by Hart, Gemma
It felt like a blow to the stomach. Mara Winston was three years younger than me and had only been in one other major movie. But all her previous credits had been well-respected indie films that had won several film festivals. She had grittiness and earthiness to her. Critics had hailed her as “more than a actor but a thespian.”
Yes, if anyone was going to do a David Francetti film, Mara was an obvious choice.
I swallowed my bitter disappointment. Even still, I knew I could do a good job for David. I could be a great Spring. Maybe even a better Spring than Mara Winston’s.
“So you’re not even auditioning?” I asked.
“No, we’ll still audition,” David said. He took another big swallow of his whiskey. If he kept drinking at that rate, he’d go through a whole bottle before the end of lunch. “The studio wants options and so do I. But I’m just letting you know as kind of a head’s up that the winds of favor are blowing towards Mara.”
He raised his glass up as if to take another sip but then lowered it slowly, as if he thought better of it. He fixed me with a curious look.
“Spring gets dirty in the film,” he said. “She gets very raw. There’s a very explicit sex scene that’s critical to the narrative and has no chance of being cut out.”
“I know that,” I said. And I did. I had read the entire script. Twice. I had no qualms about any part of the film. It was a beautifully written character and I wanted to inhabit her like I wanted to inhabit a second skin.
David gave another of his awkward shrugs while his hand hung in midair with his nearly empty whiskey glass. “Then why would you want to do it?” he asked. “No movie is ever guaranteed. This one might flop. But even if it did succeed, you might’ve done irreparable damage to your reputation. You might not ever be seen the same way again.”
I tried not to sigh. “But that’s just it,” I said. “I don’t want to be seen the same way again. I’m more than what you’ve seen, David. And I don’t want to be caged in anymore.”
David finally took the last swallow of whiskey and plunked his glass down on the table. He shook his head as if still confused over some problem. “Why risk it?” he asked. “You have likability. That’s rare in this business. Most actors aren’t really liked. Admired, sure. Hated, often. But liked? Rarely. You’re likable. Why risk that?”
Suddenly I felt very hollow inside. I felt as if a wind could blow right through me as if my body wasn’t there at all. David forked a few leaves of his salad and stuffed it into his mouth with a grimace, as if taking medicine.
I picked up my fork and took halfhearted stabs at my food.
“Right,” I said softly. “Why risk that.”
Chapter Seven
Rowan
She had hardly touched her food.
I knew I shouldn’t stare at her while she had her lunch but I couldn’t help it. My eyes were drawn to her like magnets. And even from the distance, I could tell the meeting had not gone well.
Sitting in the car, listening her to talk about her dream and her big break, I felt a stir in my heart that I had never felt before. She was so frank and so honest. She didn’t have all those layers of guile and coyness about her. There was something just refreshing and good about her.
Although she didn’t like hearing it, I could see why so many pegged her as likable.
Her smooth, fair skin had practically glowed as she talked. And although I could tell she had tried to dress more conservatively, her womanly curves still poked through. It was impossible to hide her lushness, her softness. It was hard not to look at her and want to grab her tight, so tight you leave bruises on that fair skin.
I knew from the moment I met her there was more to her than her simple movie persona. She was far too complex, too intelligent to be a simple heroine who needed love to come rescue her. She had guts and gumption and a healthy sense of humor.
I hardly recognized the feeling and yet I knew that my heart had already begun to beat for her. She was something special. Around her, I was constantly overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her, protect her, ravage her, hold her. She drew out nearly every instinct within me and it was hard not to act on any of them.
She had been put into a neat little box for moviegoers and she was sick of her cage. She wanted to be free. She didn’t want to be stigmatized by her previous history.
And if anyone knew anything about stigma, it was most definitely me.
I grimaced as I tried to push back my memories. The darkness of my past always haunted the corners of my brain, threatening to come back out at any moment.
But as I watched Jessa talk with this big shot director, I could see her expression slowly dimming. Whatever was being said, it wasn’t being said in her favor.
Well then, he’s a fucking dipshit.
Anyone with half a brain could see the pure talent radiating from this girl. Whether she was smiling or glaring at you, she drew you in. She had an aura that kept you focused on her. There was a reason why she attracted as many stalkers and crazed fans as she did and it wasn’t just because of her ticket sales.
I stood by the front door, the muffled shouts of paparazzi as they yelled at incoming celebrity echoing around me, as I watched from afar as Jessa tried to keep a brave neutral face as what was clearly her ‘big break’ was falling apart around her.
What was being said? The director didn’t seem like he was angry or aggressive. In fact, the man looked like he was twitchy as hell. If people didn’t know better, one would think it was the director asking for a job from Jessa. But however calmly or nervously things were being said, it was clearly not anything good.
But before I could feel anymore disappointed for her, Jessa suddenly stood up. They had barely touched their food, if you could call that rabbit food real food. The director looked surprised by her sudden rise.
He stood up as well.
I watched as she smiled at him and said a few words. There was real warmth in her smile even though I could see the hurt in her eyes as clear as day. This kid, I thought. She could break a man’s heart.
And then without a backward glance, she started for the front door. “She’s on the move,” I said to the small security team around me. The men immediately straightened up and prepared to fight against the hustle of the crowd outside. One of the men called the driver to pull up.
Without a word, Jessa slipped by me, put on her sunglasses and nodded, indicating she was ready. Two of the security men swung open the doors and a flood of lights came at us again.
Using my height and size, I shielded her as best I could as I ushered her into the waiting car.
“Get the fuck out of the way, dude! You’re blocking my shot!” a scrawny photographer called out from behind me. I saw him lower his camera, trying to slip it under Jessa’s skirt.
I shoved him back hard enough so he would drop the camera. Once it was dropped, I gave it a good hard stomp.
I turned around and fixed him with a glare. I could see the man’s twig like neck bob as he gulped. “Sorry, dude,” I said as I got into the SUV, shutting the door.
The driver immediately headed back to the hotel.
It was a silent ride. Jessa kept her sunglasses on, only reinforcing the wall she had put up around herself.
I knew it was crazy. I had only known her for a couple days. There was no way that I could feel anything significant towards someone who was essentially a perfect stranger to me.
And yet.
As I looked at her from the corner of my eye, I took in her small but firm chin. Her full and soft lips. Her porcelain smooth skin. I admired her wavy mahogany hair as it glinted against the sunlight. This was heart and sweetness and beauty all wrapped up in one delicate package.
And fire, I thought with an internal smile, remembering her initial reaction to me when we met. She had guts. She wasn’t a fool.
Knowing all of this, feeling all of this, I felt helpless seeing her as disappointed as she was. It was even worse seeing her trying to bravely swallow the d
isappointment in silence.
It would’ve been highly inappropriate for me to just pull her into my arms. There was the driver and extra security in the car. And besides, I was pretty sure this was a one sided affair. No matter how grounded and real Jessa was, she was still Jessa Blair, movie star. And I knew someone like her had no place for someone like me.
But still, I wanted to offer some kind of comfort.
The black SUV smoothly rolled up the driveway of our hotel. As we got prepared to step out of the car, Jessa suddenly leaned over my foot.
I was sitting with one leg crossed on my thigh. She leaned over the crossed foot. I watched as she carefully plucked something shiny out of the heel of my shoe. She held it up curiously.
I looked at it as well.
“It’s a piece of a lens,” I said, recognizing the shattered fragment.
Jessa gave the lens another look before she looked up at me. “A lens? From where?”
“A camera,” I said.
Above her large sunglasses, I saw her brow crease in confusion. “What camera?”
“The one I stomped on at the restaurant,” I said simply.
I saw the corners of her lips twitch. “A paparazzi camera?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Was it trying to take an up skirt photo?” she asked without rancor. She was used to such behavior from the photographers.
“Yes,” I said, nodding.
There was a short beat of silence before a small but amused smile grew on her lips. “Good,” she said softly before turning towards the door, ready to leave.
I grinned.
It wasn’t hugs or flowers but it would do. A stomped camera was the best I could offer to make her day a little bit better.
Chapter Eight
Rowan
“I thought we were supposed to be downstairs fifteen minutes ago,” I said to Marsha as she rushed passed me with several shoes in different shades of blue in her arms.
She barely flung a look over at me as she rushed into the closed off sanctuary that was her make up room where apparently no male presence was allowed. “Well that was before we had no shoes!” she said as she slammed the door.
Well then what the hell was all that in her hands? If I wasn’t mistaken, I was sure she had at least half a dozen pairs in her arms.
But I knew there was no point in arguing. Jessa was in the make up room and there was no way her stylist and Marsha would let her out without making sure her entire look was perfect.
Sometimes it would astound me to what degree they would nitpick on her outfit. I had seen them trade out a skirt because it was “too red” only to put her in another skirt that looked practically identical.
As a man, I had never really understood the beauty rituals of women but I was beyond my league when it came to the beauty rituals of actresses. It was a completely different level.
So knowing the security team and I would just have to wait until Jessa was deemed ready to appear in public, I walked down the hall past Jessa’s master bedroom and back into the luxurious living room of the penthouse suite.
Feeling kind of aimless without much to do at this point except wait, I thought about going out into the hall to shoot the shit with some of the other security members. I had just found out that one of them had been in 82nd Airborne Division and wouldn’t mind passing a few minutes with him while we all waited.
But before I could decide what I wanted to do, my cellphone buzzed against my thigh. I immediately reached for it and flipped it open, expecting one of the Feds to be on the other end. I had almost weekly check-ins with them about Jessa’s security detail and her current situation with her stalker.
“Hello,” I answered.
“Steel,” a familiar voice rasped huskily. “It’s been a long time.”
From my feet to even the ends of my hair, my body froze.
I could feel the air pushing through my lungs and out my nose as a whirl of thoughts and questions stormed through my brain. This couldn’t be. No one should have this number except the FBI agents. I had been very careful.
I had stayed away.
“How did you get this number?” I said, my body still frozen to the ground. It didn’t matter now if I was in a penthouse suite in LA or in a tin shack in Mexico. My mind was lost in the memories of my past and I was standing in the middle of the storm.
I heard a disappointed sound of dismissal. “Come on, Steel,” he said. “You really need to say that?”
Of course. He could get my number. It couldn’t have been easy but he had plenty of contacts. He knew all the right people. I shook my head. Or really, all the wrong people.
Realizing who I was talking to, I snapped into reality. I looked around to make sure no one had overheard me. I was alone in the living room. But I couldn’t keep talking here out in the open.
The outer hallway was off. There were at least half a dozen security guards out there. There were no other rooms in the penthouse suite that were available. Jessa used the main bedroom. The remaining two bedrooms had been turned into a make up room and a wardrobe, both of which were currently occupied.
I turned around.
The balcony.
It would have to do. Being on the penthouse, I could at least know reliably that there wouldn’t be other balconies around me where people could walk on and eavesdrop on my conversation.
Swiftly, I walked out to the large balcony and securely shut the door behind me. I made sure to face it just so I could keep an eye out on anyone who might come looking for me.
I didn’t want anyone to chance upon this conversation.
“What do you want, Raze?” I demanded.
“One last pick up,” Raze said immediately. He was a man who knew to get down to business. He didn’t bullshit when it came to club affairs.
“No,” I said firmly. A cool breeze blew against me as I stood several stories above the busy LA streets. “I’m out. I’m no longer a member of the Black Wings.”
“You’re always a member,” Raze countered. “You’re always a brother. And as a brother, I’m asking for your help.”
“I’m not your brother,” I said tightly, mentally forcing myself to keep my temper down. “And I don’t want any part in your dirty shit.”
I heard Raze’s sigh crackle the other end of the line. “I’m disappointed to hear that, Steel. We’ve always been so close,” he said. I knew he was baiting me, trying to hit me with some kind of knock on my sense of loyalty or sentimentality. Well that had all died within me. All I felt was a lingering anger that simmered down in my heart.
I kept my silence.
Raze sighed again, seeing that he was getting nowhere. “Know that your brothers are here,” he said. “And we’d always be glad to see you back again.”
The connection ended.
I lowered the phone, staring at it.
It had been a long time since I had heard my old club president’s voice. Raze’s husky rasp still managed to bring out a sense of readiness, of action, in me but that was quickly overwhelmed by my feelings of betrayal.
I had been so proud to have been a part of the Black Wings MC. I had always figured Low Pointe could never have survived without the club. They would’ve been destroyed in the drug and weapons traffic that ran through the area.
Sure, we hadn’t been perfect. We had to dabble in the gray to fight off all the black that surrounded us. We took part in the arms trade. But only to make sure we had weapons for defense. We infiltrated some minor drug trades but only to divert the worst of it away from Low Pointe.
But then one night, while we were riding out to meet our connection for a new shipment of weapons, we had been hit by an ambush. Shots had rained down upon us while the half moon barely gave us any light to see which way was up.
We had managed to catch sight of the camouflaged jeeps that had waited for us out in the desert, knowing our route. Immediately we had thrown ourselves into formation and had quickly taken out the jeep, pinning down the
gunmen. But not without loss.
I thought bitterly about Hawks and Ace, lost that night instantaneously to bullet wounds straight to the head.
When we had bound up all the assailants, Raze had jumped off his bike and angrily gone to the man who looked like the leader. He jerked off the man’s ski mask, revealing a thin man with black hair and a thin black moustache. The bound man glared up angrily at Raze.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Raze raged at the man.
I was confused. I looked around at the other riders. They all had equal looks of puzzlement. It sounded like Raze knew this man. He sounded as if he had a relationship of some kind with him.
