the security system are running. This may sound over the top and possibly a bit paranoid, but when it comes to Noel, I’m taking no chances. I’ve already changed the alarm code along with the code to the entrance gate, and I’m even starting to think I should find some place else to live.
But I can’t focus on that today because we’re shooting another big stunt scene and while I hit the last one on the first take, I’m not expecting that to be the norm. The lead in this film is known for being flighty and late, and with tens of thousands of dollars a day flying out the door and my name on the line, I can’t have one mistake.
I worry that Noel will be my mistake.
I arrive on set several hours before filming actually begins, checking to see the crew and the team of grips have things moving along and set up. I check in on the makeup artists and to my surprise both the lead and the stuntman are in makeup chairs and nearly finished. They’re both sporting matching prosthetics with a wrench that appears to be coming out of their foreheads. It’s quite a sight and when I wrote this scene I had such a vivid image of it that I drew it out. The makeup artists have nailed it.
Paul nods his head slightly at me, giving me a small smile and greeting me with, “Good morning, director.” There’s something in his words that’s playful but not too much.
“Good morning, Paul,” I answer back not lingering too long on his words. I turn to Ian Hudson, the male lead and the guy Paul is stunting for and give him the same greeting.
“I’ve worked with your husband,” Ian says, not looking up at me as the makeup artist continues.
His words echo in my head making me wonder if he’s one of the people who is on Noel’s side and I struggle to respond. Playing my own words over silently before I speak them aloud.
“That’s nice.”
“Oh really.”
“What movie was that on?” But everything I hear myself say comes out of my mouth with a bitter rasp, a bite that could only be perceived as anger.
“He’s a prick,” Ian adds, again, never looking up, his words stated with a deadpan air.
Paul lets out a low laugh, stifling it quickly when my eyes shoot over to look at him.
“I’m divorcing him,” I say back with just as much enthusiasm. “And you’re right.”
“You’re a better director than him.”
“Please, it’s only been one day. This whole thing could go to shit in seconds. You’ve been on sets long enough to know that,” I tell him, a self-depreciating quality to what I’ve said.
“I’ve also been on sets where the verbal abuse is out of control. You could even call it harassment,” Ian asserts, the room now filling with an awkward tension. “Some might even show up late to the set to avoid dealing with that kind of shit.”
As much as I hear the words coming out of his mouth and how much I want to comment back, I refrain. In this world of lies and deceit and getting ahead, I have no idea if Noel has put this guy up to this. If he’s recording me, and when I least expect it, it will be used against me.
I stay quiet, but not too quiet, not revealing enough to make it obvious I’m talking about Noel.
“I’ve heard that about some movie sets, but I think on this one we’ll all try our best to behave with nothing but professionalism, because that’s what we all are. Professionals.”
Ian shoots me a side eye but says nothing more and as I’m about to turn and walk out the door, I watch Paul wink at me. My cheek
s suddenly grow hot and I feel like a teenage girl. This is completely ridiculous. I need to get back to doing what I know best and that’s directing. It’s not flirting or attempting to flirt with the on set stuntman.
Chapter Eight
Paul
“Cut!” Sadie yells, a hand up as though to tell us all to stay in place before she removes her headphones and walks over to the first of the stunt guys lining the boardwalk down by the beach.
I watch as she says something to him and he nods in response, before moving onto the next person, Caitlyn, who’s standing in for one of the female actresses on the set. I’m not sure what the problem is, but Sadie’s talking to all of us. I’m last in line and farthest away and she glances over at me, before looking back at the camera crew.
Shaking her head, she turns back to me and starts jogging over, my eyes on her the whole time, a half smile on my face and weird feeling in my chest as she moves toward me.
When she eventually reaches me, my smile widens. “Hey,” I say.
Sadie holds up a finger as she tries to catch her breath, her hands on her knees.
I chuckle. “I see that whole not going to the gym thing is really working out well for you.”
Sadie shoots me a side eye as she finally catches her breath and straightens. “Ha ha, smart ass,” she murmurs.
I wink before asking, “What’s the problem, boss?” as I motion to the row of stunt actors.
Sadie shakes her head. “Those guys are out of sequence,” she says, pointing to them. “You’re all good though, so…”
“So, why’d you come all the way down here then?” I ask, the smile still plastered on my face.
She cocks a brow at me now, but there’s a teasingly quality to it. “Can’t play favorites now, can I?” she says. “Anyway, we’re gonna run through it again, you good?”
I nod. “I’m good,” I tell her as she nods and starts to walk back to her camera. “And good to know I’m your favorite.” I can’t resist calling out to her, laughing as she shakes her head but doesn’t look back.
We run through the scene a couple more times before she’s happy with the cut and calls a break on filming. While the runners all reset the scene, this time for the close up with the actors standing in our places, I wander over to the catering table to grab a bottle of water.
The rest of the stunt crew head back to the trailer, but I stay outside, grabbing one of the folding chairs and taking a seat just down from the cameras. Sadie glances over at me and I smile, before she turns back and focuses on the film.
She gets things set in place, adjusting the lighting and moving with the camera as it pans across the boardwalk before moving closer to the main actors for the shots of their faces that will be intercut with the action scenes we just filmed.
It’s an interesting process and one that’s hard to visualize until you see everything cut together on the big screen. Often when it’s done, even I can forget it’s me standing in for a particular scene, the editing and effects are that good.
Sadie spends time chatting with each of the actors, just like she did with us, before she jogs back over to the camera crew that’s still set up for the long shots. Once again, she’s a little out of breath and I can’t resist calling out to her.
“Sadie.”
She turns, narrowing her eyes when she sees me sitting here grinning at her.
“Here,” I say, throwing the unopened water bottle to her.
She catches it, shaking her head even as a smile tugs at her mouth. “Thanks.”
She unscrews the cap and tilts her head back, taking a long sip of the water and I find myself swallowing hard too, but for different reasons. When she licks her lips though, something else happens. Something I can’t describe, and I have to look away, afraid whatever it is, is written all over my face.
“Thanks,” she says, and I turn back in time to catch the half empty water bottle flying back at me.
I catch it in one hand and Sadie laughs a little before she turns and gets back to the movie.
They film for a couple more hours before Sadie eventually calls a wrap on the day. I watch as she chats with the assistant director before running through what I’m guessing is tomorrow’s schedule with the runners.
She looks busy and distracted, so I move over to our trailer to grab my things. I know she has a million things on her mind right now and talking to me is hardly going to be on her radar.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder, reminding myself that nothing is going on here between us anyway, that I can’t read too much into any of our conversations or expect her to drop everything just because I’m sitting here.
Besides, I’ve just ended a serious three-year relationship and while there’s not a chance in hell Helena and I are getting back together, I’m not sure jumping into something else straightaway is a smart idea either.
Not that that’s what this is, I remind myself as I walk out of the trailer.
“So, I think you might be right about the gym.”
I turn and see Sadie standing by the table outside our trailer. I smile, chuckling a little as I say, “Sorry, what did you just say?”
Sadie rolls her eyes, even as a smile tugs at her lips. “You might have been right about the gym,” she repeats with mock annoyance.
Now it’s me laughing as I pull my phone from my pocket and call up the website of the gym I go to here in Los Angeles. I snap a screenshot of the address as I glance up at Sadie and ask, “What’s your number?”
She raises a brow, a slight flush darkening her cheeks as she licks her lips and swallows hard. “Ahh, um…”
“I’m sending you the address of my gym,” I say, as though this is no big deal. “I’m there most mornings. You can text me when you want to go and I’ll get you started on a program if you want?”
Sadie’s brow narrows as she says, “When you say mornings, what time are you talking?”
I smile. “Depends on filming, but sixish?”
“Shit.”
I laugh. “We can start this weekend if you want?” I suggest. “Maybe a little later?”
Sadie nods and then recites her cell number. I save her in my contacts before sending the info on my gym, her phone pinging with the sound of my incoming text.
She glances down at the screen as she murmurs a quiet, “Thanks.”
I want her to text me back so I have her number too, but she doesn’t. She just locks the screen before sliding her phone back into her pocket.
The rest of the week passes slowly. I hit the gym each morning, a small part of me hoping to hear from Sadie or maybe even see her there, but she never texts or shows. The days are spent filming a complicated action sequence that doesn’t leave us a lot of time for chatting either, although we aren’t ignoring each other.
Most of the time she’s still working as I’m leaving, and I can only imagine what sort of hours she’s pulling as she throws everything she’s got into making this movie. It doesn’t surprise me that getting up early to hit the gym is the last thing on her mind.
By the time Saturday finally rolls around though, I wake early, my body jacked with excitement at the possibility I might see her today. It’s weird and makes no sense, especially when I know this is nothing more than me helping out a work colleague.
Even if I know my lame excuse sounds like total bullshit.
Still, she’s in the middle of a divorce. I’ve just ended a long-term relationship. There’s not a chance in hell either of us is ready to jump into something new.
“Hey, Paul,” Greg, the guy who’s been behind the front counter since the day I started coming here, calls out.
“Morning,” I reply as I move through to the gym and over to the cardio machines. It’s only eight o’clock and I know even if Sadie does show, it probably won’t be this early, but I need to do something, if only to burn off this nervous energy I can’t seem to shake.
After I smash out thirty minutes on the treadmill, I move through to the weight room, m
usic blaring through the pods in my ears as I try to focus on what I’m doing and not obsessively checking my phone for a text from her.
Just as I’m about to do some bench presses though, the music is interrupted by the sound of an incoming text and I nearly drop the bar on my chest in my rush to check it.
Unknown number: so I’m here and I literally have no idea what I’m doing…please tell me you’re here too?
Unknown number: it’s Sadie btw
Smiling, I immediately save her number to my contacts, before replying.
Me: I’m impressed. Hang tight and I’ll be right there.
I grab my things and head over to the front reception where Sadie stands, dressed in a pair of tight leggings and a loose tank top that does nothing to hide the sports bra underneath.
She’s standing nervously by the counter while Greg does his best to flirt with her, oblivious to the fact that Sadie is looking everywhere but at him.
“Hey,” I say, smiling.
Sadie turns to face me, her eyes immediately giving me a quick once over. “You’ve already worked out?”
I shrug. “Some,” I tell her. “But that’s cool. This is about helping you out,” I add, giving her a wink before turning to Greg. “Got a friend here who’s thinking about signing up. Okay if I take her through and run through some stuff with her?”
Greg glances from me to Sadie and then back to me again, apparently realizing his flirting was pointless. “Sure thing,” he says.
I tilt my head in the direction of the gym and Sadie follows, a cautious look on her face as she whispers, “I’m thinking about signing up?”
Chuckling, I reply, “Aren’t you?”