by Jackson Kane
Jason smirked, slipping off and pocketing his cufflinks, before rolling up his sleeves and sitting on the couch opposite me. He filled both waters, took a sip of his and then replied. “Not at all.”
I fought an overwhelming urge to break the silence with an apology for something I couldn't even begin to put into words, but decided to try and let the whole thing go. The whole concept of acting normal around a celebrity was about as possible as driving normal with a cop behind you.
“When I heard about Reggie leaving, I offered.” Jason crossed his leg with his knees close together the way Europeans tend to do it. “I think training together is important. I'd like to understand you so that our characters have better chemistry on screen.”
“For tonight, let's simply do a table read. Feel everything out.” Jason handed me my copy, then quickly began to clarify. “A table read, if you’re unfamiliar is—”Seeing the smug look on my face he stopped. “Am I preaching to the choir?”
“I’m a celebrity and entertainment video blogger.” I shrugged innocently. “A table read is a line-by-line reading of the script with each actor reading their part. It's kind of a first rehearsal so that the actors can read against the people they'll be acting with. If I’m not mistaken sometimes the directors and writers will sit in on the session to see if any of the dialogue needs rewrites. That about cover it?”
“I am impressed” He nodded with raised eyebrows. “It’s just that I saw that look on your face and— Well, I apologize for assuming.”
“I may have watched the Avengers table read a hundred times…” I buried my hidden nerd and continued. “It’s not that, it’s just the thought of reading the entire thing this late after such a long day crashed into me like my friend's, big, dopey mastiff.”
“Oh no! We aren’t reading the whole thing.” Jason chuckled. “I doubt either of us has that much time. Just the parts we have together. We can always stop if it gets too late. I’m not as strict as Dante is.”
Relieved, I nodded and we got started. We had a dozen or two significant scenes together, not including the unspoken exchanges our characters had while in the company of others, but those were mostly reaction shots into the camera so we skipped them. It was halfway through an emotional section of dialogue that Jason, who had begun to frown in this second time reading through, abruptly stopped. He laid his script down on the coffee table and looked up at me curiously.
“Did I do something wrong?” I asked. My stomach flipped in search of the most painful knot to form itself into. Acting was even more important than the stunt training. Despite having an acting background, it was easy to feel like an imposter sitting next to an international, award-winning actor like Jason.
What the hell am I doing here again?
“You're not comfortable with me yet. I can hear it in your voice,” he said casually. “I love my fans, but I need a costar right now.”
“I'm sorry.” I took a deep breath. “It's just all this is still so— I feel a little like Alice down the rabbit hole, you know? I used to poke fun at celebrities in my videos, and now here I am reading lines, sitting across from... Well.” I gestured toward Jason.
“You want to know the biggest lie in entertainment?” Jason cleared his throat, leaned in and quickly glanced at the camera I had set up, smiling. “That we know what were doing.”
“We're just like you.” Jason laughed. “Most of us have no idea how we got here, not really.”
They were like me how?
“I appreciate the gesture, but I don't know. It feels different, like someone is waiting around every corner ready to pop out and say, 'Got you! Are you crazy, you think you deserve any of this? You've been pranked!'” I laughed awkwardly, hiding behind an extended sip of water. When Jason didn't say anything, I compulsively continued. “It's easier with Dante, because I'm always too distracted to ask myself if that makes any sense. All my mental, and physical—and occasionally emotional—energy goes into not screwing up. Self-doubt and existential crisis is kinda impossible while spinning in a car at forty-five miles an hour.”
Acting though... Holy crap. All I did was over-analyze. I'd take physical pain over think-y pain any day of the week.
Jason nodded thoughtfully, then he stood up. His features took a hard turn toward severe intensity. It was something I hadn't seen from him in person yet. Anxious energy poured into me as he untucked his shirt.
Shit, I must've said too much and made him angry. I should've kept my stupid mouth shut. He didn't want to hear about my insecurities. Or maybe it was because I mentioned Dante? Worry was a cyclone in my mind as I pushed myself into the couch, hoping that it would swallow me whole.
Jason's icy stare locked my gaze as he cleared his throat and slid a hand under his armpit. Then he brought his bent arm down...making fart noises.
The way a third-grader might.
I laughed nervously at first having no idea what was going on. He carried on, earnestly trying to produce the loudest sounds. Only one in every three arm flaps made any kind of noise at all, the rest fizzled out. It was easy to tell he wasn't very good at it, but he dove into it with an Oscar-winning level of concentration.
The absurdity of it all made me laugh for real. My death grip on the couch loosened. Was I really seeing a famous, twenty-five-year-old millionaire make fart sounds, and poorly at that?
“See,” he said with that same overflowing intensity. Then gradually his demeanor lightened back to normal joviality. He sat back down without tucking his shirt in. “We're all frauds. My first casting in The Whitescales wasn't divine providence. I was the back up's back up. Both boys ahead of me came down with mono and had to back out of the role.” Jason spread his hands, “Thus me.”
I dropped my head and laughed again. This time it was at myself for taking all of this too seriously. “OK. OK! I get it.”
“Good.” Jason switched on his more proper tone and finally tucked in his shirt. “Now that all the adoring fans have left the room, let's work through these scenes as actors.”
The rest of the session went amazingly well. We switched from heart-wrenching, to funny, to dramatic, to even angry scenes. I got tongue tied a few times and flubbed up some lines, but Jason was incredibly patient with me. He even offered me suggestions and tricks that he'd learned along the way.
For so long he was this unattainable celebrity crush in my heart that it was liberating to let that unrealistic ideal go. Jason stopped being a sexy, perfect poster on the wall of my fantasies and started to be a real armpit-farting person.
“How do you feel?” He said, putting the spent script back into his folder.
“I feel great actually. A little emotionally exhausted, but I feel like I made some real progress.” I shrugged. “At least I hope I did.”
“You did.” Jason reaffirmed me with a soft smile. “You're already leagues above me when I first started. Did you ever see The Whitescales?”
“I...did,” I said, hesitantly. I was able to keep most of the cringe out of my expression. Because I was obsessed, I'd only seen the handful of episodes Jason was in before they killed his character off. It was a science fiction soap opera with every bad trope you could imagine—evil twin brother coming back from the dead, absurdly convenient timing that bordered on literal time travel, and of course weird over-the-top incestuous shocker reveals that made less than no sense. The writing was bad; the acting was super melodramatic and hammy. It wasn't a good show, but it had a so-bad-it's-good, crazy cult following.
“It's fine, you can say it. I was atrocious in it.” Jason held up a hand. “Fortunately for me, so was everyone else. How it ran for ten seasons is beyond me.”
“Oh no, it's not over. It's still on the air!” I might not have seen many episodes, but the show was too crazy not to keep up with the Wikia fan page. “We just found out that the space wizard is actually Lena's Dad from an alternate timeline, where those two had gotten married. Lena found out while she was giving birth to her own mother.”
“Please stop.�
�� Jason protested, practically fleeing from the library with the water pitcher.
“But it gets so much crazier!” I walked after him with the cups. I hadn’t had this much fun in a long time! Who knew that Jason would be such a funny nerd? We would’ve totally been friends in high school.
We joked around a little more while slowly walking him out.
“Hey,” Jason passed the door's threshold then stopped to a linger. “You and Dante aren't—” Jason trailed off, but it still took me a second to switch gears and deduce what he was asking.
“God no!” I chuckled nervously, like a girl in study being asked if she liked liked the cute exchange student. “Aside from training I never see the guy. I'm not sure he even likes me.”
“Ah.” Jason's gaze flicked away, only to return with a sexy smirk. “Anyone else then?”
Was he asking me out? My eyes flashed, and pulse quickened. A tsunami of mixed emotions stirred in me. “Uh, no, actually. Not at the moment.”
“Let me take you out to dinner then?”
“I—” I swallowed hard as the wave crashed.
I'd never even considered he'd be interested! He's him and I'm just me. Why would I ever think that was possible? But here it was, blindsiding me like a drunk driver.
I was always allowed to come and go as I pleased during my free time, not that there was anywhere to go...or much free time. I’d have to clear the actual food with Dante, but as long as I ate what I was supposed to I didn’t remember anything in the contract that said I couldn’t go on any dates.
A real date with Jason Brenner… Probably the one moment I’d fantasized about the most in my life.
“I—” I stuttered. Am I really going to do this? Autumn from a month ago would’ve punched me in the stomach for what I was about to do. “I think I need to focus on my training.”
I did have to focus on my training! Mom was counting on me.
“I completely understand and I apologize for being so forward.” Jason looked surprisingly wounded. I was willing to bet he barely ever got turned down. “If you'd like I can arrange for the studio to send another acting coach. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”
Oh man. That felt terrible.
I liked Jason a lot. He was an amazing guy and saying yes made so much sense considering who he was, but I just wasn’t in the right place to even consider it right now. That was along the lines of ‘No thanks, I don’t need that gorgeous jacket from All Saints.’ Or ‘A lifetime supply of Lush bath bombs? Nah I’ll pass.’
Then there were those stupid lingering feelings I had for Dante that muddied everything up even more, especially being that he went out of his way every chance he got to tell me that he didn’t care about me outside of training.
“No!” I put a hand out to emphasize how that wasn’t what I meant, and touched his chest by accident. I quickly pulled away. It felt really nice, but something had changed in me. I didn’t need childhood crushes right now. I needed to focus on what was important. “I mean, I really like working with you. I'm sorry. I'm just all over the place right now and I’m afraid of screwing everything up.”
Jason’s face relaxed from disappointment to understanding. He nodded warmly, then looked up at me with those impossibly blue eyes and asked, “A rain check then? After this is all over?”
I pinched the stud in my ear and squished a smile to one side of my face. “Maybe!”
“Have a good night, Autumn.” Jason tipped his head and walked back out to his waiting limousine. “See you next week.”
After Jason drove off I slumped against the door frame, letting gravity pull me down to the cool stones below. I sat there with the door open and watched the endless sky for a little while. I couldn't believe what I'd just done. I turned down a real date with my celebrity crush! I felt like I'd let fan girls all across the world down somehow.
When I made it back to my room, I stepped out onto the balcony and saw a light on in the window above Dante’s workspace. A darkened figure was near enough to the glass to blot out half the yellow glow. I knew immediately that it was Dante.
How long had he been watching?
Chapter 14
Dante
My baby brother died today.
Technically speaking, he’d died four times and they hadn't even called the lunch break yet.
Bulky, soot-stained copy machines and boiling water coolers broke up the grid of cubical blocks that littered the retro mid-nineties office film set. Fat beige computer monitors sat atop nearly every document-cluttered work desk, most of which were pre-exploded with the glass already smashed out. Long, florescent light fixtures were rigged to dangle precariously off the ceiling, patiently waiting to swing or come crashing down when necessary.
The scorched pillars, peeling walls, blackened carpet and fallen drop-ceiling tiles gave the room a ravaged quality long before we ever turned on the fire. The scenic painters and prop masters had truly outdone themselves this time.
The director gave the order to the special FX guys and the beautifully ruined room became a controlled, yet raging, fiery inferno. Pillars of flame erupted in key locations around the set to give the background a “living, breathing” quality. The abrupt wave of intense heat was enough to make our eyes water even from this distance.
My knuckles tightened around the fire blanket as I glanced once more at my brother's safety team. They were alert and ready as always. We squatted as close to the scene as possible without being in the camera frame. Several fire fighters stood a dozen or so feet behind us in their full kit, like armored knights ready to charge into battle. Of course, if things went sideways they wouldn't be charging toward us. We had an understanding with those guys, they were here to get the cast and crew to safety first.
Us stunt guys always took care of our own.
“Cameras speeding, roll sound. Action! Stunts go!” The director's voice squawked like a scratchy chorus over our safety team’s walkies.
Seconds later my brother, Frost, crashed through the wall and into the scene. A massive ball of fire chased him.
The force of the explosion behind him staggered Frost into a flaming desk, which in turn ignited all the accelerant on his clothes, lighting him up like a funeral pyre. Fully engulfed from head to toe, Frost took his time, flailing and staggering through the set. He chewed up the scene, knocking things off desks and setting office supplies on fire as he passed.
Few things in life were as spectacular as watching a skilled professional do an extended full-body burn for film.
People think it's the actual fire that's the dangerous part of a stunt burn. That's not it all. With all the nomex layers and fire retardant gel we wear we make the fire department behind us look like a bunch of pussies. It's the smoke inhalation that’ll really fuck you up.
A stuntman can only be on fire for as long as he can hold his breath, especially with a full body burn. The second you have to breathe in again you’d better extinguished on the ground otherwise you're going to have some real problems.
That was no problem for Frost.
The youngest of three brothers, Frost was the only competitive athlete among us. Dad set him up to train with a former Olympic swimmer early on. Frost had an incredibly promising qualifying run. He easily could’ve stolen silver, or maybe even gold, but something happened and he walked away from it all. No idea what happened, but he’s never been back in a pool since.
Ironically, because of all his specific type of training his skill set was perfectly honed to make him one of the best in the world for fire work. Now he gets flown all over the world for projects because of it.
Next time you watch your favorite movie keep an eye out. Every poor innocent bastard whose dramatic immolation sets the hero on the path to revenge, every bad guy that gets his fiery comeuppance at the end of the movie, and every impressive burn in between; of the dozens of top tier stunt guys that specialize specifically in fire, there's a one-in-three chance you're watching my baby brother.
He's that damn good.
“Cut! Cut! Cut! Put him out!” The director cried out. Instantly the extinguishers were going and I was on top of Frost with the heavy fire-retardant blanket. Frost's team was as fast, thorough and precise as the best NASCAR pit crew. They had to be, because Frost always pushed things to their limit. When he collapsed, it was because he was out of air. Every take was life or death.
I wanted to scold him for always taking it to the brink, but who was I to talk? You couldn’t find a more reckless, adrenaline-junkie family in all of show business.
“He's good!” I called out when Frost gasped in air.
Frost rolled on to his back, sucking in great lung fulls of oxygen, a wide, smug smile on his lips. He burst out in a great fit of laughter. “Fuck yes I am!”
I helped the smug bastard up so he could bow to the round of applause after they told him that was a wrap for him. Frost missed his calling, he should’ve been an actor. I’d never met someone who loved the roar of a crowd as much as him.
“Well done, little brother.” I clasped a hand on his back. The non-synthetic wardrobe they'd given him disintegrated at my touch and fell off him in sheets like an outfit made entirely of blackened, crushed eggshells. The long underwear-style heat shield and Hydro Gel layer beneath were virtually untouched.
“Say that again?” Frost put his hand to his ear and in a raised voice, he said, “Ears are full of gel.”
“Gel and bullshit.” I shoved him forward knowing full well that he could hear me. I stepped aside for the EMTs to do their mandatory post fire health check.
Frost pulled off his hood, raising it high. “I am Stormborn of the House Targaryen,” Then he stripped off the rest of his fire gear. Every time he took off another piece for them to spray he’d call out another of Daenerys titles. The whole set came to a full stop and all the Game of Throne fans in the crew looked on with rapt attention. “First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and—”