by Maggie Marr
I had ten more pages of an awful thriller to read. The pacing was slow and the dialog was stilted. The third act on this project was a colossal mess. My recommendation to Dillon on this project was a big pass.
The door banged open. A ping of excitement pulsed in my belly. I sat straighter. What the hell? I didn’t want to be attracted to Dillon. He’d pissed me off grandly earlier that day, but it would seem by the adrenaline rushing through my system that I, like every other female who came into contact with Dillon MacAvoy, lusted after Mr. Chiseled Perfection. The difference? I could lust after him, physically, but I wouldn’t act on my attraction. I wouldn’t throw myself at Dillon, clutch his arm, mold myself to his side, press my boobs into his chest.
“Yo, yo, yo!”
I crinkled my eyebrows. Unfamiliar voice. Definitely not Dillon. A guy bounded up the steps. He looked like a J. Crew ad in a three-piece suit. Seriously, he wore a three-thousand-dollar suit, shiny, thousand-dollar shoes, and I was pretty certain it was a Rolex that decorated his wrist. I couldn’t see the eyes under the aviator shades. This guy was slick. He oozed car salesman. His blond hair was cropped right at the edge of his suit-jacket collar. His skin was a warm gold. Ease rolled off him as thick as the roll of bills I felt certain was shoved into his pocket.
“You aren’t Dillon,” he said. He pulled his sunglasses from his face. His eyes traveled over me in a more secretive fashion than most. He stepped toward me. “I’m Webber Conner, Dillon’s agent.” He clasped my hand in his. His whole being screamed confidence.
My heart sped up because Webber Conner was a big deal in entertainment. A big deal at CTA, and potentially a big deal in my career.
“Lane Channing,” I said. I locked my gaze with his. I needed to make an impression. “Dillon’s new reader.”
A low whistle came from his mouth. “You’re the girl Choo wanted.”
I tilted my head.
His smile remained fixed on his face, but something in his eyes hardened. “Kansas, right?”
My spine stiffened, but I smiled and nodded.
“Well, if you make it through the summer with Dillon, there’s a job at CTA waiting on the other side.”
My stomach churned. I’d looked Webber up and his client list was massive. He repped Ryan Sinclair, Jackson Nichols… a huge number of male action stars.
“I’m going to give you a tip.” Webber tapped the arm of his sunglasses against his jaw. “Because Nancy likes you and so does Choo, and I like them.”
I nodded and waited for his words. Words I was hopeful could steer me to a solid summer and a great career at CTA.
“Don’t sleep with Dillon.”
The color drained from my face. A slimy, sick feeling soured my stomach.
“Oh shit,” Webber said. “You didn’t sleep with him already, did you?”
My jaw dropped open and the sick feeling climbed up the back of my throat. “No! I mean, why would you… who do you think…” My feelings jetted from absolute horror to rage.
“Hey, Lane.” Webber held out both hands, palms forward in an I-surrender stance. “Babe, I’m not making any judgments about you. It’s about him.” Webber jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward the trailer door. “I mean, come on! Every girl in the 310 and 323 would drop their panties for him, and he’s not even a star yet.” He pointed his glasses toward me. “You look like a girl with more on her mind than sex. I’m just saying if you want to stick out the reader gig and land the CTA job next spring after you graduate, don’t sleep with Dillon.”
This guy really thought he was giving me a piece of valuable advice. “Okay,” I said, still mortified. “Got it.”
“Great!” A car-dealer smile spread over Webber’s face. He shoved on his aviators. “I’m gonna head over to set and watch some takes.” He pointed two fingers at me like they were pistols and he was Quick Draw McGraw. “You keep reading.”
I was glad to see Webber bounce down the steps of Dillon’s trailer and slam shut the door.
Dillon
The day ran long on set. The sun had gone down. I still had two more scenes to shoot before end of day. The hot, cherry-red ends of cigarettes decorated the darkness and lined the path to my trailer. Both the cast and crew were feeding their nicotine habit on this last break. I’d discovered on my first film that caffeine and nicotine were as necessary to the making of films as cameras. I pulled open my trailer door just as my phone rang. I yanked it from my pocket.
“Hello,” I said.
“Dillon?”
A feeling like ice slid down my spine. A chill that spread outward through my limbs. I shut the trailer door but stood, stuck at the bottom of the steps.
“How did you get this number?” I asked.
“I just want to… We need to talk.” She sighed and I heard a tremor in her voice. “We want to see you.”
“Me?” My tone bittered around my words. I knew the kind of heartbreak a meeting like that would cause, what my mother’s words meant. “What about my brother? What about Choo?”
Her silence was her answer. I pictured her lips pressed into a thin line and her jaw set firm and proud as though she had some sort of righteousness. “I… we… your father and I can’t see Charles as long as he chooses to live that kind of lifestyle.”
My ribs clamped around my chest and the ice-cold feeling shifted to hot rage. I fought to control my words, I fought to hold my temper out of my voice, I fought to keep my emotions stuffed deep down inside. “Choo didn’t make a choice,” I said. “He was born that way.”
“No, Dillon, he was not,” she said. “He is a very sick young man. He refuses our help and we refuse to watch him kill himself and his redemption with his choice of lifestyle.”
I fought for breath. I’d listened to her denial my entire life. I’d watched as she’d first tortured him, then sent my brother away to try to “cure” him of his gayness. Until finally, now, because of me and my success, he didn’t have to fear our parents anymore and he could be who he was.
“Choo is gay,” I said. “He isn’t sick.” My grip on my temper was slipping. I wasn’t able to hold on to myself and my feelings. How could a parent, how could a father, how could our own mother, turn her back on her child because he was gay? My heart hurt, and anger surged through me.
“When Charles decides to face this choice and make a different one, then we will embrace him into our lives again, but until then…” Her words drifted into silence. I didn’t need to hear her say it, I knew what she wanted to say, that until my brother chose to “fix” his gayness and be straight, she and my father wanted nothing to do with him. But they still wanted to see me. The son they approved of, the one who had made the right choice and slept with a slew of women. If they only knew that Choo was much sweeter, much kinder, a much better person in his heart than I would ever be, but they couldn’t. They would never see the goodness of their son, of my brother, as long as he embraced who he was as a person, because as long as he was honest with the world and was himself, our parents wanted nothing to do with him.
I shook my head. I would never see my parents as long as they rejected my brother. I could never do that to him. I’d watched our parents pray for him, try to forcefully change him, and then cast him out. I’d witnessed the pain and torture in his eyes. I never wanted him to think for a moment that I chose them and their beliefs over what I knew to be true. I had a gay brother, a gay brother whom I loved and would protect like I always had when we were kids.
“Mom, until you face reality, I will never see you.”
“Dill—”
I pressed Off on my phone before she could say anything more. I grasped my hair with both hands. I walked up the steps and turned toward the back of my trailer.
I caught her eyes. Sympathy, surprise, shock—all kinds of emotions trailed across her face.
My heart jackknifed in my chest. I pushed a hard breath from my lungs. She hadn’t said a word while I’d raged with my mother. I’d forgotten she was still there.
This wasn’t a part of my life I wanted to share. I didn’t want her to see me raw and vulnerable and completely unhinged. This wasn’t who I wanted to be in front of any person. I jerked myself around and slammed down the stairs and out the trailer door.
Chapter 8
Lane
The next week I fell into a routine. Wake up at six a.m. Take the pups to Runyon Canyon. Come back to the house. Grab a shower. Get some coffee and eat whatever fabulous breakfast Mathilde had fixed while we tried to hold a conversation and understand each other. Read three scripts. Take the dogs for another walk. Read three scripts. Swim. Have dinner and drinks with Choo. Watch a fabulous movie and fall into bed. This was a good gig. Dillon was away on location somewhere in the world, and I prayed that he stayed there for the rest of the summer. This I could handle with him away—I would definitely stick out the whole summer and get my full-time job from CTA.
“It’s Friday night, baby,” Choo said as he danced in the door from the garage. “Tonight we get our boogie on!”
A thrill chased up my spine. I hadn’t yet been out in L.A. Choo had to be in the mailroom at CTA every morning by seven thirty a.m., and since overhearing Dillon’s conversation with his mom, I never saw him.
Choo grabbed my hand and spun me around the kitchen. Kong danced at my feet and yapped. Bernie lay sprawled out on his side, sleeping beside the kitchen table. He jerked his head upward to check out the commotion, but when he saw it was simply Choo wheeling me around like I was a dance diva, he plopped his head back down and sighed.
“Choo, what you do to Miss Lane,” Mathilde said as she walked from the kitchen pantry carrying a box of pasta and fresh tomatoes.
“Getting her ready for our big night,” Choo said and dipped me at the waist.
I giggled. It felt good to be silly.
“She is going to rock it tonight!” Choo pulled me back up to standing and then bounced his hip against mine. “Go on, girl, go get yourself even more beautiful!”
*
I didn’t own much when it came to clothes and shoes and purses, but I tried to make what I did own be exactly what I wanted. I pulled a cream-colored baby-doll dress with gold threads woven through the fabric over my head and pulled on my strappy gold high-heel sandals. I turned to the mirror. I’d amped up the makeup tonight. The smudged, smoky eye shadow made my eyes pop. I’d chosen a light, blush-colored lip gloss and a shimmering rose for my cheeks. I tossed my hair over my shoulder and turned from one side to the other.
My palms were sweaty and my stomach churned. What was I so nervous about? Maybe because I’d never gone out in a city even half the size of Los Angeles? Maybe because my L.A. adventure so far had been completely different in every way from what I’d imagined? Maybe because I was living in the house of the hottest guy I’d ever seen on the planet? A guy who seemed to loathe my existence. I pushed thoughts of Dillon out of my mind. Tonight was meant to be fun. Tonight I was going to hang out with Choo and have a bangin’ time. I scooped up my purse and headed to meet him.
*
“Damn, girl, you clean up good!”
I glanced to the bottom of the staircase where Choo was standing. He wore another one of those uber-expensive graphic tees and some skinny jeans. I held the rail as I walked down the staircase. I was nearly to the bottom when Dillon rounded the corner.
My heart jumped in my chest. I hadn’t known he’d returned to L.A. tonight. This was the first time I’d seen him since he’d banged out of his trailer on set, furious that I’d heard his conversation with his mom.
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes traveled up over my feet and legs, the bottom of my skirt, my chest and neck. A tiny curl of heat licked over my skin. When his gaze hit mine, my face flushed. Heat pulsed through me and between my legs.
I tried to push a smile onto my face. I tried to breathe, to walk, to not stare at Dillon’s complete and utter physical perfection, but it was so hard. His lips pursed and the emotion in his eyes didn’t look happy—in fact, he looked angry. He folded his arms over his chest. I forced my gaze away from the muscles in his arms.
“Where are you two going?” Dillon didn’t look at his brother but kept his eyes glued to me.
“Area,” Choo said.
Dillon’s eyes roamed my body one more time and then he turned toward the back of the house and walked away.
I stepped into the wooden foyer and looked at Choo. “What was that about?”
Choo shook his head. “With him? Who knows? He gets so moody sometimes. Come on, let’s go get our party on.” Choo pulled my hand and we hurried out the door.
*
The line that snaked from the front door of Area went for a block and a half.
“You look discouraged,” Choo said. A huge grin decorated his face. “Don’t be. While my brother can be a jerk there are perks to being related.” Choo skirted the crowd and made his way to the front door where a guy stood with two giant, beefy bouncers. He had shocks of white hair tipped in blue.
“Choo, man, how are you!” He grasped Choo’s hand and pulled him in for a hug, then turned from Choo to me. His eyes widened as he looked me over. “Damn Choo,” he said and shook his head. “Who is this beautiful creature?” A giant smile broke over his face. “Choo, my man, if I didn’t know you, I’d say you’d been holding out on me.”
“Lane,” I said and held out my hand. “Lane Channing.”
“Lane, this is Viggo. He’s the guy you need to know to get in.”
“Well, Lane Channing, you may be the hottest-looking girl in this club tonight.” He leaned forward and heat flushed through my body with his compliment. “You need anything at all tonight, just drop my name.” He tapped his chest. “Got it?”
I nodded and Viggo winked. The bouncer behind him unhooked the rope and we were in.
The club was dark but had a light, airy feel. The walls were cream-colored stone and blond wood. We followed a hostess in boy-toy shorts and lace-up high-heel boots to a giant, camel-colored couch beside the dance floor. On the table, in front of the couches reserved for us, the bottle service was already set up.
“I called ahead,” Choo said.
While I wanted a drink, I couldn’t. I might be from Kansas, but I knew what bottle service cost.
“Choo special?” Choo leaned forward and poured vodka into two glasses. I shook my head no.
I’d been at clubs before without enough cash to drink. I knew I could use the tricks my friends did—especially the ones that absolutely didn’t need to use tricks—but I didn’t. Something about smiling and flirting just to get a free drink made me feel cheap.
“Come on,” Choo said.
Embarrassment raced through me. Choo knew where I was financially, but I didn’t want to discuss it, not here. Tonight it was enough just to be in the club and out in L.A. I could dance for free. I suspected Choo thought he’d pay for my drinks tonight, but I just didn’t feel right. I was already getting room and board as part of my job. I couldn’t expect him to pay for my drinks too. I leaned over to Choo and bit my bottom lip.
He crinkled his brow. “What is it?”
“I can’t…” I looked out at the throbbing mass of bodies on the dance floor, then back to Choo. “I just can’t pay for this right now,” I said softly. Heat flushed at my neck.
Choo threw back his head and a giant laugh burst from his mouth. My chest burned. I furrowed my brow. I didn’t think that me being broke was really that funny.
“Oh, Laney, I love you,” Choo said. “I am so sorry. I’m not laughing at you. Lane, baby, nobody is paying for this tonight.”
“What?”
“Lane, they want me here because they want my brother here, because he is about to pop into a big star. The crowd goes where the celebrities goes. So this”—he waved his hand over the bottle service and the couch that we inhabited—“is free.”
“Free?” I whispered.
Of course I knew that celebrities got special treatment, but I hadn’t thought abo
ut how much special treatment.
“So I ask again.” Choo held up the now completed drink. “Choo special?”
I smiled and nodded. How could I possibly say no? I gulped down the first drink and held out my glass toward Choo for another.
“Damn, girl! You do know how to drink.”
“Not much else to do where I’m from,” I said and dotted my fingertips to the corners of my mouth. The liquor made my limbs feel loose. My foot bounced to the beat that pumped out from the speakers. Choo handed me my drink.
“Jackson!” he called. A giant smile swept over his face. I turned my head to see a gorgeous man walking toward us. He wasn’t as tall as Choo, but he was thicker. His skin was a beautiful shade of brown, his eyes big and black. He had to be a dancer or an athlete. The man moved with some solid grace.
“Lane, this is my guy,” Choo said and wrapped an arm around Jackson. He planted a giant kiss upon his lips. “Jackson, baby, meet Lane. She reads for my brother.”
Jackson turned his eyes to me. “Glad somebody does.” He laughed around his words. “Nice to meet you, Lane.” He shook my hand. “Dillon needs to capitalize on his opportunities,” he said and squeezed his arm around Choo, “and give you more free time with me.”
Choo leaned toward me. “Is he hot or what?” he whispered in my ear. We both turned and checked out Jackson’s ass as he chatted with a couple of people he knew.
“Way hot,” I said. A tiny little burp escaped over my lips.
“Lane!” Choo said and pressed his hand to his heart as though he was shocked and appalled. He slipped my empty glass from my hand. “Darlin’, it sounds and looks as though you need another Choo special.”
Two Choo specials later I was in the center of the dance floor with Choo, Jackson, and a half dozen of Choo’s friends. I wasn’t sure if they were truly friends or just gadflies that wanted free drinks. But I absolutely didn’t care because it felt so fantastic just to dance. The DJ bounced beats that throbbed heavy.