by K E Lane
The sun hung low over the ocean to our left and a sluggish breeze had begun to blow in off the water, cooling the sweat on my skin and countering the oven-like effect of the sand on either side of the path that radiated swirls of hot, dry air up at us. The steady slap of my feet on the asphalt was soothing, and I took a deep breath and held it through several strides, feeling a smile of satisfaction form on my face.
It felt good to run.
I'd only been out a few times since the attack, each time able to go further, and today I was pleased that the slight ache in my back that had accompanied my last two attempts had yet to develop, even coming into our third mile.
I glanced over at my running companion, noting with a twinge of jealousy his easy, athletic stride and barely increased breathing. With chrome bug-eye sunglasses, a white backwards baseball cap, white t-shirt and long navy shorts, he looked barely twenty, and if his t-shirt didn't reveal a few dark spots of perspiration, I'd almost think he was wasn't even sweating.
Show off.
Josh's bid for the Wimbledon title had been cut short by a stomach virus that had hit him late in the second round of play, leaving him dehydrated and fighting cramps, nausea and fatigue. He'd struggled through the third round and eked out a win but his weakened state finally caught up with him in the fourth round against a spry young Australian and he'd lost badly in straight sets. We'd spoken a couple of times since his return to LA the week before, always talking about getting together, but today was the first time we could manage it. Josh had suggested dinner, but I'd wanted to get outdoors after the first day of shooting for the new season of 9P, so we'd compromised with a run along the Parkway, which we'd follow up later with take-out at his house in the hill section of Manhattan Beach.
I signaled it was time to turn around, and we turned a tight circle and headed back towards the parking lot and Twila.
"I know you can kick my ass, Josh," I zigzagged around a pair of walkers along the busy path. "You don't have to wait up for me. When you asked me to go for a run with you, I didn't actually expect to be running with you."
He grinned at me and shook his head as we dodged more pedestrians. "This is good, Caid. I'm still feeling some after-effects from whatever bug I picked up, and I don't want to push it just yet, especially in this heat." His gave me an appraising look. "How are you holding up? Back ok?"
I nodded. "Feels great. I think the heat is good for it, actually."
"Good. Robyn said she'd whoop my ass if I let you over-do it today."
"You talked to her today?" I asked curiously as we detoured through the sand to get around a large family strolling along the path.
"Yeah, she wanted to let me know she'd be back Thursday." He glanced at me. "You knew that already, right?"
I nodded and couldn't stop my wide grin. "Yep."
Josh caught the smile and laughed, shaking his head. "God, you two…" He made a snapping motion with his hand. "Whipped, whipped, whipped."
"Eh, shaddup." I backhanded him lightly on the arm, but my smile didn't fade. "You're just jealous," I said jokingly.
"Damn right I am," he replied seriously and smiled wryly at my surprised look. "I know I said all that stuff about focus and not letting myself get distracted by being involved with someone," he paused when a nearly naked man on roller blades shot between us and skated past. "…that doesn't mean I don't want to be," he finished as he eyed the tiny speedo and pelt-like back skating away from us with amusement.
"I'm sorry…whoa," I swerved slightly as a biker with long blond dreads and no shirt flew by. Josh held out a steadying hand and I settled back into stride, smiling my thanks before continuing. "When we talked about it before, I guess I just thought you weren't…into that kind of thing." I waved my hand. "A relationship or whatever."
"Oh," he laughed, "I'm into it. Too much so, which is why I get so distracted. I tend to forget about most everything else…" He trailed off with an embarrassed look.
"That doesn't sound like a bad thing, Josh." I smiled warmly at him. "Lucky girl, I'd say."
"We'll see. Thanks to you," he poked me in the arm, "it looks like I'm going to be diving back in to the dating pool again soon. Robyn told me she is no longer available to be my escort around town."
I blinked and almost stopped running. "She did?"
"She did." He confirmed. "She said it felt all wrong to even think about it."
"She did?' I repeated, a slow smile spreading across my face.
"Of course she did," he said, rolling his eyes at me. "Did you really think she'd keep doing things with me when she's crazy in love with you?"
"Well," I hedged, feeling guilty now about my insecurities and that I'd actually thought it was a possibility. "I'd hoped not, but we didn't talk about it…"
"Did you ask her?"
"Um…no." I looked over sheepishly. "Neither of us is what you'd call communicative. We talk a lot, sure, but not about us. I don't want to push her…" I paused as I realized the strangeness of what I was doing - talking about my relationship issues with my lover's ex-boyfriend. And the weirdest thing was that it felt completely comfortable. And probably no one knew Robyn better than Josh. With an internal shrug, I continued, "I'm afraid that if I do, she'll pull away…I don't want to lose her because I asked a question she wasn't ready to answer."
He shook his head as we detoured through the sand again, this time around a woman walking a herd of poodles. They yapped noisily at us as we went by. "I don't think you need to worry about losing her, Caid…she seems all-in as far as your relationship goes. But it's obvious that you have some unresolved concerns…you really need to talk to her about them. I know she's not big on emotional discussions, but if you ask straight out, she won't put you off. "
All-in? Unresolved concerns? "What are you, a poker-playing shrink?" I said with a slight smile.
He grinned. "Just call me Dr. Josh."
I laughed and unstrapped the small water bottle I was carrying on the belt around my waist and took a few gulps. "So." I offered him the bottle and when he declined, strapped it back in before continuing. "I shouldn't worry about Robyn backing off if I bring up these unresolved concerns of mine. Is that about right?"
"Uh-huh." He used his shirt to wipe at the perspiration on his forehead, and the resulting glimpse of well-defined abs sent a group of teenage girls in bikinis tittering as we ran past. I couldn't blame them, really. The guy was awfully well put together. "Caid," he said after flashing a smile at the girls and causing hearts to pitter-patter, "Robyn loves you. The fact that she's admitted that to me, and to you, is huge. I don't think you could get rid of her now if you tried. If you need to know something, just ask."
"You make it sound easy," I grumbled good-naturedly.
"I know." He grinned. "Isn't it annoying?"
"Extremely." I snorted, but I was smiling, both at his humor and what he'd told me about Robyn.
The parking lot came into view and I eyed the distance speculatively. I grinned at Josh, and slapped him in the stomach. Hard. "Race ya!" I yelled as I took off down the path, happy enough to believe I might even win.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"Settle people…" Nate said crisply, and a hush fell over the crew gathered in the makeshift alley that the production designer and art crew had created between two out buildings on the studio back lot. "We're rolling…"
For a few seconds, only the faint sound of steady, drizzling rain falling in the surrounding puddles could be heard. I closed my eyes, trying to relax and ignore my surroundings - ignore the cold drizzle soaking my skin and hair, and the moisture from the wet pavement beneath me seeping into my clothes. Suppressing a shiver, I cursed whatever stupid childhood dream had made me want to go into acting.
Please, please, please let this be the last take…
It had been six weeks since the assault, five weeks since I got out of the hospital, ten day's since I'd moved from Liz's cottage back into my house and three days since the start of shooting for the new sea
son of 9P. My body had healed well and I hadn't had any problems with the physical aspects of my job or schedule, but my adventure in Florida was still causing problems because of the caps, blending, and covering necessary to hide the slowly healing damage to my face. The complicated application took an extra hour and a half each morning, forcing Jules and I to be on set by five am, and the additional time needed for touchups during shooting was throwing everyone off schedule, triggering all sorts of trauma within the cast and crew. When enough people complained, Grant talked to Dorn, Dorn talked to his writers, and the next day, the season opener was re-written to create a reason for my character to have scars.
The opener spanned two hours, one of those 'to-be-continued' episodes people bitched about but that drew great ratings. The script brought all six main characters into an investigation of a series of execution-style murders that seemed to be linked to the Mexican Mob, La Eme. The original script called for the final scene of the first hour to be an assault on a witness to try to keep her from testifying. The writers switched the assault victim from the witness to my character Rita, and added a few bordering-on-sappy hospital scenes to the start of the second hour where Liz would get to act distraught, the guys would get to act stoic yet caring, and everyone would get to act confused when Robyn's character Judith showed up at the hospital to visit Rita.
The new scenes had been scheduled during the second week of filming, but Nate, in his infinite director's wisdom, had decided that this unseasonably cold and wet night would be the perfect backdrop for the mood he wanted to set for the attack. And that was why, at nearly midnight after a full day of shooting, I was sprawled in a soggy heap in an dark, dirty 'alley'; cold, wet, and thoroughly annoyed that my plans for the night with Robyn, who I hadn't seen in two weeks and who was finally coming home tonight after delays on the Lost Key shoot, had to be cancelled.
"Scene eleven-C, take five…mark!" someone called, followed by the distinct snap of a clapboard.
"Ready," Nate spoke again, "…and action!"
I forced myself to stay limp as rough hands gripped the front of my shirt, lifting me slightly off the ground and hot, cigarette-tinged breath blew across my face.
"Drop the case, bitch." The words were harsh and grating, underlined by another shake that I suffered bonelessly. "Forget you ever heard of the name Julian Hernandez."
My eyes fluttered open briefly, enough to see the cruel sneer and the dark, pock-marked face above me. The day-player who'd gotten the part of my attacker - David something or other - really was quite…intimidating, and I experience again, as I had in the takes before, a moment of unease when I opened my eyes and found his face so close to mine. I fought the accompanying urge to strike out in defense, reminding myself that Todd Massey was safely locked away in the Intensive Psychiatric Service unit of Laurel Hills Psychiatric Center in Tampa, and the man above me was not a threat. I gritted my teeth and forced out a soft moan, lolling my head to the side and exposing the fake blood on my cheek to the cold rain. The gooey mess immediately began to drip down my neck and into the collar of my shirt, tickling slightly.
"Rita?" a muted voice called, and sharp, quick footsteps echoed nearby.
The man swore unintelligibly and gave me one more shake before dropping me unceremoniously back to the wet pavement. I stifled a wince and lay still as the splash and slap of his footsteps receded into the night.
The quick footsteps came nearer, stopping abruptly near my head. "Rita! Oh god…Rita…" Warm fingers brushed my forehead and then were gone in a rustle of clothing. A click, several beeps, and the voice came again. "This is Detective Jennifer Hastings, badge number 54162. I have an officer down at…"
Liz's voice rattled off a fictional address and other information while she knelt beside me, and I willed myself not to move as the tickle on my neck from the rivulets of fake gore and rain became harder to ignore. From the hours spent setting up, blocking, and rehearsing this scene, I knew the dolly camera was slowly pulling away, widening the shot, and soon we'd be done, if I could just keep still a bit longer.
A fat drop of water dribbled from my hair onto the side of my face, and I felt it start a slow slide towards my ear.
I hated getting things in my ears. They were extremely ticklish, and just the thought of that big fat drop trickling into one…
Not my ear, not my ear, not my ear, I chanted silently, keeping myself still with supreme effort. Goddamnit Nate, cut already....
Just as the drop trickled exactly where I didn't want it to, Nate yelled "Cut!" and lights and movement erupted around me, turning the seemingly deserted area into a hive of activity.
"Gah…" I jerked into a sitting position and shook my head wildly, spraying water and film blood everywhere, frantic to get the water out. I dug into my ear with my pinky and shook my head again, finally getting the water out with a shiver and a sigh of relief. "God, I hate that…" My voice trailed off when I glanced over to find Liz staring at her red-spattered hands and clothes with appalled dismay.
"Oh…shit." I bit back a laugh and reached out hesitantly to flick a drippy red chuck of gore from her forehead, and another from her cheek. "Sorry. It was dripping into my ear…"
She scowled and rose swiftly to her feet, wiping her hands on her pants in annoyance. "Ew. Just…ew. Until about thirty seconds ago, I was actually feeling sorry for you." She turned and yelled over to where Nate was huddled under a clear plastic tarp with two other people, watching a replay of what we'd just filmed on the monitors. "Nate! We'd better be finished, 'cause Caid just…exploded all over me."
"And I'm freaking freezing!" I called grumpily as I crawled to my feet, careful to not put too much weight on my newly healed wrist. The orthopedic specialist had given me the green light to take the brace off if I was careful, but it was still fairly weak and prone to aching. Especially, I was finding, in weather like this.
Nate waved a vague hand, not looking up from the monitors. "Get out of the wet for a minute, and let us take a look at these. I think we've got a print, but give me a sec."
I grunted and followed Liz towards the improvised tarp shelter they'd thrown up to covered our chairs, a small table with a few empty trays of crumbs, and an urn of coffee. I slumped into my chair and a barely recognizable crewmember wrapped in a yellow rain poncho handed me a towel which I took it gratefully, leaning over and rubbing vigorously at my wet hair. When I straightened, still drying my hair absently, Liz was perched in the chair beside me, sitting patiently while Jules wiped away the last traces of the blood that I'd splattered all over her. Liz's eyes cut to me with a frown.
"You really did get soaked." She took in my soggy jeans and the short-sleeved, cotton shirt I wore that was plastered to my body and so soaked it was nearly transparent. Figures wardrobe would dress me in a white cotton shirt the night I have to lay out in the cold rain…I felt like a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest, and had already fielded several sniggered comments about my 'points of power' and 'twin weapons of mass destruction'.
"Yes, I really did get soaked," I agreed, shivering and wiping at my arms and neck but avoiding my face, although the sticky mixture of wet adhesive and makeup globed there was driving me crazy.
Jules sighed in aggravation and stepped over to peel off the oozing red acrylic appliance that had previously been attached to my cheek to simulate a wound. She dropped it into a container in her set kit with a wet slap and peeled another off my jaw, producing a wince when it stuck to the still tender skin beneath. "Sorry," she muttered as she worked, although she didn't sound or act particularly sorry. She stepped back and nodded at my towel. "You might as well just wipe the rest off - it's ruined now anyway."
As she stalked off I sighed and carefully began to swab my face, cleaning away the film blood and whatever else Jules had smeared on me. I hoped that in a few weeks, when all this extra effort wasn't necessary, that she'd stop being so damn cranky at me all the time. The thought of going through the rest of the season with the makeup specialist pisse
d-off at me was too depressing to ponder.
"New beau." Liz stated, her voice startling me out of my thoughts.
"Pardon?" I glanced over at her and held the towel away from my face, cocking an eyebrow questioningly.
"Jules. Has a new beau. Some musician, apparently." She tilted her head slightly and tapped her cheek, just in front of her ear. I wiped at the offending spot on my own face, and she nodded. "Having to be at the set so early is interfering with her love life. That's why she's being such a bitch to you lately."
I shook my head and stood, dropping the crimson-spattered towel into my chair. "You mean she's treating me like shit because she's not getting laid?" I was annoyed that I was being blamed for the current disruption to the schedule - it wasn't like I went out and got the scars on purpose…I'd been attacked for fuck sakes. It was, however, slightly heartening to hear that the cold shoulder might end when the schedules settled and regular nookie could commence.
"So says Drew, anyway," Liz said, and handed me the coat that had been hanging on the back of the chair. "Here, put this on before you freeze to death."