The Last Take

by Tabitha Bree

  I’m still catching my breath, staring into his eyes while my heart resumes a healthy pace. Once I’ve calmed down, I hop off the desk, adjusting my skirt so it looks normal.

  It’s official. I cannot trust myself around this man.

  I push past him and head toward the door.

  “We didn’t have sex,” he says, prompting me to turn around and face him. “It doesn’t count.”

  I laugh out my nose, shaking my head and smiling at the floor. Now this, I’m not going to forget any time soon.

  “Trust me. It counts.”

  24

  Adam

  It’s a warm night, so instead of going home when we wrap, I grab a couple of cold beers and meet Bob. This isn’t our usual routine, but ever since Kimberly took Rufus back, the shine has been taken off going home. Stupid cat. He is proof that you shouldn’t let yourself get attached. To anyone.

  “What’s this?” Bob grumbles, sniffing inside a container.

  “A spicy noodle thing.”

  “I’m not so hot on the spicy foods,” he says, patting his stomach.

  “Here, I’ll have it. Try the baked chicken.”

  We swap containers and dig in. A couple of friends sharing leftovers and beers on the sidewalk. Now and then someone drops shrapnel or a dollar bill into his trucker cap, and I wonder if I can sneak in some extra without him noticing.

  He grabs the hat and looks inside. “I shouldn’t let you sit with me. You’re bad for business.”

  “I wish you would just let me give you some cash.”

  “I’m not your paid escort.”

  I laugh. “Thank fuck for that. You’re really not my type.”

  Bob laughs, shoveling chicken into his mouth and chasing it with some beer.

  “How’s that girl of yours going?” he asks between mouthfuls.

  “Kimberly?”

  “No, not her,” he growls, like her name offends him. “The one you brought to meet me.”

  “Evie?” I lean back on my elbow. “She’s not my girl. I was just walking her to her car.” I know this is the truth. But that doesn’t stop the warm and fuzzy feeling I get when Bob calls her my girl.

  Ugh, I’m a moron.

  “She seemed like a good girl,” Bob goes on.

  “How do you know that? You talked to her for like two seconds.”

  “I have about three decades on you, boy. I’m an excellent judge of character.”

  I sniff and take the beer to my lips. The fact is, I am dying to tell someone how I feel about Evie. Anyone. But she made her feelings about our interactions reaching the rumor mill very clear.

  But that didn’t stop me from replaying them in my head on repeat. Especially the last time in the side office… I curl my fingers around the neck of my bottle as I remember her delicate moans.

  Fuck me. It was hot.

  I sit upright, shaking the thought from my head. I have a feeling Bob won’t tolerate me sprouting a random erection in the middle of our hang out. He would probably never speak to me again.

  “Your wrist looks better,” I say, noticing the swelling in his arm is almost gone. “Did you end up seeing somebody about it?”

  “Course not. I told you it was nothing to get in a tizzy over.” He reaches for the container that holds the pudding, lifting the lid and taking a whiff as he always does. “Things in life have a way of sorting themselves out.”

  “I don’t think that always applies to medical issues,” I say, suppressing an eye roll as I take a swig of beer.

  “It’s the best advice I can give you. Let the chips fall as they may.”

  I watch Bob as he spoons pudding into his mouth, reclining back and looking at the cars and people going by. For someone who has many issues from the outside, he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world.

  Maybe he is on to something.

  I replay Bob’s words in my head for the entire walk home. Perhaps I don’t need to know where I stand with Evie. I just have to sit back and see how it all pans out.

  As I walk through the front door, the first thing I see is the humongous portrait of Rufus leaning against the wall. I still haven’t got around to hanging it—partly because I’m lazy, and partly because I’m not sure I even want it up. It’s an absolute eyesore. Me a few months ago wouldn’t have dreamt of having that thing on my wall. But a lot has happened.

  I pull open the drawer with all the bits and pieces that don’t have a proper home and scramble through it until I find a wall hook. After some measuring and some dodgy hammering, the hook is installed, and the painting is up, in all its absurdity.

  I stand back and look at Rufus’s face, all colorful and artistic.

  Here is the thing about letting the chips fall: I don’t know if I’m ready to just give it all up to fate. I’ve had a taste of life with Evie Miller in it, and I’m not sure I’m ready to let it go, or chalk it up to a couple of fun hookups. And don’t get me wrong, they were really fun. But they were more than just fun. She is a breath of fresh air, and looking at the painting she made for me, I can’t help but imagine what her bright colors would look like against my bare white walls.

  What would my life be like with a girl like Evie in it full time?

  I’m good at being alone. Maybe too good. But it wasn’t until I let her sunshine in that I realized how damn dark my world is. She busted in and lit up shady corners I forgot even existed; reminded me of feelings I’d forgotten I could have.

  And I don’t know if I want to go back.

  I settle in on the couch and flick on the TV, but in my periphery is the portrait, the rest of my blank walls, and the thoughts that linger in the back of my mind.

  “Oh my God. I can’t do this,” Emma says, backing away from the open set window.

  “Did we know this was an issue when they cast her?” I mutter to Dee out the side of my mouth. She shrugs me off.

  “I promise you’ll be fine,” Dee says to Emma, walking to the window. “You can’t fall.”

  “Why can’t the stand-in sit here while they set the lights up?” Emma asks, looking at me with rounded eyes. “My agent knows I’m scared of heights.”

  “The stand-in is sick today.” Do second floors count as heights?

  “Can’t you do it?” Emma looks at Dee, who laughs in her throat.

  “Honey, my skin is a bit darker than yours. We need someone with the same complexion, otherwise the lighting will be all wrong.”

  “This is the worst. I said I would get the take done, not sit around next to a hole in the set while they mess around with filters.” Emma shoots her eyes to the lighting technicians, who are working at a very efficient pace. I go to defend them, but Dee holds up her hand to stop me.

  “I know you’re uncomfortable, but we need to set up and rehearse the scene so the camera guys know what they’re doing.”

  Emma’s strained face searches the room until her eyes stop on something. “She can do it.”

  “Me?” Evie perks up, looking between Dee and Emma. I’m surprised our leading lady even wants Evie’s help, given the last time Evie helped she dumped a bucket of water on Emma’s head. It’s still one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “You have a similar complexion to me,” Emma says. “You can stand-in for me until they’re ready to shoot.”

  Evie looks at me and shrugs.

  “If it’ll hurry this along—and Evie’s okay with it—whatever.” I look at Evie to make sure she is okay with it, but my view is cut off by Damon stepping between us.

  “Great, let’s get this show on the road.” He grins at Evie.

  My stomach churns at his leering face. I know Damon hits on any attractive young thing with a pulse, but the face he’s giving her makes my shackles stand up.

  Can he just fucking not?

  “Okay, let’s block the scene from the top,” I say to draw the attention back to myself. “Evie, you know what’s happening here. You’re standing next to the open window, peering out so we can ge
t the shot from ground level. Then you see a swarm of birds coming in the distance. You don’t know what they’re doing at first, and then realize they’re coming straight for you.” I scratch the back of my head, grimacing at this next part. “Damon charges in and scoops you up, slamming the window closed as the birds smash against the glass. Then you just have to pause while he holds you up. The rest takes place away from the window, so Emma can take over from there.”

  “Roger that,” she says with an adorable salute. I smile before forgetting the company we’re in.

  I walk back to George, keeping a side eye on Damon as he goes over the choreography with Evie, scooping her up in slow motion. He directs her on arm placement, and consoles her in the most douchebag-y way—“don’t worry, you’re not too heavy for me. I bench press three hundred.”

  “Let’s rehearse,” I bark. “Damon, can you get out of the frame? Evie, you’re at the window.”

  She nods and goes to her position.

  “Okay, action.”

  Theatrics are unnecessary while the camera blocks out the scene, but that doesn’t stop Evie’s wide-eyed expression as she gazes at the invisible, murderous birds. I watch her face on the monitor, wishing I could swoop in and pick her up myself.

  “Cue Damon.”

  Damon flies through the set door and lunges for Evie. It’s clunky, hardly a smooth romantic moment. But just the vision of his arms around her body gives me the creeps. They stumble away from the window, and pause to look into each other’s eyes.

  “Cut. Okay, let’s reset and rehearse again.”

  “Whew, talk about sweeping a gal off her feet,” Evie says, finding her footing on the floor as he puts her down. I know this is just her goofy way, but the glint in Damon’s eyes says he actually thinks she’s into him. Guys like him don’t need any extra encouragement.

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he says with a wink.

  “RESET,” I say, a fraction too intensely. Dee scrunches her face at me like I might be losing it. To be fair, I think I might be.

  Whose idea was Evie standing in with Damon again?

  It takes me right back to high school, when I had a crush on Cindy Broker. We sat together in math, and would rewrite amusing lyrics to our favorite songs, usually to include our drone of a teacher. Cindy was my favorite person in the world. Of course, I could never tell her how I felt. And for the most part, it didn’t matter. I was happy just spending time with her. Plus, I could bide my time—all the other guys were chasing the blonde girls who rolled up their skirts at the waist, not Cindy. I felt like she was my goofy, cute as hell, little secret. No one else knew how great she was—at least not until our senior year. Then everything went to shit. The star of the basketball team also noticed she was cute as hell, and I had to watch her blush as he started giving her attention. But I still didn’t say anything. What chance did I have over a guy like that? Girls didn’t choose the reserved film geek. Not when they could have one of the most popular guys in school.

  I still remember watching them at prom, her arms around his neck… his face dipping low to kiss her…

  Yet somehow, this is even worse.

  Maybe I haven’t told Evie how I feel about her, but I like to think I have shown her in more ways than one. Does she think I go down on every girl who walks into the side office?? I’m not a caveman—I don’t think Evie is mine just because we had sex—but we had started something together. And seeing Damon work his sleazy charm on her gives me a stomach ulcer.

  She’s a smart girl. Surely she knows he’s full of shit.

  Right?

  “Action,” I call, pulling my focus back to her face on the screen.

  Right on cue, Damon makes his grand entrance. Only this time, after he scoops her up, he leans his face towards hers… closer… closer… their lips only an inch apart…

  “Cut!” I all but scream. “Damon, what are you doing?”

  “I think this scene could benefit from a kiss, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely not,” I say, all too aware of my heart pounding in my chest as he sets her back on the floor. “The first kiss doesn’t come till later in the film.”

  “I guess I was just feeling the chemistry,” Damon says, bashfully running a hand through his hair and smiling crookedly at Evie.

  “I think we can bring in Emma now,” I say, hooking my headphones next to the monitor. “But first, let’s take five.”

  As I stalk off set, I try to ignore the sounds of Evie’s giggles.

  25

  Evie

  I was happy to see Emma’s stand in return to set early on Wednesday morning, bleary-eyed and ready to be scooped. Not that being held between Damon’s biceps was the worst thing I’ve experienced (I’m only human), but I’m much more comfortable with my walkie talkie and sharpies on standby. Being the object of Damon’s affection is kind of like being at a male strip show. The oily person flexing in front of you is sexy, objectively, but it just isn’t my thing.

  “He might be an idiot, but he sure is fine,” Dee had muttered to me when we took a break after rehearsing the scene. But I was too distracted watching Adam walk off set. He seemed to be getting stressed out again, and I was starting to worry that my whole trip-to-the-movies ruse wasn’t as affective as I’d thought.

  I haven’t really seen him today either, because I’ve been on door duty all morning. It’s not until I’m lining up to get lunch that I see him across the tent. Our eyes meet for the briefest of seconds before his fall down to the table, his mouth in a hard line.

  “What’s this shit?”

  I turn around and see Gus, flicking through sloppy joe mix with a big spoon.

  “You put it in a hamburger bun.”

  “It looks rank,” he says, ditching the meaty sludge for some Asian greens.

  “I don’t understand half of what you say,” I laugh. “Shall we dine together?”

  “After you, mate.” He swoops his arm sideways for me to lead the way. I find a space next to one of the runners and Jackson, who are, thankfully, deep in conversation. I’m not in the mood for a pop quiz on films from the 1970s.

  When I compare my plate to Gus’s, it’s obvious why he’s a lean ninja man and I am not. Everything in front of him is either lean protein or green or a strange wholegrain I can’t identify.

  “Shredding for bikini season?” I ask, stabbing a chunk of crispy pork and shoveling it into my mouth.

  “Gotta watch those macros,” he replies, pulling up his shirt and slapping his six-pack.

  “Oh no, you didn’t just do that.”

  He laughs and spears a piece of broccoli. “Can you believe we only have a couple of weeks left?”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  I’m not ready for this job to be over. For more reasons than one.

  “What do you have lined up after this?” he asks.

  I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “You’ll be fine,” he says, moving onto his weird grainy salad. “You’ve basically made it through an Adam Thorne film. You’ll get work on any set now.”

  I can see Adam through the lunch crowd, flicking through his food. His thick brown hair looks extra messy today. I want to run my fingers through it. “I don’t see what the fuss is. He’s not that bad.”

  “Reputations are a bit like Instagram in Hollywood. The truth doesn’t matter, it’s what people assume about you that counts.”

  I think about this for a moment. I haven’t been in LA long enough to get to know many people, especially before Primal Nature. Adam is one of the few people who sees me for me, the real me. Not just the bubbly, quirky girl that everyone else sees. And I have a feeling it goes both ways. Everyone thinks Adam is the grumpy, sarcastic film director. But I know him as the guy who is actually very sweet. The guy who stood up to my parents.

  The guy who went down on me in the side office.

  A fire stirs in my stomach and I toss my fork on the table. Suddenly, food is the last thing I fe
el like devouring. I have other things in mind…

  “Are you okay?” Gus asks.

  “Easy breezy.” I squash any thoughts of Adam’s face near my thigh before I dissolve into a puddle of lust. “So what are your plans for after the film wraps?”

  He drags his napkin across his mouth. “I think I’ll take a break. Reevaluate what I want to do.”

  “That’s very existential twenty-something of you.”

  He laughs. “Well, I’ve been thinking about our conversation the other week. And I don’t know, maybe it’s time I refocus on what I originally came here to do.”

  “You’re going to try acting again??” I grab his wrist.

  “Jesus, calm your farm,” he chuckles, looking to the side at the few people who have tuned into our conversation. “I’m just mulling it over.”

  “I think it’s an amazing idea! Why shouldn’t you follow your dreams?”

  “Because I might fail again.” He gives me a wry smile. “Because I’m only getting older, and because I might be an idiot to walk away from consistent stunt work while I’m getting it. Maybe something reliable isn’t so bad.”

  “You can be consistent and reliable when you’re dead. Now is the time to go for it!” I turn to face him, the way I like to when I’m giving one of my pep talks. “You’re young, talented, and very handsome. Which should make you incredibly annoying, but you’re super modest and friendly too.”

  He laughs.

  “Why shouldn’t you be successful? I think you should just give it all you’ve got, and don’t let anything get in the way.”

  “I feel like you’re about to break into song.”

  I pinch his arm skin, which is very difficult because he has zero fat on his muscles.

  “I’m kidding,” he grins. “But seriously, I appreciate the vote of confidence. You’re a good egg, Eve.”

  No one has ever called me Eve before. Mainly because it isn’t my name. But Gus likes to abbreviate everything.