Contents
Disclaimer
Starring Me and You
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events depicted are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real life individuals or events is purely coincidental.
Copyright 2017 by Ella Bradshaw.
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Starring Me and You
CHAPTER ONE
Nate
Cameras flash and a name is shouted. The same name, over and over again in different voices, each cry more desperate to be acknowledged than the last. The hottest name in Hollywood right now. It just happens to belong to me.
“Nate! Nate over here! Wanna tell us about the new movie?” The flash of the cameras is blinding as I wade through the crowd, my entourage in tow. These leeches can’t get enough of me. I barely have enough space to light a cigarette as I’m hurried along. Someone caught wind of the hotel I was staying in and the press appeared from nowhere. That’s what always happened. An idiot photographer would spot me and a thousand others would appear beside them. I should have been used to it by now.
“It’s shit,” I stopped and lit my cigarette. My agent, Sheila sighed behind me as I made an embarrassment out of her once again. I’d promised her I wouldn’t talk, but god damn it, it was so much fun. Besides, it was a good deed if you thought about it. Nate McCoy, A-list movie star does something crazy or says something controversial. Imagine how much these reporters would get paid just for saying what I had done and maybe snapping a picture or two. It was like leaving a server a big tip at a restaurant. I had always been a big tipper. I’d give these fuckers exactly what they wanted.
The crowd went wild and the questions became more and more excited and rapid fire.
“You don’t like the movie? Can you tell us why?” said one. I smirked. Shelia tried to hurry me along. I didn’t go for the whole bodyguard thing. When you’re six feet three inches and in peak fitness, you don’t really need that kind of protection. I could fight my own battles. In fact, I frequently did. There had been a few court cases over the years. Nothing major. I didn’t get my kicks from knocking people around. But if some punk ass director or tabloid photographer got in my face then damn sure I was gonna knock his lights out. The funny thing was that this made the ladies cream their panties even more than usual. That was saying something. Usually, all I had to do was say ‘hi’ and they were already undressing for me. So boring.
“Issues with co-stars maybe? Care to comment of the budding romance between you and your co star?” A microphone was shoved in my face. An affair with my co star? Where could I even start.
“Which co star?” I said, before taking a drag of my cigarette. These idiots were so easy to get riled up. I hadn’t even messed around with anyone on that damn movie set because they were all so insufferable. If I had to hear one more conversation about online followers or their tiny pedigree dogs I would retire from movies forever. These people had nothing in common with me and I certainly didn’t have anything in common with them. At the end of the day, I got paid to pretend I liked them while we were filming and then I fucked off once the director yelled cut. Don’t screw around with actresses, I always advised the dorky interns who stared at my co stars in awe, They’re all nuts.
“Nate! Nate! Nate!” a journalist who looked like she couldn’t be older than a high school junior forced her way to the crowd until she was in front of me, “How does it feel to use women and dispose of them like garbage? I work for Life University magazine and we have an exclusive with one of your old flames. She said that you promised her the world and then she caught you in bed with two other women. Any comments?”
I shrugged. That could have been any number of girls I had dated over the last few years. I used the term ‘dated’ loosely too. Nate McCoy didn’t date. Nate McCoy got what he wanted, then moved on to the next girl before the last chick got boring. It was a simple system but it had worked for me so far. Promises were never made though, I was no cheater. If anyone ended up getting hurt it was their own fault. Play with fire and don’t be surprised if you get burned.
“I can’t remember.”
“Nate,” grunted Sheila, “Let’s get in the limo and go!”
A girl who looked like your typical Hollywood bimbo got in my face before I could move another inch. She was the whole nine yards. Tall and thin with a perfectly applied false tan and fingernails so long that I couldn’t imagined how she functioned with them in her day-to-day life.
“What do you want, sweet cheeks?” I winked at her. She was the kind of her girl that reminded me of a cold beer you would get at a mediocre bar. Nice before you had too much experience, but once you were at my level nothing new and exciting. I could give or take her. At the same time, sleeping with her would be the kindest thing to do. It would make her day and she could write a sweet article on me. It would be selfish of me not to. Too bad I’d been going through a dry patch lately. Not that I wasn’t getting offers every day. Of course I was. What girl wouldn’t want Hollywood’s hottest star on the rise to take them to bed? Years of screwing around had worn me out. What had been thrilling at first now felt like a chore. Sex had become nothing more than a need that I needed to fill every so often. Like drinking or sleeping, with more drama.
The girl didn’t smile.
“Is it true that your erratic behavior has caused you to be blacklisted for future movie roles? Are you worried about how this will affect your career? A Walk in the Rain sees you playing a widower with a heart of gold who falls in love with a terminally ill woman. Won’t it be difficult for audiences to conceive of this good guy role when your bad boy image is so cemented into our psyches?” she asked. Jesus Christ. What happened to the days where you just got asked what you were wearing and who you were fucking? Was there no boundaries anymore? Fuck. She had touched on a lot in just a few sentences. Most of it bullshit, but still. I wasn’t exactly black balled, but I’d heard that a few directors were refusing to work with me. It was funny when I first heard it. However, it turned out a lot of a-list actresses weren’t so happy about me working with them either. I tended to do this thing where I made their heart melt in my attempt to get their panties off and smashed it into little pieces before they even had a chance to realize what was going on. It was my main talent besides acting. I had broken a few hearts and a lot of those girls didn’t want to see me ever again. A few more actresses would be happy to work with me but their husbands and boyfriends didn’t approve. I couldn’t say I blamed them. I had always maintained that the steady relationship I was infringing on couldn’t be that steady if they wanted to be with me. Like I said, I didn’t cheat, but in the past my partner’s relationship status had never concerned me. It wasn’t like I spent much time getting to know them. I was only a catalyst to the inevitable break up.
I looked the girl right in the eyes. The other journalists and photographers were staring at me now, wondering what the hell I could say back to her. Sheila rubbed her migraine lotion into her temples. Her doctor maintained that the migraines were a result of stress. She instead insisted that they were a result of dealing with my bullshit.
“Listen, sweetheart. I don’t know what you’ve heard but I promise you it’s bullshit from some bitch ass director or screenwriter with a stick up their ass just because I turned down their shitty movie. As for me being a bad boy, well,” I grinned, “Everyone loves a bad boy.”
I winked at her before Sheila finally had enough. She grabbed my arm and pulled me through the rest of the crowd until we were in the back of the limo. People pounded at the windows
as it was pulling away, still desperate to ask me more questions. They couldn’t get enough. Story of my life.
Darcy
My whole life had revolved around one thing and one thing only. That was my career.
In high school, while my friends were having their first kisses and being felt up at parties I'd locked myself in my bedroom, binge watching German impressionist films and eating cookies. Prom night was spent in a pair of fuzzy pajamas, sipping a hot chocolate as I got my thoughts on movies together. I didn't have a sip of alcohol in college. I graduated with a degree in journalism with a minor in film studies and my virginity in tact. Oh, and a movie review blog that struggled to make one hundred hits a day.
Getting a job at Buzz magazine was like a dream come true. At least, that was what I’d thought. A few months in and I was a wreck. All of my friends home in Tennessee were jealous. Sure, an unpaid internship wasn’t exactly ideal, but I was moving to LA! How could I not make it big there? Why, I’d be attending all the movie premieres and getting paid big money in no time. I was too talented, too determined and ambitious for no one to take notice.
"Daisy!" called Tim, one of the celebrity news contributors, "Did you put sugar in my coffee?"
I jumped. His voice always startled me. I'd been refilling the ink in one of the office printers but pissing off Tim was not appealing to me.
"Oh, didn't you want sugar?" I asked, turning around. I knew better than to tell him my name was Darcy. If he didn’t know that by now he never would. He scowled at me from where he was hunched over his laptop. Tim always had sugar. Black coffee, two sugars. I’d learned everyone’s preference off by now. That, along with how to fix a jammed copy machine, were about the only skills I’d managed to pick up so far.
"No, I told you, I'm on a diet." he said, giving my own physique a withering look. He didn't say it but I knew what he wanted to add 'maybe you should try it too'. Back home in Tennessee I was always considered petite. By anyone else’s standards, including the standards of medical science, that’s what I was. However, when six foot tall models with their body weight in the double digits passed through the office every day, anyone would look strange in comparison.
"I'm so sorry." I said, reaching for his cup. He waved my hand away.
"No, no Daisy it's too late now. I'm going to have to deal with it. Just don't make the mistake again, OK?" he said. I nodded eagerly, my cheeks flushing red. I couldn’t remember ever getting in trouble at school. Somehow, everything I did here was wrong.
"I won't Sir." I said. The 'Sir', just slipped out but it made Tim groan.
"I told you, I'm not Sir. I'm Tim. Drop the Southern crap, you're in Los Angeles now!"
My Tennessee charm didn't seem to work one bit. Not that it had worked that well back home. I'd always been the shy, weird girl with the pretty face and awkward demeanor. I'd never gotten much attention and things were no different since I moved to the big city. I'd imagined a new, glamorous life where I wrote award winning film reviews for Buzz and looked great in designer dresses and flocks of handsome, cultured men competed for my attention. For the past six months I'd made coffee, done general office slavery and the only thing I'd written for the magazine were a few captions and the table of contents.
The office itself was open plan and trendy. Music blasted as these cool, interesting people typed furiously between giving each other bedroom eyes. Tim was the oldest, a crossfitter in his thirties with darting eyes who frowned every time I looked in his direction. Savannah was the graphic designer and looked like an undiscovered supermodel, with her swimsuit body and glossy brown skin. Other journalists came and went, each of them more sophisticated and beautiful than I could ever be. Then there was me in my little skater skirts and blouses, trying desperately not to try too hard but failing miserably every time.
Two of the most stunning journalists in the office, Sandy and Tasha, perched on Tasha’s desk and read something together. Tim was constantly checking the two girls out and I couldn’t blame him. They looked more like models than journalists, but they had the brains to go with it. Not that any guy wanted them for their brains of course.
“Hey guys, what’s so interesting?” I said. They looked at me like I was a dirty dog that had just entered the room without warning.
“Nothing,” snapped Tasha, “It wouldn’t interest you.”
“Yeah, it’s big kid stuff,” said Sandy. I felt myself turning red. I hated the way they talked to me but telling them to buzz off wasn’t exactly an option now, was it? Not if I wanted to hang on to my internship. I was only barely hanging on as it was, if the feedback I was getting was anything to go by. Still, I stood my ground. The girls would never respect me if I was submissive.
“Come on. You guys are laughing, tell me,” My skin prickled at the thought that they might be laughing at me. It wouldn’t be the first time and it probably wouldn’t be the last time either. If I wanted to be laughed at I could have stayed at home.
Tasha rolled her eyes and turned the computer screen around.
“Do you know Nate McCoy?” she said. Well, of course I did. He was one of the biggest action stars in Hollywood right now. Most of his films grossed well over the billion mark and his own net worth was rumored to rapidly approaching the billion as well.
“Yeah. He’s a movie star.”
“Very good. Well, I got tape of him hitting on me yesterday and it’s going to be front and center of the website,” Tasha looked quite proud of herself, “All the rumors say that he’s a complete scumbag and he’ll fuck anything that moves. Well, anything pretty.”
She gave me a withering look. Sandy laughed.
“And he’s promoting a freaking romantic drama at the moment, can you believe it? Bad move. His manager needs to be fired. Jeez, the guy is gorgeous but he’s trouble with a capital T. Don’t even tell me that that film isn’t going to bomb.”
“Do you think so?” I said, as I watched the video. Nate really was gorgeous, if not a little sleazy. He seemed to be as much of an alpha male in real life as he was in the movies. I had never met a guy like that before. I’d just read about them in stories. That kind of guy never went for girls like me.
“Of course,” Sandy narrowed her eyes at me, “Do you know anything about movies, honey? This is how they work. PR is everything and that guy is bad PR.”
“I know movies.” I said, but the girls had gone back to their own discussion now. I was clearly not invited to this part, but that was fine with me. I was sick of them anyway.
I returned to my desk, a creaky old thing in the corner with a chair small enough for an elementary school classroom and a computer that barely turned on. Maybe now that I had a moment I could come up with some great article ideas and really make a name for myself.
Ha. As if.
An elegant girl with a head full of electric blue braids poked her head around the door.
"Darcy Scott?"
I was so not used to my big city co-workers getting my name right. She had to repeat herself before I realized she was calling me.
"Darcy Scott?"
"Present!" I blurted out, feeling myself flush pink. A few people snickered at my idiocy but this girl didn't flinch. She looked at me doubtfully.
"You're Darcy Scott?"
"Yes, I am," I said, holding up my identity card. She didn't bother looking at it.
"Elena has requested a meeting with you," she said. Elena? As in, Elena Ginsburg, Editor in chief of the magazine? I'd seen her coming into the building a few times and said hi to her only to be ignored. Even Tim was terrified of her.
Every head in the room turned to look at me. Some one whistled under their breath.
"What the fuck did you do, kid?" mumbled Tim.
I felt my heart pounding in my chest.
"Is everything I all right?" I said, looking desperately at the blue haired woman for reassurance. She shrugged.
"I guess you're about to find out," she said, glancing at her watch, "Elena requested the meeting t
o be at ten thirty and you're already three minutes late, so I wouldn't wait around. She really hates having her time wasted."
I didn't argue. I just nodded and followed the blue haired woman out of the office and into the elevator.
"Is it normal for Elena to meet with new employees?" I asked. The woman shook her head.
"Not if they are doing well."
Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck. My ass was getting fired. I'd only been making coffee and cleaning up and I hadn't even managed to do that right. I hadn't even written one movie review and now I'd never get the chance.
The floor that Elena's office was on was quite different to our floor. The carpet was clean and lush white and massive windows looked out onto the Los Angeles skyline. As I was lead past the reception desk I stared outside, wondering how many other poor saps were getting fired in the big city at that very moment. I could consider myself lucky, really. I didn't have a partner or children to support. Even so, the thought of going back home to live with Mama and Daddy on the ranch made my stomach churn. They had been so proud of me for snagging this internship. All the neighbors and extended family knew that little Darcy was moving to the big city to follow her dream. Imagine telling them all that I’d been fired? I was supposed to be independent. It would hurt so much to admit that I had failed miserably, even with their financial support.
The blue haired girl stopped in front of a pair of mahogany double doors. Elena's name and title were written in simple script on a small white notecard.
"I can't go any further with you." she said, looking through me rather than at me.
"Oh," I said, "Well, thank you."
I knocked on the door before I could talk myself out of it. There was a long pause and I was just about to knock again when I heard 'come in' in a clipped tone. There was no backing out now. It was now or never. Either I make a break for it and run back to Tennessee with my tail between my legs or I talk to Elena and hoped for the best. Right now the best case scenario was a short and polite dismissal and me making it out of the building without crying.
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