by Tabitha Bree
I bang on the door and wait outside, should there be another naked woman incident like before.
The outdoor area has a full kitchen, bathroom, another wood-burning fireplace and an oversized fire pit. The huge leaf-shaped pool is lit up from underneath, and on this balmy LA night, it’s just begging to be jumped in. A little further over is a whimsical treehouse, like something out of Hook, a little cabin, and a huge expanse of green grass. It’s a top-of-the-world location, an oasis in the city, which you can see sprawled out below, lit up by millions of lights.
Xavier appears on the stairway inside wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, frowning, but then smiling when he sees me through the windows. He walks across the large room and lets me in.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight. I thought you were my agent.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I say, stepping over the threshold. “This will only take a minute.”
“No, don’t be sorry. I’d much rather see you than that bastard. Drink?” He pours himself a scotch from a crystal decanter, raising his eyebrows to me in question.
“No thanks. And you shouldn’t be drinking either. You still have work to do.” I walk over to him and press the new pages of the script against his chest. “Revisions to learn, for tomorrow.”
“Seriously?” He catches the script before it falls to the floor. “Aw man, I’m so wiped.”
“Yeah, well they don’t pay you the big bucks for nothing.”
Actually, learning some new lines is the least Xavier could do for the exorbitant amount they are paying him.
He sighs. “Okay, I’ll get it done.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Really? No smart-ass remarks or complaints about doing your job?”
“Lucky for you, I’m too tired.” He smiles sleepily.
“Yes… I can imagine you’re all tuckered out after today’s activities.”
He opens his mouth for a rebuttal, but then closes it, smiling at the floor.
I look over to the hearth of the fireplace and notice an empty stainless-steel bowl with tiny bones around the sides. “You have a dog?” I ask, looking around for signs of life. “I didn’t peg you as a pet guy.”
Xavier looks at the bowl like he just remembered it was there, the sleepy smile fading from his face. “I had a dog. My situation changed, I couldn’t keep him anymore.”
Hm… that sounds very much like ‘the dog was a handful and I surrendered him to the pound’. It’s always the entitled types like Xavier who do that to animals, no responsibility whatsoever.
I nod, keeping my comments to myself. Xavier isn’t the only tired one here. I don’t have the energy for a sparring match on pet ownership obligations.
“Okay, well I’ll leave you to your lines then.”
I turn toward the tall door.
“You could have just emailed this, you know,” Xavier says, holding up the script. “You didn’t have to drive all the way up here to drop off a hard copy.”
I turn and face him. I’m noticing now how different he looks in comfy clothes—vulnerable, less guarded without his rock God facade.
“I wanted to make sure you got a copy.”
He smiles on one side of his mouth.
“And make sure there are no excuses for not knowing the new lines tomorrow,” I add.
He chuckles. “Fine. But I’m not a child, you know.” He sits the script on his coffee table, which holds a fake plant and a bowl of large wooden balls that appear to serve no purpose. “You don’t need to keep making the trip out here. I can get myself to set on time, there’s no need for you to make the big detour.”
I study him carefully. Is he being genuine, or is this just a ruse to get me away so he can sleep in past his call time? I bet he has a large, comfy bed too… with super high thread-count sheets and big windows you can see the stars through…
Wait.
Why are you thinking about his fucking bedroom?
“I promise,” he finishes, pressing his hands together in prayer position.
I bet those baby blues usually let him get away with anything.
Pushing the large door open, I pull my car keys out of my pocket. “I’ll see you here at six.”
6
Xavier
I’m woken again by the urgent rapping on my door, only this time, I’m not mad about it. I drag myself out of bed, pulling my sweatpants on. These wake-up calls are okay. Dee’s isn’t the worst face to see first thing in the morning. She is like my own crowing rooster. Or a really angry alarm clock.
“Top of the mornin’,” I say when I pull the door open. She scrunches up her face.
“Ew. Why are you so happy today? Don’t tell me there’s another concubine in your bed.”
“No, no, my bed is perfectly empty. Unless you want to change that...?” I raise my eyebrows and revel in the grimace on her face.
“Get in the shower, I don’t want to be late.”
“You say that like it’s different from other mornings,” I say, trudging back toward my staircase. “And I should get you a key if you insist on being here so often. Save myself from answering the door twenty times a day.”
“No, thank you. Ten minutes.”
I wave her off and head to my shower. I turn on the temperature-controlled faucet, tilting my face up as warm water streams through even jets, and prepare myself for another day on set.
Dee really was flustered after the whole trailer incident yesterday.
Best gag ever.
I couldn’t help myself. When she warned me she would come to shepherd me out of my trailer, it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. I’m a natural prankster.
The girl in my bed was an actress I knew. When I say actress, I mean she works in a gift store at Universal Studios, but like many people in LA, she wants to be famous. She’s appeared in several of my music videos, and she’s always available at the drop of a hat for an acting gig. Which is exactly what I hired her for.
She scoffed when I told her the plan—pretend to be in bed together to aggravate my edgy AD. But she was more than happy to go along. That little joke paid her rent for two weeks. It was a win for everyone. And honestly, Dee’s face was priceless.
When she showed up at my house last night, I thought about coming clean, for a hot second at least. But then I decided to keep the gag going a little longer. Keep her on her toes.
Who knows what I will do next?
The drive to the studio is peaceful, comfortably quiet as we motor up the freeway. I actually like the commute with Dee, even if she doesn’t. But I do feel bad she has to go so far out of her way to fetch me. Maybe even bad enough to actually get my ass to the lot on time. Punctuality isn’t my strong suit.
“Did you learn your new lines?” Dee asks as we pull into the studio. The guy in the security box nods at us and the boom goes up.
“Yes, Mom, I did.”
“Good.”
I stayed up till two in the morning learning those damn lines. I hope the last-minute changes aren’t going to be a regular occurrence. I have a hard enough time retaining the dialogue as it is.
I go through the usual routine in hair, makeup, and wardrobe, and emerge in all my pirate-y glory. Today I’m shooting a couple of scenes with Emma and Sadie, so I’m glad to have a break from swinging swords. Sometimes it takes a heavy prop and a fight sequence to remind a man he isn’t as fit as he thought he was.
I walk into the sound stage and hover around the edge of the set—the foyer of a period-era mansion. When Dee spots me from the other side, she finishes her conversation with George and walks over to me. “You’re here already. I was about to come get you.”
“Believe it or not, I can actually read the time on a call sheet.”
“Really? Because you’ve been doing a fantastic impression of someone who doesn’t know how clocks work.” She tilts her head mockingly, and I chuckle into my chest.
“Nice to see you again.”
I turn to the voice and see Emma standing besid
e me, her hands resting on the hump of her period gown. She raises an eyebrow like we share a secret, and I smile in a tight line.
Because of Katherine not wanting to rehearse, this is only the second time I’ve seen Emma. The first being when they auditioned us together. Since then, she’s sent me the odd cheeky text, letting me know she likes my music, and that she is looking forward to working together.
By the third winky face, I got the message loud and clear.
She’s an attractive girl—not dissimilar to my ex. Which is maybe why I have my guard up around her.
“From the top,” Dee announces.
We block out the scene with the cameras, and thankfully, I remember the new lines. I am safe from an incoming barrage from Dee. Emma is on the ball as well, but there’s something about her piercing gaze that is throwing me off. Like she’s undressing me with her eyes.
I am used to advances from women. But I’m trying to do my job, and she is very distracting. And not in a good way. In a ‘she is making me feel uncomfortable’ way.
We move on to shooting. This is the scene where we’re falling for each other, full of longing stares and subtle brushing of the hands. Take after take goes by, and I’m starting to miss the sword fighting.
“Cut,” Katherine calls. She whispers something in Dee’s ear, who nods and cups her hands to her mouth.
“Take five everyone.”
Dee walks over to me, grabbing me by the elbow.
“You’re very handsy, aren’t you?” I smirk as she rounds on me.
“She’s not buying it.”
“What?”
“You and Emma. Katherine said the chemistry isn’t there.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “So why isn’t she telling me that? She’s the director, isn’t she?”
Dee frowns. “I’m not sure. She wanted me to speak with you.”
I exhale. I’m not surprised it doesn’t look great on camera. I feel awkward just doing the scene with Emma. “I’m just having a hard time connecting with her,” I say honestly. “It feels very… forced.”
“You don’t seem to have a problem connecting with other women,” Dee grunts.
I huff, placing my hands on my hips. “You know you can’t believe everything you see online.”
“I’m talking about the woman in your trailer yesterday.”
Hmm. Okay, so maybe my little gag is backfiring. But something about Dee’s tone strikes me. Like she isn’t just shocked and outraged, catching me in bed with someone. Like she is… jealous.
I pinch my eyebrows together, studying her face.
I know I am into Dee, who wouldn’t be? But… is it possible this attraction goes both ways?
However she feels, I know it’s time to come clean. “Look, about yesterday—”
She puts up her hand to cut me off. “I don’t want to talk about that. I just need you to focus on the scene. I don’t care what you have to do to get into the zone. Pretend she’s someone else, whatever. Just show the cameras a little juice.”
I nod, still frowning. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
We reset to do another take, and before I get into position, I look at Dee, smiling on the side of my face.
And when I turn back to Emma, ready to go, I replace her face with someone else’s.
I walk into the snobby supermarket, ready to splash cash on some overpriced organic shit. If I’m going to commit to this film business, I’m going to need to look after myself. The liquor and takeout diet has served me well over the years, but it’s time for an overhaul. Call me inspired.
I walk through the doors and the smell hits me immediately; fancy soaps, fruity essential oils, fresh produce piled high on wooden crates. It all mingles together, and I feel healthier just stepping foot inside. In front of me is a sea of meticulously packaged products and upper-class shoppers wearing yoga pants. And I’m shocked to admit, I’m happy to be here.
Joining Legends of the Sea was meant to be a bit of a rebellion. A ‘fuck you’ to the industry that turned its back on me. A middle finger to the labels that refused to sign me. But maybe this isn’t just a convenient opportunity, but a career I could actually be good at. Maybe even as good as I was at singing and playing guitar.
I peruse the aisles, putting a bunch of random shit in my basket. Ten-dollar pasta? Sure. Rainbow chard? Don’t know what the fuck that is, but why not. I am turning a corner, and it should be celebrated.
For the first time in weeks, I feel miles away from the drama that has been following me around like a psycho ex. Dare I say, I can even see the light at the end of the tunnel that is the scandal surrounding me. I am almost a free man. I’m actually looking forward to getting up for work in the morning and focusing on a new goal.
And seeing Dee bash down my front door.
I smile to myself, picking up a chicken breast that is priced like it came from the royal chicken family. If Dee could see me now, she would have about twenty smart-ass comments up her sleeve.
I think back to her watching today, the way her eyes followed my hand trail down Emma’s arm. She was probably just holding her breath, waiting for me to fuck it up. But I don’t know… part of me wondered if there was something more behind the way she stared.
Maybe it’s time to put the stupid games to rest. I’ve had my fun tormenting her, but I know when to pull my head in. Tomorrow I will tell her the truth about the trailer gag, and she will punch me in the arm, and we will start over. I don’t know, maybe even as friends.
When my basket is full and I can’t take another second of pretentiousness, I make my way to the counter, but get held up at the magazine stand. Do people still buy this shit? Sometimes I feel like print media hasn’t caught the memo on acceptable ways to treat humans. The covers are splashed with the same old crap; bikini-wearing women on the beach, their bodies picked apart by headlines. Couples shielding their faces from the paparazzi with captions stating ‘trouble in paradise!’. Like the journalists have a fucking clue.
And then there are a few faces I recognize.
A few faces I recognize well.
My eyes track the huge headline splashed across the front of Hollywood Heat, with smaller subtitles in dot points. My fist tightens around the handle of my basket.
ROCK BOTTOM
Music legend’s fall from the top
Latest hit flops
Lies, cheating, and drugs
Manager: “He’s disgraced us all”
The cover is a huge photo of my face, and you would be forgiven for thinking I was high as a kite or coming off a booze fest. In fact, the photo was taken straight after one of my concerts, and I was sweaty and exhausted from hours on stage. Not that the truth matters when it comes to selling magazines.
Underneath me is a smaller picture of Willow, my ex. She looks like she’s been crying, and underneath her is the caption ‘My heart is broken’.
I feel a sick, heavy feeling in my core. I don’t know if I want to lie down, throw up, or punch a wall. Maybe a fun combination of the three.
My heart picks up the pace, like someone is holding a remote control to my chest and pushing the fast-forward button. I know I should be immune to this shit by now, but this? Those fucking quotes?
I dump my basket on the floor and head straight for a different aisle. Bottles upon bottles of fancy organic liquor stand before me, but the details don’t matter.
I just need to get fucked up.
What am I even doing all this for? Stepping up like I owe someone something. I don’t owe the world shit. People are going to say what they want, so what the fuck does any of it matter? And hell, I am still committed to the film if I have a drink. Call it method acting.
“That’ll be forty-five fifty,” the girl behind the counter says.
I scan my card and head out the doors, clutching my rum in a brown paper bag. Before I even get to my car, I tear off the lid.
Drink up, me hearties, yo ho.
7
Dee
&
nbsp; I squint at my phone as my eyes adjust to a message Xavier sent late last night when I was already asleep.
Xavier: Don’t pick me up tomorrow. Car ordered for 6:30.
I blink my eyes clear and read it a few more times over. It’s weird. Xavier isn’t exactly the organized ‘order a car the night before’ type of guy. But maybe he’s finally learning some basic responsibility, so I guess that’s a good thing.
With his Mulholland pad detour off the cards, I am free to go back to sleep for a half hour. But I’m awake now. I swing my legs out of bed and sit on the edge, resting my eyes on the reflection in the floor-length mirror across the room. Sheesh, it’s been a minute since I’ve had any time for me. Usually during production, I have time to work out and get my hair done and even do the odd face mask. But Katherine runs her crew like a drill sergeant. All I’ve had time for is quick showers and scrappy buns in my hair.
This morning I will add a little pampering.
When I’m done in the shower, I slather my entire body with lotion, and even dab on some of the expensive eye cream I always forget to use. As I run my hand over my freshly shaven legs, I’m reminded of how long it’s been since a man even touched me. And I’m not the kind of woman who is fine with a long dry summer.
I like sex. I’m good at sex. Sex for me is a stress reliever, and damn, I could use that right now. But finding a guy who is fine to just do his thing and leave before spooning is actually not as easy as you’d think. I’ve had a few casual relationships in the last couple years, and they all ended up the same way—the guy getting clingy, or jealous of my career. I have to admit, I’m a sucker for the alpha types. And the alpha types don’t enjoy playing second fiddle to anything.
I feel refreshed as I leave my place, casually making my way to the studio instead of speeding along the freeway like I’m about to pee my pants. I could get used to this Xavier being a normal, accountable adult thing.