Impulse

by E. B. Walters

  “Stop,” the director yelled. “Chris?” The two conferred, then they did it again and again. Jillian was more than relieved when they said it was a wrap.

  Instead of standing, Keith continued to pin her down and whispered, “I wish you were the lead actress.”

  “No, you don’t,” Jillian said, pushing him with her hips. “The scene is done, Keith.” Margo would take her place and continue the scene with a kiss.

  “You and I have better chemistry, and she knows it,” he whispered. “Barbs noticed and mentioned it a couple of weeks ago. That’s why Margo started that rumor. Don’t let her get to you. No one believes her.”

  Margo’s friends did, but it was nice to know he didn’t. “Thank you. Now, can you get off me?”

  Keith jumped to his feet and offered her a hand. They headed to the trailer for a wardrobe change. They had two more action scenes to go. Then she’d be done for the day.

  Keith put an arm around her shoulder and whispered, “Have dinner with me, Jill.”

  She frowned. “I can’t. I’m seeing someone.”

  He stopped, a strange look crossing his face. “The guy financing the movie?”

  Jillian wondered if he was thinking Margo could be right. “Yes.”

  “Is that why his mother is here?”

  Jillian followed the direction of Keith’s eyes and saw Estelle Fitzgerald talking to Barbs. She hadn’t realized Lex’s mother was around. They hadn’t gotten a chance to speak since the night of the party. Lex was on a business trip and called every evening. She was starting to look forward to his calls and his return on Friday. At least with him, she knew exactly where she stood.

  “I’m sure her presence here has nothing to do with me,” Jillian said. “She’s friends with Barbs.”

  They entered the building, where an artist was retouching Margo’s makeup. The actress glared at them, but Jillian refused to let her get to her. It wasn’t easy. She had people loyal to her on the set. Jillian wouldn’t be surprised if she’d staged the entire pool scene and had her friends take pictures.

  Show business was full of cattiness, and Jillian couldn’t wait to kiss it good-bye. All she had to do was take care of her family’s financial woes, which meant finding a way to hand over the bag of money to the thugs her father owed, and finish her present movie contract.

  One more month… One more month… she chanted under her breath.

  Jillian sat and reached for bottled water. While Margo disappeared outside with Keith, Jillian sipped her drink and waited. The catering van pulled up outside the makeup trailer. She’d hoped to be gone before lunch, but they were behind schedule, which meant eating between scenes.

  Less than an hour later, Margo stormed into the makeup area. “I’m going to my trailer. Do not disturb me until that oaf remembers his lines,” she snapped to no one in particular, snatched up the script, and marched out again, her assistant racing after her.

  Silence followed, no one making eye contact. One of the wardrobe people waved Jillian over. She changed her outfit without speaking and headed back outside for her next scene.

  What would have taken a couple of takes took nearly five before they got it right. She wasn’t sure what had happened between Margo and Keith, but his concentration was shot, which made for terrible acting. Chris also seemed to be pissed. Nothing they did pleased him or the director.

  By the time they yelled stop tempers were frayed. Keith stormed off.

  “Don’t leave,” Chris told her. “We’ll redo that last scene after lunch.”

  Great! Margo throws a fit and everyone suffers.

  Jillian headed to the trailer, removed the black and purple wig, and shook her hair. The makeup would have to stay. She unbound her breasts and sighed. Spending the next several hours feeling like a mummy was not her idea of fun. Eating with people who stared and whispered was just as bad, but she refused to starve.

  Voices came from outside her door, and then there was a knock. Probably one of the assistants coming to tell her she was needed. She yanked open the door and came face-to-face with Lex’s mother.

  “There you are, my dear,” she said. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  Jillian took a mental step and pasted on a smile. “Of course not, Mrs. Fitzgerald. Come in.”

  “Estelle, Jillian, or I’m taking this food back,” she said, raising a tray with covered silver dome lids.

  Jillian smiled. “Thank you, Estelle.” Except the dome-covered lunch was Margo’s. Poetic justice. With consequences. She often requested special sandwiches from a nearby restaurant and no one was allowed to see what they were.

  “They didn’t seem to have a variety and the catering people weren’t sure what you liked, so I went for the most appetizing sandwiches I could find.”

  Jillian took the tray from Mrs. Fitzgerald and invited her inside. As she glanced around, Jillian tried not to wince. The trailer she shared with Chris was old, not particularly comfortable, and had shelves of his personal special effects paraphernalia. Not exactly the perfect place to entertain Mrs. Fitzgerald with her designer clothes and jewelry. Jillian pushed makeup containers aside and created room for the tray.

  “Sorry, the place is a mess,” Jillian said, pulling up the only two chairs in the room.

  Lex’s mother dismissed her apology with a wave. “No need to apologize, my dear.” She looked around with interest. “I always assumed a stunt coordinator would have a lot of special effects things in their trailer. You know, grotesque alien and monster masks, fake body parts…”

  Jillian chuckled. “We do physical stuff like fight, jump from high places, roll over cars, and leap from burning buildings.”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald laughed. “Sounds like fun.”

  “It is. The grotesque masks are by makeup artists. Although they’re more Computer Generated Imagery than real these days.”

  “CGI,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said, sitting down.

  “That’s right.” She got bottled water from the mini fridge while Mrs. Fitzgerald lifted the silver dome lid off the plate. Shrimp salad sandwiches, yummy. There were enough sandwiches for two, which meant Margo was expecting a guest. Screeches came from outside followed by thuds. Margo. She probably chucked something at her poor assistant.

  “Uh, that girl,” Mrs. Fitzgerald murmured and sighed. “How can you stand working with her?”

  Jillian shrugged. “I do my parts and disappear in here until they need me again. She’s very talented, and the fans love her.”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald harrumphed, leaned forward, and said, “And I took her lunch.”

  Jillian’s eyes widened. “You knew it was hers?”

  “Of course. A nice young man told me, but I figured she can eat whatever everyone else is eating. It’s a small price to pay for nearly ruining my party with her shenanigans. I’m not nice like you, my dear.” She passed Jillian a sandwich. “Barbs told me there aren’t any pool stunts scenes in the script, so this”—she lifted the second sandwich—“will go a long way to make things even.” She took a healthy bite.

  Jillian joined her.

  “Is it always this exciting around here? What’s the latest gossip? Who’s sleeping with who? The lead actor is gorgeous. Has he hit on you yet?”

  Estelle Fitzgerald was outrageous and lunch turned out to quite interesting. She had Jillian laughing by the second bite. The grilling Lex had predicted never happened. The only time Mrs. Fitzgerald brought up something personal was when they discussed the training Jillian had done to become a stuntwoman. She managed to stick to the training she did as a gymnast and dancer, then the training under Chris.

  They were almost done when the door flew open and Margo marched into the trailer. “Jillian! I was told that you took my…” Her voice trailed off when she recognized Estelle. “Mrs. Fitzgerald. I, uh, I didn’t know you were here.”

  “It is customary to knock before barging into a room, my dear,” the older woman said calmly with just a touch of condescension.

  Margo no
dded, her eyes volleying between Jillian, the empty lunch plates, and Mrs. Fitzgerald. “I apologize for the intrusion, but my lunch is missing.”

  “Well, I do hope you find it. I picked up the first thing I found on the lunch table, and Jillian was kind enough to share it with me. Do close the door behind you, will you?” Estelle added. Margo had no choice but to leave. The look she shot Jillian’s way indicated she blamed her for the entire lunch fiasco. Working with her was going to be impossible now.

  Margo’s intrusion marked the end of their lunch. Jillian walked her guest out, past the staff, who was still eating and stared after them, to the parking lot where a driver waited by a limo.

  “About the dress you loaned me,” Jillian said before Estelle left. “I’ll bring it to your house as soon as I get it back from the dry cleaners.”

  “Oh no, no, dear. I wouldn’t think of it. That dress is yours now.”

  “But—”

  “I insist. You must ask Lex to bring you home to dinner, Jillian. The girls would love to meet you.”

  Jillian was sure the girls were grown women who’d have no problem asking personal questions. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Estelle surprised her by kissing her cheeks. Then she disappeared inside the limo, rolled down the window, and waved again as they took off. The driver tipped his hat, and Jillian was reminded of Douglas, Lex’s driver. Douglas didn’t dress so formally. And it was time to call him.

  She couldn’t procrastinate about paying off her father’s debt anymore. Things were moving fast. Soon she’d meet Lex’s family, then she’d take him to meet hers, then there was a wedding to plan…

  Wedding. She’d avoided thinking about that, but the emotions that coursed through her—excitement, apprehension—were real and hard to ignore. She had to keep reminding herself it wouldn’t be the real thing. Still, walking down the aisle, the organ playing, her father’s proud smile...

  Delete. Delete. Delete. It wouldn’t be real. Her incessant longing for something that would never come true had to stop.

  Blowing out a breath, Jillian pulled out her phone, found the number Lex had given her, and pressed call. Douglas’ impersonal voice responded.

  “It’s Jillian. Lex gave me your number. I hope you don’t mind.”

  He chuckled. “Not in the least, Ms. Finnegan.”

  “Please, call me Jillian. I hope you’re not too busy.” She was procrastinating.

  “I have plenty of free time with Mr. Fitzgerald out of town. He left instructions to make myself available if you need anything. How can I be of service, Ms. Jillian?”

  Jillian chuckled. “You sound just like Alfred Pennyworth,” she said. Silence followed. She winced. He probably didn’t get the joke about Bruce Wayne’s butler. “But I can’t see Lex wearing a suit and cape,” she added.

  “No, Ms. Jillian. But he’d like the Bat mobile.”

  He got it. He was also right. Lex would go for the car. “I still haven’t seen his collection.”

  “I’m sure he’ll get around to showing it.”

  Jillian blew out another breath and took the plunge. “Did he leave a bag of, uh…?” She couldn’t just blurt out money. “Uh, a bag for me with you?”

  “Mr. Fitzgerald left a briefcase with instructions to bring it to you when you called. Do you want it now?”

  “No, I’m still at the studio, but I should be home this evening. Do you think you could drop it off, uh, say around six?” She should be done with this nightmare of a day by then.

  “Of course, Ms. Jillian. I’ll see you at six.”

  “Thanks, Douglas.” She terminated the call, blew out a breath, and braced herself for a scene with Margo that was sure to follow. Somehow, that didn’t worry her as much as the thought of how she was going to hand over three hundred and fifty grand to thugs and leave unscathed.

  ~*~

  Lex leaned back against his seat, rolled the pen between his fingers, and studied the men and women hashing out the details of the contract. His team was on one side and the French on the other side of the table.

  The Caribbean island of St. Martin with its duty-free goods was a favorite tourist destination for Americans. Split into two regions, the Dutch side was famous for the festive nightlife, while the French side had its nude beaches. When he’d acquired a resort on the French side, he’d envisioned endless possibilities—renovating the villas, providing unique entertainments, and making the resort surpass the ones on the Dutch side. The rush that often accompanied a new project was missing. Only one thing consumed him now.

  Jillian.

  The image of her in the silver dress was etched in his brain. Not that she needed outer trappings to set him ablaze. Even in worn-out jeans and a leather jacket over a simple shirt, and hair mussed from a bike ride, she’d taken his breath away. But the silver dress would always be special. That he’d spent the evening knowing that she wore nothing underneath it and did nothing about it was a testament of his self-control.

  Lex forced himself to focus on the discussion around the table. He’d pushed his people hard, cramming negotiations that could have taken a week into three days just so he could go home to Jillian. Their conversations, though stimulating, hadn’t lessened the gnawing need to make her his. He checked his watch. If he left in the next hour or so, he could be in L.A. by ten tonight. He’d already assembled a team to handle the project and had agreed to work with a local construction company. The bidding should start in a couple of weeks.

  He also planned to expand the project to include a helipad and helicopter services to and from the island’s two main airports. He’d endured the drive to the resort a few days ago and swore never again. His time was too valuable to spend it in traffic. His guests shouldn’t have to deal with that either.

  His private cell buzzed. Frowning, he glanced at it and saw Douglas’ number. After two rings, it stopped, which meant it wasn’t an emergency. Still…

  Lex nodded at Hank Beaumont—the head of Caribbean office of Fitz-Valdez—stepped out of the conference room, and walked to the balcony. The air, which was heavy with moisture, thrummed with the island music. Below, tourists sunbathed topless while the daring ones went nude.

  He redialed the number. “Douglas?”

  “Sorry to interrupt your meeting, sir. You said to inform you when Ms. Jillian asked for the briefcase.”

  The unease Lex had felt the first time Jillian had asked for the money returned. Why did she need that kind of money? Did she have a gambling problem and owed a bookie? She didn’t look the type, but the need to protect her was there.

  “Sir?” Douglas prompted.

  “Go ahead and take it to her. Call me once you drop it off.”

  “Is there anything else you’d like me to do, sir?”

  Lex smiled. The man had been with him too long and knew him. “Keep an eye on her once you drop off the briefcase. If she leaves her house with it, follow her. Don’t interfere. Just make sure she’s safe.”

  There was silence, then, “If Ms. Jillian is in trouble, sir, I can take care of the problem.”

  Douglas was his secret weapon, the man Lex used to do background checks on prospective employees, deal with security breaches within his companies, and take care of threats to Lex and his family. He had foot soldiers to do his biddings—former buddies who didn’t mind making a quick buck now and then. Lex was concerned about Jillian, but he didn’t want Douglas following her around yet.

  “Not this time, Douglas. I should be back by ten tonight. I’ll let you know the exact time.”

  Hanging up the phone, Lex checked his watch. He needed to close the negotiation and head home.

  ~*~

  “We’ll redo that last scene tomorrow morning,” the director said, his eyes sweeping past Jillian to rest on Keith. “I don’t want to use a stunt double, Keith, but if you want to sit this one out…”

  Jillian crossed her fingers and hoped he said no. She was beyond exhausted. She only had two minor scenes tomorrow and didn’t
mind adding a third.

  “I’ll be ready tomorrow,” the Aussie said, then smiled briefly in her direction and took off.

  The strain of dealing with a temperamental actress was getting to Keith. Watching Margo go over her scenes had been painful. Zombies had more life. Maybe she needed a break. No, they all needed a break. They’d been filming nonstop for two months straight. One more month and they’d be done. The plan had been to join her brothers on their tour once she finished. The bike stunts and aerial shows were the heart of the Bay Area Circus. Now her thoughts always went to Lex.

  Jillian entered the trailer to find Chris putting away his things. He ran a tight ship, hiring stuntmen and women, choreographing and tailoring each scene to the director’s vision, and making sure every gadget worked properly. When the actors didn’t get the scene right, he took it personally.

  “We’ll get it right tomorrow,” Jillian reassured him, locking the door. He mumbled something unintelligible. She sighed and started unbuttoning her shirt. How long was he going to treat her like a pariah? She hated the way he was ignoring her.

  She studied him from the corner of her eyes.

  “That’s it,” Jillian said, marching to his side. “Yell at me. Tell me how disappointed you are in my behavior. I sold my talent to the highest bidder or whatever, but you can’t sulk or give me the cold shoulder. We are family, Chris. We get angry, yell, hug, and make up.”

  He stood, eyes narrowing. “You think I’m disappointed in you because an opportunity came your way and you took it? You have more talent in your little finger than the actresses traipsing around here, Jillian. And Lex Fitzgerald is lucky you agreed to help him. You are worth every penny he’ll pay you.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Then what’s going on? Is it about my bruises on Saturday? I tried a stupid move, and I promise never to do it again.”

  “You’d better not, or I swear…” Chris sighed. “You just said we’re family. Families don’t keep secrets from each other. You’ve always come to me when you have a problem. Why not this time?”