by Oliver, Tess
"I think that desert sun is already getting to you," I quipped.
He pointed at me. "Hey, and what do you know there is that smart-mouthed nineteen-year-old version of Jameson too. Now just shut up and listen cuz I'm the boss. I'm the fucking king of the desert, got that? As far as I'm concerned, I just witnessed the dress rehearsal for tonight's shoot. It just so happens the scene is remarkably similar, only without the avocado. This dress rehearsal was a success, so I expect to see it repeated in front of the camera."
"Jameson?" Harlow's small voice drifted across the space and landed directly on me. I stiffened and took a discrete step away from Kinsey. It was a move that hadn't escaped the director, who noticed every damn thing.
Sawyer's thick brows bunched together, then he swung back to look at Harlow. He turned back to me with his annoying, know it all sort of grin. "Well, well, I've just found the on and off switch."
Harlow reached us. Sawyer nodded to her. "Hello, Harlow. I was just telling Kiki and Jameson that I'm closing off tonight's shoot to necessary crew members only. We're behind and I can't let outside distractions slow us down." Her face fell as he spoke, and I was sure she was going to speak up to protest. "You're an actress so I'm sure you'll understand. Now, if you two haven't destroyed the taco bowl buffet, I'm going to fill up. We've got a long night ahead."
Harlow was already blinking back tears at being told she could not observe tonight's filming, but, upset as she was, she still managed to zero in on the fact that both Kinsey and I were draped in avocado.
While she stood there, trying to use her wide-eyed look and petite build to make her look and seem vulnerable as a lost kitten, she still managed to skewer Kinsey with an ice cold glower. "I don't understand." She switched on her sweet, innocent tone as she looked at me. "Why are you both covered in guacamole?"
Kinsey smiled. "You know how messy that stuff is. Excuse me." She scurried in a wide berth around the small, angry woman in the center of the room and left the tent so fast the flap waved like a sail on a windy day.
"Yep, I've got to head back to the trailer and shower so I can get over to wardrobe," I said.
"Did you eat something? And you still haven't explained why you're covered in—" she leaned closer and squinted. "Is that sour cream?"
"Might be." I was hyper aware that Sawyer was watching the entire exchange. "Are you coming back to the trailer? Otherwise, I highly recommend the guacamole," I said as I strutted toward the exit.
Harlow hurried behind me, catching up with me at the flap. She grabbed my arm, something she did to slow me down when my pace was too fast. This time, I kept right on walking with my long strides. She practically had to jog to keep up with me.
"I'm sure Sawyer wasn't talking to me when he said there couldn't be any outside observers tonight," she said airily between breaths.
I stopped cold and she nearly smacked into me.
"Are you trying to get me fired? Because, I think he was pretty clear, and since he said it directly to you, I'm pretty sure he meant you too. You need to stay in the trailer tonight."
I started up my brisk pace. She didn't even try and keep up. She fell far enough behind that I was certain she was trying to work up some tears to let me know just how badly I'd hurt her. She had given some Oscar worthy performances in the past few years, and I was getting tired of her bullshit.
I reached the trailer and started taking off my clothes to head into the shower.
"So, that's it then. You think you can just order me around and then rudely walk away." A sob followed, right on cue.
I opened the bathroom door. "Yeah, that's what I think, Harlow. Deal with it."
Twenty-One
Kinsey
Obviously I had to shake off a megaton of nervous energy. My usual hand shaking and pacing was hardly enough, and it was constrained by my small trailer. Shelby had fallen asleep on the short couch with her legs draped over the end and her book face down on her chest. The woman slept like a rock, even when I needed her. I tromped from one end of the trailer to the next.
"Who let in the herd of elephants?" Shelby asked groggily without opening her eyes.
I walked over to her, and, just like I used to do to my dad on Christmas morning, I used my thumb and forefinger to force open her eye. I stared straight into it. "I just had the biggest, weirdest fucking few minutes in the chow tent." I released her eye. It shut again. "Why do big, weird things always happen to me?" I continued my pacing. Shelby was right to make the elephant herd comparison. The safety latched cupboards in the kitchenette were falling open from the vibrations.
"Why? Because you usually start them." Shelby sat up with a hybrid grunt, yawn sort of noise.
"Ew, hope you don't make that noise when you wake up next to Grant." I circled back to her since it seemed she'd managed to pull herself out of the coma.
"Nope," Shelby said. "I wake up with soft, twittering sounds like a songbird and breath smelling like spearmint." She pushed the book aside. "And trust me, if you were sleeping on the other side of that bed in there like me, you'd be terrified at the noises coming out of you."
"Great. Now I'll never sleep next to a man again. Shut up and listen to my tale because, as you might have noticed, I'm going into a bit of a panic attack, and I have to be in hair and makeup soon."
"O.K. what weird ass thing happened this time? Alien sighting? They happen a lot out here in the desert."
I spun back to her.
Shelby looked me up and down. "Why are you wearing your dinner? Wait a minute—" She walked forward and ran her finger through a smear of sour cream. "I specifically told you no sour cream."
"Stop with the calorie stalking. It's on my t-shirt. I don't think I can gain weight through a cotton shirt. Now focus, Shel."
"Right, I'm focused. What happened?" She sat on the couch and folded her legs kindergarten style as if she had just sat down to story time.
"So, Jameson and I, we were joking around. He explained the whole Veronica thing, by the way, and it turns out I might have misjudged that and overreacted. But that's in the past."
Shelby blinked up at me. "Holy shit."
"There's more."
"Maybe I should pour myself some wine," she suggested.
"Focus, remember. So, we got into this silly food fight. I squirted the hot sauce and threw some rather inconsequential lettuce. Then, I moved on to sour cream, and before I knew it, he had me clasped against him as he smeared guacamole on my face."
"Oh, that makes sense now. I thought you put on a facial mask and forgot to wash it off." She tilted her head. "Yes, I see it now. Avocado and bits of cilantro, I think. So, the two of you were engaged in what seemed to be a very flirty food fight."
I nodded. "It did get kind of warm in the room, that's for sure. Then Sawyer came in like a bear." I leaned back and put out my chest. "What. The. Fuck. And I better see this tonight and static electricity, something about the tent collapsing." I was using my hands to move my words along.
"Uh, you lost me at fuck. What are you babbling about?"
"Not important, although Sawyer sure was making a big deal about it. The big, weird thing that happened was that—" I fanned my face to cool the heat. "How the hell many times am I going to blush like a damn school girl today? Anyhow, Jameson had his arm around me, pulling my back against him as he smeared green crap on my face and then Sawyer came in with his grumpy grizzly impersonation. It took Jameson forever to let me go, and when he did, I could swear his hand sort of smoothed down my belly." I demonstrated, although it probably wasn't necessary. And the even crazier thing was I reacted—physically, if you know what I mean."
"Please, no demonstrations. I get it. He touched you and you reacted. Well, you've always told me that he was still your best when it came to hot sex. Maybe you're just horny because it's been awhile since, well, you know."
I grabbed a paper towel and wet it to wipe dried crap off my face. "Yeah, do you think so? You're right. Maybe I'm just horny." I turned toward
the chrome toaster to get a look at my reflection. A couch pillow smacked into my back sending my forehead into the kitchen cabinet.
"Ouch." I rubbed the sore spot. "Why did you that?"
"Because you're an idiot and sometimes you need your head bonked. Although, I really just meant to hit you with the pillow. The cupboard was an accident." She got off the couch and walked to the fridge for a piece of ice for the red spot.
I leaned back and pressed the ice against it. "Why am I an idiot?"
"You didn't react because you're horny. What are you—some twenty something, testosterone filled college dorm dickhead? You reacted because it was Jameson. You just told me a whole mess of important shit that came from the director, but the thing that has you flummoxed is Jameson holding his hand against you longer than he should have. Face it, you're still hot in the panties for the man."
"Yuck, what a creepy thing to hear from my best friend's mouth." I dropped the ice in the sink. "I'm sure I'm overreacting anyhow. Let's forget the whole thing, and please, never use the word hot in a sentence about my panties again."
She shrugged and pulled the wine out of the refrigerator. "You brought it up, and I think you know I'm right. But I know you have to go to work, so I'm just going to settle onto the couch with this wine and my book and let you be the movie star."
"Good idea. I guess I've got to shower now. While I'm in there, naked and wet and soapy, I am definitely not going to be thinking about the way Jameson touched me. Nope, that will not cross my mind even once."
Twenty-Two
Jameson
I stared at the script in my lap while Gina tried to make my hair look as if I'd been standing on a dusty, windswept prairie for days. I'd left an angry, pouting Harlow behind in the trailer. She had pulled out the dozen or so bridal magazines that she'd dragged along. She had them spread out on the small kitchen table as she perused each one for her 'perfect wedding dress'. I supposed she'd decided it was a good time to haul them out and remind me we were committed to each other. I had to push it all out of my head. I needed to do this thing right or risk losing my career for good. I wondered if that would even be such a bad thing.
A text beeped through on my phone. It was Drake. The lucky fucker was in Hawaii doing stunts for a disaster movie about a volcano. Just what the world needed—more hypothetical disasters when we had plenty of real ones. "Are you killing it on the romance set?" he texted.
"Killing it but not in the way you think." I hadn't needed a stunt double for this flick. The few action scenes had mostly to do with wind and dust, so Marley worked it out in the contract that I would do them. Now, if a body double would just come in and film the rest of the movie for me.
"I'll have to call you later and find out just what the fuck is going on with my movie star twin. Got to go. About to jump into a pit of lava. Later."
"Later."
A lava pit sounded inviting. Sawyer had lost his mind in the food tent, telling us to repeat what he saw but without the avocado. I'd tried to deny it for the first half hour after the food fight incident, but the truth was, I'd felt the chemistry too. It had been there all the time. Kinsey was still the fun, easy going girl I fell in love with on the Kisses set. It was impossible not to flirt with her, to laugh with her, to hang with her. But when I had her in my grasp, holding her body against mine, I wanted to keep touching her. I had a hard time letting her go.
Gina leaned back to look at her handiwork. "That's as rugged as you're going to get, cowboy. Anyhow, with your looks, nobody is going to be paying much attention to your hair."
"Thanks, Gina. I'll try not mess up my windswept look as I head over to the set." I got up from the chair just as the door to the trailer opened.
Kinsey stood in the doorway, in costume, a loose fitting, worn cotton dress with a scoop neck that just teased a glance of her cleavage. She had her script tucked under her arm just like me. There was an awkward pause, and she looked as if she wanted to back up and pretend she hadn't been standing in the doorway.
"Dust Bowl farm wife is a good look for you," I said quickly to ease the tension. It was the last thing we needed before filming this next scene.
She blushed and smiled down at the dress. "Thanks. I was thinking it sort of suits me too."
I sensed Rocky and Gina pairing up and standing behind us to witness the stiff exchange.
"I see you managed to wash off the avocado," I said.
She reached up to her cheek. Suddenly, my fingers curled in with the urge to touch that same cheek.
Rocky forced a fake cough. "Well, I'd love to continue watching whatever the hell this is, but I need to get Kiki looking like a rustic so . . ."
I nodded. "Yep, I've got to get to the set. We're filming two scenes between the brothers first." The trailer was narrow and there were shelves filled with product on one side and oversized salon chairs on the other. Kinsey and I had no choice but to slip past each other at a hair's breadth.
She shyly dropped her face and stared down at our feet. At the last possible second, she glanced up and our gazes caught. There was a tiny smile on her lips. My arm brushed against hers as we finally passed each other.
Rocky was leaning against his vanity. "Well, that was interesting," he said before patting his chair. "Sit your cute little ass down, Kiki. We've got work to do."
Twenty-Three
Kinsey
I looked at Gina and Rocky in the mirror reflection. They were both scrutinizing me, and it had nothing to do with getting ready for the shoot. "If both of you are finished staring brazenly at me in between flashing each other secret, knowing glances, then I'd like to focus on my script."
Rocky pressed his hand against his chest. "What on earth are you talking about? Why, you'd think some odd, awkward exchange had just happened between you and your leading man or something. Oh, wait, that did happen."
"I don't want to talk about it. It'll just get me flustered, and I've—we've got to nail this scene tonight or I'm packing up and heading east to Ma and Pa's."
The two artists had a good laugh and got to work making me into Cassandra Biggs. I decided to read the diary entry that went along with the part once more to make sure I had it deep in my brain. It was the first real conversation Cassie had with Nate. It was short, sweet and quite the doozy.
* * *
Dear diary, my one true friend, I feel I've been neglecting you. You'll have to forgive me. I have not been myself. No, indeed, I've been someone completely different. It is as if the old Cassandra no longer exists, and a new, cotton calico clad Cassie has stepped into her shoes. Only, not her good shoes with the shiny patent leather, kitten heels and sparkly silver buckles. I've switched to an entirely more practical, albeit highly unattractive pair of flat leather slip ons. I'm starting to rather like their ease and comfort, and I no longer have to worry about getting my heel stuck between the rough hewn, haphazardly placed floorboards in the farmhouse. I have, in my two short weeks as mistress of this very humble home, been slowly finding my way around. I've even learned how to feed chickens and collect eggs without too much drama. However, I've determined that the resident rooster, who seems to think he owns not only the hens but the entire farmyard, is the feathered spawn of a demon. He scares me to death, but I've found I can generally fend him off with a broom.
Tom's mother, the late Mrs. Biggs, had collected all her recipes in an old cardboard box. I am slowly learning how not to destroy the small amounts of food Tom brings from the market. Fortunately, growing up, Mother liked to get her hands 'dirty' in the kitchen. Much to the dismay of the cook. Whenever she decided she had the urge to cook something special like a roast, a pumpkin pie or a tray of gingerbread, I joined in as her little assistant. That limited experience has helped me some.
Tom does not converse much, and he leaves me mostly alone to figure things out. I find I rather like learning the ins and outs of farm life on my own, and while there is hardly anything that could be called affection or quality time between us, Tom is fine wi
th letting me make a few changes in the kitchen. As he put it, the kitchen is my domain. Lucky me. My domain consists of an oil wick cooking stove that gives off a burning odor that occasionally seeps into the food, splintered counters and a large pine work table that is so scarred from knives and the previous cook, Mrs. Biggs, I presume, I actually lost a small tomato in one of the cracks last evening while I attempted to cook a stew. Mrs. Biggs collected every size and shape of pan, both iron and pounded metal, which has been helpful considering how often I burn the food and have to let the pan soak for days just to clean it.
My proudest achievement, so far, has been a pair of sweet floral kitchen curtains, sewn by my very hand, from a dress I knew I would never wear again. It is my first personal touch. I find myself opening, shutting, plumping and just admiring them in general. Far too often, considering the number of chores on my list of which curtain fluffing is not one of them.
But on to the more profound part of tonight's entry. Tom has fallen fast asleep and is snoring with great ease as I write this. Knowing how tightly he sleeps has made it easier for me to write about an encounter I had in the late afternoon. Tom had taken the truck into town for supplies, leaving me alone on the farm. Only I'm never truly alone because That Man is always present. While he no longer lives in the house, (the ending to a volatile scene when we first arrived where the two brothers shouted at each other while That Man carried an old blanket, a mattress and a pile of dusty clothes and boots out to the barn. He decided the hay loft was a far more inviting place to stay than his parents' farmhouse.) it was easy to deduce that his exodus from the house had to do with me since I was the only thing different that evening, but I tried not to be insulted. At the same time, I was relieved to the point of near collapse that Tom's brother would not be living in the same house. I couldn't pinpoint the exact cause of my profound relief, but I was sure it had nothing to do with the fact that every inch of me seemed to react, either positively or negatively, I couldn't pinpoint that either, to his presence. He was a man who seemed to fill a room, seemed to require all the oxygen going his direction. Or at least that was what I decided was the reason for me feeling so out of breath and lightheaded with him near.