by M. E. Carter
Hunter makes a choking sound which has me looking up and realizing I accidentally made a sex noise. Giggling, I shrug. “Oopsie.”
Hunter just shakes his head and fills his own plate full of food.
As we eat, he questions me about the show—when auditions are, what Manuel’s vision for casting is, and the tentative timeline. He’s so much more invested in this play than I anticipated, and it makes me feel good. Like my passion is more than just mine. I like sharing it with him.
On the flip side, he tells me about the one script he seems interested in looking into further—a romantic comedy that is like nothing he’s ever done before but would be a nice change of pace and would show more of his range. No actor wants to end up typecast. Of course no actor’s girlfriend likes the idea of her boyfriend as the man who does all the kissing in a movie.
Not that he’s my boyfriend. Or I’m his girlfriend. Or that we’re even in a relationship.
Hell, I don’t know what exactly we’re doing right now but the longer it continues, the more I enjoy it and don’t want it to end. We may only be playing like we’re together, but I’ll pretend as long as he wants. It’s still more fulfilling and easier than any “real” relationship I’ve ever been part of.
“Can I ask you a question?”
I lick the juices off my finger and realize I’m shoveling this food in my face like I’ve never eaten before. Super sexy, Celeste.
“Sure.”
“What’s the script you’re writing?”
I pause. The one thing that could distract me from the best dinner I’ve had since, well since we went to that little dinette, is conversation about my writer’s block.
I finish chewing and swallow, slowly wiping my hands with a napkin. “In my mind, it’s a fantastic movie script that some producer will snatch up and turn into a blockbuster.”
Hunter smirks. We both know it’s not that simple. “And in reality?”
I let out a heavy sigh. “It’s the unfinished piece of crap I’ve been working on for a couple years that I can’t make heads nor tails of and I can’t figure out the problem.”
Hunter pushes his plate away and leans on his forearms. “Maybe you’re stuck because your passion is plays over movies.”
I have had that thought before, but the dynamics of the characters seem hard to translate to stage versus screen. At this point, with it being not much more than an outline, it feels very intimate talking about the project.
“Maybe,” is the only response I give feeling slightly uncomfortable knowing he found it and there’s a possibility he may have read it. No one’s done that before. Not even Anna. But she’s also a musician and doesn’t like people reading her songs before their done so she understands the need for privacy with my words.
Hunters warm palm covers my hand and he squeezes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to snoop. It got mixed up with the scripts I was tossing on the table. That’s the only reason I picked it up. I thought I’d missed something Eddie sent.”
The look in his eyes shows true remorse for accidentally invading my private creativity. How can I be angry when he looks like that?
“I know. And I appreciate your take on it. Who knows, maybe I’ll switch it to a play and my brain will unlock itself because of it.”
“Maybe so. But for now, concentrate on dinner. We don’t want that salmon to go to waste.”
“Oh believe me, it won’t,” I say, taking another huge bite.
After inhaling three tacos, I take a deep breath, willing my stomach to expand just a little. “Why am I always stuffing myself when we eat together?”
He shrugs. “Maybe it’s because you know I like feeding you.”
“Because it makes you feel dominant over little old me?” I joke and nudge his shoulder.
“No,” he says as he picks up his plate and walks to the sink. “Because I have very vivid memories of being a starving artist, and I like knowing I’m doing my part to help you reach your dreams. Even if it’s just making sure you eat something not full of MSG every once in a while.”
Oh look. See that puddle of goo on the floor? That’s me, because I just completely melted at those words.
“You’re a good man, Hunter Stone.”
“You’re a good woman, Celeste Pumper-whatever.” He leans over the island as I stand up and meet him halfway for a blood-pumping kiss that ends too soon when his phone rings.
“Dammit,” he grumbles and grabs it to see who so rudely interrupted what was shaping up to be a very fulfilling evening. “It’s Eddie. Probably wants to know about the scripts. Give me a minute?”
“Sure. You cooked. It’s only fair that I clean.”
He rounds the corner and gives me a quick peck before walking into the living room. “Hey, Eddie, what’s up?”
I make quick work of dishing out meal-sized servings into my fancy storage containers, also known as old butter and yogurt containers. There’s a small fridge in our rehearsal space so I’ll be taking this goodness for lunch tomorrow. I have no guilt whatsoever about leaving only a little for Hunter to have.
Once that’s done, I get to tackle my least favorite part—the creation of dishpan hands. Anna and I had a choice—higher rent with a dishwasher or washing by hand. We chose Palmolive. At this point, I’m used to it from doing it for so long, but I swear Hunter used every single pot and pan we own. Not that there are many. We don’t exactly have much kitchen storage space. But it still takes some time and effort to get it all done. I’m not bothered by it. It just gives Hunter time to converse with his manager without feeling like I’m hovering.
As I finally finish up, I turn and wipe my hands dry on a tea towel. It appears my timing is perfect, and Hunter is done with his call. Or at least he’s no longer listening because he’s holding the phone in his hands and staring down at it.
“Hey.” I hang the towel on the drawer pull. “Everything okay?”
He looks up at me, sadness in his eyes. “Um… I have to go back to L.A.”
I feel a chill as my heart plummets. “When?” I ask quietly, afraid my voice will break.
He swallows hard before answering me. “Tomorrow morning. Eddie’s booking my flight now.”
And just like that, our little bubble of passion for the theater and each other has popped. I’ve never hated his job more.
Chapter Nineteen
Hunter
I know I’m being a moody jerk. My level of care is somewhere between “don’t give a shit” and “really don’t give a shit.” Okay that’s not true, I do care. Just not enough to not grumble at every comment and direction.
My integrity and strong work ethic are both traits I inherited from my parents and I’m proud of myself for maintaining them as I maneuver through this industry. Yet, the expectation for me to jump from weeks of time with Celeste in New York, resting and relaxing, to not seeing her and being expected to put on a happy face while my job goes full speed ahead is a little much.
Photo shoots have never bothered me, and it’s an honor to be chosen for this cover as one of the hottest actors under thirty. I’m barely making the cut, but I’ll take it even if thirty is just a blink away. When I answered Eddie’s call two days ago and he rambled on about publicity and opportunities, I didn’t hear a thing he said. To me it was all white noise once he uttered the words “We need you home asap.”
Not because I didn’t know the call would come but because the word “home” seemed so foreign to me. The thought of my condo in L.A. no longer held the standard for a home like the small apartment Celeste and Anna shared. My place was decorated by a designer friend of a friend of Eddie’s while the apartment in New York was full of life. Each piece of furniture and décor told a story. Even the television Celeste bought so she could watch me. That one was my favorite.
“Hunter, drop your chin a little for me.”
Doing as instructed, I shift slightly and clear my mind and focus on the task at hand. I’m in my third wardrobe change and I don’t even h
ave to ask, I know the photographer has his shot. It was the first one of this series. When I looked up at his direction and saw a blonde walking in the distance. I thought briefly that it was Celeste. That she decided to surprise me.
It wasn’t. Nah, it was a dude who is in a Twisted Sister cover band and was dropping off a package on his way to a gig. Disappointment was what I felt but the guy snapping the frames called it “haunting and real.” Whatever.
“That’s a wrap on Hunter Stone.”
Stepping down from the stool I’m perched on, I accept the light applause and accolades as I move to the wardrobe area. Applause and congratulations for having my picture taken. This industry is weird.
“Mr. Stone, if you’ll just leave those clothes on the bench behind the screen, I’ll make sure to get everything put away.”
“No problem, Dina. Let me clean this makeup off and I’ll get changed.”
She smiles at me and the way the lines around her eyes crinkle, she reminds me of my mom. Speaking of, I need to call her back and accept her invitation to Sunday dinner. It’s been months since I’ve seen my family and, while we stay connected via text message and the occasional Facetime, I miss them.
Now that the vacation beard is gone, it only takes a minute to successfully remove the makeup used to even out my skin tone and give me that “natural look.” Yeah, I get the irony too. Exchanging my cover model costume for my regular clothes, I step from behind the screen used to create a dressing area and find Eddie waiting for me, his nose buried in his phone as his fingers fly across the screen.
“Ya ready?” he asks, never looking up.
“Sure. Are you positive I have to go to this thing? I’m exhausted and haven’t even unpacked my luggage.”
Turning, he doesn’t respond immediately, so I follow him like a dutiful puppy. The car service is waiting for us as we exit the building. Ducking into the back seat, I wait for him to finish his manic typing and turn to me. I’m used to this side of Eddie and while it doesn’t usually bother me, I’d like an answer to my question. Preferably one where he says no, I don’t have to slip into celebrity mode and dazzle the cameras.
Eddie turns to face me. “I know premieres aren’t your favorite, which is why I declined the last two to give you the time off you requested. But, this is an opening of a new club and the other hot-under-thirty celebs will be there. You’ve fallen off the radar the last few weeks and we need to get you visible again.”
“I get it. I just wish I didn’t have to do these things. It was nice being just a person for a while.”
His phone vibrates, pulling his attention away from our conversation. Taking his cue, I bring my own device to life and scroll the texts looking for one from Celeste. She hasn’t sent anything since her response to me this morning. Well, my morning and her afternoon. It’s close to the time she usually leaves rehearsal, so I tap out a quick text.
Me: How was rehearsal?
I’m not surprised she doesn’t reply immediately. It isn’t like she’s just hanging out waiting for my text. After a few minutes, the three dots begin to bounce, and I relax into the leather of the seat.
Celeste: Ongoing…
Me: It’s late. Did you take a long lunch or something?
Celeste: Nah. We coordinated the schedule for auditions next week and then Manuel had “a vision.” So here I am. Me and a cold slice of pizza.
Me: I could go for a slice of NY pizza.
Celeste: I miss you eating NY pizza.
My chuckle startles Eddie and he shoots me a glare. Ignoring him, I read her next text.
Celeste: I made it weird, didn’t I? Pretend I didn’t say that. How’s the weather? What are you doing?
Me: Just finished a shoot for that article and going home to change. I have to do some sort of club opening.
Celeste: Crap I have to go. Call me later. My later not yours. Xo
“That the girl?” Eddie asks, motioning to my phone.
“If by girl you mean Celeste, yes. By the way did you order new business cards? If I’ve missed out on an award-winning role because of that damn dot I’ll haunt you from the afterlife.”
“Yes, I ordered new cards. You know that you only play a vampire on television and don’t have the ability to come back in the afterlife, right?”
“We’ll see.”
The drive to my condo takes longer than necessary thanks to rush hour traffic. Which, I suppose should be called simply “traffic” these days. There’s no designated hour anymore. While we sit idly, barely creeping along with the other cars, Eddie rattles off the schedule for the next few weeks. How it’s gone from delays upon delays to everything ramped up into hyperdrive makes me tired just thinking of it.
“I’m waiting to confirm the press junket for the new season, so we’ll put a pin in that. Speaking of, the studio is waiting on us to finalize contract negotiations. Oh and yeah, there’s the premiere of Sasha Ewing’s new movie. It’s getting a lot of Oscar buzz, so the exposure is great. I can put in a few calls for a date, just let me know brunette or redhead.”
“No.”
“Sorry?” he coughs out. “Did you say no? Good one, Hunter. Redhead it is.”
Groaning, I roll my head back on the headrest and rub the space between my eyes, warding off a headache. Sometimes these conversations with Eddie have that effect on me. He means well and I respect his opinion. Heck, he’s been in this business for over a dozen years and helped launch the careers of actors I have nothing but respect for. Yet, sometimes he doesn’t hear what I tell him.
“I’m not taking a date.”
“You can’t possibly plan to go alone. The press will have a field day with that. No, you need to take someone.”
My thoughts run through options. Celeste and I didn’t talk about what happens moving forward. There was no definition of our relationship, if there even was one. Maybe she wants to leave what we had in the tropics and New York.
“How about my mom? People love that.”
“Not after you’ve been off the radar for weeks. It has to be something to garner attention. And not the sweet mama’s boy kind of attention.”
“Fine,” I mumble through my hand as I glide it across my face. “Penelope. She loves getting dolled up. Plus, it’ll be good for us and the show. And, I don’t have to worry about her trying to climb me like a tree in the limo.”
Eddie claps his hands loudly, the sound echoing in the car just as we pull up in front of my building. “Excellent plan. Now, go get all hunky for the cameras, and I’ll have the car pick you up in two hours.”
Saluting him as I climb from the car, I laugh as his retort is a middle finger. As I enter my building, I greet Denny the security guard whose sitting behind his desk staring at the monitors, and step into the elevator for my floor. As the numbers increase on the screen, I find myself wishing for a tiny kitchen, a box of Ding Dongs, and a spunky blonde waiting for me on the other side of my door.
Chapter Twenty
Celeste
All is right in the world now that my small desk is organized to perfection. The everyday calendar I rely on is color coordinated based on both jobs—theater or blog, and the degree of importance. With auditions scheduled to begin soon, everything theater related is in bright, do-not-miss-this yellow. For the upcoming meeting with Carrie, I chose a pretty pink which means it’s needed but not urgent and can be rescheduled if need be.
My blog calendar is also open in front of me with every upcoming review, release, and sale that we plan to heavily promote in bold letters. Lastly, emails that need to be sent are in green for “go ahead and send this.”
Everything is in order, my to-do lists are updated, and my blue notebook to jot down anything we need to tackle further is ready for this meeting. Carrie and I have spent years building and promoting this website to be the premier place to go for all your information related to anything stories—books, plays, movies, television. So why am I struggling to care?
I know why. Hunter.
I begin to sigh deeply when my video messenger rings, startling me and taking the relaxing breath I needed with it.
Putting on the best happy face I can muster, I click to open the screen. “Well hello there, newlywed! How was the honeymoon?”
Clearly Carrie is not putting on a front. I don’t think her smile could get any wider. Married life seems to suit her well. Or maybe it’s the extended trip they took. Either way, she’s practically glowing.
“If you ever get a chance to go to Australia, you must,” she insists, her eyes sparkling. “It was so much better than I imagined.”
“Really?”
“Oh my gosh, yes. We spent most of our time on the coast, working our way from the Gold Coast in the north down a little past Melbourne.”
I have no idea where any of that would be located on a map, but I don’t ask. I can google it later if I want. I’d rather not interrupt her train of thought. Hearing her adventures sounds like a great distraction from everything else on my mind.
“Before you tell me how lucky you are to have snorkeled in what I’ve heard is the most beautiful place in the world, I need to know what you thought of the wildlife.”
I had no idea Carrie could get more excited, but talking animals does the trick.
“The animals there are so amazing! You know how ugly possums are in the States?”
I grimace because yes, we all know those creatures are good for the earth and bad for our blood pressure when they hiss. “Yeah.”
“In Australia, they look like cats!”
“Wait, what?”
“Fluffy and cute and everything. It was so weird. I saw one and thought it was like a wild cat of some sort getting ready to attack the poor penguins as they left the ocean and waddled to their burrows at night. But nope. It was a possum.”