by N. K. Smith
“Yeah. It’s great almost breaking an ankle so my character can be stylish as well as kick-ass.”
He frowns like he actually thinks I might be in danger. “You’re being careful, right? I don’t want you getting hurt. They have stunt—”
“That’s funny coming from you. We’ve already covered your stunts, besides it’s not really that bad.” I bite my lip as I decide now’s the time to bring up my next project. Thinking about telling him feels a bit shameful. Peter wants the best for me, but I’m not sure he’s going to approve of this part. Either way, I’m already attached to it, but it’d be awesome if he wasn’t disappointed in my choice. “Especially considering my next role.”
“The one you auditioned for? What is it?”
This is the meat of what I wanted to talk to him about. I signed the contract two weeks ago, and even though I realize it’s a good opportunity, I still don’t feel like I should do it. “I’m going to play a stripper who is trying to get her life together.”
Peter almost chokes on his sip of coffee. “A stripper?”
“I knew you’d have that reaction. Elsie says it’s—”
“Elsie’s crazy. You need to hire Sue. Sue’s the best.”
Sue might be the best in the world according to Peter, but he doesn’t have what I have. Elsie helps me gain fame and money, which gives me clout in this business, and clout means not having to worry about people dismissing me as some amateur—just some kid actor all grown up. So I have some fame, I have lots of money, but I still need an award win to solidify me as a heavyweight in this industry.
Even if I went through Sue, she’s just a talent agent—like Megan. She represents a lot of actors, whereas Elsie only represents me and two other clients, neither of which are as established as I am. Elsie’s able to spend more time going through scripts Meg sends over. Meg sends quality scripts, but Elsie filters them for me by who is already attached to the film and potential career impact.
But Peter is happy with the roles he gets and the pace of his rising celebrity. I should be grateful for his reaction to the part. It’s a sign of how much he cares to be concerned over what types of roles I take. He just wants me to be happy. So I say, “Yeah. You know, someday I probably will.”
All of the sudden, something warm and wet clamps down on my neck. I stifle a shriek, tilt my head to the side, glimpsing Peter’s wrinkled brow.
“Jesus!” When I’m no longer under attack, I wipe the wetness away from my skin and smile.
“Hey, Danny.” Peter’s tone tells me what I already know—he doesn’t exactly like my boyfriend.
Danny kneels down next to me and places his hand between my knees as he addresses Peter. “What’s up, Lover Boy?”
I cringe just a little at his joke about Peter’s name. He does it a lot, and while I understand that it easy to mock his name, I still think Danny should refrain once in a while. Two years ago when Danny and I first started dating—if you can call it dating since we were, and still are, hounded mercilessly by the paparazzi—Peter had to show Danny his driver’s license and birth certificate just to get him to believe Truelove was his real last name.
Honest to God, that’s his name. Peter Truelove. It’s not a stage name at all. It’d be awesome if a name like that gave him some extra luck in the true love department, but, I’m sorry to say, every girl Peter goes after seems determined to break his heart.
“I didn’t hear you get home.” I turn and give Danny a quick kiss.
“That’s because this house is so huge you couldn’t hear an intruder having a dubstep party downstairs.” He slides his hand up my leg until his fingers are just at the bottom of my shorts. I place my hand over his to stall him. I’m still on the call with Peter, and while I’m sure my friend has seen way worse in terms of gaudy make out sessions, I still want to be respectful.
But, I can’t stall Danny for long because he runs his fingers between my legs and up to the button of my shorts. With his mouth once again against my neck and my shorts open, he slides a hand down into them. I widen my eyes in response.
“Gotta go,” I say to Peter.
“I see that.” There’s something in his voice I’d like to deconstruct, but I don’t have time. Danny moves his fingers in pleasing patterns while he attaches his mouth to my earlobe.
“Miss you, Peter.”
“Yeah, miss you, too.”
I extend my hand and use the mouse to click the End Call button. The screen returns to the pretty blue hue, and I relax back into the chair. I feel like crap ending the call like that, but knowing Danny, I wouldn’t have been able to put him off anyway.
My legs fall open as Danny swivels me around. I close my eyes and let everything but the experience of sensation fall away.
Chapter 3
I think my life with Danny should be more than it is. Even though I care about him, I’m not sure I love him, or at least I’m not sure I love him as much as I should. I try to give him what he wants in every way, but I don’t know if that makes me a good girlfriend or just a stupid girl.
Sometimes I feel like I’m just going through the motions. If I don’t love him, why do I care so much about what he thinks of me? Why do I care so much about whether or not he loves me? And if I’m truly just going through the motions, is he doing the same thing? Why does everyone in my life only love me in a certain way or only a certain amount? Is it me?
***
Light pierces the darkness behind my eyelids. The tranquility of sleep is broken as I come back to this world. I only remember what happens in my dreams on rare occasions, but the lingering comfort is something that sticks with me until I roll out of bed and start my day.
Today, I am relaxed and serene, and that keeps me in bed longer than usual. Most mornings I dash around to get out of the house before Elsie calls to pester me, but today I don’t have to move so fast. I’m shooting a night scene, and I don’t have to be in the makeup chair until two in the afternoon.
I roll over and study Danny as he sleeps. I’d love to say that he looks like a little kid when he’s out, but he doesn’t. He looks older than he is; a man who isn’t a comedian. I think while I go to some beautiful spa inside my head at night, Danny goes some place awful. I think Danny’s nightmare place is a tall office building where he’s required to sit in front of a computer analyzing numbers inside of a tight cube that stifles his creativity and big personality.
One of the reasons I’m with him is because of how simple he is. He’s not dumb, but his life is sectioned off into two categories: things that are fun and make him happy and things that are a chore and bring him no pleasure. His philosophy is simple—to do what is fun and brings happiness, and to distance himself from that which brings neither.
I’ve tried to implement that philosophy, but it doesn’t seem to stick.
Kicking the covers off me, I take a deep breath and prepare my mind for the day, but as I sit up, Danny throws his arms around me. “Don’t go.” His sleepy voice isn’t quite as charming as Peter’s was on our last call, but it’s still pretty adorable.
“Have to. This body isn’t going to stay skinny by itself.”
“Don’t work out. Stay in bed.” He tugs me down and pulls me into his body.
I close my eyes when I feel the moist heat of his breath against my neck and hardness against my hip. “Wish I could.”
“You totally can.”
“Mmmm.”
“But you won’t.” Danny lets go of me but only for a second. He moves one hand to cover a breast and wriggles the other one under my body and curves it around until his fingertips are just between my legs. “Just stay in bed for a little bit.”
I laugh but shake my head. “One day you’re going to wake up and not be hard as a rock,” I say as I press against his groin. “You’re going to get old and limp.”
“If we stopped sleeping naked, maybe I wouldn’t get so excited in the morning, and I’ll be twenty-six forever, thank you very much.”
I tw
ist in his hold and hitch a leg over his hip. “No, you’re aging right now. I see the wrinkles forming already.”
“Wrinkles or no, as long as my dick gets hard, who cares? And they’ve got pills to make sure that happens.”
“The world—” My words disappear when he enters me, but then I continue. “The world cares about your wrinkles, just not as much as they will about mine.”
I try to just be in the moment, but all I can think about is that time is ticking away, and I haven’t won any substantial awards in my acting career. I know older actresses can win prestigious trophies and contests, but they do so for supporting roles as the mothers of main characters, not as the lead. One day I’m going to be relegated to the part of Mother-in-Law or Old Hag at the Diner, so I need to make my mark now.
“Is this good?”
Remembering that I’m having sex with Danny, I push my aging body into the background of my mind and push against him with a gentle hand. He rolls onto his back and I adjust myself on top of him.
“Better?” He grunts then gasps as I roll my hips in the right way.
I nod but don’t look down at him. I’m lost in my thoughts again until the tightening of his hands on my hips alerts me that Danny is finished.
Danny pants as I roll off him. I paste a smile on to assure him I’ve had a good time. I don’t want to talk, so I swing my legs off the bed and stand up. “God, you’re beautiful. You’ll be beautiful when you’re wrinkled, too.”
I turn and smile, but then he says, “Hey, wait. I think I see one now.”
I know he’s joking. I realize it’s what he does, but I can’t keep my smile from faltering. Men can joke about wrinkles because our industry pairs fifty-year-old men with twenty-year-old females all the time. When was the last time there was film about an older lady and her barely out of college husband?
“It was a joke, Adra.” He lets out a heavy huff and runs a hand through his hair as if having to explain it to me is the most annoying thing in the world. To him, everything’s a joke, but he should know by now that I don’t think wrinkles and fat are anywhere near funny. “Quit giving me that look. It was a joke.”
I brighten my expression even though I don’t feel happy enough to smile. “I know.”
“You’re not wrinkly.”
“I know.” I walk to the dresser and pull out a pair of spandex shorts, a sports bra, and a tank top. “I’ve got to work out.” The sooner I can get away from him and this conversation, the better. I don’t want to think about getting old anymore.
“You’re not fat either, you know.”
I step toward the door and keep my eyes fixed on the floor. “Thanks.”
Before I make it to the bedroom door, he wraps me up in his arms again. “Seriously, Adra. You’re not—”
“I know.” I press against him. “But I still have to work out. You have no idea how uncomfortable a form-fitting catsuit can be.”
“Uncomfortable or not, I’m sure you look hot in it.” Before I can say anything, he squeezes me. “And just so you know, I think you’re brilliant and talented and all that, too. It’s not just about how hot your ass is.” He places a kiss on my forehead. “You used to smile more. Like when we first got together. Remember? We were so much closer. You didn’t always hold me out at a distance like you do now. We used to laugh. You thought I was funny.”
“You were funny. Still are. I still—”
“One day I’ll see you smile all the time again, but you’ve got to get over this weight thing. You’ve been vegan since you were a kid and you work out like a fiend. Beyond a thrilling and dangerous crack addiction, there’s not much more you can do.”
I hate his humor sometimes. I hate that we’re discussing this again. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Does it?”
“No.”
I feel him shrug as he lets out a breath.
“Maybe this will.” He kisses me and then lets me go. “Want to grab lunch before heading in?”
“Sure. I’ve been craving food from the Compassionate Café.”
“I was thinking Indian.”
I could stand here and tell him how much I’d rather have raw, healthy vegan food, but it would do no good, so after my workout and shower, I find myself at lunch with a steaming plate of chana masala in front of me.
Chapter 4
Things with Danny have been good. Well, I mean, good is relative, right? But we’ve had some fun. We haven’t talked about our fight last week, but he hasn’t made any jokes at my expense since then. I think we’re good. He was completely right, though. I do hold him at a distance even though I don’t want to. I try not to anyway. It’s just so hard to let him in. I don’t know why I feel like I’ll never truly have him, if that makes sense. I mean, Elsie thinks he’s a player, but she has no proof and either I’m crazy unobservant or she’s just paranoid. With her coke habit, I’m inclined to believe it’s in her head rather than anything else.
Things have changed since we first got together, you know? When I first met him a few years ago, I thought he was amazing, even though he was a comedic actor. He gets paid for being silly or stupid, for making fun of himself. Danny’s roles are usually the comic sidekick whose quick-wit is underappreciated until the third act. I think he can do better than that, but I guess he’s happy with it. I tell him he doesn’t have to be the sidekick. He could have been the leading man in any one of the films on his resume. Hell, he could do action-comedy if he’d just go for the parts. At over six feet tall, he’s got a great body that includes strong abs and biceps. He has the perfect look.
But Danny prefers being the second fiddle. He doesn’t want to be in every scene. I guess maybe that works out better for me because it means he’s got a lot of time for me. I value his opinions when I ask for them. He told me to go for this new film, but to be honest, it seemed like he was only half paying attention.
So . . . maybe it’s not that I think our relationship could be better like I wrote a few entries ago. Maybe I just think Danny could be better. Is that the answer? If I think he could be better, does that mean I don’t love him, or does it mean that I love him enough to want better for him?
Speaking of relationships, I talked to Liliana on the phone. We’re going out for coffee. I know exactly where she wants to go, and I tried to get her just to come over or meet me somewhere private, but she wouldn’t go for it. But my hope is that if we spend a little more time together like we did when we were younger, we might grow closer again. Even though we’ve vied for the same parts in the past and sometimes still do, I still love her. I miss our friendship, you know, when it was real.
***
“Jesus, Adra. Just ignore them.”
I look from Liliana to the line of paparazzi across the street from the café again. Of course she wanted to come here. Of course, like always, Liliana chose to sit outside. It makes for better photographs, I guess. Of all the coffee shops in Beverly Hills, this is the one to be seen at. All of the Hollywood elite come here for their morning or mid-afternoon caffeine fix. Just last week there were a million pictures of Collette Stroud and Devon Maddox floating around the Internet. I mean, I love them too, but does the world need to watch them sip coffee out of paper cups?
The answer is no, but try telling the world that. After so many years of being photographed, by fans and paparazzi alike, I should just get over the attention, but I never have. I know being in the public eye and people caring about what I do is linked with being important and having the notoriety I want as an actress, but I hate that my every move is cataloged and shared with the whole world. When all that stuff was going on with my parents, the paparazzi did whatever they could to get a picture of me. I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing my sad face or my parents’, with captions about how our family was being torn apart by the pressure of Hollywood.
I love acting. I love being respected for doing something I adore, but I wish I could be acknowledged some other way beyond being hawked by guys
with cameras. It’s becoming too much.
“Or don’t ignore them and use them to your advantage,” Lili says as she waves and then blows the shutterbugs a kiss.
I scoot my chair so my back is to them and thank God I can’t make out what they’re shouting.
“Seriously, you need to start taking charge of things, babe. You’ve been in the business as long as I have, but it’s like you’ve totally missed the part where we’re in charge. We call the shots.”
The cup of hot mocha feels good in my hands even though it’s about a hundred degrees out here in this sun. I focus on the heat on my hands from the paperboard so I don’t have to consider how right she might be.
Liliana forces me to look at her when she leans in, lowers her sunglasses, and levels me with her cool blue eyes. “I mean, without us, movies won’t sell. At this point in our careers, the studios and directors need us more than we need them.”
I shake my head.
“It’s true.”
“It’s not true. They wouldn’t miss us the second we were gone. You think if I said no to a topless scene that they wouldn’t just find another pretty girl with nice tits to take the part?”
Lili sits back in her chair again, holds up a finger, and smiles. She probably thinks the smile comes off as sincere, but it doesn’t. She looks smug. “This is where we’re different. I don’t let that shit fly, baby.”
I hate it when she starts doing the Hollywood thing—calling me babe and baby like I’m her pet.