Off Screen

by Josephine Traynor

Clara shifts forward in her seat. “I do think this is highly unorthodox. Is there any other way around this? I’ve also emailed out a questionnaire for you both to fill in.” She raises her pen as if it’s a speaking turn stick.

  My first feelings of disliking her continue to grow.

  “We feel that by having to co-exist outside of work, it might lead to happier times at work,” she says.

  “I’m happy here,” I say. “I’m not the one who calls for eight retakes when the first three were fine to splice from. I’m not the one—”

  “Save it for next week. We will take the first couple of days to get settled in, go over the scripts. There’s no need to go over the non-disclosure clause, is there? Just tell anyone who asks you’re going away on location to shoot.”

  The only person I want to tell is Kit and I haven’t heard from him for a couple of days. He seemed really interested to get to know me, and then all of a sudden, he’s got commitments. Maybe I’m too slow to see the writing on the wall, but my heart has started to make space for him. He’s so easy to talk to. He’s cute and has always made me feel comfortable.

  The meeting is called to a close with us both agreeing to give it a try. No surprises when Clara makes her way to Harrison first and holds out her hand for him to take.

  “And what happens when I get out there and he does something to piss me right off and I want out?”

  Lydia’s hands rest on my shoulders. “Well, if that’s the way it works out, then we go into damage control for your career. I think another season here will do wonders. You can leave on your terms then, not be forced out.”

  Feeling our space being invaded, I turn to see Clara, whose warm smile meets my glare. I’m not in the mood to be analysed. Ever. Spent years of my childhood on the therapists’ sofa and don’t want to go back there.

  “Riley. Can I say, big fan. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  “Well, that makes one person in the room. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  Allan calls out goodbye and that he will see us here on Monday. “You should see the bus they have for us.”

  “I can drive myself. Just give me the location,” I announce.

  “We can go together,” Harrison pitches in and grins as he watches me snarl at his suggestion.

  “Great.” Clara claps. “What a great suggestion.”

  Lydia’s grip tightens when I fire off a smart-arse answer about checking the back of the car for a tarp, rope, and a shovel ready for my trip.

  “Fine,” Harrison says. “But we are not taking your car. That monstrosity will alert every pap in a hundred-mile radius.”

  I could have been knocked over by a feather when he said that was fine. Granted, I’ll have to put the spark plugs back in but I will make sure we don’t take the Porsche.

  “Look at you two. Working together already on the issue,” says Clara.

  Lydia and I walk out of the boardroom first, and I was hoping that we would be able to get away from Harrison and his little shit of a manager, but no, luck was not on my side today. The five of us move into the elevator in silence before the doors lock us in. Harrison and I are at the back, Lydia and Dominic in front of us, and Clara is closest to the door. Harrison, the juvenile, pokes me in the shoulder and waves his hand under his nose while screwing that perfect punchable face up. Giving my best look of disdain, I shake my head only to get another poke in the shoulder. He’s about to learn a real fast fact. I hate being poked. Hate it.

  Poke.

  That’s it.

  I shoot my hand across and grab a firm hold of his finger all the way up to the knuckle. The angle is awkward for him. I have the grip to bend his finger back, which I know is making it more and more painful. His mouth drops open, and his knees buckle when he foolishly moves his hand farther, giving me the leverage I need to control him or risk breaking a finger. His blue eyes bug out of his head as I show who has the power and I mouth I fucking hate you. Being one that doesn’t know when to stop, he mouths back bite me. I shift my wrist ever so slightly, and he lowers even farther and holds his scream inside those reddening and puffed cheeks. The best part about all of this, no one has a clue what’s going on behind them. Don’t fucking touch me, I mouth before lowering my hand and quickly releasing his finger. Harrison’s whimper attracts the attention of Dominic as Harrison continues to the floor and pretends to adjust his shoe.

  For the lift to descend three floors, it’s taking a long time. The elevator chimes and not a moment too soon. I have to wait for Clara to get off first. Dominic pushes past Lydia as they exit, and I take a step forward, only to stumble and meet the floor. Harrison calls out that he’s going to get the door, but they close, and I roll over to see him pressing the button that makes them close, not the one that keeps them open. I’m stuck in the elevator with him. I look down. He’d managed to tie my laces together while he was pretending to cradle an injured finger.

  “You’re a bastard,” I spit and yank on the laces.

  He crouches down next to me and presses his peaked fingers to his lips. “You keep calling me that enough, you know it’s going to start turning me on.”

  I claw at the laces and curse for them to untie. I scoff at his comments, then the laces are finally free, and I get to my feet.

  Harrison, however, remains crouched. “Look. I know this will mean nothing to you, but this job means everything to me.”

  It meant everything to me, too, until he managed to make it so horrible.

  “I know you want out of the show. Maybe if we start getting along, the storylines will change. They aren’t going to give in to bratty behaviour.”

  Not true. I want to be away from you and your horribleness.

  “But I’m prepared to put everything that’s happened to us aside to give this a real go if you are. I just want to be professional.”

  In the years that I’ve known him, this is the most vulnerable I’ve seen him. I don’t like him but I don’t want to destroy him. No. I take that back. There are days I want to destroy him. The last thing I want is to be unemployable. I’ve known him for years, and this is the first adult conversation we’ve had. I look at his outstretched hand then back to his eyes.

  Knocking his hand out of the way, I say, “Deal.” The door chimes again, indicating it’s going to open. “But if you fart in my car, I’ll leave you on the side of the road.”

  The door opens, and Dominic bustles inside while Harrison rises to his full height and his eyes remain trained on mine. I know I’m going to end up kicking myself because I actually believe him.

  “What did she do to you? Do you need a lawyer?” Dominic asks.

  Lydia calls for him to shut up as I make my way to her.

  Can I let go of everything he’s put me through? Do I want to is a better question.

  Four

  Harrison

  Goddamn my finger hurts, and something behind her answer didn’t make me believe that she can let our history go so easily and change her ways. I never thought for a million years they would house us together, and now that it’s happening, my idea doesn’t seem so great. I’ve poked the bitchy and spiteful bear and now I have to literally live with the fallout. Kit’s sent me another three messages asking me what to do. Dominic hovers over me, so I set off to reply in whatever privacy I can get.

  Not going to be an issue for a fortnight. We are shooting on location. Maybe tonight is the best time to break it off.

  Clicking the seat belt on, I peer over my dashboard, and my gaze stops right on the hips that have given me too many morning glories to count as she’s scavenging through the bushes. Unclipping the belt, I get out of the car and make my way over to Riley. She’s too busy leaning in the bush and hasn’t noticed the spark plug tucked under the shrub near her left foot.

  “There’s one on the ground near your foot,” I say.

  She rights herself first before reaching down to grab it.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I told you not to th
row the bag.”

  Tsking at me, she sighs and then speaks slowly to enunciate every word. “Why did you take them out of my car in the first place?”

  Shrug. “Something to do. Be a dick. There’s no real motive here, like all the things I do to you. Anything that’s going to mess with your day, I’m pretty much going to have a crack at it.”

  She scoffs and shakes her head. “You’d be a half decent guy if you’d just be nice to me.”

  “Pot? Have you met me? I’m Kettle.”

  And right there. At that moment, I get my first genuine smile from her. The moment would have been nice if she didn’t laugh. It’s like the planets are aligning. The glow of the afternoon sun peeks through the threads of her hair, her face free of the layers of makeup they put on her to be camera-ready.

  “We do make quite a pair. So what are your plans for the weekend?” she asks.

  Wow. She’s really getting into this ‘be friends’ thing. She’s never asked anything about me. If she’s going to ask, I’m going to answer. I honestly thought she was going to be a nightmare and go the complete opposite to the way she’s behaving now and become a bigger nightmare to deal with.

  “Well, I’m catching up with a friend tonight. I’ll start packing, I guess. Do you think there’ll be a gym nearby? I can’t go without working out. I’m actually really excited about what they might have in store for us and can I just say, thank you, for being so approachable about this. Seeing a whole new side to you, Riley.” I’m about to tell her that I’ve been wanting to see this side of her for years when she interrupts my thoughts by glancing past me and giving a nod.

  There’s a security guard standing next to my car that happens to be in a big no-stopping zone. I look back at her, and the charming and distracting smile is gone. She takes a step forward, and I curl my fingers into a fist purely for protection.

  “I don’t give a fuck what you do on the weekend, I’m just enjoying watching you get this ticket,” she says. “I’ll go through with this charade because I don’t need any more bad attention put on my career. I’ll do what’s needed and then I’ll be out of here at the first chance. You think I’m acting when I read out those shitty weak scripts? My acting’s going to be so good, I’m going to convince everyone that I’m your new best friend.” Her shoulder knocks against mine when she brushes past me. “Acting at its best.”

  Riley skipped away while I went over and accepted my ticket. It’s only now that I’m realising the course of my actions has led to my neck being on the chopping block from the show. I’m perfectly happy with my job. Great location, great people to work with. I know Riley hates the storyline, and sometimes it wears me down, too. They said in yesterday’s meeting, if we bring our bickering under control, maybe they will let us have some input.

  Pulling my Porsche back into our studio parking lot, I find Riley leaning over the engine of her car. Without a word, I get out of mine, take the plugs out of her hand and block out her protests that she can do it, even though I know she hasn’t got a clue when she was standing on the wrong side of the engine to start with. Before ninety seconds has even passed, the plugs are back in, and I slip into the driver’s seat to start her engine without a word passing my lips. That counts as two nice things for her.

  Maintaining my silence, I step out of her way as she rounds to my side of the car. I give her a nod, and she thanks me and leaves without an utterance. I can’t be accused of anything if I keep my mouth shut. She lets me leave the lot first, and I head home. She might not be on board to change her ways, but I am, and the only way I can do that is to show her, and not an ounce of it will be acting.

  Thoughts of Riley haunted my sleep again last night. Giving up when I’d counted a thousand sheep, I set about throwing the last of my clothes in the suitcase. I’ve packed an array of everything, and it’s only ten on Saturday morning. I don’t leave for another two days, but I like to be organised and prepared. Swimming trunks, workout clothes, wetsuit and jeans, I even packed some nice formal pants. I’ve emailed, texted, and even rang Dominic for details about where we are going, and he assures me that he doesn’t even know. I’ve filled in Clara’s questionnaire. Some of the questions hit home a little too hard and dredged up some memories that even I don’t want to face, let alone my nemesis to know about me. The history I want to know about is Riley’s. I want to know why she is the way she is, and the only way she’s going to give up that information is when I am completely honest with her. While I’m thinking of her, I realise I have access to her planner, just not her phone number.

  “I need her number,” I tell Dominic as I pull on my jacket zipper.

  “Whose number?”

  “Riley’s.”

  “You want Riley’s number?”

  Pulling the suitcase off the bed, I smooth the material out on the bedspread with my hand before heading for the hallway to the front door. “She’s driving. She needs to know where to pick me up.”

  He all but screamed down the line about me letting her drive. “I think I might talk to the network about getting you a bodyguard.”

  Now, prior to the finger-bending incident, I would have said I’m fine. Tossing over the suggestion of someone to help keep her at bay, I decide on a no and tell him I’ll be fine. “So just say that she did screw this gig up for me. What’s the fallout predicted to be?”

  It’s not like Dominic to be silent on any topic, and I think the phone’s dropped out until he finally speaks. “I’ve put a few feelers out there for you.”

  “And?” I stand in living room of my modest two-bedroom apartment. I’m in the fortunate position that I saved my money like a crazy man in the first year of working on Restless Lives and was able to buy my apartment here in the city and I don’t need to share a house like most actors my age. I don’t buy things unless I need them, and everything I own has its place.

  “The response has not been good. By you demanding more takes might give you some personal satisfaction in your vendetta against her, but the flip side is, it’s giving you a reputation that you’re difficult to work with. People are talking, and not with good things to say. It’s hard. I get it. It’s unnatural not to bite back at her. She’s ruining your career, and you’re helping her out with it. The best result would be for her to walk. They can always write you in a new love interest. Anything she says can be controlled by some good public relations. So. Focus on you. Go to the gym. Go have a nice lunch. Go out tonight. I think you’re being sent to the middle of bum fuck nowhere, so this might be the last chance for a couple of weeks.”

  I say my goodbyes before ending the call.

  Kit’s been sending me messages saying Riley won’t stop with her wishes to move their relationship to something more intimate. I call him. He picks up after the first ring.

  “What the fuck am I going to do? She’s unrelenting.”

  “What’s she asking for?” I pull on a shirt as per Dominic’s suggestion of hitting the gym.

  “She wants to go to dinner tonight and talk about moving our relationship to the next level. You don’t talk about next level when you want to break up with someone.” He sounds panicked. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want any part of this.”

  I feel bad for putting him in this situation, and my brain races to try to think of an answer.

  “I’ll meet up with her for lunch and break it off then,” he says. “This whole situation was a dick move—”

  “I know,” I cut him off.

  “And now, I look like the bad guy and she’s hurt.”

  Hearing that didn’t give me the satisfaction I was hoping it would give. “I know.”

  “So when are you going to man up and do something? You’ll end up ripping each other apart. Makes me think she’s got feelings for you, too.”

  I perk up at this revelation. “How so?”

  “Just the way she says things. Like there’s some kind of regret behind the way she is towards you.”

  My curiosity is piqued, and I ask
him to continue. It’s all sorts of crazy-level wrong, but if there’s a glimmer of hope that she might have feelings for me, I want to find out.

  “Whenever your name gets mentioned, there’s something behind those gorgeous eyes of hers.”

  Gorgeous? Why is he paying her a compliment?

  Part of me fights feeling possessive, and I tell myself to agree that it’s a compliment.

  “I told you a few weeks ago that I wanted out of this situation,” he says.

  Running a hand through my hair, I have to admit my feelings. “So just tell her you’re not interested like she is.” The usually talkative Kit is unusually quiet. “Please tell me you’re not interested in her like that.” I have enough competition in getting her to change her mind about me in the first place, let alone with another guy involved.

  “No, I just feel like a jerk.”

  “And you should. I’m sorry I put you in that position and I’d seriously be questioning your morals if you didn’t think it was bad. I’ll spend four hours today making good karma for you.”

  My good karma comes in the form of donating my time at the hospital in the children’s ward. The kids all squeal as I round the corner. That always warms my heart to hear such noise coming from such sick kids. Kids whose lives are at the mercy of whatever insidious evil is lurking in their blood or bones.

  “Hey, hey, here are my most favourite people in the world!” I call with my arms out wide. Like every week I’m here, Amy runs at me.

  Taking a knee, I let her slight body hit me and try to soften the blow. Each time we do that, I’m terrified I’m going to end up hurting her. Amy has been here for six months while battling Leukemia, and she wraps her arms tightly around my neck. She’s sixteen but has the physicality of a twelve-year-old, yet her brain is more mature than mine. The deal was, if she was getting stronger each time I came in, which is minimum once every week, then I get to be her live hand model and she can paint my nails. Faking a cough and that she’s choking me, I beg for mercy. Amy claims to be my number one fan. Funny how I have my two favourite women heading both of my opposing fan clubs. I’ve even gone so far as to set up a fake profile to join Riley’s Facebook fan club. That’s where I sing her praises. I was worried I was coming on too strong when I said she is a wonderful actress. It’s a shame that if I did say it for real, we’ve conditioned ourselves to take everything we say to each other as an insult.