by Haley Jenner
“And because I cross my heart,” I add quietly.
Nine
Take Two
Roxy
“What’s the movie about?”
I stare at the copious amounts of clothes scattered along my bed. Packing is a task I’m in no way equipped to cope with. There’s too much pressure.
“It’s about a guy who knows his best friend is in love with him. He’s dying but he doesn’t tell her. Instead, he forces her into this ‘now’ list. A list of things they both want to experience before they die. He convinces her to do it when they’re young, so they can do it all, when really it’s because he’s going to die soon and he wants her to remember him, remember them living the life the way they wanted to.”
“Oh my God,” Brooke whines.
Bottom lip tipped out, I nod my head along with her heartache. “She knows her feelings will never be returned and eventually, along their way, she begins to fall in love with another man, around the same time the best friend realizes he loves her too.”
“Yes,” she hisses. “They fall in love and he’s miraculously cured.”
I laugh at her optimism. “No. He never tells her. He watches her become the best version of herself and fall into a forever love right before he dies.”
“That’s horrifying.”
I shrug, stuffing my underwear into the bare case. “I think it’s romantic. They were never going to be gifted their happily ever after, so he finds happiness in letting her find hers. It’s like his dying wish.”
“At least tell me they boink.”
“No,” I chide. “It’s all about timing and missed opportunities and the reality of life.”
“Stoopid,” she grumbles. “They should at least kiss. Does anyone get some in the movie?”
“Since when did you become a romantic?”
“I started listening to romance novels while Spencer is sleeping and I’m doing chores. Makes me feel a little more risqué while doing mundane shit.”
I stare at her blankly and she meets my gaze head-on. Even through the screen of my laptop, I can feel her attitude. In all seriousness, I’m thankful this conversation is being had over Skype, her moods are erratic as fuck at the moment, I wouldn’t put it past her to hit me.
“To each their own.”
“Is it weird listening to some random dude talking about thrusting his throbbing member into her channel?”
A steady chuckle builds on her end, and after a second, I join in.
“It’s more his thick cock sliding in her wet heat,” she volunteers.
“Okay,” I ponder. “I see the appeal. Send me some of your favs,” I invite. “We can do distance book club and chat about them.”
She looks about to cry. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I agree readily. “It’ll be fun. Plus, I have to get my kicks from somewhere, we all know it’s like a barren wasteland for me right now.”
She laughs. “Preach on it, sister. Hashtag fucking feels. Keep talking about the movie.”
“They’ve been scouting locations, they’ve found a place in Florida, so I’ll be close.” I pick up a jacket.
“Nope,” Brooke says, and dropping it low enough I look at the laptop.
“Really?” I glance at the jacket, then back to the screen.
“You won’t need it. That, and I’ve already seen you throw three other jackets into that suitcase. It’s overkill.”
My eyes roll automatically, but I listen, dropping the jacket into my discard pile.
“Have you spoken to him since you agreed to do it?”
I shake my head, folding my fourth pair of ripped jeans to pack. “He’s been busy with behind the scenes production. Hiring line and production managers, overseeing their budget and stuff like that.”
“I can’t believe he’s producing.”
I smile. “It was always his end goal, directing or producing.”
“Is that pride in your voice, Roxy Monroe?”
I look at her blankly. “I am proud of him. I don’t have to like him to feel proud of him.”
“Are you really gonna try and tell me you don’t like him at all?”
I ignore her and she smirks.
“What was it like?” she asks. “Coming face to face with him?”
I pause, a shirt half folded in my hands. “It was uncomfortable. And weird,” I test. “I didn’t imagine it would feel so much like we were strangers. But we were, and it felt bizarre. Unnatural almost.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a rhythm.”
I shrug, throwing the half-folded shirt into my suitcase. “All honesty, Brooke, I don’t care to find a rhythm. Whatever Reid and I once shared, it was in the past. We knew one another before we really knew ourselves. He’s my co-star, my producer, I don’t need anything more from him, aside from space.”
She watches me quietly and I ignore the intensity of her stare, I finish packing.
“How did he look?”
I laugh. “Chook!”
“What?” she jeers. “It’s a fair question.”
My mind runs eagerly back to the moment his voice touched my ears seconds before my eyes met his. That split second of shock melded with a relief I never expected to feel.
“He looked good,” I concede. “Really good. He’s a little taller, a lot broader. He’s got a lazy attractiveness about him now. A bit of facial scruff, his hair is longer, he’s a little disheveled. It works for him.” I pause, trying to find the right words. “He looks lonely. I don’t know, kind of withdrawn. He’s still an asshole though.”
Brooke smiles affectionately. “You should bring him over for lunch one day so I can see him.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Did you not hear how I said I wanted to keep my space?”
Head tipped back, she groans. “Fuck.” She rolls her head back into view. “I just woke Spencer. Call me later.”
With that, she disconnects and I look down at the jacket she told me to leave, picking it up to fold it into my bag. “It’s a good jacket. You can never have too many jackets.”
“Roxy Monroe, disgraced movie star,” I read aloud to myself. “Has been cast in a new movie under the direction of Oscar-winning Director James Valentine. Starring alongside heartthrob” —I roll my eyes to myself— “Reid Rivere. Rivere won an Oscar earlier this year for his role in The After. Monroe definitely has her work cut out for her. Oh, gee thanks, assholes. Rivere, who is starting to show his many talents, ugh, barf, wrote the screenplay for the movie that he will also be producing. Blockbuster or bust? The jury’s still out, but we’ll be watching this space as shooting begins this week.”
“Any good publicity is decent at this point,” James startles me, Reid and Baxter walking up casually beside him.
I smile tightly, throwing the gossip magazine to the bench beside me.
I came outside for some fresh air and sunshine, working to find my Zen over a cup of coffee before my day started. Instead, I found more reason to despise the tabloids.
“This rubbish” —James picks up the magazine, eyeing the headlines with amusement— “as awful as it is, can sometimes create buzz. That’s what’s happening right now. There’s a lot of talk about this movie, which we can only take as a positive. Take what they say with a grain of salt.”
I exhale heavily. “I do. Sometimes they throw enough shit your way, it’s hard not to be tarnished by it.” I shrug, noting the melancholy in my voice. Shaking it off, I force a smile. “All ready for day one?”
“We’re going to block a few scenes to start; get used to some camera angles, get you two in character, shit like that. Issues?”
I shake my head as Reid slides along the bench seat beside me.
“See you out there.” James claps his hands, walking away from us without a backward glance.
Baxter glances at me and Reid, pointing behind him before making himself scarce.
Picking up my coffee cup, I move to stand, ignoring Reid’s overwhelming presence beside me.
&nbs
p; “Rox,” he yells out, jogging after me. “Wait up.”
Rolling my shoulders back, I stop, half turning back. “What’s up?”
“I don’t want this to be weird. We’ll be working together for a decent amount of time. Would be nice if we could get along.”
“Reid, I’m here to do a job. One I’m really happy to be a part of,” I praise. “But that’s it. You and I aren’t friends. We haven’t been for a long time. You have nothing to worry about,” I assure him. “You do your thing, I’ll do mine and we’ll only cross paths on set.”
I feel his eyes on my back as I walk away, feeling a lot less settled than before he messed with my mojo.
I forgot how exhilarating and exhausting shooting can be. It’s one in the same. The way it sparks something deep within you that breathes life into your imagination. I feel most alive pretending to be someone else. Sounds ridiculous. But it’s the ultimate challenge, shutting Roxy down enough to morph into someone else entirely. For those few hours, Roxy’s hopes, dreams, fears, and fuckups don’t matter. Because she doesn’t exist. I’m free from the constraints of my own world.
That’s not to say it doesn’t take its toll. The long hours. The pressure on your psyche to ensure you don’t pop through, hijacking the work you and those around you have put in to claiming the character’s purpose.
Walking through the lobby of the hotel, I meander into the restaurant, in search of food, delicious, glorious food.
Reid’s sitting at a table alone, eyes trained on his computer screen, a line of concentration etched prominently into his forehead.
I was rude to him yesterday. Not purposely. I’m just a little lost on how to navigate us going forward. I have zero expectation that we’d slide back into the friendship we once had, too much time has passed. He’s a stranger. What I haven’t considered, is that it’s likely more awkward for him. Reid felt an overwhelming need to pull away from me because I had feelings for him. He has no idea where my mind’s at. My plan is to keep it that way, which doesn’t mean I can’t be civil.
I consider moving in the opposite direction, as far away from him as possible, but sensing my eyes, he looks up, smiling that stupid-half grin. Gesturing me over, I contemplate running back to my room, pretending I never saw him and ordering room service.
Not awkward at all, right? Right?!
A defeated sigh rolls through my body, but I plaster on a smile, moving toward him.
“You eating?”
He looks confused. “Am I eating?”
“Fine. Have you ordered?”
Head shaking, he passes me the menu, currently tucked under his laptop. He moves back to his work without another word, letting me peruse the menu in silence.
My eyes find their way to him without permission, watching him surreptitiously.
Age has treated him well, the past ten years only adding an edge that adds to his appeal. His fringe, grown out, falls to his eyes as he types, one hand breaking away to shift it backward. It’s done so quickly, it doesn’t break his momentum, hands continuing in their ministrations across his keyboard. That’s Reid though, focused and determined to a fault. I learned that first-hand.
He looks good with facial hair, the rough stubble decorating the strong line of his jaw in lazy appeal. My hand itches to lean across and scratch at it, asking him when he decided on hobo-chic as his style, but I refrain, fisting my free hand to my lap to stop myself.
“Ready to order?” I flinch at the voice at my shoulder, embarrassed at being caught staring.
“Umm.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, I mean, yes. Reid?”
He nods without sparing us a glance.
“May I please have the steak, cooked medium” —I look at the waiter— “with both salad and fries. Uh, a side of garlic bread... and a margarita.” I look at Reid. “Actually, scrap the margarita, I’ll take a Coke.”
“Sauce?”
Lips twisted in indecision, I hum to myself. “Red wine jus. Actually, no… peppercorn, please. No,” I stammer. “Definitely the jus.”
The waiter stares at me in expectation. “Jus?” He tests a moment later and I nod.
“Please.”
“He’ll have the same, but with peppercorn. He’ll share my garlic bread.”
Looking to Reid for clarification, I watch Reid’s head nod once. “But hold the Coke. I’ll take a glass of red. Whatever’s good is fine.”
“We don’t do wine by the glass, sir. Will a bottle be okay?”
Reid considers me. “Do you drink red?”
I nod.
“We’ll take a bottle.”
“Hold the Coke for me too, please.” I touch the waiter’s arm. “Thank you.”
Mouthful of steak, I chew. “So Ari Hart is playing Beau?”
Reid, slicing his steak, nods, swallowing his mouthful before speaking. “Yeah. Do you know him?”
I shake my head, retrieving my wine glass to take a sip.
Reid mimics the action. “I’ve known him for a few years now. He’s good people. He’ll be arriving tomorrow.”
“You guys are friends?”
“As close as you can be in the industry,” he offers quietly, a little sad almost. “I see you still see Brooke.”
“Instagram?” I guess. “She mentioned you commented on a few of her pics.”
“Hot information. Might be able to sell it to the tabloids. Maybe we’re secretly dating.”
I laugh.
“Why do you have social media?” he asks softly. “I’ve seen the disgusting comments people leave on your posts.”
Placing my glass back on the table, I twist the stem between my fingers. I shrug. “Surely you get nasty comments as well.”
“Not on the level you do,” he argues. “Mostly, I get marriage proposals, people asking to check their page out, or inappropriate DMs.”
Figures. I bark out a quiet laugh. “I guess, in amongst the hideousness, there are beautiful comments too. A little sprinkle of sweetness from someone who means a million times more than any troll.”
“It doesn’t make you feel like shit?”
Snagging a fry from my plate, I take a bite. “Sure it does. But then I remember those people don’t know me. They think they do. But they don’t. They can call me horrible names, but I know the truth. They can tell me my dad must be ashamed of me, but I know he’s not. They can tell me I need Jesus, but I know it’s them who needs him, otherwise, they wouldn’t be so hateful. They can call me a slut, a whore, but I know that’s not true. Why should I let their misguided views be my truth?”
He leans back in his chair. “You shouldn’t.”
“Exactly,” I declare. “The downside of social media is that it gives a voice to people who only care to spike hate in the world. They mean nothing to me, and that’s how much notice I try to take of them. Nil.”
It’s a half-truth at best, but the only one I care to put forward. Reid doesn’t need to know about the days I have to lock myself away and cry because their words are too much to bear. I don’t confess that I’ve considered walking away from an industry I worked my ass off to break into, because my armor is so dented, it’s no longer tough enough to ward off the stones thrown my way. I don’t admit that I fake a resilience I’m hoping one day catches on before I succumb to their truth.
Reid remains quiet, watching me intently. There’s a warmth in the way he looks at me, an affection that seems all too familiar and at the same time, refreshingly new.
“I post for me, and if amongst everything, I find a comment that tells me my boots are awesome, or that someone loved my last movie or even to ignore the hateful people, that I’m a role model” —I shrug— “it’s an added benefit.”
He smiles at me proudly and my chest inflates in pleasure. “Always been a strong one, Roxy Monroe.”
“Tell me about you,” I invite, wanting to know more about where he’s been and what he’s done. “What has the last ten years been like for Reid Rivere?”
He looks embarrassed
at the question. Watching me over the rim of his glass, he pulls it down to lick the wine off his lips. My eyes pause there for a second longer than they should, old feelings stirring in my stomach uninvitedly.
“I’ve just been working,” he answers, oblivious to my thoughts. “I worked while I studied. Worked a little bit more. Then more on top of that.” He smirks. “Honestly, that’s it.”
“It’s paid off,” I praise. “You did it, Reid. You won a fucking Oscar.” My eyes water unexpectedly, my heart filling with a pride that I can barely contain.
His nostrils flare, in pride, maybe modesty. “Felt weird accepting it without you.” The words are spoken so quietly, I scarcely hear them, but their effect is as powerful as if he’d shouted them in my face.
It’s a massive secret to divulge. Especially this soon after we’ve reconnected. But it settles something inside of me. Something that for a long while had felt broken.
“I was watching,” I admit, offering him my own secret. “I was, am so proud of you. I might not have been there physically, but I hope you felt me there with you, cheering you on.”
I’m not going to lie, it’s odd sitting across from my childhood friend, catching up on life. Following the night of my eighteen birthday, I was more than certain that no matter how our paths crossed, we’d likely work our hardest to avoid one another. We’d done it well enough up until this point.
It’s almost shocking to consider that for the best part of a decade, Reid and I were as close as any two people could possibly be. Emotionally and mentally, anyway. We shared a connection that we were convinced would last our lifetime. Truth was, we barely clawed our way out of our teenage years. We were shredded, almost unrecognizable by the breakdown of the most significant friendship in both our lives. From that moment we were the worst kind of strangers. We weren’t unfamiliar by circumstance, it was a decision based on poor judgment and not yet matured feelings. And it was more painful than anything I’ve ever experienced.