“Look. Tell the man how you want your hair done, and I’m sure he’ll be able do it. It’s called communication. You should try it sometime.”
Todd shakes his head.
“Why should I have to tell someone how to do their job? That’s pointless. If the man doesn’t know how to do my hair, he’s got to go.”
I stomp my foot. A rather childish act, I know, but I need some way to vent out my frustration other than by punching Todd right between the eyes.
“Listen to me, you stubborn, insolent, arrogant excuse for a man. You’re not firing the hair stylist or anyone else for that matter. Just because you don’t get your own way, doesn’t mean other people have to suffer.”
Todd’s stare takes my breath away. I cringe inwardly, and am reminded of the restaurant scandal. Is he going to hit me after showering me with a barrage of abuse?
Relief washes over me when Todd turns and walks out, without so much as uttering another word.
When he’s gone, I breathe again.
Only now do I realize my whole body is shaking.
Todd
I storm to my trailer and slam the door behind me.
“Fuck this! Who does she think she is?” I mutter to myself and look for something to throw.
I know I’m being a bit childish, acting like a five-year-old whose favorite toy has been taken from him, but heck, I’m a superstar. I’m allowed to have tantrums.
“I mean, who stands up for a useless member of the team, and who wears their hair up the way she does?” I’m on a roll now.
I find my putter and golf ball, and then proceed to practice my putting. I’m not a golfer, but trying to get the little ball into the hole is oddly satisfying when I’m in a rage.
“What are you raving about?”
I don’t see Jordan come in, who appears in front of me out of nowhere.
I point my club at him.
“That stuck-up prima donna, prancing around, and calling herself director and main star of the film, Sophie.” I try to slow my breathing.
Anger swishes around me like water in a whirlpool.
Someone has to stand up for actor’s rights.
Jordan takes the club from me and hands me a triple espresso, muttering something about caffeine possibly not being what I should be having.
“Why are you in such a rage at this time of day?”
Despite my own inner turmoil, I have to admire Jordan. Good old dependable Jordan who personifies calmness.
“Sophie,” I growl, savoring the bitter taste of the extra strong coffee. The way my day is going, I’ll need at least five of these before lunch.
“She’s a typical woman. There’s just no reasoning with her, and she’s made up her mind before even listening to my side of the story.”
I see Jordan raise his eyebrows. He gives me the ‘what the fuck are you rambling on about man’ look and I slump onto my couch.
“She thinks I shouldn’t have fired the hair stylist.”
“And?” Jordan asks.
Is it just me or is he extra slow today?
“And her solution, is for me to tell him how I want my hair done.”
“Again, I can’t see the problem.”
I throw my head back in frustration. Why do imbeciles surround me today? Surely, I can’t have been that bad in my former lives to deserve this?
“Man,” I breathe out long and slow. “What’s the fucking point of telling someone how to do their job? Isn’t it simpler to fire the guy, and get someone remotely competent?”
“Todd, stop being so precious.” Jordan is very matter of fact. “Sophie is the director, and therefore you do as you are told.”
My protest dies on my lips with Jordan holding up his hand.
“Zip it, buddy. You’re not really in a position to be making demands. I’m trying to save your bacon here, and get you back in the limelight for the right reason, avoiding the wrong ones. And what is your thanks? You come storming in here, making ridiculous demands. You should be groveling at my feet, and worshiping the ground I walk on.”
Jordan’s outburst stuns me so much, I don’t know what to say.
I swallow my non-existent argument, and go to my personal dresser where I pull out gel, comb and hairspray. Without another word, I style my hair my way, making sure it still looks good.
There’s a knock on the door and I hear Jordan open it.
“Mr. Alexander is required on set,” says a faceless voice from the door.
I see Jordan look at me and I hold up two fingers.
“Todd will be there in a couple of minutes.”
I look at my reflection. My hair is nowhere near as good as when my own stylist does it, but hey, it’s a lot better than before.
As I step out leave my trailer, Jordan stops me.
“You need this film. No more tantrums.”
Without a reply, I stride toward the set where they are shooting.
What the fuck does Jordan know? I don’t need this film. They need me. I’m their draw card. Without me, this sorry little low budget film would be nothing. And I’ll make sure, I do things my way.
“If you start the scene over here,” Sophie points to the far end of the made up hallway. “You’ll have just walked in through the front door.”
Without a word, I take up my position. For a few seconds, I close my eyes and visualize my character. I do this before every shoot. It helps me get in character.
Filming starts, and I become my character, my body just a vessel.
“Cut,” yells Sophie, and I hear shouts of appreciation from some of the onlookers every film has.
“Where’s my towel?” I bark at someone standing to the side of the set. The boy flinches as if I’d just poked him with a cattle prod.
“I—” he stammers, and I feel my fuse is just about to explode.
“Well, don’t just stand there like you’ve grown roots or something, go and get it from the trailer.”
The youth scurries off.
“Jordan?” I call and look around. “Where the fuck is Jordan?”
No one answers.
“Someone get my PA,” I demand to no one in particular, and I’m pleased to see someone scurries off to obey my command.
“A chair. I need a chair.” I growl at the junior who is returning with my towel. Promptly the boy disappears and comes back with my request.
Jordan appears and takes my towel. I was just going to ask the little runt to wet it for me, the way I always have it during filming to keep me cool.
“I’ll do that,” Jordan says and leaves again.
Furrowing my brow, I slump back in my chair.
“Todd,” Sophie calls.
I saunter back to my set. We shoot the next scene.
“Five-minute break everyone,” calls Sophie after the take.
“Hey, you,” I call out to someone who doesn’t seem to be doing anything. “Get me a double espresso and don’t be long about it.”
Someone offers me one of those plastic cups of pretend coffee, but I shake my head.
“I’d rather drink poison,” I grumble and wait for my espresso.
With my cup of coffee in hand, I look around for Jordan. What’s with him today, why isn’t he here when I need him?
“Hey, you,” I shout to the runner. “Get me some biscuits from my trailer.”
“We have some, right over by the little kitchen,” pipes up another faceless voice and rage builds in me like a storm.
“I want my biscuits, not some cheap shit the director bought for the commoners.”
I know I sound fucking salty today, but I just can’t help it.
When the boy arrives with my tin of goodies, I take a look inside and shut it again. My favorites aren’t there.
“Jordan!” I shout, wondering how the hell I’m going to get through this day in hell.
Sophie
My reflection tells me I’m every bit as tired as I look. It’s been a long day, after all.
Day fou
r of shooting wrapped up just before midnight, and all I’m looking forward to now is a hot bath and a nice glass of wine.
I yawn and continue to remove the make up on my face.
“Hey gorgeous,” Alice comes into my trailer. I hate the way she’s still all bouncy and looks terrific.
“You ok?”
I nod and reach for some cotton buds.
“Great day today.” Alice leans against my dresser. “You should be really excited. It’s all coming along nicely.”
I gnaw at my bottom lip. She’s right, so far so good. I don’t like to tempt fate though, so I choose my words carefully. Dad was a great believer in never being too optimistic before the product is in the bag.
“It’s going along ok, I guess.”
Alice laughs.
“Like father, like daughter.”
I smile.
“I’ve got a date with Eric,” Alice changes the subject. “Will you be ok if I leave now?’
I feel a rush of gratitude for my friend. It’s nice to know someone’s looking after me.
“Sure,” I reassure her. “I’ve just got to take my make-up off and I’m out of here. You two lovebirds go and enjoy yourselves.”
Alice gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“Go,” I repeat and watch her head to the door. “And Alice, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
We both laugh.
And then she’s gone.
Once my make-up is gone, I change into t-shirt and jeans and leave. I turn out the lights of my trailer and lock the door.
It feels good to breathe the cool, crisp air of the night. After having been stuck inside all day, breathing in air-conditioned air, this is refreshing.
Slowly I walk to my car.
A low growl has me stopping in my tracks. At first, I’m not quite sure what sort of noise it is, but then I see a Porsche. Now the horn honks.
It’s Todd. He has his window down and gives me a wave.
My heart beats a little faster.
I quickly looked around. The car park is deserted. What’s he doing here? I try not to show any sign of nervousness.
The sports car draws level with me.
“Thought the director would be the last person to leave the studio.”
My imagination threatens to run away with me. Is he really smiling genuinely at me?
I try and gauge the distance to my car. I might just make it, if in case I have to run for it.
“You are right.” I hope my voice does not betray my emotional turmoil.
“Don’t think I’m here to offer you a lift, Ms. Palmer.”
He enunciates every letter of my name.
My racing heart is joined by millions of butterflies.
“I know that a Palmer always makes sure they have their own mode of transport.”
Is he laughing at me? Slowly the butterflies recede and my heart beats almost normal again.
His comment riles me. Todd Alexander really knows how to push my buttons.
I decide the best course of action is to simply ignore him. A reply would only fuel the fire and lead to who knows where.
I make a beeline for my car, taking large strides away from the actor and his toy.
Todd is calling out something to me.
I can’t hear him.
Snippets of words like “know,” “let,” “my” and “think” is all I can make out.
I keep walking. I just want to get home and relax before tomorrow—no today’s—shooting starts again.
The Porsche seems to be following me and Todd is still shouting something.
I slow down my steps, hesitating.
“What’s your answer?”
Todd is leaning with his left arm on the open window.
“My answer to what?”
If he thought I had heard anything, he’s mistaken.
“I wanted to know if you would come to have dinner with me.”
Emotions flood me, mixed emotions. My instant reaction is to say no. But something tells me to stop and think about my answer.
As if sensing my hesitation, Todd’s smile widens.
“Come on, I’m only asking you for dinner, not a commitment for life.”
I chuckle. Who knew Todd could be funny? So far, we’ve only seen the aggressive, angry Todd.
Still, I wonder how good of a move it is to agree to this dinner. I nearly thought of it in terms of a dinner date, although he hasn’t called it that.
“So, how about it? Dinner? With me?”
Before I can stop myself, I nod.
“Ok.” I add, and wonder how wise this decision will turn out to be.
I expected Todd to now drive off, victory in the bag, but he doesn’t.
In a flash, he is by my side and escorts me the last few steps to my car where he promptly holds the door open for me after I unlock it.
I slide into the driver’s seat.
For the first time, I’m acutely aware of his presence. He’s damn good looking and I have to say he smells delicious.
I turn the key.
“Thank you.” I smile and give him a little wave.
To my further surprise, Todd takes a little bow before he too goes back to his car.
My fingers drum on the steering wheel as I make my way out of the car park.
Was that wise, Ms. Palmer? my inner voice wants to know. Of course it was, I reassure it and myself.
I only agreed to have dinner with him.
Dinner will give me the opportunity to mingle with one of my leading actors of the film. And mingling with the actors is a good thing. Mingling allows us to pick each other’s brain—and other things too, a voice from somewhere pipes up.
Fool. You are a fool—that sensible part in me keeps on voicing its opinion.
If I’m honest, I have no idea why I agreed to this dinner. He must have caught me off guard. After a long day, I’m just too tired to make proper decisions.
Admit it Sophie, he’s hot and you wouldn’t mind getting to know him, my other voice interjects, and I decide to stop dwelling on the topic of Todd and the upcoming dinner.
Que Sera, Sera—what happens, happens.
Todd
To my own surprise, my heart is beating a little faster than usual when the doorbell rings, and I stop in front of the hallway mirror to make sure my hair looks good.
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s bad hair days. My hair is my pride and joy. I still can’t get over the fact that the hair dude on the film set has not been fired.
As I unlock the door, I take a deep breath to calm down before I open it. I can’t understand my own reaction to my visitor. Usually I’m cool, calm and collected, not a nervous wreck.
“Hey,” I smile and take a step to the side.
Sophie looks stunning. My eyes take in her legs that are barely covered in an ultra-short miniskirt, and her white blouse, buttoned up to just the right spot. I can make out the pink lace of her bra. Quickly, I look her in the eyes. She’s smiling.
“Glad you came,” I say more to break the silence than anything else, but as I say it, I realize it’s the truth—I’m glad she came.
“Come into my castle.”
She laughs, and I bathe in her smile and eyes. Her face lights up when she smiles.
“Doesn’t look much like a castle,” she replies and follows me into my kingdom.
“Fair maiden,” I hold up my right. “Do not let your eyes deceive you. Have you not heard the saying ‘not everything is as it first appears’?”
Genuine belly laughter.
“I can’t say I have.”
I turn toward her and put my hands on my hips.
“And you call yourself a creative person.”
She just shrugs.
“Please take a seat while I prepare dinner.”
Gracefully, Sophie sits on my white leather lounge. One leg slides casually over the other. Her foot taps to some unheard beat in the air. She leans back into the plush black cushions and I wish Blake coul
d paint her. The man sure knows how to capture a moment.
“So.” I pull out my phone.
“You prepare dinner with your phone?” She raises her eyebrows and her voice sounds like she’s mocking me.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
This has her bursting out in another fit of laughter. She shakes her head.
“I usually prepare dinner in the kitchen without the phone, just using pots and pans. You’ve heard of those?”
I pretend to think before I shake my head.
“Can’t say I have. As I was saying, for dinner I shall get us some take away.”
“I hadn’t really expected you to cook.” She laughs.
Crushed, I hold up my hands.
“What? An insult in the first five minutes of being in my home? I can’t believe it.”
Sophie shakes her head.
“Ok. So, what do you fancy?”
“You’re the master chef, you decide.”
I like this girl. I press speed dial. Naturally, my favorite takeaway place is on top of the list. After I’ve ordered, I head to the bar to prepare us a couple of drinks.
Sophie has left her spot on the couch and is meandering through my living room.
“I love these paintings.”
Sophie is standing in front of one of my favorite pictures.
“Look at the colors and emotions in this one. Reds, yellows and oranges combine in a dance of fury. Who painted these?”
“One of my childhood friends, Blake—he’s a painter. These are part of a series.”
“Wow.” Sophie sounds impressed.
“He’s very talented.” I agree and hand her a glass with a pre-dinner drink.
“What about your parents? They must be very proud.”
I lower my eyes and take a sip of my drink. Parents. Feelings. Touchy subjects I don’t discuss with anyone. And yet, there’s something about this woman that compels me to share my past with her.
“My parents were perfect.” I start, but I have to take a breath to keep going.
“A skiing accident took their lives away, just after my first big movie success.”
It’s difficult to keep going. I haven’t told many people about this.
A Daddy for Mother's Day_A Secret Baby Romance Page 54