Off Screen

by Josephine Traynor

  Lydia has never been backward in coming forwards in saying something. Her hesitation puts me on edge.

  “Oh, I was just thinking. Maybe part of it is because you’re in a relationship with Harrison and there’s no room for a real boyfriend.”

  Holding my hand up to stop her on that point, even though she can’t see me, it takes a second for my brain to register what she said. “I’m not in a relationship with Harrison.”

  “Come on now. Do you need to hear yourself say that to make your heart understand? You spend most of your waking day with this man and when you’re not with him, answer me honestly, you spend most of the time away from him, thinking about him.”

  Knowing she has a point, I try to get the conversation off Harrison.

  “Kit’s not my boyfriend. We were seeing where it took us, and it took us to Friendship Town. I feel bad but I’d rather end it now than let it go on and on or worse, I’d hate to be in a relationship where the love wasn’t returned.”

  Dammit. She’s right. Even though Harrison and I are wearing clothes during our scenes, we are further along than Kit and I have ever been. One of the more distressing situations was my brain taking a scene from Harrison’s character, Declan, and dreaming about it that night. The only problem was, it was me and Harrison, and he treated me like he was in love with me. Like our characters are, but us in real life. It was so unsettlingly intimate, he was so tender and loving, I couldn’t look him in the eye for a full week. The only way I’m going to get over this is to have sex with someone else. I can’t keep living in fantasyland with my nemesis.

  Picking up the phone, I keep talking to her as I fire off a text to Kit, she tells me she’s happy to wait.

  Hoping you can make some time to see me tonight. Really want to talk to you.

  I tell her the message has been sent, and she says, “If I didn’t know better, I think there might be a soft spot of hope that Harrison could fill that void. The way you two spar, things would be electric. Orgasmic.”

  “Never going to happen,” I say while collecting my bag.

  “All that angry sex,” she says, and I’m already halfway down the hallway.

  I kick his door as I walk past and head out to the parking lot.

  I will hold this secret to my grave. I will never, ever admit that deep down, I actually do love Harrison Harvey. I love the man he is to everyone else. There are some people who are rotten to the core, he’s not. I’ve seen it. I just don’t know why it’s aimed at me.

  I hate that I love him.

  Two

  Harrison

  Seeing Riley swinging like a wildcat, I can’t help but think about how she’d be in bed or if I hold her against the wall and have her thrash about as I bring us both to the point of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Nestling between her thighs is agony. She doesn’t smell anything other than heaven. I only said what I did to get a rise out of her. I know better. I really do. I just can’t help myself. We’ve taken our hate to a place where I don’t think we will ever be able to recover.

  Dominic lands a hand on my shoulder, a challenge for him as I tower over him. I wait for him to shut the door behind us before speaking.

  “You call her a whore again and I’ll terminate our business relationship,” I say.

  Dominic balks at my comment. I’m very good at keeping my façade of hate directed at her in place, and this request will stand out.

  “She might be a pain in the arse, but you never call any woman a whore even after she’s taken your money. That kind of untrue name-calling is cheap and tacky.” What I really want to do is smack him in the mouth. “I’ll be back in a minute.” I take a quick stroll around the parking lot, stopping in front of the bonnet of her sad little Toyota.

  I hate to say it, but I’ve been in love with Riley Lincoln since the day I met her. We have this warped love-hate relationship going on. Over the years, my hobby has become making Riley’s life a living hell. Matching her barbs, trying to outsmart her and trying to be one step ahead has really cemented our relationship as toxic. My antics have morphed from little digs into full-blown cruel comments. Riley’s called me every name under the sun, and I do agree with her, I can be a bastard. The reason I don’t stop? I don’t know how to be normal around her. Riley is the only person I’m like this with. As the show has grown, so have our egos, and neither of us want to lose. Stopping my behaviour once was the catalyst to where we are now. Riley was spooked by my silence and kept putting me down until I snapped. The proof is there—there’s no way we can have a normal relationship. This nasty, toxic thing we have going is what we know, and I don’t know how to change it. Today’s comments were in response to her behaviour all week about my acting. A fan had posted a promotional picture of the two of us, and Riley had liked a comment of ‘You’d think after all these years, he’d learn how to act’. I don’t like being made a fool of.

  If she just acted like a normal human being, I think we would have a great friendship and even possibly something more, but she managed to bruise my ego, and I behaved like a spoiled brat in return that I just can’t stop. She rightly didn’t put up with my shit, so now, this is what I have to deal with. I tried to make things right, but she thought I was mocking her and took aim on set. Neither of us knows when to quit. It’s like I have two jobs. My acting and taking aim at Riley. Every time I do it, I chastise myself that it will be the last time I have a dig at her. I used to love it when I had an audience but now I do it so only she can hear me. As much as I’m a jerk to her, I do have a reputation to uphold with my colleagues.

  When I speak the truth about Riley, she’s a dynamo. One of the best in the business. I’ve seen her smiling and getting along with other people, she just won’t warm to me. One of the other things I like about her is that she’s super competitive, and I get a sick pleasure from knocking that down a peg by demanding retakes of scenes that were delivered flawlessly to start with. She strutted around like she was the queen of the world and never gave me a second glance. I’ve never forgiven her for taking the lead role in a play right out from under me. She dressed as a man, fake beard and all, and the director loved her. Like I said, she’s a pro. When the sting of losing that role eased, I could see how working with her made me a better actor. Another thing I’d never tell her. Everything seems to be so effortless about her. She can slide in and out of character seamlessly at the click of a finger.

  When I was confirmed as winning the role of Declan for Restless Times, part of me wanted to contact her to rub it in her face. To show her that I, too, was good. To have her admit it, while the other part wanted her to tell me I’d done a good job. My stomach dropped out seeing her in the line to do a read-through to find the right actress to play Declan’s love interest, Jordan Adams. I just wanted to win one round against her. I would never want any actor to miss out on a job but so help me, I didn’t want every day at work to feel like a competition. It wasn’t hard for me to run through the lines with the other actresses, but with her, the nerves kicked in, and I became a jibbering mess. The scene called for me to declare my intentions and kiss her. I didn’t have to do this with any other actresses, even when they asked to do a kissing scene.

  Telling my brain to go into work mode, I’d pulled on her arm, bringing her into my embrace. I’d held her tight, and the nerves faded. How many times I’ve dreamt of holding Riley like this for real, I couldn’t tell you. Looking into her greenish-blue eyes, I was certain I saw a spark of lust as I wrapped my arms tighter around her. I poured all my pent-up frustrations for her into that kiss. I stupidly thought the kiss would be a bridge-builder and we could put all our pettiness behind us.

  “Try not to enjoy this, keep it professional,” I said as I took her mouth.

  The kiss deepened, her arms found their way around my neck, and she let out a sigh that only I could hear. While I skimmed her sides with my hands, that little voice yelled at me to stop when the director called “Cut!” We stepped back out of each other’s embrace, and I was lef
t standing there, gawking at her while she beamed at the director who was huddled with the other members of the production crew.

  “Good Lord, you call that a kiss?” She smiled sweetly straight ahead as they continued to discuss. “I’ve had girlfriends kiss me goodbye on the cheek that have made parts of my body tingle compared to that.”

  Don’t listen to her, Harrison. She’s just trying to hurt you. You know you’re a good kisser, I told myself, even though I was disappointed in her reaction. I could have sworn I saw something behind her eyes. Surprise? Lust? Want?

  “Hmm. Partial to girl-on-girl action eh? Interesting. No wonder you felt frigid,” I whispered and wiped the side of my mouth.

  Nope. Looked like things were going to be just the same between us.

  “Well, I’m not one to have someone’s tongue shoved down my throat like they are plundering for gold.” Riley stopped talking, and the crew turned back to us.

  “We’d love to see another scene. You two went to the same acting school, yes? How was it working with each other? And, Harrison, the next scene calls for you to take your shirt off.”

  Whipping the shirt over my head and recalling the lines for the next scene, I was about to answer the questions that I thought were directed to both of us when she took the lead.

  “Yes. Harrison and I studied together. He’s come a long way, and I’m sure he will go further if I get this role,” she said as I stepped in behind her.

  She jolted when I moved my hand across her stomach.

  Looking over her shoulder, I called out, “If you’re looking for a prima donna, you might have found her. Ow.”

  Her heel shifted squarely over my big toe while she dug her nails into the forearm locked around her.

  “Let’s not forget what you told me. My character is the show.” I was not going to lose the toehold I had over her. I was the star, there was only one spotlight, and I wasn’t going to lose it to someone who made me feel like I didn’t deserve it. “The feedback on the scenes I’ve been in have put this show in a new light. You’ll have to make sure you find someone who is fine living and working in my shadow.” I was quicker the second time as her heel found the floor. “Can we do the scene, or do you need a moment to prepare?”

  Riley launched into the scene, and I played off where I was needed. The crew were nodding when all I wanted to do was scream ‘anyone but her’. The further we got along the scene, the more I knew she was cementing herself into the role. We’d continued further than what we needed, and I was secretly impressed by her ability to know the whole script.

  Ending the scene, the crew got to their feet and clapped. They’ve never done that for me. That’s when I knew my wishes would go unanswered. She was going to become my partner. Ninety-five percent of the scenes would be with my girlfriend, so that meant a lot of working with her.

  “I don’t work in anyone’s shadow,” she whispered as she passed me my shirt. “Either you can make this a good experience or a bad one.”

  I should have been mature.

  I should have been professional.

  I should have been an adult.

  But no, I stupidly chose juvenile and descended our relationship to shamefully horrible lows and I don’t know how to stop.

  I’ve been calling the paparazzi on her for months. She foolishly linked in her private calendar into the schedule calendar. The schedule calendar shows who and what time that person needs to be on set. Now, any one of us can log in and see when she has her appointments. I’m sure I’m the only one who looks, but still. It used to really eat at me, but now I only feel a twinge of guilt when I send a message to the magazine’s photographers to catch her as she’s coming from the gym or interrupting her night out. I had to fight the smile from forming during one read-through session when she had complained about a picture of her sitting with bleach in her hair that had appeared in one of the weekly magazines.

  “Don’t ever use that hairdresser. There were ten other seats in there, and they put me front and centre to get some free advertising. I do not endorse that kind of behaviour,” she snipped.

  “Most people would be pleased with the exposure, but not you. You have to find the negative in everything,” I said.

  The rolling of some writer’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

  Riley didn’t even bother to look up from her script as she said, “Didn’t ask for your opinion, Hardy-Har-Har. It’s just typical of this industry. I get my photo splashed on the front page with shit all in my hair.” She tossed the offending magazine to the middle of the table. “While you, Mister Glamour Boy, gets pictures taken with a beach backdrop, unobtainable body, with a glowing headline.”

  The list of other instances I’m not proud of is a long one, one being that I’ve destroyed any chance of her getting other jobs. I know. I know I’m going to Hell and every time I sabotage something for her, I know karma is taking care of my chances of anything happening between us. Malicious, standover tactic, I’ve had all those names run through my head. Something just happens when she behaves the way she does towards me that I can’t help but retaliate. I know for a fact the show wouldn’t be half as popular as it was without her. There was a real worry that ratings would drop when Declan got a girlfriend. The response has been the opposite. Women want to be her, and their boyfriends want to be with her. It hurts to say it, but the show’s success is all owed to her. That’s a bitter pill to swallow. Maybe that’s why I call for so many retakes, mess with her head.

  One day, I really managed to get under her skin. She was being her typical rude self to me, then she let it drop that she had to be somewhere. Well, that just called for the scene to be done again, and again, and again. I was having fun watching and waiting for her to let the swears fly, but when the director called “Cut!”, she just simply got up and walked out. I knew I’d pushed too far when I heard her crying in her dressing room as I walked to mine. Hearing her cry snapped me out of it. I’d taken it way over the line. I didn’t need the sit-down meeting with the studio executives to tell me that. I’d been given an official warning. That’s when I’d tried to reel it back in even if Riley didn’t.

  After that night, the crew saw what I’d done, and the dynamic shifted. I wasn’t the favourite anymore. The crew that I’d spoken to every day, now keep their distance. All of a sudden, they had actual work to do. Riley would go from her dressing room to the set and back again—she wouldn’t sit around and wait. When I questioned someone about why it was taking so long for her to come to and from, when she used to just sit in the chair and wait, they told me they couldn’t blame her.

  “Some of it was funny, but you took it over the line, and we don’t blame her wanting to stay as far away from you as possible.”

  Turns out, she was meant to be going on a date. This is the reason I’m going to Hell. Yep. This is why I give so much of my wage to charities and spend time with sick kids. Riley might have thought she was going on a date with a guy named Kit who is a distant friend of mine. More of an acquaintance from our audition days. Kit was hitting me from all angles to try to get a part on Restless Times. I succumbed to his request to catch up for a drink, and Kit and I were at a club when I saw Riley walk in. I asked him for a favour—which was for him to buy her a drink and woo her for a couple of hours to ensure none of the guys who normally swarmed to her stood a chance. Well, woo her he did, because they’ve seen each other a couple of times, and it looks like she wants to move the relationship forward. Now I’ve put Kit in the awkward position of having spent time with her to tell her that he doesn’t want to pursue anything. It wasn’t long before Kit worked out my hidden feelings for Riley with the amount of questioning I put him under.

  Just as I thought about it, I get a message from him along with a screenshot of the message she’s just sent him:

  Hoping you can make some time to see me tonight. Really want to talk to you along with his own request of What do I do?

  I fall farther into the rabbit hole of Hell when I giv
e him a call. She wasn’t meant to develop feelings for him. Kit had assured me that he doesn’t have feelings for her and was going along with the joke to start with and now realises he, too, keeps getting in deeper and deeper. I’ve talked him out of telling her the truth and bought some time to come up with a solution to this issue I’ve made. As far as I know, Kit’s been keeping things friendly.

  There is no way I could ever divulge my feelings to her now. Even if I was completely honest with her, professed how she drives me insane just as much as I love everything about her, she wouldn’t believe me. Kit didn’t answer my call, and my heart plummets as I reread the message. I haven’t been intimate with anyone since I realised my feelings for Riley. Doesn’t mean I haven’t had gorgeous women on my arm for show. They get a kiss on the cheek or the hand and that’s it. Kit was crashing at my place for a few nights while he was sorting out his own home situation when he brought up the topic of Riley. Kit’s the only one who knows how I truly feel about her and is of no help in trying to change my ways.

  I’ve had girls hang off me, but none of them have held my attention like Riley. Yep. I haven’t had relations with another woman for two years. Without even trying, she’s cockblocking me. I’ve had some beautiful, exotic, glamourous women throwing themselves at me. There have been times where I’ve had one of these women on my arm and I see the look I saw that day, right before I kissed Riley for the audition. The look fades into something else, and as quickly as she blinks, it’s gone. It’s that brief look that cuts me deep down that she will never be mine. She’s made it obvious that I’m not up to her standard.

  My phone rings, and Kit growls when I answer, “Tell me again how you managed to get me involved in this?”

  “I know. I’m thinking. I’m working on a way to get you out of this.”

  “Well, work harder. I feel dirty and wrong.”