by Lissa Bilyk
BACKSTAGE HEAT
Lies for a Living #1
By
Lissa Bilyk
KINDLE EDITION
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Backstage Heat (Lies for a Living #1)
Copyright (c) 2017 by Lissa Bilyk
Cover image: © conrado | Shutterstock
Kindle Edition License Notes
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Curvy Aussie ex-pat Tori Walker never expected to catch the eye of the hottest actor on London's West End.
Cameron Campbell is a notorious womaniser, and guys like him don't notice girls like her - except he did, and now he wants her in his bed.
But Tori's not prepared to share her darkest secret with London's baddest playboy, even if she had been crushing on him for years.
Cameron had given up on finding love offstage, accepting an eternity of make-believe and losing himself in one night stands and booty calls.
When Tori enters Cameron's life, he finds himself overcome with feelings that he thought were gone forever.
Can Tori learn to trust someone who lies for a living, or will Cameron lose her to her inner demons?
Chapter One
There he was, striding down the narrow hallway towards me, his make-up artist and hairdresser trailing a few steps behind like a posse.
I felt my heart skip a beat as I pressed myself against the wall to let them pass. Cameron Campbell, the hottest actor on the West End and a fellow Aussie expat, swept past without even casting so much as a glance my way. He spoke quickly into his phone, his deep voice melodious even when offstage. His posse ignored me as well. My gaze dropped to the floor as I tried to stop a blush. I couldn’t be in the same room as Cameron without the tell-tale warmth rising to my face.
Which made the fact that he was the lead in a new West End play and I was the director’s assistant awkward on my part. Harbouring a childhood crush from the entire cast and crew was difficult at the best of times. Luckily, Cameron still hadn’t noticed I existed yet.
I couldn’t help but try to catch a glance of his perfect arse as the trio trotted down the hall and into his dressing room. Today our director, John Sweet, had the costume designers in to complete fittings before the costume parade, and Cameron wore tight black pants that perfectly captured the curve of his divine buttocks. We were still a few days away from an actual dress rehearsal, but the actors - all of them - were to dress in every costume they were assigned to wear and parade it onstage while the lighting guys played with the settings and John and Christie, the stage manager, sat out front and judged everyone.
I, of course, ran errands. As usual.
Not that I wanted to complain. Less than a year after moving to London from Sydney and I’d fallen almost accidentally into the role of the great John Sweet’s assistant. True, it did involve more running around than I expected - fetching coffee, liaising between the front of house staff and the backstage crew, even ferrying around the offspring of cast members - and not as much creativity as I’d hoped. But the pay was decent enough to cover my rent, and when John didn’t need me I was perched beside him, watching Cameron Campbell recreate the role of Heathcliff for the new West End run of Wuthering Heights.
I continued on my way down the hall, resisting all temptation to sneak another glance. I was on my way to see the young Yorkshire woman playing Cathy Earnshaw. One of her dresses had needed some last minute hemming and it was my job to ferry it between the costume room and the dressing rooms. Luckily, Juliet was one of the nicest actresses on the West End. Petite and fair, she was the exact opposite of Cameron. She, at least, knew who I was.
“Tori!” She squealed as I entered her dressing room, flinging herself at me wearing nothing but her frilly pastel pink underwear. Her own makeup, hairdresser, and personal dresser rolled their eyes at me, but smiled. Juliet loved everything about her job, including kissing hot guys and meeting all kinds of people. I handed the dusky pink dress to the short, stout woman behind her and returned her hug.
“You’re coming tonight, right?” she said, breathless.
“Tonight?” I repeated.
“My birthday!” she trilled. “Cam just suggested we go out to karaoke at Johnny’s! Isn’t it a great idea?”
Oh. Sing? In front of everyone? But I haven’t done that since-
“You’re coming, right?” she pressed, turning back to her assistants.
“Yeah,” my mouth said before I could stop it. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
As I turned to go I added, “Oh, and happy birthday, Juliet.”
She beamed at me before disappearing under a cloud of makeup.
Karaoke. At Johnny’s, one of the hippest bars in London. Rumoured to be secretly owned by Richard Branson - although why he’d ever keep owning something a secret I had no idea – it was a chic nightclub that had five large rooms, one dedicated to drunk people making fools of themselves trying to sing bad 60s, 70s and 80s pop songs.
It was all a little before my time, being a babe of the 90s, but hipster chic in its own way.
But oh, a party? People looking at me? Cameron Campbell there, watching, listening to me sing? I couldn’t do that. Not Tori, the chubby blonde errand girl. I couldn’t even ask Juliet if she had something I could borrow to wear, because she was so much more petite than my tall, sturdy frame. But maybe her dresser had something in her repertoire. I could ask once Juliet’s parade was over and John was busy inspecting all the minor roles of the ensemble.
I bit my lip. Even if Juliet’s dresser did find me something amazing to wear I’d still have the issue of being the tall dowdy girl with bad posture because I was too busy trying to be as short as everyone else. I fingered the pencil stuck into my messy bun piled on top of my head. Maybe if I had a drastic makeover; not just clothes, but hair as well, and makeup, if I could find someone to enhance my green eyes and make my thin mouth look irresistibly kissable. The artists here could do it: they worked magic every night and twice on Saturdays.
Maybe then Cameron Campbell, the notorious womaniser who’d seduced half of London but not even so much as sneezed in my direction, would finally notice me.
During Juliet’s final parade, I approached her dresser.
“Hi, um, Nicole!” I blurted. She looked up at me over the top of her glasses. I have no idea how she managed to look so menacing whilst staring up at me, but she managed it nonetheless.
“Um...” I said, startled by my conciseness. “About Juliet’s party...”
“I suppose you’ll be wanting a dress then, pet?” she said in her broad Geordie accent.
I gaped at her. “How did you know?”
“Oh, pet,” she said, putting a hand on my shoulder, but not in a condescending way. More in a cynical way. “Juliet mentioned you might be after something, considering the way you normally… ah… present yourself.”
I looked down at my jeans and woollen jumper, my grey-stained sneakers. It was comfortable attire, and practical, meant for long days of running about in the theatre which sometimes involved going into the dusty old storage rooms and under the stage. What was I supposed to wear, a ball gown?
“Don’t be upset with her, pet,” Nicole said. “Juliet has a kind spirit. I’ll see what I can rustle up for you.” She stepped back
and appraised my figure. Not for the first time I wished I could lose twenty kilograms in twenty seconds. She snapped her fingers, nodded, and said, “I’ll find you when it’s ready, child.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Now her gaze rose to my face. “Of course, with what you’ll be wearing you’ll need someone to do something with that hair of yours... I’ll have a word with Charmaine.”
Charmaine, I remembered, was Juliet’s hairdresser.
“Please, don’t go to any fuss,” I said as she hurried away.
I really wish she’d listened.
Chapter Two
“You want me to what?” I said to Charmaine, who stood behind me holding a bottle of dark liquid and a pair of hairdresser’s scissors.
“Just to get rid of this brassy tone,” she explained. “And clean up your ends.”
“Do you know how hard it is to find toner?” I defended myself, offended that she called my dull blonde hair brassy.
“Trust me darling, with your clear eyes and skin like milk, you’ll pull off brown better than most.”
“But it’s brown,” I huffed, already knowing I’d succumb. “It’s so boring.”
“This is a rich chocolate, and with the dye job you’ve been maintaining, it’ll highlight lovely as well.”
“I’ve never been anything but blonde,” I muttered as she released my hair from its messy bun and combed out the knots all the way down to the small of my back.
“Then it’s about time for a change, my dear.”
Half an hour later I was ready to burst into tears. Under the harsh fluorescent lights the wet brown strands falling across my eyes made my skin look washed out and pale, made my long thin nose even more ridiculous - although it did compliment my rosy cheeks.
“I’ll dry it off then give it a bit of a snip to give some depth to it, darling,” Charmaine said. I closed my eyes and prayed for a miracle.
Half an hour after that I opened my eyes and stared into the mirror. Charmaine had turned off the fluorescent lights and flicked on the bulbs framing the mirror. In its softer light, with layers tumbling down my back in soft waves, framing my face and an actual fringe peeking over my forehead, I dare say I even looked...Pretty. Certainly not Juliet standards, certainly not the standards of any of the high cheek-boned, less than ideal weight cast members, but among regular people... I would do.
“Thank you,” I whispered to Charmaine. “You’ve changed me.”
“I made you look different, darling, that’s my job. Now, off with you. Alexis waits for no one, you know that by now.”
Alexis? “What do you have planned?” I asked apprehensively, aware that Cameron Campbell’s make-up artist is only one degree away from Cameron himself. Would he be there in his dressing room? What if he saw me mid-transformation and ruined everything? Maybe Alexis might tell him how pretty I looked! A girl could dream.
She spritzed my new ‘do with hair spray. “Just run along to Cameron’s dressing room and see her. I bet she’s dying to get her powders on your skin.”
Unsure if that was a compliment or not, I left Juliet’s dressing room and headed for Cameron’s. Inside, the very same woman who completely ignored me only hours ago greeted me warmly, like an old client.
“Do sit down, Tori, and we’ll get started.”
Forty-five minutes later I opened my eyes and took in a sharp breath. The beauty staring back at me in the mirror could have been a siren, or a vampire, or some other kind of seductress. My eyes were rimmed in black, smoky towards the edges. My lips were shimmering nude, my cheeks pink, and I had actual cheekbones. Alexis had contoured and highlighted to give my face a lovely shape, and the rest of me was flawless.
I could pass for beautiful now.
“Alexis, thank you,” I said breathlessly.
“You better be off now, love, into that garment Nicole’s got for you.”
Knowing better by now than to argue, I obliged and scurried away. Nicole clapped her hands when I tracked her down, discreetly turning my head from the other backstage techs lest they figure out what I was up to while they worked. She pulled out a short black dress with long sleeves that hung unconvincingly from the coat hanger. It seemed to be made of something stretchy and form-clinging.
“Really?” I said. “You want to put the fat girl in Lycra?”
“It’s not Lycra, Tori, what do you take me for? This is a wet look material, form hugging but flattering. It will go beautifully with your new hair... and face.”
I had reservations, but I had trusted the others so far and they hadn’t failed me.
I locked myself in the bathroom and stripped off. Most of the actors I worked with were comfortable enough with their bodies to walk around in their underwear, but I wasn’t. I carried a little too much jiggle here and there, was a little too generous in the bum, hip and thigh areas, and my breasts weren’t as perky as I thought they’d be by nineteen. Still, I wasn’t about to complain - at least I was proportionate.
I slipped the dress on over my head and found to my dismay it was shoulder-less, skimming across my breastbone and leaving my shoulders bare - however, I quickly discovered the bust was reinforced like a corset. I slipped out of my bra and managed the amazing contorting act that was zipping up the dress. I smoothed down the skirt, smoothed over my hair, and took stock in the mirror.
Attractive. That was the first word that came to mind. Not beautiful or stunning or gorgeous, but something that would make do. It had been a long time since I’d looked in the mirror and liked what I’d seen.
Maybe tonight Cameron Campbell would finally set his dreamy blue eyes on me, and like what he saw, too.
Juliet squealed when she saw me, and threw her arms around my shoulders, careful not to mess up my hair.
“You look amazing, Tori,” she said, but since she had a Northern accent, she pronounced it, “‘mazin.”
“I feel like a fraud,” I confessed. “I don’t feel like myself.”
“It’s just like wearing a character,” she said. “You slip on a costume, make up, new hairstyle, and take on the essence of another person. You’re not Tori anymore, not John’s assistant, always running around after other people - no, you’re whoever you want to be now. Someone sassy and confident.”
“Sandy from Grease,” I said. “When she’s sexy and forgoes everything that makes her herself in favour of hooking up with a guy.”
“If that’s who you want to be. Oh, gosh! We need to find you some shoes. What size are you?”
Juliette found me a pair of ankle-length high heeled patent leather boots from her stash she kept at the theatre. We laughed as we figured out we had nearly the same size shoe, even though she was so much smaller than me.
“You’ve got small feet for your height,” she said, “and I’ve always had monstrously big feet for my size. Me mam used to joke about chopping my toes off when I growing up because I outgrew all the school shoes she bought me in six months.”
The boots were a snug fit, but as I stood up and tried a strut to Juliet’s encouragement, I felt secure. I wasn’t about to stumble and break my neck. My poor toes would pay for it at the end of the night, though.
“Stand up straight!” she snapped at me. “Push out your boobs and pull back your shoulders. You stoop to fit in - don’t! Your height is special about you, Tori, it makes you who you are. Be proud to be tall - lots of girls would kill to be your height. It’s the one thing about your appearance you can’t change.”
I did as she bid, watching my shoulders narrow.
“Bootylicious,” she said. “Now, we better round up the others and get a cab.”
The rain kissed us as Juliet, Tom who portrayed Linton, Susan who had been cast as Nell, and Ellie who played Catherine Junior, and I bundled into a hackney and made our way to Johnny’s. Ellie kept touching my hair, complimenting how unreal and silky it felt. Tom dropped one look at my cleavage then casually averted his eyes in a gentlemanly fashion. Susan worried about her hair going f
rizzy in the rain. I wondered where Cameron was. Why didn’t he come in our cab? Was he already there, allowing me to make a grand entrance?
I swallowed hard and tried to fight the butterflies in my belly. Odds were he’d not even notice me. I was as important as wallpaper, and about as interesting. Famous hot actors don’t go for the fat girls. Men don’t like tall women if they’re not model-thin. It didn’t even matter that Cameron towered over the rest of the cast at an impressive six foot five. I’d seen the magazines: his dates were always tiny starlets, voluptuous in all the right places or not at all.
I pinched myself to stop thinking about him. If this makeover didn’t attract his attention, he never would be interested. I had this one night, and that was it. No use dwelling on it.
Soon we were tumbling out of the hackney and running - or toddling, in my case, on Tom’s thoughtfully extended arm - into Johnny’s.
The karaoke room already thumped with music and people from the cast and crew dancing. Although the rooms were soundproof I could feel the bass in the floorboards as two members of the production team belted out Eye of the Tiger.
I scanned the crowd for Cameron, but couldn’t see him, even with my new improved height. The butterflies didn’t diminish, although my anxiety eased. Maybe he wasn’t coming after all. I had my one shot, and things didn’t always work out as planned. That was okay: I could still have fun. Theatre people really knew how to party.
The next hour whirled by as I tried to wear the Sandy from Grease persona and mingle with the team. A few drinks later Juliet started singing - she was one of those phenomenally talented actors who’d had voice training and had risen through the ranks as a musical theatre star. Even tipsy she out-sang a lot of people.
John took the microphone and thanked everyone for coming out to Juliet’s birthday, and then finally Cameron appeared with Ricky, the assistant stage manager, carting an enormous layered chocolate cake between them. It was loaded with thick lashings of textured icing and chocolate curls, and white chocolate flowers. Juliet hollered in delight, and once it was placed on the sturdy table, she threw her arms around the two men.