by Lucy Lambert
I tossed one bottle to her. Her eyes went wide, and she barely caught it. I grinned.
“Hey!” she exclaimed.
“Just checking your reflexes.”
She twisted the top off and took a slug from the bottle, letting her lips linger around the rim for a moment while she watched me. A little thrill ran up the front of my body.
Forget thirty minutes. They might as well just call filming off for the day.
“Anything else about me you want to check?” Linda asked.
I twisted the top off my bottle and drained half of it in one long, refreshing swallow. I set the bottle down on the marble counter of the kitchenette and leaned back for a second, just enjoying the cool breath of the air conditioning. It was a scorcher outside.
Then I leaned over and thumbed the Play button on my phone, which was connected via Bluetooth to the trailer’s sound system.
I stripped off my shirt. Her eyes crawled over my bared abs. I spent long hours every week honing my body in the gym for just such an effect on woman. And the movies, too. It was a toss-up.
And climbing that cliff face wasn’t all fake. It gave me a good pump.
Music blasted from the speakers while I crawled up onto the bed. Linda rolled onto her back and propped herself on her elbows. She bit her lower lip while she watched me.
I held myself up over her, leaned in. Her eyes hooded. I let my lips graze her chin and then moved down to her throat. She trembled.
She nuzzled my cheek. With her lips so close to my ear, I had no trouble hearing her.
“I hoped I would get my turn with you,” she purred.
“If you play your cards right.” I let my lips brush her throat again. Her delicate skin pebbled with goosebumps and I smiled. I pursed my lips and blew gently across her skin, encouraging more gooseflesh. She trembled beneath me.
Acting wasn’t the only thing I did well.
“I’m so glad you dumped that bitch,” Linda whispered.
I went rigid. And not in the sensual way. I sat back on my haunches. “What?”
Linda pushed back up on her elbows, a little wrinkle of confusion between her eyebrows. “Sandra. You have no idea how happy it made me when you dumped her. She didn’t deserve you.”
I’d never thought it possible that a name could hurt so much, but it did. Just two syllables. They cut right into me.
That was a name I didn’t want to hear. Not then. Not ever, if I had my way. And I usually did.
“Get out,” I spat. All the lust drained out of me.
The confusion turned to shock, her lovely lips parting. “What? What’s wrong?”
I stood up off the bed and pointed at the door. “Nothing. Now get the hell out of my trailer.”
Linda rolled off the bed and tugged at her clothes to pull the wrinkles out of them. “You really are an asshole.”
“Did I ever say otherwise?” I reached over and turned the music off.
Someone knocked on the door.
We both looked over.
There was a long pause and I figured whoever it was gave up and left. Good choice on their part.
I looked back at Linda. “You’re still here.”
“You’re still not over her yet, are you?” Linda said. The confrontation brought a rosy flush to her cheeks that only a few minutes ago would have left me breathless with desire.
“Get out of my trailer before I throw you out,” I snapped. Her words cut deeper and deeper into my thoughts. Made me remember things I did my damndest to forget.
Someone knocked again just as Linda opened her mouth. Part of me wanted to thank the person on the other side for shutting her up. The rest of me hated the interruption.
“I’m busy in here! Come back later,” I shouted.
Another set of knocks.
“Allow me,” Linda said, rolling her eyes. Grabbing her still mostly full bottle of beer, she stormed over to the door and wrenched it open.
A familiar looking girl stood on the other side, fist raised to knock again. She was cute in a mousey way, curly black hair just shy of shoulder length, pointed nose. She wore the khaki pants and black tee shirts that most of the PAs around this studio.
Even so, they weren’t unflattering on her.
I glared at her. She started backing off, found her spine, and then took her place in front of the door again.
I might have been impressed if I wasn’t already so pissed.
She looked at both of us. “Troy… Mr. Sanders… the director… he wants you both back on the set as soon as possible.” I could see her trying to find the right level of authority, the right level of familiarity.
I didn’t need to be psychic to know she was some film school student, here completing the practical portion of her course.
She saw me standing there shirtless. Her face tried blushing and going white at the same time. It was adorable. She switched her eyes from me to Linda, swallowing heavily.
I could see that she wanted me. But also that she didn’t like me. By this point in my career, I knew that look pretty well.
Linda wore a similar expression.
“Get him over here to tell me himself. Is he so chicken he sends film school kiddies in his place?” I smirked.
That got her. Her eyes flicked back to me and I saw fire behind them. She tempered it quickly, although I half expected some ridiculous outburst.
She’s a smart one, I thought. Mouthing off to the talent got you blacklisted. If she did that, finishing her film production degree would be a waste of time and money better spent returning to whatever Midwest town she came from and getting a normal job.
“I’m just the messenger,” she insisted. “I’m sure the director wouldn’t call you back if it wasn’t important.”
“Better be careful. I hear career outlooks for messengers aren’t good,” I said. I turned back to Linda. “Door’s open now.”
Linda sneered. I expected a retort. Instead she cocked her hand back, the one holding the dark brown beer bottle. I ducked instinctively, waiting for the shower of broken glass on my bare back.
“What the hell?” Linda snapped.
I looked up, standing straight. What I saw made me smile.
The mousey little PA gripped Linda’s wrist in one hand, preventing any bottle throwing. Linda trembled, trying to free herself. Foamy beer spilled out over their hands.
Mouse girl’s stronger than she looks.
“Hey!” Linda exclaimed.
The girl looked equally shocked. But she controlled it well. With her other hand, she grabbed the bottle and pried it from Linda’s grip. Then she let go of the actress.
Linda looked back and forth between us, unsure where to spend her wrath. I shrugged, the corners of my mouth turning down.
“Ugh!” Linda spat. She pushed the PA aside and marched out of the trailer.
“Nice. Very smooth,” I said. I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. She is cute, isn’t she? “If that’s how you treat the women, how do you deal with unruly male talent?”
She glared at me, real fire behind her eyes. Then she caught herself. The fire sputtered, and I could see the inner conflict playing out across her face.
“Are you going to try and throw a bottle at her?” the PA asked.
I smiled. “Not right now. If I plan to, though, I’ll let you know.”
She crossed her arms. “Then I’ll just ask you to return to the set like the director asked. Although I think he wants you back with a shirt on.” She checked me out again, unable to help herself.
My smile grew. I leaned up against the counter, knowing how it made my abs flex. “Or you could stay here, with me.” I have a reputation to uphold.
Her eyes went wide when she understood what I meant. “No, I couldn’t.”
I pushed away from the wall and walked over so that I stood right in front of her. I looked down at her. “I can tell, you know,” I said.
“You can tell what?” she asked. She started to take a step back, stopped,
and kept her place in front of me.
“That you want me, of course,” I said.
“No. No, I don’t.” Her voice said one thing, but her body said another. Her cheeks flushed. Her throat did, too, the rosy color tracing down below the collar of her shirt as though inviting me to explore further.
I reached out, meaning to touch one of those burning cheeks. She jerked back, then walked backwards down the stoop so that she stood on the lot looking into my trailer, up at me.
I leaned my shoulder against the door frame and crossed my arms.
“I used to like you, Mr. Tracker,” she said. “I used to like you a lot. But working with you these last few weeks, and then hearing what you did last summer… you’re not who I thought you were.”
She looked around, anxious that someone might have overheard her. “Now, the director would like you back on the set as soon as possible.”
I suddenly wanted to tell her the truth. About me, about last summer, about everything. But it was still a raw wound.
And I have a reputation to uphold.
She turned to go.
“Hey,” I said. I stepped out of the trailer and immediately felt the warmth of the sun on my bare shoulders and chest.
She stopped, but didn’t say anything.
“What’s your name?” I said.
She hesitated, then said, “Erin.”
“Well, Erin, things aren’t always what they look like,” I said. It was about as close as I could get to the truth without compromising myself.
“I know that. Can I tell Mr. Sanders that you’ll be back on set soon?”
“Sure,” I replied, then I grinned. “I might even put on a shirt first.”
She nodded in that way people do when they recognize your sarcasm, but don’t find it funny. Then she walked away.
Erin, I thought, I’m going to remember that name.
I also wasn’t used to a woman refusing me. Especially a nobody like her. It was refreshing, in a way.
I wanted to see her again.
I threw on my shirt and grabbed my discarded climbing harness, figuring that maybe Sanders wanted to reshoot the cliff scene.
My first instinct was to balk. We’d already shot that scene several times and Sanders said on that last take it was good.
But Erin will be there, I thought. I remembered seeing her and another PA man some of the safety equipment.
I grabbed my cell and started calling Andrew, my assistant. He could bring around the golf cart and save me a walk across the studio lot.
“Hello? What do you need?” Andrew asked.
But the sun felt so nice on my skin and I could feel some excess energy inside that needing burning off. Besides, I figured it might help me clear my head.
“Never mind, just keep yourself available,” I said and ended the call with a flick of my thumb.
I pulled my sunglasses on, shading the world, and strolled away.
It was a huge lot, covered in warehouses and sound stages for acres. I passed by a vehicle storage lot loaded with cars done up to look like cop cars from New York, Chicago, and a dozen other cities.
It was also laid out in a grid, which made finding your way around pretty easy.
Except for the tourists. They made everything difficult.
“And now,” I heard the tour guide say, “If you look this way, you’ll see the warehouse where they shot…”
I ducked down a narrow alley between two warehouses. Wooden storage pallets and boxes littered the area, the leftovers of whatever set they’d set up inside.
I heard the electric hum of the tour vehicle before I saw it. It was one of those elongated golf carts with 16 or so people sitting in it, the driver pulling double duty as the guide with a headset microphone strapped on over his baseball cap.
Normally I might have stepped out and let them see me. Maybe even stopped for some autographs or photo ops. But right then I just wanted to get back to the set.
I leaned back against the corrugated steel wall of the warehouse. The steel warmed my back.
The tourists passed by and I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
I stepped back out onto the lane proper and started on my way again.
“Umm… Excuse me?”
I jerked to a stop. I turned back. A young boy, maybe 10, stood near the mouth of the alley. He wore a SpongeBob shirt and he already sported a red slash of sunburn across his cheeks.
I almost just moved on, but I didn’t. I glanced around, saw no one. Why is he alone? “Yes?”
“I’m lost,” the boy said.
It wasn’t a sunburn that had reddened his face, I saw, but tears. Wetness glistened in his eyes. I looked around again, looking for a PA or a tour guide or someone, anyone.
“There has to be someone…” I said, looking one way, then the other.
I didn’t notice him come closer. He reached up and took my hand. I almost snatched it back until I saw his face, upturned towards me.
I could feel myself melting on the inside.
Hollywood’s bad boy indeed, I thought.
“All right, come on, we’ll find your parents,” I said.
“Are you a movie star?” he said. He kept glancing up at me while we walked. He held onto three of my fingers, his hand too small for any more.
“What makes you say that?” I said.
First a girl who doesn’t want me, now a kid who doesn’t know who I am, I thought. What a day.
“I don’t know. You look like one, I guess,” he said.
“I try,” I replied.
We walked for another few minutes before we found his parents. I heard them before I saw them.
“We have to find him!” a distressed woman said.
“I’m sure he just wandered a little,” his father replied.
The boy’s eyes lit up when he heard those voices.
I knelt down beside him. “Better get on back. They sound worried,” I said.
“Thanks!” He said. Then he threw his arms around my neck. My heart thrashed in my chest. I patted him on the back. He was a scrawny kid and his spine stuck out.
“No problem,” I said. My cheeks hurt from grinning, “Now go before they get too worried.”
He ran off around the corner. I heard his mom shriek with joy, “Kevin! Where were you?”
“The movie star man helped me…” Kevin said.
I glanced down at my watch, saw I was now really late. My cue to leave.
I realized as I started walking that I may have gotten Erin in some trouble. That bothered me more than I thought it would.
I picked up my pace.
Chapter 4
ERIN
Mitch checked his watch again, then he looked up at me. “He said he was coming?”
I crossed my arms and gave myself a tight hug. It didn’t help with the sudden claustrophobia closing around me. Which was strange, since we stood outside under the sun.
It had been about fifteen minutes, but Vance had yet to arrive.
“He said, ‘sure,’” I replied.
Mitch frowned. “’Sure,’ like sarcastic ‘sure’ or serious ‘sure?’”
I shrugged. “Does that guy take anything seriously?”
Linda worried me more. She was here, on set. Standing with Troy Sanders, her arms crossed beneath her perfect chest. She kept throwing looks over in my direction.
I kept thinking about how I grabbed her arm to keep her from braining her co-star with a beer bottle. And how she glared at me after.
She was tall. Taller than the director. And beautiful. This was supposed to be her breakout role, the one to put her up there with Jennifer Lawrence and Anne Hathaway.
It didn’t take much imagination to figure out why Vance took her back to his trailer.
And that feeling twisting in my stomach definitely wasn’t a pang of jealousy. He’s a narcissistic pig, that’s all. He proved that.
“This doesn’t look good,” Mitch said.
“Wh
at? What doesn’t?” I asked, too caught up in my thoughts.
He nodded and I followed his line of sight. I caught Linda grinning at me. It was a predatory grin. And a satisfied one. Satisfied about what?
When she saw me looking she gave her head the slightest shake, her perfect, wavy blonde hair drifting back and forth on her shoulders.
Then I saw Troy Sanders walking towards us. Not us, I realized, Me. Walking towards me!
Troy stopped short. From this close, I could see the sweat staining his baseball cap. His forehead glistened. He looked older than he was.
“Mitch,” Troy said, “can I see you for a moment?”
“Sure, boss,” Mitch said. He patted my shoulder when he walked by. “Stay here,” he said to me.
They spoke in low tones, heads close together.
All around us, the carpentry crew worked on breaking down the cliff set. A couple of men manhandled one of the huge fans used to simulate wind so they could access the bolts holding it in place.
The place filled with the electric whir of handheld power tools. A breeze picked up, rushing between the warehouses to our lot. I smelled sawdust. I ignored a stand of hair that tickled across my cheek.
Cold anxiety dripped from the bottom of my heart down into the pit of my stomach.
This is serious. I knew that Mitch and Troy were essentially deciding the fate of my career right in front of me and I felt powerless.
At first I blamed Linda, who still stood triumphant, watching the whole display. Then I blamed Vance.
If Vance hadn’t done or said whatever it was to piss off Linda, she wouldn’t have tried to hit him with the bottle, and I wouldn’t have grabbed her wrist and stopped her.
Apparently Linda was as impatient as I was anxious. She stomped over to Mitch and Troy, who broke off their whispered conversation to look at her.
“What is taking so long?” Linda said.
The two men shared a look, as though deciding who had to speak to her. The director won - or lost, depending on how you look at it.
Troy Sanders cleared his throat. “Linda, it’s not so simple as just firing someone like that. There’s an agreement with the school…”
“I don’t care!” Linda shouted. She actually stamped one foot. Her pretty face went ugly with anger. She looked at me, then stabbed one finger in my direction. “She’s gone. Make it happen!”