by B. B. Hamel
“I just want to help.”
“You helped enough already. Now Holly hates me, and I’m going to have to deal with it.” I slam my locker shut, lock it, and turn away from him. “Thanks for that.”
I storm off, so angry I can barely think. I don’t want to stick around and keep arguing with him.
I’m torn about this. On the one hand, he did turn down Holly for me, which is kind of a huge deal. He’s supposedly a big player, but not sleeping with her for my sake might actually mean something.
But on the other hand, because he told her that, now she hates me. And my working relationship with her is screwed up. I know you’re not supposed to get involved with your coworkers, and Jackson is my coworker. He’s making things so much more complicated than I ever wanted.
I’m torn on how to feel about this, but in the end, I’m angry with him. I don’t want him talking about me behind my back, even if it’s just to say that he wants me or whatever he said. I want our history to remain private.
I head back home, mind spinning, completely torn on what to think.
17
Jackson
I knew this shit with Holly was going to be a problem.
“Get me out of it,” I say into the phone.
“You know I can’t,” Mickey replies. “Listen, Jackson, it’s just a short-term thing. Just a few months. And plus, Holly Hart? Come on, man.”
I sigh. I’m sick of hearing that I should be happy about this relationship with Holly just because she’s fucking attractive. Frankly, I’m not that into her, and it’s goddamn insulting. Like all I do is think with my fucking cock, and I should be so lucky to have some fake Hollywood shit with a half attractive psycho starlet.
“Holly is fucking unhinged,” I say to Mickey. “She’s giving Tara shit now, and how the hell are we supposed to work together like this?”
“Tara?” Mickey asks. “Who’s that, some girl you’re fucking?”
I hesitate for a second, because I genuinely don’t know how to describe her. “She’s the reason I don’t want to be in this shit in the first place,” I decide to say.
“Tara? Who the fuck is Tara? This is your career, dummy. You have to suck it up and get through it. Tara will understand.”
I clench my jaw. “No, Tara will not understand. She won’t understand when Holly makes her fucking life a living hell.”
“Who the hell is Tara anyway?”
“She’s the script girl on this movie. It doesn’t matter. All that matter’s is you get me out of this.”
Mickey sighs and I can tell he’s really frustrated, but I don’t care. I know I’m not his usual Hollywood client. Most of those pretty-boy asshole actors would be fucking thrilled to be in my position. I’m not like them, though. My life is fucking real, and it’s not just some big game and act for my fucking career.
“I’ll try,” he says finally. “I don’t think it’s going to happen though, Jackson. If you want to stay on this movie, you gotta get through it.”
“What if I just dump her in a few weeks? They won’t be able to fire me then.”
“Do that and they’ll fucking blacklist you from every single major studio and you’ll be on the street sucking cocks for dimes,” Mickey says with a little fire. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Just fix this,” I say to him. “You want your big fat paycheck? Do your goddamn job. I don’t care about this as much as you do.”
I hang my phone up and throw it across the room, annoyed as hell.
It’s around midnight, and I’m a little surprised Mickey is even still awake. He has a wife and kids, although he does work pretty much all day and all night. He’s one of those type-A crazy guys, but he gets the job done. I know this isn’t his fault, but I need him to get me out of this garbage, or else I’m fucked.
I sigh and sit down on the couch. I grab my glass of whisky from the table and sip it, staring at the television blankly. It’s on mute and playing some old French movie that looks like it’s pretty goddamn dramatic. I’m sick of living out of hotels, but I know I have nowhere else to go.
This is the life of an actor. You go to these fancy fucking hotels, and that’s pretty cool at first. The studio picks up the tab, as long as you’re not insane about what you’re buying, they’ll pay for it. I can get all the food and drinks I want, pretty much anything I need really, and it’s all on them.
Except that wears off really fast, and soon you find yourself in the same bland, lifeless room night after night, away from anything you call home, trying to get through the shit because it’s your job. There are sacrifices that come along with fame, and a lot of people don’t mind them.
But I’m not like most people in this industry. Every new movie I do proves that more and more. The longer I’m around these people, the more I don’t want to be like them. It’s clear that a lot of people assimilate to this fake ass garbage, but I don’t want to be one of those.
A knock at the door pulls me from my self-loathing reverie. I sip my whisky, assuming it’s the room service I ordered. Sometimes I like to fucking binge on good alcohol, especially when I’m in a shit mood. I don’t let it affect my work, and I don’t do it often, but once in a while it’s good to get nice and drunk. Unfortunately, I’m out of whisky, and nowhere near drunk enough yet.
I get up and walk to the door. Without looking through the fucking peephole, which I should always do, I pull it open.
And standing there, wearing a long, low-cut dress is Holly Hart. She smiles at me, her blonde hair messy and down around her shoulders as she leans toward me.
“Hey there, boyfriend,” she says.
I dodge back as she stumbles into the room. She puts one hand on the door, keeping it open.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her.
She pouts at me. I guess she decided she needed to get fucking wasted tonight, too. Unfortunately, she beat me to it, and now I’m dealing with the consequences.
“I can’t come and see my boy toy?” she asks me, slurring her words.
“We’re not really dating,” I say to her. “You need to leave.”
“Don’t be such a fucking prude, Jackson.” She stumbles into the room and walks over to where I left my half-finished glass. She picks it up and sips it. “Oh, nice,” she says.
I sigh and shut the door. I don’t want anyone to see her here, but I can’t just throw her out. That’ll only make the situation worse. She’s drunk enough that I’m afraid she’ll make a scene, so I need to be a little diplomatic.
“Go ahead, finish it if you want,” I say to her.
“Why are you always so cold?” she asks me, coming over.
“You know why,” I say to her.
She stops and bats her eyes at me, doing the most pathetic seductive look I’ve ever seen. “Come on, don’t you think I’m cute?” she asks.
“You’re pretty, Holly, but you know why I’m not into this.”
“That fucking script girl.” She sounds genuinely angry.
“It’s not her fault. She told me you were pretty nasty on set today.”
“So what? Fuck that bitch. I want to feel that big action star cock in my fucking mouth, Jackson, and she’s in my way.”
I stare at her and she grins back. I’m actually a little disgusted by how drunk she is. “You need to stop,” I say. “Don’t take this shit out on Tara.”
“Fuck Tara,” she says, throwing the rest of the drink back down her throat. “She’s a fucking bitch.” She drops the glass on the ground and stumbles over to the kitchen area.
“There’s nothing else here,” I say. “You drank the last of it.”
“Well, whatever,” she says, rummaging through a cabinet. “You’re not going to fuck me tonight. Might as well get fucking drunk, right?”
“Holly, stop,” I say to her. I walk over and grab her by the shoulders, pulling her away from the kitchen.
“Oh, there’s my big strong man,” she says, stumbling along.
“Go to your room,
” I say to her. “There’s something to drink there. We can talk tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to talk to you, you big dumb piece of meat. I want to fuck you.” She turns and tries to throw her arms around me again.
I dodge around her again, catching her as she stumbles. “Okay,” I say as she sways, off balance. I hold her against me and toss her arm over my shoulder. “You’re okay.”
That last bit of whisky must have put her over the edge. “Come on, pussy, fuck my pussy,” she slurs and laughs at herself.
“Another time,” I say, walking with her to the door. “Come on, I’ll get you back to your room.”
“And then you’ll fuck me,” she replies.
I sigh and get the door open. I walk with her out into the hall, and although someone might see me with her, I can’t help it. I can’t leave her alone when she’s this fucking drunk. She’s crazy and a pain in the ass but she’s still a person, and I’m not the type of guy to leave her alone.
I get her to the end of the hallway and hit the elevator up button. I know she has a room on the twentieth floor, while I’m down on the nineteenth. I don’t think she can do stairs right now, so elevator it is.
“Your biceps are big,” she mumbles and giggles. “I’m drunk.”
“Yes, you are,” I say, sighing. This is not how I wanted to spend my night.
The doors ding and slide open. Mercifully, the elevator is empty. I get her inside and hit the twentieth floor button. The doors slide shut and Holly leans up against me.
“I hate acting,” she slurs. “You know that? It’s so stupid.”
I’m pretty surprised. Holly is a good actress, despite her insane personality. Acting seems like the perfect gig for her.
“Why do you do it?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“’Cos I’m pretty and I want to be famous,” she says. “Why the fuck else would I do this?” She looks up at me like she’s annoyed.
“Right, good point,” I say.
“God, you are so stupid,” she says and reaches up to stroke my cheek. I knock her hand away and she pouts. “But so pretty.”
I clench my jaw and watch the elevator finally come to a stop. The doors open and we stumble out into the hallway again.
“Which room is yours?” I ask her.
“Uh, I dunno,” she says. “Your room, baby.” She giggles at that.
I sigh and push her up against the wall. “Where’s your key?” I ask.
“Oh yeah, big boy, go ahead, take me.” She leans forward like she’s going to kiss me.
I duck down under it and open her purse. I root through it, ignoring the condom and cigarettes, and grab her cards. I find the key in the middle of a stack of credit cards and Target gift cards.
“Which room is yours?” I ask her again.
“Twenty twenty,” she says.
“Okay then.” I grab her and pull her along, supporting her weight the whole time. We get to the end of the hall and sure enough, there’s room 2020. I slide the card and the door unlocks.
Just as I get the door open, a man steps out from the shadows in the corner on the right. I didn’t notice him at first, because he was pressed back against the wall. He brings up a camera.
“Smile,” he says, and starts shooting.
“Motherfucker,” I growl, and let go of Holly. She stumbles and nearly falls. As I catch her, the guy takes a few more shots and starts running away.
“Piece of shit,” I call after him. “Fuck!”
He disappears around the corner.
“Who was that?” Holly asks. “He seemed nice.”
“Goddamnit,” I grumble. I get her door open and steer her inside. I snap on a light and ignore how fucking messy the place is. I get her across the room and into the bedroom before dropping her on the bed.
She hits it with a thump and groans. “You can do it, just be quiet,” she says to me.
I make a face. “Sleep tight,” I say, shaking my head. What a fucking mess. She’d let me fuck her right now, despite being goddamn wasted. I don’t know what happened in her life to get her like this, but here she is, blackout drunk and groaning.
I watch her for a second, but I’m pretty sure she’s already asleep, so I leave. I head back through her messy living room and out into the hall.
What a fucking wreck. Holly came on to me again and I’m sure she’ll be feeling this tomorrow. On top of that, some paparazzi fuckwit got some pictures of us together, and I’m sure that’s going to be on the front page of a bunch of shit in the morning.
I head back downstairs and get back to my room. Fortunately, there’s a bottle of whisky waiting for me on the ground.
I pick it up and head inside. I crack it open and pour a drink, but I don’t feel like getting wasted anymore.
I knock it back and try to forget just how fucking fucked I really am. Maybe Tara won’t see that picture. Maybe Holly will get over her childish insanity and start being professional to Tara again.
Maybe pigs will fly and my dick will jizz gold.
I shake my head and go to bed. I’ll deal with it in the morning.
18
Tara
I don’t know why I check the blogs, but I can’t help myself. As soon as I pull up Herez Pilton, a picture of Jackson supporting a clearly hammered Holly greets me like an atom bomb.
And to top it all off, the headline reads, “JACKSON AND HOLLY GET HAMMERED BEFORE HE HAMMERS HER.”
I groan and scroll through the article. It’s the usual crap, plus a few more pictures. Jackson is holding Holly up, outside of a hotel room, and she’s very drunk. I can’t tell if he’s drunk or not, or what they’re even doing together so late at night.
Jackson wouldn’t sleep with Holly like that, would he? I mean, he tells me that he’s not interested in her, but still. He clearly was with her last night when she was really drunk. The article says sex noises were heard from outside of her room, but I don’t know if these blogs just make shit up or whatever.
I close my laptop lid and roll over in bed. I don’t want to go back to fucking work today, not with all this shit hanging over my head, but I can’t skip out. I’m going to have to face it sooner or later.
I get up, get dressed, and get ready.
“Chin up, kid,” Laney says to me as I’m leaving for the day.
I pause at the door. “Still up or just getting up?”
She grins at me. “Still up.”
“Go to sleep.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” She salutes me as I leave.
The article with Jackson and Holly is all the rage on set today, which can’t be a big surprise to me. The crew loves to gossip about this sort of stuff, but I can’t let it get to me. We have some minor shots to do and fortunately Jackson isn’t in any of them. Holly is late to the set, so we go ahead and start doing some work with the extras and a few other minor characters.
A few hours pass and we get some work done before Holly Hart finally shows up. She comes on stage wearing big black sunglasses and talking quietly, and it’s obvious that she’s hungover. There are whispers all over about this, and it’s driving me crazy, but at least she doesn’t give me any dirty looks.
In fact, she doesn’t even look at me at all. I don’t have to interact with her much, but she’s not openly hostile toward me this time. I don’t know why but she acts like I don’t exist, which is way better than her acting like I killed her dog or something.
Holly gets in a few scenes and although she’s clearly feeling like hot garbage, she manages to get through it with some poise. The crew is going nuts and gossiping like crazy, and I’m pretty darn confused myself, but at least we get some actual work done.
“That’s lunch!” As soon as the director calls it, Holly darts for her trailer and disappears.
I’m torn about what to do. On the one hand, I’m happy Holly isn’t trying to murder me with her eyes. On the other though, I don’t know what the hell Jackson was doing with her. And I know it’s none of my business.
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I head over toward the food line, still thinking about what’s going on, when Jackson appears from his workout. “Tara,” he says, catching my eye. “Can I talk to you a second?”
I look at him and hesitate. He sounds like it’s about work, which I can’t really turn down, but I’m not sure I want to talk to him right now. Still, I have to go with him, especially since there are so many people around right now.
“Sure,” I say, and follow him away from the group. I hurry to catch up to him as he opens the door to his trailer and walks inside.
I follow him in there, not sure what the hell I’m expecting. The door shuts behind me and he turns as we step into his little living area.
“You saw the pictures,” he says to me simply.
“Yeah, I saw them.”
“It’s not what it looks like. I was home all night last night.”
I shrug a little, my heart beating faster. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“It matters to me. The fucking paparazzi can lie all they want, but I’m telling you the truth.”
“Okay then. What was that in those pictures?” I don’t know if I want the answer, because I’m afraid of what it’ll make me feel.
“She showed up at my room, drunk as hell. She came on to me.” He stares at me, a straight face.
“I don’t need details,” I say.
“Yes, you do. I want you to know everything.”
“You don’t owe me this, Jackson. It’s not like we did anything but sleep together one time.”
“Listen to me. She was drunk as hell, falling down on herself. I helped her back to her room and that’s all that happened. The fucking paparazzi appeared out of nowhere, I guess he had snuck in and found out where she was staying. Caught us both off guard.”
I frown at that. It’s not unheard of for a paparazzi to bribe a hotel employee to find out which room a star is staying in. I’m guessing Holly will switch rooms or maybe even hotels to avoid getting hounded every day. The hotel should be better about security, but that sort of thing happens sometimes.