Rising Star

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Rising Star Page 16

by Susannah Nix

Alice’s eyes went to the drawing of the five-legged horse with the big dark cloud over it. “But if everyone says that, the problem never gets fixed. Isn’t it a little bit my fault if Gilchrist hurts someone else?”

  “Absolutely not. It’s his fault and his alone. No one is responsible for his actions but him. Least of all you.”

  Objectively, Alice knew that was true. But it didn’t absolve her guilt. She still felt responsible.

  Dr. Frazier reached for the coffee mug on her desk and knocked back the dregs with a grimace. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve spoken to the director of graduate studies in the department, and she will not be signing off on any future committees for female students that include Dr. Gilchrist. I’ve also reported the situation to the department chair and he was appalled. I don’t know what, if anything, he’ll do about it, but Gilchrist is on everyone’s radar now. The whisper network will be watching him very closely, and rest assured that if I witness any inappropriate behavior, I will not hesitate to file a formal report.”

  “But in the meantime, he probably gets away with it.”

  “There are unlikely to be official repercussions,” Dr. Frazier admitted, pushing her empty coffee mug away. “But his actions will not be without consequence. More importantly, the internal workings of this department are not your problem or your business. Your business is finishing your dissertation, and it sounds like you’re making some solid progress toward that.”

  Alice answered with a reluctant nod. It did feel like some sunlight had finally started peeking through the clouds. However much guilt she might feel, she wasn’t willing to put her momentum at risk.

  Dr. Frazier gave her an encouraging smile. “Let’s keep it up, then, and not do anything to upset the apple cart, okay? I want to get you out of here with a doctorate in your hand as fast as we can.”

  That was exactly what Alice wanted too. More than anything.

  Griffin flinched when he felt an overly familiar hand land on his shoulder.

  “Easy, big guy!” Drew, the studio flunky who’d been assigned to the set, put up his hands in an exaggerated display of surrender.

  Griffin forced a smile. “Sorry. You startled me.” He tried to maintain a professional, friendly demeanor with everyone on set, but Drew had rubbed him the wrong way from their first encounter, when he’d made a passive aggressive crack about Griffin’s muscles.

  Guys like Drew were all too common in this business: puffed-up rulers of petty fiefdoms whose obsequious praise usually contained a thinly veiled put-down to remind you of the power they wielded. In this case, Drew happened to be Andrew Fulton III, son of Andrew Fulton II, the head of the studio financing the film. Which meant everyone had to suck up to him—except Jerry Duncan, who didn’t suck up to anyone. Jerry and Drew were constantly butting heads over the budget, and had spent the morning shouting at each other over an expensive shot that Duncan wanted and the studio refused to pay for. The altercation had put them two hours behind schedule and left Jerry in an even more vile mood than usual, so Drew was especially high on Griffin’s shit list today.

  “In your own head space. I get it.” Drew nodded sagely, as if he had a lot of acting experience under his belt—which Griffin felt sure he did not, unless pretending to have a valuable role to play in his daddy’s business counted as acting. Drew’s mouth curled into a smirk as he cocked his head toward the craft services table Griffin had been staring at. “You’re not going for that candy, I hope.”

  Griffin frowned. “What? No.”

  Okay, maybe he’d been fantasizing about sneaking a Snickers bar, but it wasn’t like he actually would have done it. Probably. Also, it was none of Drew’s fucking business.

  “Good man. Don’t want you turning back into a fatty on us.” Drew reached out and gave Griffin’s stomach a pinch, like he was gauging the body fat on a hog at the county fair.

  Since breaking the son of the studio head’s nose would definitely get him fired and end his career on the spot, Griffin gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to punch the guy in his smirky fucking face. “You need something, Drew?”

  “Just checking in with the talent. Making sure you’re happy. You’re happy, right, Griff?”

  “Sure,” Griffin said, smiling thinly. “I’m delirious with joy.”

  “How’s that new trainer working out?”

  “Great.” The studio had set Griffin up with a local trainer here in Atlanta to keep him in shape during production. He was kicking Griffin’s ass five times a week, but that was what he was being paid to do, and he was doing a decent job of it.

  “Stunt team’s looking after you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. Good.” Drew leaned in close and lowered his voice. “We want you to feel safe. You ever have a problem with a stunt, I want you to come straight to me. I’ll always take your call.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Griffin’s voice was so flat you could have melted it between two slices of Wonder bread and called it a grilled cheese sandwich.

  The stunt coordinator, Ed, was a twenty-year industry veteran who took his job more seriously than anyone else on set. Griffin would—and did—trust Ed with his life. Drew? Not so much.

  “And your trailer?” Drew asked. “You like your trailer? That’s the top-of-the-line model we got you.”

  “Yeah, it’s fantastic.” Griffin hooked a thumb over his shoulder as he edged away. “As a matter of fact, I’m headed there now—unless there was anything else?”

  “Nope. You go on. Do your thing.” Drew waved him off magnanimously. “Good talk.”

  “Dick cheese,” Griffin muttered under his breath as he trudged off to his trailer.

  It was a nice trailer, he had to give Drew that much. Good thing, because Griffin spent a lot of time in it. He flopped down on the couch and stared around discontentedly. He’d sooner eat nails than confide anything to Drew, but the truth was, Griffin was miserable.

  Starring in a solo action vehicle was turning out to be kind of lonely. He was used to working on ensemble projects, where he shared a lot of screen time with his costars. But a lot of his scenes so far had been with day players who came and went faster than he could get to know them, or with the guys on the stunt crew, who were cool, but also a little cliquey. It was obvious they thought of Griffin as someone who had to be managed so he didn’t hurt himself, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate, but made him feel even more isolated.

  The actress playing his daughter was fourteen and acted every bit of it. She spent all her time between scenes with earbuds in, so absorbed in her phone she probably wouldn’t notice if the fire alarms went off. And then there was Richard Scardino, who was playing the drug lord villain of the movie. Sure, he had an Oscar nomination under his belt, but he was one of those method actors who stalked around the set in character, refusing to drop his fake Mexican accent and terrorizing the PAs like he thought he was actually the head of a cartel.

  Kimberleigh Cress, who’d be playing Griffin’s love interest, wasn’t even due on set for another couple weeks, but he didn’t have high hopes for their working relationship. She’d barely even acknowledged his existence at the table read, as if it was beneath her to socialize with a lowly television actor. Griffin imagined their upcoming scenes together would be about as much fun as a dental cleaning.

  Atlanta was humid, the midtown condo they’d put him in had walls so thin his neighbors kept him up half the night, he was unhappy about a bunch of the last-minute script changes, and oh yeah, he fucking hated Jerry Duncan.

  The man was a perfectionist micromanager who went out of his way to make Griffin feel like an incompetent, no-talent waste of space. Every day was a constant struggle to figure out what Jerry wanted from him, and Griffin’s self-confidence was at an all-time low. He hadn’t felt this uncertain of his abilities as an actor since the early days when he’d been fired from that beer commercial.

  On top of all that, he missed his dog and he missed Alice. If he was being honest, he missed Alic
e even more than his dog.

  He hadn’t let himself call her, even though he wanted to. He figured she was probably glad to be rid of him, and she deserved to be left alone to focus on her dissertation without intrusions. But he hadn’t talked to her in two weeks, and it was killing him a little. He was like a junkie, itching for a hit after going cold turkey.

  Idiot, he berated himself. How had he let himself get infatuated with a girl who barely tolerated him? Who saw him as a person she had to be nice to because he’d given her a job and a place to live. If she knew how he really felt about her, she’d probably run for the goddamn hills. And she’d be right to, after all she’d been through.

  He couldn’t let her know. That was the real reason he hadn’t let himself call her. He was feeling so low, he was afraid he might give himself away, and he had to hide his feelings at all costs. She needed this job and she needed this summer to be drama-free so she could concentrate on her dissertation and finish her degree. He wouldn’t do anything to ruin it for her.

  Maybe when he went back to LA, after he finished this damn movie. Maybe when she wasn’t working for him anymore, he could tell her how he felt. Find out if she’d even be willing to give him a chance.

  Or maybe not. Hadn’t he learned his lesson in the past? He wasn’t cut out to be a boyfriend. He’d only end up hurting her. If he really cared about her, he ought to just leave her alone. The last thing she needed was to deal with all his shit.

  For lack of anything better to do, and because he was a masochist, Griffin opened the Twitter app on his phone. He’d noticed a few weeks ago that Alice had followed his Twitter account, which he almost never used. Now, he went into his followers and searched for her name to bring up her profile. It was mostly retweets of funny posts or political news. Only occasionally did she post original content. He’d hoped for some sort of window into her life in LA, maybe even a photo of Taco or a glimpse of his house, but there was nothing like that. She was probably protecting his privacy, which he appreciated, but right now he could really use the sight of something familiar.

  She’d gone to see the new Avengers movie the other day and tweeted about it. She’d gone for bành mí and posted a picture of a delicious-looking open-faced sandwich. There was a photo of a graffitied wall he recognized from the park a mile from his house. Finally, he found a photo she’d posted of herself. It was a selfie taken at a bar with some of the extras from Las Vegas General. They were all smiling at the camera and holding up pint glasses of beer.

  A pang of homesickness settled in Griffin’s chest. He missed that stupid show, he missed feeling like he was part of a close-knit group like that, and he missed every face in that photo—but most of all he missed Alice.

  He swiped to his text messages. She’d been texting him photos of Taco every few days accompanied by cheerful notes. Smiling to himself, he reread the most recent one.

  We had a great time on our walk today. Taco was very excited to bark at a squirrel but frustrated I wouldn’t let him chase it. He misses you lots and lots and will be so happy to see you again when you come home.

  A lump formed in his throat. Was it possible the heart-eyes emoji she’d tacked onto the end was meant to be from her? He wanted desperately to believe she wasn’t just speaking for the dog—that maybe Alice missed him a little too, and would be happy to see him again when he finally came home.

  He tapped on her contact info. He was supposed to be leaving her alone, but he’d had an exceptionally crappy day today. Jerry had browbeaten him for two hours this morning trying to get the exact emotional response he wanted, and it had been humiliating.

  He just wanted to hear Alice’s voice. Or better yet, see her face.

  Maybe he could FaceTime and ask her to put Taco on. That wasn’t asking too much, was it? He hadn’t bothered her for days. He was entitled to check in and see his dog’s dumb face every once in a while.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed the icon for FaceTime.

  14

  Alice stared at the sentence she’d just typed. The English language was starting to lose all meaning. The longer she stared at the words, the less sense they made. Groaning in frustration, she pushed her laptop away and laid her head down on the kitchen table.

  When her phone buzzed right next to her ear, she startled upright so violently she almost knocked it across the room.

  Griffin’s face—a cropped version of their selfie from the wrap party—lit up the screen, along with the words Griffin wants to FaceTime with you.

  Alice’s heart leapt into her throat. Why was he calling instead of texting? And why on earth did he want to video chat when she was sitting here in a scummy old T-shirt with dirty hair and no bra? In a panic, she checked her chest for obvious food stains and refastened her messy bun into something slightly less messy before accepting the call.

  “Hey!” She squinted at the screen as a live image of Griffin pixelated into focus. A large bloody gash on his forehead caused her eyes to widen in alarm. “Is everything okay?”

  He smiled into the camera, and she felt a tingle like a surge of electricity travel down her spine. “Yeah. Great.” He touched his forehead and his smile got wider. “This is just makeup.”

  “Oh, good.” Of course it was makeup. He was on a movie set for crying out loud. It wasn’t like he was out there in Atlanta getting into actual fistfights.

  “I was just sitting in my trailer missing Taco’s stupid furry face, so I thought maybe you could put him on camera so I could see him.”

  Seriously? How cute was that?

  “Is that lame?” he asked shyly.

  “No, of course not! Hang on, I’ll get him.”

  Alice set the phone down and bent to scoop Taco off the floor at her feet. “You got a phone call, bud!” Settling the dog into her lap, she picked up the phone again and aimed it at him.

  Griffin’s face lit up as soon as Taco came into frame. “Hey, buddy! It’s me!”

  Taco looked at Alice and yawned.

  “He’s kind of sleepy,” she said. “He just woke up.” She tapped the screen and Taco’s eyes followed her finger to the phone.

  Griffin waved. “Hey, Taco! Did you miss me?”

  The dog looked toward the living room and tilted his head.

  “Do you think he can see me?” Griffin asked, frowning.

  “I dunno. Can dogs see pictures on screens?”

  “No idea.”

  “He can definitely hear you. His tail’s wagging.”

  “That’s something, I guess. Everything going okay there?”

  Alice shifted in her seat, trying to aim the phone so Griffin could see Taco without her double chin or her unsecured breasts looming in the background. “Yeah. We’re great. I’ve been taking him for walks twice a day. Oh, and we drove over to that dog park in Laurel Canyon.”

  “Nice. I’ll bet he loves having someone around the house all day.”

  “Honestly, I think he’s tired of me. He mostly just sleeps. I have to wake him up to go out.”

  “Well, he’s not used to all that exercise.”

  Alice bit down on her lip. “Should I not walk him so much?”

  “No, it’s good for him. Get his lazy ass out of the house. He’s gonna have a sleek, athlete’s physique by the time I get home. All the girl dogs at the dog park will be throwing themselves at him. Right, buddy?”

  Taco jumped off Alice’s lap and trotted into the living room to curl up on his dog bed.

  “Sorry,” she said, aiming the camera at her face again.

  “Nah, it’s fine.” Griffin let out a mock dramatic sigh. “I know where I stand.”

  Maybe it was just the makeup or the lighting in his trailer, but he seemed…tired. There was a hollowness around his eyes she wasn’t used to seeing, even on the longest shooting days on Las Vegas General.

  “How’s it going there?” she asked.

  “Good. Hard work, but good.”

  Because he was an actor, Griffin instinctivel
y looked directly into the camera without getting distracted by the smaller image of his own face in the corner of the screen like most people did. Alice tried to follow his lead, refusing to look at her own pale and ghastly face lurking in the corner of her screen. “What’s Richard Scardino like?”

  Griffin gave a contemptuous snort. “He’s like if Drakkar Noir was a person.”

  She laughed. “That bad?”

  “His hair plugs have hair plugs. And he’s method. Need I say more?”

  “No.” They’d had a couple method actors come through LV Gen and they were always insufferable. “How is it working with Jerry Duncan?”

  Griffin’s smile took on a plasticky sheen. “It’s great. He’s brilliant.”

  “Why do I think you’re lying right now?”

  He blew out a long breath and leaned back, giving her a better view of the inside of his trailer. “I’m pretty sure he hates me and regrets giving me this part.”

  “I’ll bet that’s not true.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure it is.”

  Alice’s stomach gave a little heave at the unhappiness that had leaked into his expression. “Come on. No one could hate you.”

  His eyes flickered away from the camera. “This guy does. He finds fault with everything I do. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t figure out what he wants from me.”

  “Isn’t it the director’s job to communicate what he wants from the actors? If he’s not doing that, it’s on him, isn’t it?” Alice was no expert, certainly, but she’d seen a lot of directors direct a lot of actors in her season on Las Vegas General, and she had some idea what separated the good ones from the bad ones.

  Griffin’s mouth twisted wryly. “I’ll just tell Jerry fucking Duncan that he’s a crap director, then. That sounds like a good career move.”

  “Hey, you’re Griffin fucking Beach,” she fired back. “He’s lucky to have you in his dumb movie—not that this movie is dumb,” she added quickly. “I’m sure it’s going to be great.”

 

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