Acting Brave (Fenbrook Academy #3 - New Adult Romance)

by Helena Newbury

  The actor just stared at him, gaping in fury.

  Dixon turned to the rest of the crowd. “Okay, let’s skip ahead to a group scene with Talbot, Drum, and Malloy, arguing about whether to take in a suspect.” He started to call out names.

  I walked on shaking legs across the room and out through the nearest doors I could find. I blundered along the corridor until I came to a couple of soda machines and slumped against the side of one of them.

  My life was complete. My life was ruined. My life was….

  What just happened?!

  Ryan had just declared his feelings for me, in front of everyone. And instead of it ruining my screen test, Dixon had thought he’d been acting. He’d bought Ryan’s heartfelt outburst and my shocked reaction as some epic, ad-libbed performance and I had the part. I had the part!

  But...I had it with Ryan. A guy I really did like and who I could never show my feelings for. The most dangerous thing in the world for me would be a real-life cop boyfriend asking questions. Off screen, I had to fend him off, for his sake and mine. How the hell could I do that if we were a couple on screen? Jesus, I might have to kiss him!

  I turned around so that my forehead was against the cool metal of the soda machine, closing my eyes. And how would Ryan react when I pushed him away? I couldn’t let him get close, but as soon as I lied and said I wasn’t attracted to him, he’d have to start acting for real. Would he be able to keep the part? Did he even want the part?

  I frowned. Why had he even chosen that moment? Why muscle his way in front of the cameras and risk ruining my screen test? Unless….

  I straightened up. What if I was being incredibly stupid? What if he had been acting? Why else would he do it in a screen test? Maybe he’d seen an opportunity because he knew me, and channeled his feelings into a performance. Maybe he wanted the part. Maybe he only wanted the part.

  I thought about the look in his eyes, all those times when he’d driven past Fenbrook—my Ryan Moments. No. I was sure that he felt something for me, and if his feelings were even a tenth as strong as mine, we were in big trouble. It hadn’t been acting. I remembered what he’d said to me by the craft table. He didn’t know how to act. What would happen when Dixon realized that?

  I was going to have to teach Ryan to act. A big, muscled guy with obvious anger issues. Hell, even in the screen test he’d lost his cool and marched into a scene. How was he going to handle weeks of filming?

  What if you just told the truth? Emma’s voice. I kept her crushed down so firmly under Jasmine that she didn’t feel like the real me, anymore. What if I just let him in and told him everything and we were together? That would solve everything.

  Except then he’d know my past. He’d know what my father had done. What I had done. It would all come out and then my life would be over. No one would want to know me. No one would want to give me an acting job. Worst of all, my dad and his friends might find out my new identity, and if they found me again then, this time, they’d kill me. They might even kill Ryan, if he found out too much.

  No. No way. I wasn’t entertaining that idea even for an instant. For everyone’s sake, I had to keep him at arm’s length and hope that he could live with that. And teach him to act. And act as if I was crazy about him on screen, while convincing him that I really felt nothing.

  How do you act like you’re in love, while pretending not to be?

  But there was only one other option. Tell Dixon I’d changed my mind and walk away. Give up my only shot at the big time. This part was everything I’d ever dreamed of. It was made for me. Sure, there’d be others in the future, but not like this! If I quit, in all likelihood I’d be waiting tables when I graduated. I imagined myself watching the show in a year’s time, knowing it could have been me….

  That wasn’t an option at all.

  I banged my head gently against the soda machine. Somehow, I was going to have to make it work.

  Chapter 13

  Ryan

  I staggered down the corridor, my head spinning, and stopped just in time. Through the windows in the next set of double doors, I could see Jasmine further down the corridor, slumped against a Coke machine.

  I stood there reliving the moment.

  Her hair had been like silk. I could still feel it on my fingers, the strands brushing against my calloused skin. And the smell of her. I didn’t know if it was her shampoo or her perfume and I had no idea what the hell was in it, but she’d smelled incredible, like wild flowers and warm summer days. I wanted to bury my face against the side of her neck and just smell her.

  My hand had just barely pressed against her waist. My hand had only cupped her cheek. But every touch was etched into my memory: the warmth of her body against my palms, the texture of her skin under my fingers…. I could have happily stood there, just touching her—not taking any clothes off, just running my hands over her, tracing every luscious curve—for hours, maybe days.

  During that long month since Hux died, there’d been a part of me that had wondered if I’d built her up into something she wasn’t. I’d only ever really met her a few times before I got Hux killed—two real meetings and then all those stupid drive-pasts of Fenbrook that probably drove her nuts. I’d been afraid that I’d made her into some sort of fairy tale princess and that, when I actually talked to her, I’d see she was nothing special.

  But it hadn’t been like that at all. When I’d seen her at the screen test it had been physical and immediate...I hadn’t been able to keep away from her any more than I’d been able to stop myself marching into that house to confront the wife-beater. And the closer I got to her, the more I focused on her, the more powerful the attraction got. It was as undeniable as the anger and just as strong...stronger, maybe.

  When I’d thought about that asshole actor seducing her, bedding her, then crowing about it on his fucking Facebook page to his buddies, I’d felt physically sick. When the words spilled out of my mouth, it had been almost as much of a shock to me as it must have been to her. And yet it had felt right, as if something had been released that I’d been keeping caged up for almost a year. I’ve wanted you since last winter, I’d said. But want didn’t halfway cover it. I needed her.

  I closed my eyes. What had I done?!

  How could I have been so stupid as to tell her how I felt? I’d blundered into her screen test because I couldn’t bear to see that bastard get close to her...but what right did I have to decide who she was with? For all I knew, she felt nothing for me. And I’d nearly blown her big break!

  And yet, when I’d touched her cheek, that moment had felt real. I could have sworn that I’d seen something in her eyes, something that wasn’t there all the time. As if she did feel something for me—

  Unless she’d just been acting. Unless she’d salvaged the screen test the only way she could: by performing, fooling me just as she’d fooled Dixon.

  Dixon. That was a whole other problem. Somehow, I’d accidentally gone from bit part to star. Great—I now had a shot at getting my old job back. Except it was all going to fall apart when Dixon found out I couldn’t actually act.

  Beyond the door, Jasmine was now banging her head against the Coke machine.

  Talk to her, said Hux. You’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity. It doesn’t get more perfect than this.

  I put my hand on the door...then stopped. What was I going to say? Tell her it was for real? Lie, and say I’d just been acting? Back in the studio, when I’d seen that actor about to claim her for his own, it had all seemed so simple. Now that the pressure was off, suddenly it seemed ridiculous. Me? With Jasmine? I hadn’t even known what ad lib meant. I was a beat cop, for God’s sake.

  I leaned back against the wall. I’d already screwed things up enough. I had to give her some space and let her decide how she wanted to play this.

  Chicken, said Hux.

  Chapter 14

  Jasmine

  That evening, just hours after getting the part, I was in Flicker. Clarissa was sitting ac
ross from me, her phone to her ear.

  I hadn’t seen Ryan since I left the screen test. I had no idea when I was going to see him next, or how the whole thing was going to work. Filming didn’t start for several weeks, to give the actors a chance to learn how to be convincing cops, and for us to get to know each other.

  Get to know each other. Exactly what I couldn’t do with a guy. There was no Jasmine to get to know, not underneath, below the flirting and the giggles. There was only Emma, locked away down deep, and he sure as hell couldn’t be allowed to meet her.

  “No,” said Clarissa into the phone. “You can’t bring him. Are you kidding? It’s girls’ night. Now get here!” She sighed and ended the call. “I swear they’re joined at the hip.”

  It didn’t totally surprise me. Ever since she moved into the mansion, Nat seemed to want to bring Darrell everywhere. She said it was because she had to keep dragging him out of his workshop—he was well into his new project now, and loving it—but I knew it was more than that. It felt as if she was throwing herself into the millionaire lifestyle a little too hard, as if she couldn’t wait to leave us behind. But it couldn’t be that...could it? Nat’s background, from what she’d told me, wasn’t much better than mine and, however happy she was in the land of sports cars and dinner parties, I couldn’t believe she’d forget her roots...forget us.

  “So,” said Clarissa. “What are we drinking?” She studied the cocktail menu. “I feel the need for something crazy. It’s always wine or beer with Neil.”

  Neil. Six foot-something of Nordic god looks, biker leathers and BDSM kinkiness. The bad boy Dom to her rich girl sub. It was difficult to imagine two people with less in common...or who were better together. They’d completely failed to find a happy medium so were oscillating wildly between nights in biker bars (Clarissa the only woman there whose leather skirt was by DKNY) and nights at the ballet, theater or opera (Neil looked surprisingly good in a tux...and apparently there’d been some absolutely filthy goings-on in the opera box when he’d gotten bored).

  “I’m going to have a Cocktail, said Clarissa. Yes, Flicker really does serve a cocktail called Cocktail. “No. Wait. An Italian Job.”

  All the drinks in Flicker were movie themed. I usually had a Pretty Woman but that night I was more in the mood for a Long Kiss Goodnight. Or even The Godfather. Actually, no. No one orders The Godfather. Except Karen, once. I winced at the memory. “I’ll have a Long Kiss Goodnight,” I told Clarissa. “But we can’t drink. Not until everyone’s here.”

  Clarissa gave me a look. “We can always get another drink.”

  “No.” I felt oddly strong about it and I couldn’t explain why. The ritual of it seemed important, somehow. I wanted all of us to enjoy the moment together.

  Clarissa sighed. “Okay, okay. It’s your night. Hey, I see a cello.”

  I followed her gaze and, yes, through the window I could see the top of a cello case moving along the street, apparently by itself. Seconds later, Karen struggled through the door. The cello case strapped to her back seemed as big as she was, the top of it extending well past her head. I’d always said that, if she was ever in a blizzard, she could sacrifice the cello and shelter inside the empty case. She’d looked horrified at the idea.

  We held the case for her while she slipped out of the shoulder straps—it was a little like separating a tortoise from its shell. “You came straight from rehearsal?” I asked. Then I realized she was panting. “You didn’t walk?!”

  “Subway...four blocks...easier...cab…” she panted. She slumped into a chair, head lolling back.

  My heart swelled and I felt my eyes prickle. She’d raced all the way from the Lincoln Center just so she could be there for my big announcement. I gave her an impromptu hug. Nat might be getting more distant, but I’d always have Karen.

  We ordered drinks—Karen had a Pretty in Pink. She raised her glass.

  “Not yet,” I told her. “Everybody has to be here.”

  Karen nodded and put her glass down. She understood. And then, for some reason, she wriggled in her seat.

  “Neil’s getting ready to go away again,” said Clarissa suddenly.

  We all looked at her. She looked down at the table.

  “Where?” I asked.

  She slowly looked up at us.

  “You still don’t know where he goes?” I asked, trying not to sound horrified.

  “I know it’s...west,” Clarissa said hopefully.

  “We’re in New York. Anything’s ‘west!’”

  “I know it’s a long way away. He’s always gone for a week or two. He says it’s business, but he won’t say what, or where.” Her voice was growing strained, tears on the horizon. “I mean, I get why he can’t say what, because it’ll be something illegal, but why can’t he tell me where?”

  “You have to talk to him,” I said. Karen nodded.

  “It’s Neil. I can’t just light a candle and pour a glass of wine and ask him to open up,” said Clarissa. “I tried that. He drank the wine and then threw me on the couch, pulled my dress off and the candle got used for—” She blushed down to her roots.

  “How can you use a candle for—” Karen asked.

  “Not the candle. The wax,” said Clarissa.

  “How can you use candle wax for—”

  I whispered in her ear.

  “Oh!”

  “You’ve got to get some answers from him,” I told Clarissa. “Whatever it is, I bet it’s not as bad as you imagine.” Unless it is. What if he really is protecting her from something awful? What if she forces him to tell her and then can’t take the truth? From the look on Clarissa’s face, she was thinking the same thing. Was it better to know something bad about someone or suspect something worse? I looked around at the faces of my friends. What if the same thing happened with me, and my secret?

  “Do you think he has someone else?” asked Karen hesitantly.

  “He wouldn’t cheat on you,” I told Clarissa. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” I love that girl more than words can say, he’d once told me.

  Clarissa shook her head. “I can’t believe he’s cheating either,” she said. “But I have to know. I’m going to go with him.”

  “He’s going to say ‘no,’ again,” I said doubtfully.

  “I’ll insist.”

  That sounded as if it had the makings of a thermonuclear row, but at least with Neil and Clarissa the make-up sex would be unbelievable.

  “What did I miss?” Natasha was picking her way lithely between the tables toward us and, for the first time, I really relaxed. The gang was back together.

  “Thank God,” said Clarissa. “Jasmine wouldn’t let us drink.” She got Nat her usual Pretty Woman from the bar while we quietly filled her in on the Neil situation.

  When everyone had their cocktails, we finally raised our glasses. “To Blue & Red,” we all said together, and drank. And the moment felt good, despite all of the problems on the horizon with Ryan. This was it. My big break was happening and nothing, not even my past, could take that away from me. We sat there grinning at each other.

  “Actual TV,” said Nat, sounding awed. “And if it’s A.K. Dixon, it won’t be tucked away in some crappy slot on a backwater channel. We’re talking prime time cable.”

  “You’ll be a star. People will copy your hairstyles. People will ask for ‘A Jasmine,’” said Clarissa.

  “You could get an Emmy,” said Karen. “Foxtrot Company got 18 Emmys. 73 nominations. I checked.”

  “We don’t even know if it’ll get past the pilot,” I said. “They might just axe it.” But it was impossible not to be excited.

  Clarissa leaned in. “And you’re the love interest? With some hot actor? Who is it?”

  I hadn’t told them that part. I looked around the table, biting my lip. They’d all met Ryan and they all thought we were perfect for each other—especially Karen. If I told them, they’d want to know why on earth I was pushing him away, and I couldn’t explain that without coming
clean about my whole false life. How the hell do you tell your friends that the person they know is a lie?

  “He’s an unknown,” I said. “Actually, he’s a real cop. They have real cops in it, for...you know. Realism.”

  “Do you get to fire a gun?” asked Karen.

  OK, that was safer territory. “Apparently.”

  “Do you get to drive the cop car?” Clarissa wanted to know. “High speed chases?” Her eyes were gleaming at the thought. I’d been in her beloved BMW a few times and she drove seriously fast.

  “Maybe.”

  “Tell us more about the cop,” said Nat. Uh-oh.

  “Do you kiss him?” asked Clarissa.

  “Is there a love scene?” asked Nat.

  “We need a description,” said Karen. “Hair. Face. Muscles.”

  It was all slipping out of control. Then I saw Karen wriggle again. “Why do you keep wriggling?” I asked, eager to change the subject.

  Karen looked at the table. “Nothing. I don’t.” And then she wriggled again.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It’s just my...piercing.”

  “WHAT?!” we all chorused.

  “I’m not used to it yet. It keeps rubbing on things and—” She wriggled again.

  My eyes were bugging out. “You had something pierced?!” This was Karen. Karen getting a piercing was like...like...I couldn’t even think of an analogy. I’d normally use Karen getting a piercing as the analogy—that’s how out of character it was.

  “You had something pierced and you didn’t tell us?!” said Nat.

  “What? Where? Clit hood? Labia?” Clarissa was craning forward, as if she’d be able to see through Karen’s clothes if she only stared hard enough.

  “No! Just my bellybutton! And now every time my dress moves, it...tickles.”

  “Restroom,” I said. “Now.”

  In the restroom, Karen hoisted her dress up to her waist and we all examined the little silver ring with its tiny diamond dropper.