“No more fucking ponytails. Understand?”
Keaton’s menacing growl made my skin crawl. I turned to him, my fists clenched at my sides.
“Don’t touch me!” I hissed.
Click.
Click. Click. Click.
Cameras clicking, and a rumble across the set. I wasn’t sure who was in on our secret, but several of the cast and crew members turned away uncomfortably.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” Ash barked to Keaton, wrapping one arm around me.
Ash smelled like what I could only describe as a pirate lumberjack. His pits were sweaty, and I cringed.
Keaton glared, his eyes flickering to mine for one soft moment before he turned to stalk away.
“Why doesn’t he act?” Ash asked, shrugging. “He obviously knows how. He’s pretty fucking good, actually.”
“He is,” I realized, watching Keaton stop to talk to Maya. He leaned in closer to her face than I’d have liked, but I knew it was all for show.
He was hotter than hell, too, and whatever twinge of interest my hormones had shown for Trent and Ash burst into flames as I watched Keaton bend over and lift a little boy, one of the extras, into his arms.
Oh my God.
Seeing him with the toddler, I covered my stomach, trying to even my breaths. He was beyond sexy, grinning in those ever present aviators, chatting with the baby.
I wanted a boy.
I wanted a boy exactly like Keaton, one who looked like him, laughed like him…
And loved like him.
Tears burned my eyes, and I gasped quickly, turning away from the scene to meet Frank’s urgent calls. “Look. Tabloids. You and Keaton, all over the news. ‘The end of the line for Hollywood’s High School Sweethearts.’ Good job.”
“Today is going to be hard,” I murmured, watching Keaton fist-bump the child playfully before he set him to his feet.
“You’re a good actress, honey,” Frank complimented me with a shrug. “Just act. That’s all. You know who you’re going to bed with tonight.”
“Thanks, asshole,” I replied teasingly, and he scratched his chin with a snort.
“Welcome, V.”
“Let’s go, people! We’re already off to a late start, thanks to Miss Hale,” he griped, loud enough for the reporters to hear.
“TMZ will have a field day with that one,” Ash mumbled, reaching for his water bottle. “Okay, wife, let’s go.”
I took a deep breath, following them to the set.
. . .
I did every take wrong at least five times.
I called Keaton an arrogant son of a bitch.
Keaton called me a gold-digging whore.
I suggested that he must be very attracted to me then, since I was just his type.
He said not really, my tits weren’t big enough.
I stomped off in a huff to our trailer, and he cornered me in the kitchen.
“Up you go,” he rumbled from deep in his chest, hoisting me onto the table. He grabbed me by my chin, just as he’d directed Ash to the night before, jerking my legs apart with his other hand.
“Keaton,” I moaned, pulling at his shirt until he finally let me wrench it over his shoulders
“I better hear you panting, my little actress,” he commanded, tearing my thin, lacy panties away from my hips.
I replied with a breathless nod.
Heavy pounding sounded on our trailer door. He growled, continuing to kiss me.
“Keaton! Get out here, you have company.”
“Fuck off Frank,” he snapped, grasping my breast in his hand and lowering his mouth to my nipple.
“It’s Kelsey.”
It was as though someone reached inside my vagina and flipped the breaker.
“What the fuck?” he demanded, grabbing for his shirt. I slid off the table, adjusting my skirt.
I hurried after him as he rushed through the tunnels, stopping short before the exit. I realized that I couldn’t walk out into the open with him, so I waited.
There she was.
All body, all blond, all curls and hips and breasts.
Her boobs practically gravitated toward him, like some kind of fuck-me compass.
Her tight, yellow, strapless dress was zigzag printed. She looked like a hooker stuck in a Chinese finger trap. I had no idea how she managed to look down with her boobs banging into her windpipe.
“Keaton, baby!”
“What in the fuck are you doing here?”
“I saw the tabloids,” she started, trying to keep her voice hushed. “You’re finally through with her?”
I could feel Keaton’s impending rage.
Smoothing my hair, I rolled my shoulders back and took a deep, steadying breath.
And I stepped out of the tunnels.
Her brown eyes flicked to mine, and she arched one eyebrow, dropping her diamond-covered fingers to her cocked hip. “Oh.”
“Hello,” I managed, thankful that my voice was even. Frank stood by, watching us excitedly. Ash, Trent, and Maya hung back, trying to appear nonchalant as they listened to the drama about to unfold.
“Vivian, right?” she asked, and I tried to ignore her snide, indignant tone.
“Right. You must be Kelsey.”
“Kelsey King,” she replied haughtily. Neither one of us extended our hands.
That would be a fucking charade.
“She’s none of your business. Turn around and go the fuck home,” Keaton ordered.
“Can we talk? Please?” she begged.
Click. Click. Click.
Cameras. Always. Everywhere.
Keaton’s eyes met mine, and I shrugged, forcing my arms to cross over my chest.
“I don’t care what you do anymore,” I managed, completely insincerely. “Ash,” I called, and it took all of my strength to turn away from them.
Ash was at my side in an instant, escorting me toward the set. “Nice, Viv. So brave. You’re ten times hotter than that slut, you know that, right?”
“My stomach hurts,” I complained softly. I meant I was nauseated.
And not from the baby.
“Let’s go to my trailer. I’ve got a PlayStation four.”
“Alright, let’s roll!” Keaton’s voice interrupted us suddenly. I turned, watching as Kelsey stomped to her convertible, stumbling in her heels before dropping into the driver’s seat.
“Everything okay, man?” Ash asked Keaton.
Keaton continued walking past us, flipping us the finger from over his shoulder.
I grinned, quickening my pace.
. . .
The first two weeks flew by.
We had no more interaction with the killer, thank God, but the FBI had gotten nowhere with my phone or additional leads. When I finally got my new phone and texted Matthew, his reply pulled at my heart.
I’m glad you’re safe. Don’t make me wait and worry again.
His tone was almost cold, but I shrugged it off, recognizing that he was finally, hopefully, moving on without me.
I was filming, learning so much so fast. I never imagined how much work was involved in acting, and dropped into bed exhausted every single night. Occasionally, Keaton would wake me up and make love to me, but most of the time, he let me sleep and kissed me awake in the morning.
I loved making love to him the moment I opened my eyes.
Surprisingly, I was enjoying Keaton’s creative, witty insults, and it quickly became a flirty, mean little game.
Until he hurt my fucking feelings.
“Fu- CUT!” he practically screamed, and I jumped, backing away from Trent. “One kiss. You’re eating her face. You go for it, she resists. She doesn’t want her husband’s best friend, she wants her husband. You’re going to respect her. Easy. Why is this taking all fucking afternoon?”
“You don’t want me to respond at all?” I clarified. Five minutes ago he’d told me to start to kiss him back, and then push him away.
“No! Resist him! Try to at least act
like you’re able to make a decision!”
I stilled, crossing my arms over my chest. “You just told me to kiss him back.”
“For a split second. Not a half an hour. Close your legs and listen to me. I know that’s hard for you when you’ve got four eyes’ tongue down your throat.”
I flinched at that one. Trent adjusted his glasses, taking a step away from me.
“If you speak to me like that again, I’m leaving,” I burst, digging my fingernails into my palm.
He lifted his eyes to mine, his angry expression softening.
A hush grew over the entire set, and Keaton lowered the script in his hand, walking toward me.
“That was incredibly rude and uncalled for. I’m sorry.”
The chill over the set turned everyone’s attention our way.
“I need a break,” I murmured, pushing past Trent and nearly running from the set.
I knew he was close behind me, but I truly didn’t want to speak to him. I made it into the trailer, slamming the door behind me.
I was sobbing by the time he reached the door.
“Vivian, please let me in.”
“You’re being too mean,” I cried, locking the door. “Just go away, I need some space.”
“Let me in. I want to hold you.”
“Leave me alone!” I begged tearfully.
“Open the door, goddamnit.”
I waited, counted to ten, and brushed the tears away from my eyes.
Finally turning the lock, I pulled the door open.
He sighed, nodding toward the crack in the door. “I fucked up. Let me come in.”
“I can’t tell if you’re acting anymore.”
“I’m that good, huh?” he asked, grinning.
Ugh, fuck those perfect white teeth.
That tan.
That scruff. He hadn’t shaved in days and made me think of the first time I’d met him.
The memory of him walking into the video store sent a warm rush of liquid to my undies.
“I know that look. It’s reaching for me, isn’t it?” he teased. I exhaled a breathy laugh, opening the door for him.
“Stop being mean. You know the difference.”
“I do. I’m sorry.”
“I’m ready for a break. This is grueling,” I admitted. “Even the paparazzi have thinned out. The police protection is a joke. They sit around watching TV or screwing off on their phones. We’re getting all comfortable, and he could be out there, watching us right now.”
“Your appointment is tomorrow. We’re flying out first thing in the morning,” he reminded me. My eyes darted to the corkboard on the door that was now littered with yellow Post-it notes written between the two of us.
“I completely forgot! What about the press? We’ll be together…”
“Fuck ‘em.”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m glad we’re going. I’m so overwhelmed by all of this.”
“Vivian.” He kissed my forehead. “I’m sorry, kiddo.”
I sighed, moving into his arms. “Whatever, jerk.”
He chuckled against my neck.
. . .
The plane ride was turbulent, and I gripped Keaton’s hand, so thankful when we finally landed. There was a car waiting for us, of course, with police escort, our own personal body guard that flew with us, and a swarm of press.
My appointment was a scene out of our fairy tale in the making. I was officially ten weeks, just two away from being done with my first trimester.
“Keeping your peaceful aura, Vivian?” Dr. Grey asked with a twinkle in his eye, and I nodded, smiling.
“Yes. As much as I can on the set.”
“No bad stress. Just good stress. Good stress is healthy. You understand the difference, I assume,” he urged, and I nodded.
“I think so. I’m making the movie… my dreams are coming true. But it’s stressful. Good stress.”
“Good,” he agreed.
The room was filled with a sudden whooshing sound.
“There we go.” Dr. Grey moved a probe over my bare stomach, the warm gel allowing him to glide against my abdomen. “Very nice.”
“What is that?” Keaton asked, his eyes wide as he focused on the sound.
“This is a fetal Doppler,” Dr. Grey replied, “and that sound is your baby’s heart.”
“I hear it,” I cried, gasping as Keaton dropped to my side, pressing his lips to mine.
“Thank you,” he whispered, deepening his kiss as the doctor looked away politely. His fingers threaded through mine, and he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against my chest. “I’ve never been this happy. With you. The three of us.”
His poignant words sent burning tears to my eyes. I nodded, unable to respond.
. . .
The Mercedes that had picked us up at the airport waited along the curb for us outside. Keaton rushed us through the door and to the car, and I narrowed my eyes, realizing that the sidewalk was crawling with paparazzi.
“Get in,” Keaton ordered brusquely, and I tried my best to avoid the shouting press.
“Keaton, Vivian, is it Ash’s baby?”
“Are you getting back together?”
“How long will you be in LA?”
The door slammed, and the driver hit the locks. Keaton sat back, taking a deep breath. I turned in the seat, looking for my purse that I’d left behind.
“I left my bag in here… is this a different car?”
He settled in next to me, and I felt him stiffen as his eyes fell on the driver.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.
Everything happened too quickly.
With all of the cameras flashing at the car, we were distracted as the man in the passenger’s seat turned around.
“Sit back.”
He looked like a young Henry Winkler. Fonzie.
What was happening?
As my eyes fell to the gun in his hands, I gasped, a cry strangling in my throat.
Keaton’s arm shot out to block me, and he moved his entire body to cover me.
The gun made a sound that I’d only heard in movies, and I was pretty sure that the man had just cocked the pistol.
“If I shoot you, you won’t know what I’ll do with her,” the man growled. “And I think you want to know what I’m going to do with her.”
Keaton kept his body on mine, and I struggled to let the circumstances of our situation sink in.
We were being held at gunpoint.
He’d just threatened to kill Keaton, and do who knows what with me.
“What is happening?” I cried, and the scream from deep in my throat pierced my ears as the car took off, peeling away from the curb.
And the man shoved the gun against Keaton’s forehead.
“Get away from her, before I blow your fucking brains out.”
“Okay, okay,” Keaton snapped, inching toward his side of the seat.
“Good, Director. Actress, put your seatbelt on.”
I scrambled for the belt, trying to clasp the metal pieces together, but my fingers were shaking too badly.
Keaton tried to reach for me, but the man pointed the gun at me.
“Let’s try it this way. You touch her again, I shoot her. Maybe that will motivate you to fucking listen.”
The man wasn’t wearing a mask.
He’s not wearing a mask.
He wasn’t wearing a mask, and in the movies, it meant that we were going to die.
We could describe him. I know he has a tattoo crawling up the side of his neck, some kind of webby wording; he has a scar on his left cheek.
I finally got the seatbelt to lock and slammed my back against the seat. The driver was barreling down Santa Monica, and I was positive that our security guards or police escort had to be right behind us.
Right?
My stomach lurched.
“I’m going to throw up,” I realized, and the gun moved back to Keaton.
“Don’t move.”
“I’m sorry,” I wailed, turning away from them both and gripping the door handle.
I wretched, emptying my stomach along the galley between the door and the edge of the seat. The horrible smell only made me gag once more, and I heaved again.
“Fuck me,” the driver groaned, cracking both his and the gunman’s windows. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, pressing the back of my wrist to my mouth. The gunman tossed a wad of Starbucks napkins at Keaton, gesturing my way with the gun.
“Fucking help her.”
Keaton was on me in a flash; I held my hands up helplessly, and he wiped at my mouth, holding my chin in his hand.
“Look at me,” he urged, and I focused on his eyes, tears streaming down my face. “Just breathe. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’m sure this is about money, and if these jackasses had done their assigned reading in Forbes,” he snapped his face toward the front seat, “they’d know Spielberg would have been the more lucrative choice.”
“That’s enough,” the gunman sneered, throwing a stack of glove compartment manuals at Keaton. “Shove this shit along the side of the door. Try to cover the smell. And then get back on your side.”
Keaton smoothed my hair, whispering against my forehead. “Breathe. Breathe, kiddo.”
I nodded, sucking in a breath, exhaling, once, twice.
“They’re going to kill us,” I managed, between breaths. “No masks, Keaton.”
“Calm. Down.” His authoritative voice was almost comforting at that moment. “No stress.”
The baby. No stress?
His words forced me to focus. I nodded, and he backed away, still grasping my hand.
As the driver shifted the car, I realized where we were going.
LAX.
“A plane? Why are we getting on a plane?” I begged.
The car came to a skidding stop. Keaton flew forward, slamming against the back of the driver’s seat, and my seatbelt cut against my chest.
Both the car doors were wrenched open, and I heard cursing from my side.
“Drag her out the other way. She fucking puked there.”
Bruising hands locked on my upper arms, and I was pulled through Keaton’s door. An unmarked, white cargo van was parked parallel with the Mercedes.
“Phones. Keys. Empty your pockets.”
Before A Perfect World: Movie Trilogy, Book Two (The Movie Trilogy) Page 15