by L.H. Cosway
Six.
*Rose*
I was listening to Outlander again. Jamie was being particularly swoon-worthy towards Claire, and I was enjoying the excitement of their growing relationship. Truthfully, it caused a thrilling little sensation to fizzle in my stomach.
The next thing I knew, someone tugged a bud out of my ear and silently placed it in their own. I knew it was Damon without even having to look, because it was the exact same thing he’d done the other day. Plus, I recognised his woodsy cologne.
Shut up, it wasn’t obsessive that I already knew his scent off by heart.
I was still feeling a bit funny after my unexpected bout of jealousy yesterday, and I knew if I looked at him, the feeling would return. So instead I stifled a smile around a bite of my sandwich and continued to quietly listen. He was being brazen in a way only Damon knew how, and I quite liked the contrast to his normally reserved demeanour.
We sat on the studio floor, staring ahead, the story in our ears painting a picture on the wall of mirrors before us. Iggy and I had spent the day working out some kinks in the choreography, while the cast were busy rehearsing songs with the choral director in one of the smaller practice rooms.
The stark emptiness of the studio only functioned to amplify the intensity of Damon’s presence. Of course, I was certain the intensity was one-sided. The man clearly liked me as a friend and nothing more. I was a reliable candidate for friendship, loyal and trustworthy, always around when needed. The likes of Damon Atwood didn’t date women like me. They dated mysterious and ethereally beautiful models from Eastern Europe. Or you know, curvaceous red-headed bombshells from L.A.
I was desperate to know how his conversation with Alicia had ended, but I was determined to battle my own curiosity and let it forever go unknown. After all, if things had heated up between the two of them, then it would only make me feel worse. On the bright side, I hadn’t thought about Blake in almost twenty-four hours. There was always a silver lining.
“Do you think Claire and Jamie are going to get together?” Damon asked, nudging me with his shoulder. He had no idea how appealing I found it, the simple touch.
Hitting “pause” on the iPod, I turned to face him. “If they don’t, then I’ll have a serious bone to pick with the author. I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for it to happen,” I blurted, and then glanced shyly at my lap. What was it about my obsession with romance that always made me feel embarrassed? Like it was a silly, girlish thing to obsess about. In reality, it was what we all wanted, right?
I could still remember being ten years old, sitting on my living room floor, my face so close to the TV screen it was a surprise I didn’t need glasses. Some old romance flick would be on, and I’d watch how the hero looked at the heroine, realising he loved her. I’d been fascinated by every tiny facial muscle as it moved, forming an expression I wanted to see reflected back at me one day. In my mind I called it “the look,” but I’d yet to ever receive it.
I know, I was an idealistic little fool. Still am, apparently.
I’d thought Blake had given me “the look,” but it’d all been an act. And now I was thinking about Blake again. Thanks, brain.
Damon studied me with a thoughtful expression. “What about her husband? You know, back in 1946.”
“Well, don’t you have an ear for the details,” I replied, and shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s possible to marry someone and then meet your true love afterward, isn’t it? Not that I’d wish such a fate on anyone, but it is possible. I don’t feel the love between Claire and her husband like I feel it between Claire and Jamie. Or, you know, the potential for it.”
“It’s still cheating,” said Damon.
“Shut up,” I complained, and shoved him in the arm. “I don’t want to think about that. I just want to enjoy the love, and you’re ruining it for me.”
He raised his hands in apology. “My bad. I’m in a bit of a mood today. It’s the anniversary of my mam’s passing. Talking about other things, fictional things, helps keep my mind off it.”
“Oh,” I said, inhaling a deep breath, my eyes wandering to how his hands fidgeted in his lap. The confession made my stomach flip, like it always did when Damon revealed something new about himself. “I’m sorry. We can talk about the book. I’ll even let you ruin the love for me if you want.”
That almost got a smile out of him. Almost. His lips twitched, but then nothing. This man was locked up tighter than a bank vault. “Nah, it’s okay. Far be it from me to ruin love,” he teased. His mouth still looked sad, but his teasing heartened me.
“If it’s any consolation, I know exactly how you’re feeling. I have to live this day every year, too.”
“How did your mother die?” he inquired quietly. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
I shook my head. “I don’t mind. She threw herself in front of an oncoming train.” The fact had become custom to me over the years, and I tended to forget just how awful it sounded to new ears. Damon look horrified. “Wow, this conversation just took a turn for the morbid,” I went on, apologetic.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who asked.”
“She, um, she was heartsick over Elijah. You remember the man I told you about? The one she’d been having a polyamorous relationship with?”
Damon nodded, his dark eyes intent on me.
“Well, everything was great between the four of them in the beginning, but then jealousy started to rear its ugly head. My mum, Joanna, and Kimberly were all involved, but Elijah, being the only man, was sort of the focal point. After a while things got messy, and they wanted him to pick one of them. Push came to shove, and he chose Joanna. Both my mum and Julian’s were devastated. Kimberly fell into a deep depression and was admitted to a psychiatric hospital. Seems extreme, but she’d always been unhinged, even before she met Elijah. Poor Julian had a terrible time of it growing up. Then there was my mum. She took a more final approach to ending her heartbreak, I guess.”
My hand suddenly felt warm, and I glanced down to see Damon’s palm spread out over my knuckles. My heart beat fast. “She must have really loved him to do something so terrible just to end the pain.”
I nodded, struck by his unexpectedly eloquent and meaningful sentiment. “Some people love too much. My mother was one of them. Not that Elijah ever deserved how she felt for him. Sometimes I hate her, because she clearly loved him more than me, but then, I was grown up. She thought I didn’t need her anymore.”
“And that’s the ridiculous thing,” Damon added, as though my words were his own and he was just finishing a thought that belonged to him. “No matter how old we get, we always need them.”
I glanced at him from under my lashes and asked quietly, “What was your mum like?”
He didn’t answer right away, just stared dead ahead as though thinking about her. “She was strong and incredibly loyal. When I started to get famous, she protected me from all the people who might have tried to exploit it. Then she grew ill, and I didn’t have that protection anymore. My dad showed up at her funeral. They’d separated when I was little and I hadn’t seen him in years, but I was relieved, because I was just a lad and I didn’t want to be alone. I went to live with him, but he wasn’t Mam. He didn’t care about protecting me. Instead he used the money I earned to throw constant parties and live the high life. I went from being completely sheltered to being exposed to everything a child shouldn’t be around, alcohol, drugs, prostitutes, you name it.”
The abundance of his words went to show how strongly he felt for his mother and how badly what came after her death had affected him. I didn’t know what to say, but I suddenly understood why he’d turned his back on acting, if only to get away from a life that terrified him. People were starting to trickle in for the afternoon rehearsal, and it felt odd that we were discussing such personal things over our lunch break.
“Where is he now?” I asked.
Damon frowned. “Still in the States. Any road, I haven’t seen him since th
e day I was granted my emancipation. If I never do again, it’ll be too soon.”
The ferocity in his voice made me think that what he’d told me was just the tip of the iceberg. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard of showbiz parents taking advantage of their children’s success, and my gut twisted to think of Damon in a situation like that.
“I feel the same way about Elijah. It just seems so unfair that he gets to keep on living his life when he ruined my mother’s.”
Damon’s eyes met mine in understanding. We were silent for a moment, and then Farrah hurried by, probably on her way to a meeting. She waved and shot me a knowing look as I sat with Damon, and I realised that his hand was still on mine. I hastily pulled away and cleared my throat.
“We both should be getting back,” I said.
“Scared you off, did I?”
I shook my head. “No, of course not. The things I told you about Mum were just as personal….” I paused, hesitating over what to say next.
“Rose?”
Oh, hell. I really should just tell him. “People are starting to talk about us spending so much time together,” I blurted.
It was true. I hadn’t heard anything per se, but I’d stepped into my fair share of conversations lately where everybody just went quiet. That only ever happened when people were gossiping about you.
“We spend time together because we’re friends,” he stated plainly, like it was that simple.
“Yes, but, I’ve got a bit of a tendency toward developing show crushes, and Farrah knows it.” I fiddled awkwardly with the hem of my top.
“‘Show crushes’?” Damon appeared perplexed, and I couldn’t blame him. I was babbling like an idiot.
“You know, crushing on the people you work with during a show. They all probably think I’m some sort of gold digger. I don’t want anybody spreading rumours.”
This made him let out a hard, disbelieving laugh. “I live in a two-bedroom cottage and my car is a fifteen-year-old Volvo. Are you going to stop being my friend just because people are talking? Let them. I could give two fucks what they think.”
I watched his posture stiffen and began to feel guilty. “No, I’m not going to stop being your friend. Don’t mind me. I care too much about what other people think. I need to stop.”
Damon’s eyes flickered between mine as he studied me. I felt a little like I was under a microscope and grew self-conscious. Finally, he said, “Good, because I still need you to help me find a decent barber.”
What was this? Humour from Damon Atwood? He wasn’t smiling but his voice held a hint of teasing.
I shot him a look of mock horror. “But I like your hair how it is. Don’t listen to Jacob — you can easily just slick it back when you’re on stage.”
He ran a hand through his long locks. “Nah, it’s a bother this long, any road. I could do with getting the chop.”
“Yeah?”
The tiniest, most minuscule smile tugged at the edges of his lips, and my heart leapt. His eyes were warm as he responded, “Aye.”
“Well, okay then, meet me out front after rehearsals, and I’ll take you to the place Julian gets his hair done.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Damon, leaving me to finish the last of my sandwich.
Seven.
*Damon*
Rehearsals ended half an hour ago. I took a shower and currently stood outside in the cold, waiting for Rose. I rubbed my palms together, my breath visible in the chilly evening air. Several members of the cast passed me by, sending curious glances my way. They were probably all wondering what I was doing, waiting around on my tod.
Aside from a surprisingly interesting conversation with Alicia yesterday, I hadn’t really made much of an effort to befriend anyone. The only person I really spoke to was Rose¸ and when she wasn’t around — for instance, when we were running lines from the script — I felt oddly alone. All day I couldn’t get the phrase “show crush” out of my head. I’d never heard of it before, but it made sense. Lots of celebrity couples met through working together.
Sure, when being interviewed they all gave the same answer about acting out love scenes.
No, I didn’t enjoy it. We’re like brother and sister.
Or….
It was more awkward than sexy, especially when you have twenty pairs of eyes watching your every move.
Often these things were true, but other times they weren’t. I hadn’t ever filmed a love scene; however, I was sure that if I had to do one with a woman I was attracted to, I’d feel something other than awkwardness. If I had to touch her, pretend to be aroused and listen to her laboured breathing, even if it was fake, I’d feel…oh, bloody hell. I’d be horny as fuck, let’s put it that way.
“You shouldn’t be out here with damp hair. You’ll catch your death,” said Rose as she approached me. “Sorry I’m late, by the way. I got held up talking with Iggy.”
I shrugged. “No worries.”
“The barber’s isn’t too far from here. Do you want to walk?” she asked.
“Sure,” I replied, and held out my arm. She linked hers through it, and I let her lead the way. Glancing down, I saw she’d let her hair out of its knot. The long, wavy strands framed her face and disappeared inside her thick winter coat.
“I don’t suppose Iggy held you back to discuss what a lost cause of a dancer I am,” I said self-deprecatingly.
Rose grinned, her pretty lips curving at the edges, and shook her head. “Nope. One of the backing dancers was in a minor car accident this morning and will need to be replaced. He was asking my opinion on who to call. I know a lot of people in the biz.”
“Ah, I see.” I wanted to ask her why she couldn’t do it. In fact, I’d been wondering why she wasn’t a part of the cast for a while now. She was certainly good enough.
“And stop being so down on yourself,” she went on. “You’re not as bad as you were five days ago, and that’s saying something. If you want, we can go back to the studio after your haircut and have our first private lesson.”
I tilted my head at her. “I wondered if you’d forgotten.”
“Of course I hadn’t. I actually went to find you yesterday to set a time, but you were in your dressing room with Alicia and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
My brow furrowed. “Why not?”
Her shoulders rose and fell on a sigh as she glanced away. The tip of her nose was beginning to redden from the cold. I couldn’t say why exactly, but it made me want to offer my coat, or, I don’t know, warm her up somehow. “It sounded like you were both having a serious talk and it would’ve been rude to just…barge in.”
Had she been listening? The idea of her being curious enough to do such a thing brought forth a swell of pleasure. “What did you hear?”
Now she focused on the toes of her shoes as we walked. “Something about wanting to be famous. I don’t know.”
“She was telling me about her upbringing. Apparently she was born on a farm in Kansas,” I said, and stared ahead at the approaching cars out on the road.
Rose’s eyes flicked to mine. “Really? I never would’ve guessed that. She seems so polished. I mean, the only thing that’s Dorothy about her is the hair.”
I shrugged. “She’s showbiz, but not in a way that’s intimidating.”
Rose poked me in the arm. “Yeah, well, of course she wouldn’t seem that way to you. You’re both on the same level of beauty. You don’t know what it’s like being an outsider trying to handle all that…charisma coming at you full force.”
Her admission took me completely by surprise. I stopped in my stride to stand in front of her and ask low, “You think I’m beautiful?”
She blushed at my question, then answered defensively, “Well, there’s clearly a reason you used to be famous.”
“Are you saying I’m all looks and no talent?” I feigned offence.
“Oh, shut up.” She scowled. “You know it was both. Now can we please keep walking? I need to get out of this cold before
my toes freeze off.”
I kept up the pace with her but didn’t let it go. “Just out of curiosity, what exactly is it like to deal with full-force charisma? Because it sounds terrifying.”
Rose shook her head, trying to hold back a smile as she stopped in front of a shop door and pulled it open. “Completely horrific,” she deadpanned, and I barked a laugh. She stared at me a moment, as though stunned by the sound. Blinking once, twice, three times, she shook her head and continued inside. I wanted to ask her what I’d done to warrant such a reaction, but pushed back the impulse. If I had an odd laugh, then I didn’t really want to know.
The barber shop was small, with navy walls and red leather upholstery. A blond man had his back turned to us as he swept the floor. Rose let out a low whistle and he swung around, smiling widely at the sight of her.
“Rose! Long time no see! How’s Julian? It’s been a couple weeks since he’s been in for a haircut.”
“He’s good. Rocking the long-haired look at the moment. I’m sure he’ll get sick of it soon and be in for a trim.”
“Well, you tell him I’ll be more than happy to see his pretty face,” he replied before his attention fell on me. He winked. “Speaking of which, hello there.”
“Don’t be a flirt, Graham,” Rose chided. “This is Damon. He’s playing the lead in a new show of Moulin Rouge, so if you can summon your best Ewan McGregor circa 2001, we’ll be forever in your debt.”
“Oh, I can do better than that. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Damon,” he said, offering his hand. We shook, and he leaned close to whisper, “You’re far hotter than Ewan anyway.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I simply shook my head in good humour.