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Likely Story!

Page 25

by David Levithan


  To my surprise, the day’s shoot started off pretty well. We spent the waking hours going from setup to setup on and around the bridge. We shot Javier’s beauty shots first. Then Alexis did an admirable job of projecting innocent, doe-eyed expressions that also projected a sultry inner life. From the way she tilted her jaw to the camera and looked up under her eyebrows, I knew my mother had been giving her pointers.

  That left us with Dallas. When he arrived on set, everything seemed fine. He was in a wet suit and looking, I might add, damn fine. His attitude left something to be desired, though it seemed to warm when he learned I was in charge. We got off the first few shots of Dallas walking down the beach, framed gorgeously by the rising peaks of the surrounding mountains. The sun was just behind him, giving his hair that ethereal glow one associates with the angel Gabriel.

  “That sound you hear is the sound of a million teenage girls falling in love,” one of the camera operators joked.

  For me, it didn’t feel like a joke.

  Even Richard seemed pleased.

  “I think you’ve captured it,” he said. And I was a little relieved that I wasn’t the only one who was seeing it.

  The only person who didn’t seem to get it was Frieda Weiner.

  “That’s nice,” she said, “but I think we should try it shirtless, too.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said, remembering what had happened at the photo shoot.

  “Oh, but I do,” Frieda Weiner said with the falsest smile she could muster. “We don’t have to use it, but I want to try it.”

  “Sounds fair to me,” Richard chimed in.

  But Dallas doesn’t want to take his shirt off, I wanted to say. And then I realized: That was a pretty lame reason not to try the shot. I couldn’t spend my whole time on the show defending Dallas, especially when I knew what the audience wanted: sexy boys wearing next to nothing. Alexis in a bikini made no sense, storywise. But Dallas with his shirt off kind of did. We had to see why Sarah and Jacqueline were so attracted to Ryan—and this would be a way to do it in the opening credits.

  Everyone was looking at me now. Richard. Frieda. Francesca. Alexis. Javier. The crew. And Dallas. I tried to read the expression on his face, but it was a closed book.

  “Fine,” I said. “But just because we tape it doesn’t mean we’ll use it.”

  I could tell from the look on Francesca’s face that I’d made the wrong choice. But Dallas—well, suddenly Dallas looked happy. Or, at the very least, mischievous. Coyly, he reached for the zipper of his wet suit.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  Dallas unzipped the wet suit, and at first there was just the barest line of skin exposed. The zipper went all the way down, and I realized I had no idea what he was wearing underneath. If anything.

  I couldn’t help but think of what Javier had said before.

  Oh, honey, I’ve already seen it in wardrobe a hundred times. And let me tell you, he has hair in all the right places.

  There it was, that glimpse of chest hair. Then Dallas was unzipped, and he started to pull the wet suit off his shoulders.

  I forgot to breathe.

  There they were—his shoulders, his chest, just the right amount of hair, and … writing.

  Yes, writing.

  Black marker writing. All across his torso. Scrawled.

  THIS BODY WASN’T MEANT TO SELL

  TV SHOWS.

  I’M NOT YOUR OBJECT.

  IF YOU’RE READING THIS, I SHOULD

  BE HOME BY NOW.

  Some of the crew laughed. Alexis giggled nervously. Francesca shook her head. Frieda’s lips pursed into a straight line that was tighter than her last face-lift. Javier stared and fumbled for his camera phone.

  Dallas had stopped unzipping at his waist.

  “Do you want me to continue?” he asked, looking straight at Frieda Weiner.

  “No,” she said. “I think that’s more than enough.”

  I was relieved that he’d asked her the question, not me. But after he zipped the wet suit back on, he shot me a look that was pure disappointment. I’d given in again, and had sold him out. The rejection might have been for Frieda Weiner, but the writing—well, the writing had been for me.

  And now Richard was looking at me. And his meaning was clear: You wanted to be in charge, so now you are in charge, and the next move is yours. How are you going to handle this?

  “What the hell are you doing?” I bellowed at the top of my lungs. I didn’t need the megaphone to be heard.

  Dallas looked surprised, then shrugged. “Sorry, I got a little upset last night. I wasn’t thinking.”

  I shook my head in despair. I thought about my options. I could get Javier back in for a chest shot. I was sure he’d jump at the chance to display his wares, but it all seemed pointless now.

  “Dallas, why are you working so hard to sabotage this show?”

  I asked this calmly, not at all hysterical. Dallas started to respond, as if to explain himself, but then he clammed up. Instead, he said coldly, “Are we going to do this or not?”

  “We’re not going to do this,” I said. “Any of it.” I turned around to face the crew. “We’re moving on, folks. Let’s set up Francesca now.”

  When I turned back to face Dallas to try and figure out what on earth was going through his head, I found that he had already started back to the van. Alexis ran after him, which only pissed off Francesca more.

  “Thanks, Dallas!” I shouted out.

  He stopped in his tracks and looked back. He looked really sad and defeated. He looked a lot like I felt.

  But I had more shots to get in the can and we were losing the light. No time for mourning now.

  The rest of the shooting went as well as it could. For whatever reason, Frieda Weiner wasn’t as adamant on sexing Francesca up, so she stopped interfering. Richard and I even had time to scout out some scenes for future exterior shots, in case the network would let us go back on location.

  I was exhausted when we were through. Dinner was being served in the dining room, but I ordered room service instead. I didn’t want to see Dallas, and the thought of a conversation with the cloying Alexis made me nauseous. In the few moments when I stopped thinking about the show, I thought instead about how Keith was probably going to break up with me when I got home. My whole life was going down the drain and I hadn’t even taken the SATs yet.

  I was about to fall asleep while watching PBS when my room phone rang. It was Javier.

  “Hey, girl, whatcha doing?”

  “Writing a suicide note,” I replied dryly.

  “Is it good?”

  “Getting there.”

  “You’ve been holed up in your room all night. Why don’t you come to my room? We can watch Saturday Night Live together.”

  “I don’t know, Javier. I’m zonked,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

  “Come on. Let’s have some girl talk.”

  I guess it wasn’t doing me any good to sit alone in my room sulking and feeling sorry for myself. So I agreed.

  A few minutes later I found myself knocking on Javier’s door. He opened the door with a goofy grin.

  “Hey-y-y,” he said. “Come on in.”

  Somehow, Javier had managed to make his lodge room look like he’d lived in it for months … and hadn’t cleaned once. It also had the herbal scent of my second stepfather’s “meditation room.” He gestured for me to have a seat on the bed, then cleared off his American Apparel briefs so I would feel at home.

  “Long day, huh?” he asked as he flopped on the bed beside me. “Dallas is quite the downer. Although now it seems like he’s got company.”

  “Company?” I asked.

  “Yeah. He’s next door. And it sounds like there’s a love scene going on.”

  He grabbed a water glass from his nightstand and handed me one from the bathroom sink. He put his up to the wall and started listening more closely, but I refrained.

  “I think they�
�re talking dirty to each other.”

  “Who?”

  “I guess Dallas and Francesca are back together.”

  “They are!?” I exclaimed. I put my glass to the wall, but all I could hear were murmurs. A boy murmur and a girl murmur.

  “I guess she’s not mad anymore,” I said.

  “Who could stay mad at a hunk like that?” Javier asked rhetorically.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Javier went to open it. Greg was standing there, looking like he’d just spent some quality time fixing himself up.

  “Hey!” he said to Javier. Then he saw me in the room and looked confused.

  “Mallory!” he covered quickly. “I didn’t know you were here!”

  He walked in and hovered awkwardly. I noticed that Javier didn’t gesture for him to sit down the way he had with me.

  “What’re you doing?” Greg asked.

  “Spying on Dallas and Francesca,” Javier answered.

  The phone rang. Javier looked surprised when he heard the voice on the other end, then said to come on over.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” he teased.

  A minute later, there was another knock.

  “Well, well, well,” Javier said as he answered it. “If it isn’t our raven-haired beauty.”

  In pranced Francesca, looking fresh and friendly. “What’s going on, guys?”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, pressing my ear again to the wall of Dallas’s suite. “If you’re here, who’s in there?”

  For some reason neither Francesca, Greg, Javier, nor I was able to wrap our heads around the obvious.

  “We’ve got to find out!” Javier said. And that’s how Greg and I each came to be holding on to one of Javier’s legs while he dangled over his balcony to see inside Dallas’s window.

  “If you told me yesterday I’d be re-enacting some Three Stooges maneuver in order to spy on Dallas, I wouldn’t have believed you,” I said to Greg as we strained to keep Javier from falling two stories into the bushes.

  “Beats watching J.Lo in Maid in Manhattan, which is what I was doing before this,” Francesca said with a wee bit of ice in her voice.

  “I think syphilis beats that movie,” Greg huffed.

  We returned our full attention to Javier as he tried to perform his Mission: Impossible.

  “Can you see anything?” I whispered.

  “Almost,” he said as he inched himself farther over the railing. “This is a hell of an abs workout.” Then he gasped. “Pull me back, pull me back!”

  Greg and I tumbled backward, pulling Javier with us. We all ended up in a heap at Francesca’s feet.

  “So? What did you see?” she asked, with the kind of chill that turns waterfalls into icicles and men into castrati.

  Javier took a deep breath. “Dallas is in there, all right. And he’s not alone.”

  “Who’s with him?” I asked.

  “Alexis,” said Francesca. “It’s Alexis, isn’t it?”

  Javier nodded. “And Bingo was his name-oh.”

  “They could be rehearsing,” I said. “You know, a love scene. If only we could hear what they’re saying …”

  “Well, it had moved a little beyond talking, if you know what I mean,” Javier said, enjoying himself thoroughly.

  I wasn’t at all prepared for this.

  “I guess he’s finally made new friends,” I said to Francesca.

  She shook her head. “Not the ones I wanted.”

  I touched her arm in a vague sign of female solidarity.

  Suddenly, we heard the door to his room open—then close.

  “Was that a slam?” Javier asked.

  “No,” Francesca said. “That was just a goodbye.”

  “Drama!” Javier proclaimed. But he seemed to be the only one in the mood for it. Sensing this, he said, “I’m thinking the party’s over?”

  “Did it ever really start?” Greg asked. Something was clearly bothering him.

  “Are you going to talk to Dallas?” I asked Francesca.

  “No,” she said. “Why would I? He can make his own mistakes.”

  Before I could ask if she was okay, she was making excuses and leaving.

  Javier yawned.

  “We get the hint,” Greg said.

  “Thanks for a great time,” I added. “And the use of your glasses.”

  “Hey! It’s not my fault Romeo over there decided to show Juliet the writing on his bod.”

  Just the mention of Romeo made my heart break a little wider, and I found myself falling into the gap that the break had caused.

  “Escape spot?” I asked Greg as we left Javier’s room.

  “Escape spot,” he replied.

  The escape spot was exactly what the name promised: a deep pause in the world, away from lights and voices. We walked there in silence, and at first we stayed there in silence, guarded by the trees and the unseen river that ran beneath the overlook. There was a wooden railing meant to keep us from falling, but it seemed beside the point. Anyone who wanted to jump could still jump. And anyone who wanted to stay could still stay.

  “Did you know that I haven’t even graduated college?” Greg asked, looking out into the darkness. “I started interning at the network when I was a sophomore, and they convinced me to stay. I take night classes so I can eventually get my diploma.”

  “Did you know that I’ve lost pretty much all of my high school friends?” I asked him back. “Not just Amelia. All the other girls who came with the territory, who I thought were friends. When the territory changed, they went with it.”

  “Did you know that I still live at home?” Greg said, still staring out into the unknown. “Did you know that I have to leave my house at five in the morning every day and that I usually come home at midnight?”

  “Did you know that my middle name is Sarah?”

  “Did you know that my middle name is Percy?”

  I laughed. “Percy?”

  He looked at me. “Don’t ask.”

  “Did you know that my boyfriend is about to break up with me over this show?”

  “Did you know that I like both girls and boys?”

  This one seemed to require an answer. “I didn’t know that,” I said. “But that’s cool.”

  “Did you know that I kissed Javier last night, and that he then told me it was probably a mistake?”

  Now I understood what had just happened. Greg had thought he was getting a second chance, but he wasn’t.

  “Did you know that you deserve much, much more than a guy like Javier?” I asked.

  “Did you know that even if I did know I deserve more than that, it still haunts me that I can’t at least have it?”

  I stepped closer to him and leaned on his shoulder. I could hear the river now.

  “Did you know that I’m a total mess?” I asked.

  “Did you know you’re not alone?”

  “Did you know I’m probably in love with two guys at the same time? I mean, I know that’s not allowed. But it’s how I feel. I honestly don’t know what to do. I love Keith. But just now, when Dallas was with Alexis—it wouldn’t have hurt me so much if I wasn’t feeling something for him. None of it would hurt so much.”

  He leaned his head on top of mine.

  “Did you know it’s not completely crazy for you to be in love with two guys at the same time?”

  “But I have to choose, right?”

  I felt him nod. “Yes, you’ll have to choose. Or the choice will be made for you. And by that point the choice is usually neither.”

  Was that what Keith was doing—making the choice for me? Was that what I wanted?

  “Did you know that Dallas wants off the show?” I asked.

  “Did you know that if that’s true, you might have to let him go?”

  “Did you know that I’m not ready to face that?”

  “Did you know you might not have any alternative?”

  “Did you know you smell nice?”<
br />
  “Did you know that’s just deodorant?”

  “Did you know I don’t care?”

  “Did you know how glad I am you don’t care?”

  I reached my arm around him.

  “Did you know how glad I am that you’re here?” I asked.

  He moved his arm around me. “Did you know how glad I am that you’re here?”

  This is, I suppose, another thing about escape spots: They give you a clearing so you can say to yourself, Okay, I can do this.

  If I didn’t know that before, I did now.

  Except for a reassuring warmth between me and Greg, on-set relations went arctic the next day. No one spoke much. Dallas was withdrawn. Francesca was a paler version of herself, as if all the caring had been drained right out. On top of that, she barely ever came within fifty yards of Dallas. Trying to wrangle her into a group shot was like chasing a lizard blindfolded.

  Alexis, on the other hand, was always looking at Dallas. He didn’t seem to notice. Typical guy. Javier was the only one in a mildly cheery mood, and I’m pretty sure that’s just because he loved the drama of it all. And he was only too happy to take his shirt off. “This one’s for you, Greg,” he joked at one point. Greg seemed mortified, and as punishment I made Javier shoot his next few shirtless shots in the freezing water underneath the bridge.

  We managed to get most of the shots I wanted, which is a rarity on any set, let alone one as chronically dysfunctional as ours. Bizarrely, Dallas’s broodiness worked in the group shots, and the body tension between him, Francesca, and Alexis was palpable.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Richard said, “but it’s working.”

  For a second, I wondered if he’d planned it all.

  Frieda Weiner kept muttering about Dallas’s attitude problem, and when she called Trip to check in, she made sure to tell him about that. (Since Greg had to put all the calls through, I had a direct line to their conversations.)

  I avoided having any moments alone with Dallas, and he seemed to be avoiding having moments alone with me. I had no idea what he was thinking anymore, and I was torn between caring and feeling like I shouldn’t care at all.

 

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