by Alexis Daria
But by the end of the week, he was ready to drop, and homesickness was like a lead weight in his gut. On Friday night, he went straight from the studio to the airport, and from the airport to the apartment he kept in San Juan, where he caught a few hours of sleep. In the morning, he drove to Humacao, to the condo where his son, father, and grandparents lived full time in a secure gated community.
Keeping an eye out for any suspicious figures, Ashton parked in the driveway, then let himself into the blocky peach and terra-cotta house. Even though his family had moved after the Incident, his sense of safety had never fully recovered. Inside, Ignacio approached him with una taza de café con leche while Ashton reset the security system. Ashton greeted his father and gratefully took a sip of the coffee.
“¿Yadiel está durmiendo?” Ashton asked, following Ignacio into the kitchen.
“Sí.” Ignacio sat at the table and put his reading glasses on to resume his perusal of the newspaper. “He’ll be happy to see you when he wakes up.”
Ashton took a seat, but he felt jumpy. “Everything’s okay? Nothing weird?”
Ignacio put down the paper and sent Ashton a bland look over the top of his glasses.
“If there were something weird, don’t you think I’d tell you?”
“Of course.” Ashton didn’t fully believe that, but no point upsetting his father this early in the morning.
“When did you arrive?”
“Late last night.”
“Ah. You stayed in the apartment?”
“Yeah.”
Ignacio just raised his eyebrows and kept reading about the latest political protests. He didn’t have to say anything, because they’d already had this conversation multiple times. He thought it was silly for Ashton to pay for two homes in Puerto Rico and an apartment in Miami, but he knew why Ashton didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in the house.
“And how long are we supposed to have Yadi’s teachers and friends sign NDAs?” Ignacio asked pointedly.
Ashton just sighed. “Stop exaggerating.”
“You’ve kept him secret this long,” his father went on, his tone mild. “But you can’t do it forever.”
Ashton knew that, but he’d convinced himself it was possible. He was saved from having to come up with an answer by the sound of feet on the stairs. Setting his cup down, he stood as Yadi entered the room in his Spider-Man pajamas.
“Papi!” the boy screeched, then launched himself into Ashton’s arms.
Ashton picked him up and held him close. Yadi was small for his age, and Ashton wouldn’t be able to do this for much longer. He wished, not for the first time, that he could be here every day when his son woke up.
Yadiel clambered down and greeted his grandfather, then went to pour himself a glass of juice.
“Well, since you’re here, I’ll go get an early start at the restaurant,” Ignacio told Ashton. He set down the newspaper, open to the entertainment page. “Looks like your friend Fernando Vargas is doing well.”
Ashton glanced at the paper and groaned. His “rival” from El fuego de amor had booked a big role in a movie Ashton hadn’t even been called to audition for.
Yadiel drained his juice and grabbed Ashton’s hand with sticky fingers. “¡Ven, Papi! Come look at the castle I built in Minecraft!”
Ashton let his son consume his thoughts that weekend. They spent every waking minute together while Ignacio and Abuelita Bibi and Abuelito Gus were at the restaurant. Ashton even kept Yadiel home from Sunday mass, which did not thrill Abuelita Bibi.
Ashton set up a badminton net in the backyard, and they played for hours until they were both sweaty and hot. They swam in the pool, with Yadiel showing off how he could pick up brightly colored rings from the bottom. And they watched countless animated superhero movies, with Yadiel helpfully filling in any character backstory Ashton might be unaware of.
On Sunday night, after Ashton put Yadiel to bed, Ignacio pulled him aside before he left for the airport.
“The show is going well?” Ignacio asked.
Ashton shrugged. “Well enough.” He’d spent the whole weekend trying not to think about it.
“Ah. Does that mean you’re pulling your usual disappearing act behind the scenes?”
“Pa, enough.”
“You never used to be that way, is all I’m saying.”
Ashton lowered his voice. “That was before.”
“It was years ago.”
Ashton shook his head and reached for the door. “I have to go.”
Ignacio caught his arm and looked him dead in the eyes. “This is what you wanted, mijo. Don’t screw it up.”
In the car, Ashton reflected on his father’s words. Why had he even come here this weekend? Yes, he’d loved spending time with his son, but he would have been better served resting and memorizing his lines for the third episode.
Part of him had wanted to get away from the stress of it all. Another part had wanted to see for himself that Yadi was safe and happy. But even though he’d confirmed that everything was okay, he still felt unsettled.
Well enough, he’d told his father. Deep down, he knew he could be doing better as Victor. Ashton was too much of a perfectionist to ever feel like he’d done a great job, but he knew when he was holding back. If this show was going to catapult his career, he needed to give it his all.
It was with this thought in mind that he ran into Jasmine entering the Hutton Court late that night.
She did a double take when he approached her at the elevator bank, where she’d just pressed the up button.
“You’re out late,” she remarked, giving him a once-over while he did the same. She looked tired, but gorgeous in a floaty purple dress that showed off her shoulders and arms.
“I could say the same to you,” he quipped, exhaustion loosening his tongue.
“Just getting back from the Bronx. My cousin Ronnie’s daughter turned one.” She rolled her eyes. “Nothing says ‘baby’s first birthday’ like an open bar.”
“Your family lives in New York?” he asked, more curious about her than he should be.
The elevator arrived and the doors whooshed open. They both stepped in, and she leaned a shoulder on the elevator wall.
“Yup. And since I’m here, I’m expected to visit my parents, siblings, nephews, aunts, uncles, cousins, etcetera.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Why the hell is my family so damn big?”
“I was just visiting my father in Puerto Rico,” he said, even though he definitely hadn’t been planning to tell her that.
“Really?” Her expression softened. “How was it?”
“Great.” The elevator dinged and stopped at her floor. If they were on TV, it would malfunction, trapping them in together and then . . . what? The doors slid open. He’d never know.
Jasmine straightened and Ashton pressed a hand to the frame to hold it open for her. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Right. We have the intimacy coordinator meeting before we start filming episode three.”
Episode three. The one with the kiss.
Maybe Jasmine was also thinking about the upcoming kiss, because she bit her lower lip and ducked her head, like she was suddenly embarrassed to look at him. “Um, good night.”
“Buenas noches,” he murmured as she brushed past him, leaving a sweet citrusy scent in her wake. He held the elevator open, watching her as she walked down the hall. When she looked back over her shoulder at him, he let go. The doors shut, blocking his view of her.
Chapter 9
Jasmine had a hard time falling asleep after her encounter with Ashton in the elevator, but she’d eventually managed to nod off, and only hit snooze twice the next morning when her alarm blared. Curse Ronnie and her Sunday night open bar.
At the party, she’d filled in Ava and Michelle on Ashton’s behavior, and they’d assured her she should not take his reclusive behavior personally. Ava had even looked up some Spanish-language gossip sites, which all confirmed Ashton’s r
ep for being easy to work with but kind of a diva.
While Jasmine couldn’t deny his acting ability, his disappearing acts were annoying. But when she did manage to catch him—like in the elevator and after he’d spilled coffee on her—he seemed normal. Down to earth, a little awkward, sweetly endearing. And sexy as hell. Whatever cologne he wore was really doing it for her, and she didn’t even like men’s cologne.
Worse, while their performances were fine, she was convinced they could bring even more to the characters if he would just freaking talk to her for more than two minutes.
Before they got to the kissing scene, Jasmine and Ashton were instructed to attend a meeting with the episode’s director, Ilba Montez, and the intimacy coordinator, Vera Parks. Marquita Arroyo, the showrunner, was also in attendance.
Since they hadn’t hit wardrobe yet, Jasmine wore cutoff shorts and a white T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Ashton was dressed in faded jeans that made his legs look a million miles long and a beige guayabera shirt, like the kind Jasmine’s grandfathers wore.
Ashton had no right to look so sexy in an old man’s shirt, but he apparently hadn’t gotten that memo.
The five of them gathered in a small conference room, sipping coffees from to-go cups.
Vera wasn’t what Jasmine expected. For one thing, she was young. Younger than Jasmine, anyway, maybe midtwenties. She had straight dark hair, a creamy complexion, and striking green eyes. She was dressed in olive cargo pants and a double layer of distressed tank tops. But when Jasmine met her gaze, she was struck by the intensity she saw there. When Vera looked at her, it was with her full attention. Her smile was warm and genuine, and Jasmine instantly felt at ease with her.
“Hi, Jasmine,” Vera said, shaking her hand. “It’s really nice to meet you.”
Despite the early hour and Jasmine’s worries about Ashton, she felt herself relaxing. “Thanks, Vera. I’m excited to work together.”
Vera went to say hello to Ashton, and Ilba Montez took her place in front of Jasmine.
Ilba was a petite woman, around fifty, with luminous brown skin, big brown eyes, and a ready laugh. Her wavy black hair was cut short and she dressed casually in jeans and a Doctor Who T-shirt.
“My wife and I loved you on The Glamour Squad,” Ilba confessed when she introduced herself. “I’m a big fan of soaps. Such creative storytelling techniques. I hope they make a comeback.”
“Me too,” Jasmine said with a laugh, but Ilba shook her head.
“Nah, this show is going to catapult you. Just watch.” She winked, and they took their seats around the table.
Only Vera remained standing, with her hands resting on the back of her chair.
“Welcome, everyone.” She flashed a grin around the room. “Thanks for bringing me in. I’ve read the scripts, and I’m excited to assist with this production. Have any of you worked with an intimacy coordinator before?”
Jasmine would have thought the question was aimed at her and Ashton, but Ilba and Marquita responded too. Marquita was the only one who answered yes.
Vera nodded like she wasn’t surprised. “It’s a newer part of production, although it shouldn’t be. To give some background, it’s a role that started in theater, and is now being used more in TV and film. How about stage combat? Do either of you have experience with that?”
Both Jasmine and Ashton murmured their assent. Jasmine had filmed a few “catfights” while working in soaps. She’d also taken some fight choreography classes in drama school and, more recently, before auditioning for a couple of superhero roles. She’d been passed over for them, but she was holding out hope.
“So you know the importance of choreographing close movements for maximum safety,” Vera continued. “My goal as an intimacy coordinator is to make sure the performers, directors, and crew are all on the same page, and that clear consent is being given at all stages.”
Well, this was a welcome change. Jasmine couldn’t remember ever having been asked if she explicitly consented to something—or didn’t—while filming.
“One of the first things we have to do is determine the context,” Vera went on. “By that I mean, why is this scene here? Does it make sense for the story and characters?”
“The last thing we want is to put the actors in uncomfortable situations for scenes that don’t serve the story,” Marquita agreed.
Vera turned to Ashton. “Ashton, why do you think this episode needs an intimate moment between the characters?”
Jasmine watched him from the corner of her eye. Oh, she couldn’t wait to hear his answer to this.
COÑO. ASHTON SWALLOWED hard as all the women in the room turned to look at him. “Ah . . . you mean the . . . kissing?”
What the hell was wrong with him? He was acting like Yadiel, who gagged every time people kissed in movies, even animated ones.
Vera’s smile was patient, but he got the feeling she’d caught his embarrassment at saying the word kissing. “Yes, Carmen and Victor share a very passionate kiss in this episode. Do you think it’s necessary for the story?”
Ashton supposed it made sense to ask these questions. Granted, most of his acting roles to date leaned heavily in favor of gratuitousness, but it was nice to have someone on the team who would focus on the integrity of the story. It wasn’t something he’d ever considered in his telenovela roles, which often had him kissing, fighting, yelling, and sometimes even crying in the same episode. Necessary didn’t cover it. If it added to the drama, it stayed in. High emotions plus high drama equaled higher ratings.
But while Carmen in Charge was based on a telenovela, the tone was different from the original show, La patrona Carmen, which had been more of a workplace drama between rival execs. Ashton considered the third episode’s storyline, which focused on Carmen’s continuing efforts to improve Victor’s reputation after the disastrous red-carpet appearance in the previous episode.
“Talk us through it,” Vera urged.
He was starting to dislike this process, but he complied. “Well, Carmen books Victor on a cooking competition show to raise money for charity.”
Vera turned to Jasmine. “Anything to add, regarding context?”
Jasmine answered readily, like a dutiful student. “It’s a good publicity move, but Carmen knows Victor is a terrible cook. He’s her ex-husband, after all. She’d know that about him.”
“Cooking, food, the closeness of a kitchen—it can create a very intimate environment,” Marquita added. “That’s what we’re going for with the scene—pushing Carmen and Victor closer together.”
“But Carmen doesn’t really cook either,” Jasmine jumped in, her tone rising with excitement. “She enlists her mother to teach Victor how to make the dish before he goes on the show.”
“So do you think it makes sense, within the context of the story, for Carmen and Victor to kiss in this episode?” Vera asked.
Jasmine pursed her lips and her gaze drifted up to the ceiling as she thought. Ashton found he was holding his breath as he waited for her to speak, curious about what she would say.
Then Jasmine’s gaze flicked to his. She caught him staring at her, but that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part? There was heat in her eyes. He felt it in the split second before she directed her attention back to Vera.
No wait, that wasn’t the worst part. The actual worst part was the answering flash of heat in his own body. The look in her eyes kick-started his system, sending a bolt of desire through him, making him harden. He shifted uncomfortably as Jasmine answered Vera.
“Carmen and Victor have a history,” Jasmine explained. “Yes, they’re divorced, and there’s pain and hurt there, but there’s still love and attraction too. They’re fire together, and like Marquita said, the heat and closeness of the kitchen . . . it sets them ablaze.”
Her gaze shot to Ashton again, then dropped to her hands on the table. Was he imagining things, or had Jasmine’s voice gone the slightest bit . . . breathy?
“T
he attraction part is easier for them to deal with,” she went on. “The other stuff . . . well, it’s messy. So they give in to the—oh god, this is a bad pun, but the heat of the moment.”
Marquita and Ilba laughed, and Vera grinned. Ashton was glad for the break in tension. Had Vera noticed the looks Jasmine was shooting him? He hoped she wouldn’t call them out on making eyes at each other like a couple of horny teenagers.
Vera looked to Ashton then. “So, it makes sense for them to kiss in that moment?”
Without meaning to, Ashton replied, “He still wants her. He never stopped.”
Silence fell, as the others nodded their agreement.
Jasmine watched him from the other side of the table. Her expression was intense and unreadable. He didn’t know what it meant. But he wanted to.
“It’s also the first time they’re alone together,” Marquita pointed out. “We’ve purposely built the tension between them over the first two episodes. By the time Carmen’s mother leaves them alone in the kitchen, they’ve built up a lot of steam.”
Everyone laughed and continued to toss out bad kitchen puns until Vera brought the meeting to a close.
“It’s incredibly important that we maintain open communication,” she said. “I’ll loop in future directors, but I want all of you to feel comfortable coming to me with any concerns. We’ll check in and obtain permission from all parties at every step.”
“We’ve built extra time into the schedule to rehearse scenes where we need Vera’s help,” Marquita explained to the others. “She’ll work on the choreography then.”
“The last step is a moment of closure,” Vera said. “At the end of each scene, I encourage the actors—in this case, Jasmine and Ashton—to develop some sort of ritual to help you both break the spell of the work and transition back to real life.”
Ashton exchanged a glance with Jasmine. Actors had all sorts of rituals and superstitions, but his mind went blank when he tried to think of what they could do.
