by N. K. Smith
I’m not an invalid and can make whatever situation I want happen, but still, people feel obligated to bend to whatever whim they think I may have at the moment. Oscar and Xavier trail me wherever I go while Michael stands outside in the hall, and while I hate it, I wouldn’t leave them behind for anything. I don’t believe I’m in danger here, but I didn’t think I was in danger all those years ago, either.
I try not to talk much with Julie. She looks to be enjoying herself and deserves a night off from my bad mood.
Everyone’s drinking, but I stick with water. I talk with everyone about various things as I filter through the room for the next two hours. Lucas, one of the actors who plays a burn victim, and I have a conversation about music and before I know it, Devon becomes involved, too. His mind is very sharp, and I can tell by the way Devon speaks he isn’t only passionate, but knowledgeable about music as well.
We’ve been talking for the better part of an hour when Lucas excuses himself to go out to the balcony with a few others to smoke. Almost everyone goes out, and I worry about the weight limit on that deck.
“God, I wish people thought about music in more of a philosophical way,” Devon says.
“I agree.”
“It’s nice to finally meet someone who can intellectualize music and explain why it’s important without just saying, ‘it’s got a good beat’ or ‘it’s like poetry, man.’ ” He uses a stereotypical stoner voice to say that last part. It makes me laugh.
I don’t hesitate to say, “My favorite is when people say, ‘that’s so deep,’ but really you can tell they don’t have the slightest clue what you just said because music is just background noise for them.”
“You’re so smart.” He quickly turns away, embarrassed to have said it. It’s a statement, but something in Devon’s voice alerts me to how insecure it is. Still, at least he looks at me again.
I give him a smile. “So today’s scene went well. You were great.”
“Well, ten takes and—”
“Don’t worry about it. Half of those were because of sound or lighting, and some scenes I’ve been a part of were fifty takes. Just roll with it.”
Devon takes a long pull off his beer. “Did I thank you yet for picking me to play the part of Jamie?”
I laugh. “Several times.”
“It’s just such an awesome opportunity.”
The sincerity in his voice makes me smile wider. “I hope you’re ready.”
“For what?”
He has no idea. “This is going to change your life.”
“It already has.” Devon finishes his beer, then looks around. “I have a couple guitars. Are you interested in jamming a bit?”
I love that he uses the word jamming. “Yeah, sure.”
I scan the room and am about to ask when he says, “Not here. In my room. They’re not as awesome as yours, but they hold a tune, and I’m sure your suite is much better than mine, but . . . do you want to . . .”
He sounds nervous, because why would a superstar like myself want to go to a nobody’s hotel room and play around on some old guitar? Being an international movie star can be really great, but it can also be very limiting. I hate how inferior everyone feels around me. No matter what I do, most people act exactly the way Devon is right now.
It reminds me of reasons why my relationships never seem to work out.
I glance away and see Oscar eyeing the beer and Xavier texting. “It’s getting late, and I’m up early tomorrow, so maybe not tonight. Next time?”
His smile is half-relief, half-disappointment, but he says, “Yeah, next time, although I thought you didn’t sleep.”
Another reminder of the loneliness that surrounds me like an iron fortress. Everyone already knows everything about me. The media has shared so much of these little tidbits. Why would anyone care to clear those out of their head and get to really know me?
“Yeah,” I admit. “But I have to at least try.”
Devon stands when I do, and I can tell he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “Um, thanks for hanging out, Cole. I don’t think anyone expected to see you tonight.”
“No one ever expects it.” I pause, then brush my hand over his forearm. “Good night, Dev.”
On the way back to my suite, I can’t help but wish for something meaningful to happen that will fill me up and remind me how after every negative emotion, the positive ones always feel much more powerful.
Chapter 5
Devon
Three weeks into the shooting schedule, everyone can tell it’s going to run long. While it doesn’t affect me much, in fact, I’d love to stay shooting forever, it seems to be taking a toll on Collette. She doesn’t show much emotion, at least not around us actors, but I can see the concern in the crease of her brow.
Plus, Julie likes to talk about Cole after we have sex. I’m finding out Julie is a bit of a liability for my director since, apparently, she has signed contracts to keep Cole’s personal life private, and yet lays around naked in my company chitchatting about everything from Cole’s sleeping habits to what brand of yoga pants she wears. I don’t know if Julie is just opening up to me, or if it’s a habit of hers. Maybe the contract only covers the media. I don’t know.
Apparently the studio and producers of Tortured Devotion are trying to play hardball with Collette to get us back on schedule. I guess they’re threatening to take away another film she wants to direct, which Julie says is the only reason Cole agreed to do this film. But, according to Julie, the studio won’t win this battle because we haven’t hit our mark for sticking to the schedule due to the producers, not Cole. Also, the contract for the other film has already been signed, and Cole has awesome lawyers.
“I mean, if they want to keep trying to push her around, I say go for it. I love a good show, and when Cole takes these assholes to court, it’ll be one hell of a production. She doesn’t half-ass these kinds of things.”
I take a small pull from my beer and watch as Julie picks up a strawberry, then rises to her knees. She takes the cut end of the berry and runs it over her nipples, first the right, then the left.
We just had sex and my dick isn’t jumping at the scene she’s putting on. To be honest, I’ve grown slightly tired of her overt sexuality. I like sex as much as the next guy, maybe even more so, but I also want a girl I can talk to and enjoy outside of the bedroom.
Every time we’re together, it’s the same. Julie doesn’t want to talk about anything intelligent. Her musical opinion is ridiculously like a girl in junior high; she doesn’t read books, and she never says anything nice about me. Fucking is great, but it doesn’t take long for me to want just a little bit more with a girl. There are only so many times I can discuss how nice her breasts are, or how much I enjoy being inside of her.
There seems to be an unspoken rule that we have to fuck at least twice every night, which is fine, but it’s a bit unfair when I give her dozens of orgasms and at best I get one good one and one so-so. This is probably what Alicia felt like when we were together. Julie has admitted she doesn’t like sucking dick, so she won’t do it for me.
Tonight I just wanted to drink my beer and fall asleep. We shot two hugely emotional scenes, and they took forever. I wanted to come back to my room and be alone for a little bit, but it was only ten minutes after getting back when I heard a hard knock on the door. Julie stood there, looking to be fucked, doing the same routine she did every night we’re together.
Even though I’m bored with what I have with her, I don’t particularly like conflict, so it’s easier to continue having sex with her than simply break up. Plus, sex is sex, and it might make me an asshole, but I’m not mature enough to turn down sex simply because I don’t like her that much.
“Do you like my tits?”
They are practically red from the strawberry juice. “Yes,” I reply automatically. I follow her hand as she trails the berry down her torso, then traces the lips of her pussy with it.
“What about this?�
�
“Yes.”
Instead of getting on her hands and knees tonight, she lies back, spreads her legs, then nestles the strawberry into the opening of her vagina. It’s not in there deep. I expect that if she were to tighten those muscles that squeeze my cock, it’d come popping out.
“Hungry?” she asks, eyes focused completely on my cock.
I’m only half hard when I set my beer bottle down on the bedside table and crawl over to her. I know it’ll stiffen a little more as I lick her. And if I’m not super hard, she won’t mind. In fact, I doubt she will be able to tell because her only interest is in her orgasms. As long as I keep my finger on her clit while my half hard dick is inside of her, she’ll come. Then I can be done for the night.
While I’d love to kick her out and just go to sleep, I’m not sure she’s the kind of woman to take that sort of thing lightly. The drama could get out of hand. She could talk crap to Cole about me. She could ruin my career if she wanted to. Plus, how do you tell someone you’re just not interested in them anymore? I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially someone who has given their body to me, and if I have to guess, Julie will get bored with me soon.
Maybe not ending it makes me a giant asshole, but I should’ve never gotten involved with her in the first place. It’s too late to do anything about that now, so I’ll just wait it out until she gets bored with me, just like most of my exes did.
I can only hope.
A few days later, I finally have another chance to talk with Cole at a party Landon throws. He plays the douchebag ex-boyfriend of Liliana’s character, Maya. Unlike some of the other parties the cast has thrown, Landon does his rock-star big.
He went out tonight and invited every hot girl in Boston and the dudes they were with to come back to the hotel. Unfortunately for me, his room is on the same floor as mine, so even if I wanted to just chill by myself, the hallways are loud as hell, and not even my earbuds can block it out.
But I’m glad I came tonight because Cole is here. As soon as she sees me, she crosses the room, and we talk music.
“You don’t think his sound is a bit pretentious?”
I laugh. “I know Cooper Ward. I grew up with him, actually.”
Cole raises her eyebrows. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to be offensive.”
I shake my head as I hold up my head. “No, it’s okay, really. It’s not offensive. Cooper is a great guy, and totally in love with music. He’d be awestruck that you even know of him. I agree his sound can been heard as pretentious, but it comes from a very good, organic place. Like, he’s not trying to be pretentious.”
“He’s just naturally pretentious?”
“No,” I say, again with a chuckle. “I mean, he’s not, but you have to understand how he was raised. He’s originally from England.”
“That explains everything.”
I didn’t know Cole was so funny. “That’s not what I was saying.”
Cole nods. “No, I get it.” Her voice is unnaturally loud over the din behind us. “It makes sense. I should do some research into the musician before I start deconstructing the music.”
Some chick with long, black hair slinks up next to us. Collette smiles at her, but flicks her eyes to the security guards. They’re already on alert.
“Oh, my God! Cole Stroud, I love your movies; would you sign something for me?”
Cole’s response is soft and sounds automatic. “Sure.” She grabs a marker one of her guards hands to her and signs the bottle of beer the chick holds out to her.
The fan obviously wants to weasel her way into our conversation because she stands there long after the bottle is back in her hands. It’s awkward, and it gets even more so when the chick pulls out her cell and starts snapping pictures of Cole without asking if it’s okay.
One security guard pushes the cell down, the other whispers something to Cole, and finally the woman with the signed bottle is ushered away.
“I’m feeling claustrophobic,” Cole says.
“I’m sure. Between people taking pictures and staring at you, I bet you’re ready for a little peace.”
She shrugs. “Unfortunately, it comes with the job.”
“Most jobs are only eight hours a day.”
“You’ll find this is a 24-7 gig.”
I look around for Julie; I don’t want to deal with her tonight. I see her leaning back on the counter in the kitchen, resting her hand on some tattooed dude’s forearm. For a moment, a tinge of jealousy claims me, but it fades when I realize Julie is free to do what she wants, and hopefully it means I’m off the hook with her.
I turn back to Cole and ask, “Want to go mess around on the guitars? My room’s a little quieter than this.”
“Dear, God, yes. Let’s go.” She slips her hand through my arm, and as we head out of Landon’s room, I grab a couple more beers.
While there is still the hum of voices outside, my room is quieter. After Cole says something to the three security guards who stop outside the door, we’re alone. A slight tension buzzes between us, and I’m not sure what to do.
Gratefully, Cole points to my books on the nightstand. “What are you reading?”
I cross the room and pick up the stack. “A Storm of Swords, Love in the Time of Cholera, and I’m re-reading The Aeneid.”
“Impressive,” she says. “Pretty heady stuff.”
“You should’ve seen what I was reading last month. Nothing but booby magazines and Danielle Steel novels.”
Cole raises an eyebrow. “Did you just say ‘booby’?”
I can feel the heat burning my cheeks as I blush. “Yeah.”
“I love it!” She turns to the little sofa and sits down. “And don’t knock Danielle Steel’s work. She sure knows how to get people to pick up her books.”
“Oh, I wasn’t knocking her,” I’m quick to say, but Cole’s smile lets me know I don’t need to explain.
The way she sits with her legs drawn up to one side and her elbow on the arm of the sofa, gives me a little peek down her V-neck shirt. I don’t mean to look, but just the slight hint of her breast stops me. The skin is paler than her other exposed flesh. No freckles.
She looks soft, and her tits look like they would give a little when squeezed. My hands itch, and I shift my stance when the blood starts to flow to my groin. I don’t know if she catches me looking, but I quickly avert my eyes.
“Can I check out your guitars?”
It’s when we’re ten minutes into an all out jam—just playing off each other’s vibes and flow—that it strikes me how surreal this all is.
“What?” she asks at my chuckle; her hand still on the strings.
“It’s just . . .” I pause, allowing myself another chuckle. “A couple of months ago, I was eating noodles out of a Styrofoam container with a plastic spork, and now I’m playing guitar with my Hollywood hero.”
“Hero?”
I blush again. Did I really just say that? “Uh. I mean, yeah. That day I met you in the rain, something changed in me, and after that I watched everything you’ve ever made. I even found a bootlegged copy of your performance at Carnegie.”
“You did not.”
“I did.” My smile widens at her obvious interest.
“I was seven.”
I look her straight in the eyes. “You were brilliant.”
She bows her head a bit. Maybe I said something wrong. When she looks up, she asks, “So did you research all the tabloid crap before From Here to There?”
By tabloid crap, I know she means her very public drug use and wild behavior. “You can’t search Collette Stroud on the Internet without something about it coming up.”
As I begin to wonder what in the reports is true and what is an exaggeration, Cole nods, then starts playing “Fear Itself,” one of my very favorite songs, by this singer who goes by the name, Highland. The artist is somewhat of an enigma and is music’s best kept secret as she never plays concerts, releases music videos, or goes to award ceremonies. Cole begins to
sing in a soft voice with a Scottish accent.
My jaw drops. “Holy shit. That’s you? You’re Highland?”
She doesn’t answer, just smiles, and continues playing. She doesn’t speak with an accent, so I never would have guessed her to be the elusive singer.
“Does anyone ever tell you how amazing you are?” I ask.
The music stops. “People say shit like that to me all the time.”
“But you don’t believe them?”
“Not typically. Usually they want something from me.”
That’s a sad life to have if what she says is true. “Maybe they don’t.” What I want to say is that I don’t.
She sets the guitar down next to her. “You’re very naive, aren’t you?”
I immediately say, “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I like it. It’s refreshing. Do you know how hard it is to find people who aren’t jaded, or have an overinflated ego?”
“So I’ll stay naive.”
Cole stands and says, “Impossible. As soon as this movie wraps and we start promotion, you’ll never be able to go back.”
I move next to her, the question apparent in my expression.
“You’ll see very soon how commodity driven our line of work is. But the commodity our industry sells isn’t corn or apples. It’s us. Everything we are, everything we do. We sell an image twenty-four hours a day, and everything is about what you can get out of another person and what they can do for you.”
“Well, I don’t want anything from you.” I admit my tone is defensive, but I refuse to believe that just because it’s Hollywood, no one can interact like regular humans.
Cole walks to the door, and tosses me a smile over her shoulder. “Sure you do, but there’s a difference when it’s reciprocated.”
What does that mean? I remain silent, but before I can ask anything, she seems over the subject.
Cole stands next to her big security guards and asks, “Would you like to hang out again tomorrow night? We can get some food and play around on the guitars again.”