Rising Star

by Susannah Nix

  Too bad Alice wasn’t an actor. She was just a sociology grad student trying to pay her rent, and she wasn’t chill about getting physically intimate with people she wasn’t dating.

  “That shirt looks hideous on camera,” Dean Harwell shouted at the costume supervisor as he gestured at the actor playing the gunman. “Why is he wearing that thing?”

  “It’s the shirt you insisted on last week,” she replied through clenched teeth.

  Griffin rolled his eyes and twisted his face into an impressive approximation of Harwell’s scowl. “Why did you let me insist on such a butt-ugly shirt, Carmen?” he mocked under his breath. “Don’t you know I’m incompetent?”

  Alice bit her lip to stifle a laugh and Griffin grinned at her.

  “Budge over.” He gave Alice’s foot a poke. “It looks like we’re gonna be waiting a while.”

  She pulled her knees up to her chest to make room for him, and he hoisted himself onto the edge of her gurney. It felt weird lying down when he was sitting next to her, so she sat up and scooted her back against the wall. After a moment, Griffin followed suit, scooching back to lean against the wall beside her. Their legs stuck out in front of them, Griffin’s scrub pants and vintage Adidas next to Alice’s jeans and plaid Toms.

  “Cool shoes,” he said.

  She clicked her feet together like Dorothy in Oz. “Thank you.”

  “Did you find a place to live yet?”

  “Nope. Still looking.”

  “You’ll find something.”

  She glanced over at him. “Did you ever find a dog sitter?”

  He shook his head. “Still looking. I interviewed a couple prospects this weekend, but…” He trailed off, shrugging.

  “You didn’t like them?”

  “They were fine. My agent’s assistant got their names from a service and I’m sure they’re great, but I’d rather go with a person recommended by somebody I know—someone who’s used them before and knows they did a good job.” He shrugged again. “My agent says I have trust issues.”

  “Taco’s your family,” Alice said. “And you’re his whole world. You can’t leave him with just anyone.”

  Griffin looked over at her and smiled. “Exactly.”

  Guilt pooled in the pit of Alice’s stomach. “I’m sorry I couldn’t—”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

  She still felt bad. It would be nice to help him out—and even nicer to be able to take him up on his offer and not have to worry about finding a place to live anymore. But she had a few trust issues of her own. “So what’s the movie in Atlanta?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “It’s called Prepare for War. I play an ex-marine SWAT rescue specialist who has to save his daughter after she’s kidnapped by a Mexican drug cartel.”

  “Sounds great.”

  He shot her a cynical look. “Liar. It sounds like a piece of shit. But it’s a piece of shit costarring Kimberleigh Cress and directed by Jerry Duncan, which isn’t bad for my first leading role in a major studio picture.”

  By Hollywood calculus, Griffin’s piece of shit had all the earmarks of a blockbuster. Jerry Duncan’s movies usually starred actors like Tom Cruise or The Rock and always broke box office records on opening weekend, and Kimberleigh Cress was just coming off the success of a breakaway hit trilogy based on a popular young adult book series.

  “That’s awesome,” Alice said. “You’re gonna be great.”

  “Can we get this walk-through started sometime today?” Dean Harwell shouted, as if anyone but him was causing the delays.

  “Twenty bucks says that vein in his forehead bursts by lunchtime,” Griffin whispered as he hopped off the gurney.

  Alice snort-laughed, clapping her hand over her mouth, and Griffin grinned at her.

  “Stop it,” she whispered as she lay back down on the gurney. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

  The other actors and extras shuffled to their positions with the peppiness of a slow-moving zombie horde—six days of working with Harwell had taken its toll on morale. When Robert cued the background, Griffin shifted smoothly into serious doctor mode, grabbing the chart hanging off the side of Alice’s gurney. She didn’t have anything to do, so she watched him as he flipped through the chart pretending to read it. His eyes were really strikingly blue, and framed by crazy long lashes that contributed to his boyish appeal. And the costume department had expertly tailored his scrubs to emphasize the bulginess of his biceps. Well done to them.

  The other extras moved around them, pretending to do bits of business. Behind her, Alice heard the actor playing the gunman start his dialogue.

  Griffin set the chart down and shook his head at her gravely. “I’ve never seen a case of athlete’s foot this disgusting.”

  She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. Background were only supposed to pretend to talk, but Griffin wasn’t background, and he wasn’t miked for this scene, so she supposed he could do what he wanted.

  He lifted up her right foot, prodding it gently as he pretended to examine it. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to amputate.”

  Alice struggled to keep a straight face as he grinned at her, waggling his eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

  “Bang!” Robert shouted.

  Griffin dropped Alice’s foot and threw his body across hers.

  Even though she’d known it was coming, she wasn’t prepared for it. He was heavy and firm, all hard muscles and warm skin, and did she mention heavy? She let out an embarrassing squeak of surprise as the breath rushed out of her lungs.

  “Am I hurting you?” he whispered. His lips were next to her ear, and his breath tickled her neck.

  She shook her head. It was fortunate she wasn’t supposed to talk, because at the moment she wasn’t sure she’d be able to. She lay frozen beneath him, hyperconscious of every place his body touched hers, which was pretty much everywhere. Although his IMDb bio claimed he was six feet, Alice put him closer to five ten—but it was five feet ten inches of concentrated muscle mass that radiated heat like a furnace.

  Griffin shifted on top of her and she tensed—until she realized he was just trying to move some of his weight off her. “Better?”

  She managed a small nod and let out a slow, careful breath, forcing herself to relax. This was just part of the job. He did this and way worse than this with other actors all the time. It was nothing to him.

  Any normal woman in her right mind would be thrilled to have Griffin Beach’s amazing body on top of her. Hell, Isaac would expire from jealousy if he knew. Alice knew she should be enjoying it, but instead she was trying to fend off a panic attack.

  Griffin turned his head to watch the scene unfolding down the hall. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear the actors reciting their dialogue. Gary the security guard had arrived and was shouting at the gunman to stand down.

  Alice squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on slowing her breathing. Relaxing her limbs one by one. Just when she was finally starting to unclench a little, Griffin slid off her and pushed the gurney away from the gunman through the closest open doorway.

  When they came to a stop off camera, Alice bolted upright. She was still breathing a little heavily, and she had a bad feeling her face was as red as a beet.

  “Sorry if I crushed you,” Griffin said. “I’ll try to be more gentle.”

  “It’s fine,” she told him. Better for him to think he’d squished her than the truth—that she was freaked out by a little innocent physical contact with an actor filming a scene. Fuck Dr. Gilchrist for doing this to her. She should be having the time of her life right now, and he’d ruined it for her.

  “Bang bang,” Robert shouted from the next room. “Bang.”

  “Poor Gary,” Alice said.

  Griffin bowed his head. “May he rest in peace.”

  “Back to one!” the first assistant director shouted when the scene was over. “This time’s the real deal.”

  One of the crew g
uys came and wheeled Alice back into place, and she arranged the blanket over her so none of her street clothes showed.

  Griffin wandered back over to her side and gave the blanket a tug. “You should probably take your shoe off. If I’m examining your foot, I wouldn’t do it through your shoe, and it might be visible on camera.”

  “Right. Sorry.” She sat up and pulled her shoe off, thanking the gods of personal grooming that she’d made time for a pedicure last week.

  Griffin leaned his hip against the gurney, sucking on an Altoid as he watched the crew work around them. He glanced down at her foot with its bright blue nail polish, then away again. “You’re not ticklish, are you?”

  “Nope.” Thank god.

  A crew member came by to pass out ear protection because of the firearms and admonish them to wear it during every single take unless they wanted to suffer permanent, high-frequency hearing loss.

  The crew finished setting up, and when Harwell called action, Griffin flicked aside the blanket and laid his hand on Alice’s bare foot. He frowned as he manipulated her ankle like he was checking for a sprain, then his fingers squeezed her big toe. “This little piggy went to market.” He moved on to her other toes, one at a time. “This little piggy stayed home and ordered pizza. This little piggy picked up a double-double with cheese after work. This little piggy had none because he was on a water cut for a shirtless scene he had to shoot the next day.”

  By then, Alice was biting down hard on her lip to keep from laughing, and Griffin was clearly enjoying her struggles to keep a straight face as he wiggled her pinky toe.

  “And this little piggy—”

  BANG.

  She didn’t have to pretend to flinch this time. The gunshot was so loud that even with ear protection, it legit scared the shit out of her. In the midst of her adrenaline spike, Griffin threw himself on top of her. He didn’t crush her with his weight as much this time, but his body lay draped half over hers with his arm across her chest and his face pressed next to her ear.

  “You okay?” he whispered, and she nodded as her heart raced at Mach 2 in her chest.

  The unexpected shock of the gunshot had diverted all mental resources away from her tension at Griffin’s proximity. In fact, the reassuring weight of his body actually made her feel calmer. It was almost sort of comforting, like the lead apron they laid over you at the dentist for x-rays. If this were a real active shooter situation, she’d be thankful to have him there.

  They lay there for a few more moments, until Griffin’s cue came to wheel her out of danger. Once they were safely off camera, he gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s always a lot louder than you think it’s going to be.”

  Alice sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. “I thought I was ready for it, but apparently not.”

  “Hang on, there are more coming.”

  Three more shots rang out as Gary the security guard was gunned down, but this time they didn’t startle her nearly as much.

  The scene ended, Alice’s gurney was wheeled back into position, and the armorer and his team reset the weapons so they could do it all again from the top. And again. And again.

  Each and every take, Griffin would make a new joke as he pretended to examine her:

  “I’ve identified the problem: you have two left feet. Literally.”

  “According to your chart, you’re missing a kidney. Do you happen to remember where you left it?”

  “We’re going to have to do a brain transplant. Unfortunately, the only brain we have in stock is a baboon brain. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

  And each and every time, Alice would struggle to maintain a straight face.

  By the fourth take, she wasn’t startling at the gunshot anymore. By the fifth take, she’d gotten almost blasé about the physical contact with Griffin. When he flopped across her, she just rolled with it.

  Somewhere around the tenth take, as Griffin lay with one leg hooked over hers, his arm across her waist, and his nose pressed into the side of her neck, she started to reconsider his dog-sitting offer.

  He’d been nothing but sweet and respectful all day, without once taking advantage of this totally weird situation they were in or making her feel more uncomfortable. She’d actually had fun, once she stopped being so nervous. He was perfectly easy to get along with, and his goofy jokes had eased some of the tedium. Would it really be that bad, living with him for a few weeks? Sure, it might be weird at first, but just like today, she’d get used to it.

  As Alice lay there pinned beneath Griffin’s body, it seemed silly to be so paranoid about sharing a house with him.

  On the next break in between takes, she worked up the courage to broach the subject. “Listen, about that offer you made me the other day…”

  Griffin turned to look at her, eyebrows arched. “Yeah?”

  “Is it still on the table? I mean, have you decided on another dog sitter yet?”

  He reached up to rub the back of his neck, and she tried not to notice the way his biceps flexed. “No.” He winced and shook his head. “I mean yes, the offer is still good. I haven’t found anyone else yet.”

  “I’ll do it, then. If you still want me.”

  “Yeah, definitely.”

  “Okay.” She let out a nervous laugh. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  He broke into a smile. “Shit, that’s a load off my mind. You have no idea.”

  “For me too.” She bit her lower lip. “Is it still okay if I move in this weekend?”

  “Absolutely.” He stuck out his hand. “Roomie.”

  She took a deep breath before returning his handshake. “Roomies.”

  5

  Griffin lived in Studio City, up in the hills south of Ventura Boulevard. As Alice wound through the streets lined with million-dollar homes, she felt conspicuously impoverished in her dented, eight-year-old Toyota Corolla.

  After half a mile, she slowed to a stop in front of an inconspicuous private drive and grabbed her phone to double-check the directions Griffin had texted. Squinting at the curb, she found a numbered mailbox peeking out of an overgrown Mexican sage, just like he’d described. The white vinyl numbers stuck to the front matched the address he’d given her. This was it, apparently.

  She swallowed her trepidation and steered her car down the narrow drive wedged between a vine-covered fence on one side and a thick row of scraggly cypress trees on the other. From the street it looked shabby and abandoned, but she imagined people paid premium prices for this kind of privacy.

  After twenty feet or so, the trees on the right gave way to a white-painted brick wall. Just beyond, she could see the eave of a low-roofed white brick house. As she continued, the drive widened, opening up to a double carport painted a cheerful turquoise. Alice parked alongside a black Range Rover she hoped to god belonged to Griffin, and got out of her car to take in her new temporary home.

  This was more like what she’d expected. Just beyond the carport, the hill dropped away to expose a stunning view of the city. A flat green lawn stretched out next to her, sloping down to a line of well-manicured bushes that screened the neighboring property on the hillside below. At the top of the lawn, a wide, stained deck lined a modest midcentury house with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the yard and the gorgeous view.

  As Alice was staring at the house, a sliding door opened and Taco came shooting across the lawn toward her. Reassured that she’d come to the right house, she let out a relieved breath and dropped to her knees to greet the excited dog, who leapt into her arms.

  “You found it,” Griffin said as he strolled toward her in flip-flops, athletic shorts, and a Nike T-shirt.

  “I did.” Alice stood up with Taco cradled in her arms. “You’re right, it’s pretty hidden back here.”

  “Keeps the riffraff out.”

  “Thank you again for letting me stay with you.”

  He waved a hand. “It’s nothing. You’re saving my ass by taking care of this doofus for me wh
ile I’m gone.”

  Her eyes traveled to the house again. “Nice place.” The deck was furnished with a high-end barbecue grill and expensive-looking outdoor patio furniture, with pots of flowering plants and herbs arranged attractively around the edges.

  He swiveled his head, following her gaze to the house. “It’s not bad. Who would have thought, when I was living out of my car nine years ago, that I’d end up with a place like this?”

  Alice turned to him in surprise. “You lived in your car?”

  “Just for a few weeks once when I was between crash pads. I did a lot of couch surfing in those days.”

  She wondered if that was why he’d offered to let her live here. Because he remembered what it was like to be poor and in need of a place to live.

  Or maybe not. Maybe he just needed a dog sitter and she was reading too much into it.

  “Come on.” He jerked his head toward the house. “I’ll show you around, and then we can get your stuff moved in.”

  Griffin had told her his guest room was fully furnished, so she’d put most of her belongings into a storage pod for the time being. Isaac and Diego had been so thrilled to be rid of her, they’d gladly carried her bed and dresser downstairs and loaded them into the pod for her. All she’d brought with her to Griffin’s was her clothes, her books, and a few other sundries, which had easily fit into one carload.

  Alice followed him across the lawn and through the sliding door, which led to an airy living room with an arched ceiling. A large sectional couch sat in one corner of the room, across from a huge television beside a central fireplace that divided the open space in half. On the far side of the fireplace was a dining room, and past that a hallway that presumably led to the bedrooms.

  There wasn’t a lot in the way of furniture or decorations, but what there was appeared carefully chosen to complement the space. Black and white patterned throw pillows livened up the neutral gray couch, with a couple of solid yellow ones thrown in to lend a pop of color that perfectly coordinated with a yellow vase squatting on a nearby console table. The cushions on the deck furniture were also yellow, bringing the outside indoors to make the space look bigger. It was all very HGTV, but it didn’t have a lot of personality. There were no knickknacks or photographs, and very little of the sort of clutter that tended to build up in a lived-in home. The only signs the house was actually occupied were a dirty coffee mug and smoothie shaker on the coffee table, and a few scattered dog toys on the floor.