by Doug Cooper
Although it was supposed to be a dry set since so many of the cast were under twenty-one, the majority of the staff were not, so there was always alcohol around at the parties. It was just concealed, furtively poured in white paper cups with whatever liquid was supposedly being consumed.
Emily waited until Caleb’s third trip back to the prop closet, which was where all the liquor was hidden. She intercepted him before he made it to the group of grips and gaffers regaling tales from previous jobs. “Hey, Caleb. You got a second?”
Even though she said his name, he looked around to see if there was someone else she was talking to. “Me?”
She sauntered up, stopping in front of him. “Of course, silly. Do you see another Caleb?”
The rosiness in his cheeks from the alcohol spread to the rest of his face. “I guess I’m just surprised. I didn’t realize you even knew my name.”
She touched his forearm, caressing gently. “Of course I do. Like your boss says, it takes teamwork to make the dream work.”
He flopped his head forward, shaking it back and forth. “Ugh, don’t quote him. I hear his damn sayings in my sleep.”
“So, like, I know you’re technically off-duty and stuff.” She rocked back and forth on her heels nervously. “But I was hoping you could come into my dressing room and have a look at my sound system. It seems like one of my speakers is not working. I mean, it can probably wait until after break, but I was hoping to get it fixed before, just in case I’m here working over the holidays.”
Caleb looked over at his collection of cronies to check if anyone noticed him chatting with the princess, which was what they referred to her as. From their preoccupation with one another, it didn’t appear to him that any of them had even noticed he had stepped away. He said, “I guess I can take a quick look. That way if we need some new parts, we can order them, and they’ll be here when we get back.” He glanced again at the others then turned back to Emily. “Lead the way.”
Walking back to her dressing room, Emily, for the first time since season one, which was almost sixty episodes ago, felt nervous. The flutter inside her in his presence warmed her skin, and she became self-conscious about her steps, forcing her to concentrate putting one foot in front of the other. She loved the excitement and uneasiness swelling inside her.
Entering her dressing room, she closed the door and subtly locked it behind her. She thought being alone with him, away from the others would make things better, but it didn’t. The heat on her skin transformed to sweat. She angled to the thermostat. “Geez, it’s hot in here. I hate when the cleaning crew turns up the heat.”
Caleb went straight to the receiver on the cabinet next to her desk and checked the wires in the back. “Everything looks fine here. Might be one of the speaker connections. Why don’t you play some music and show me what the problem is?”
Emily slid the cord into her phone and cued up Miley Cyrus’ “We Can’t Stop”.
The low voice of the intro boomed. “It’s our party we can do what we want.”
Caleb put his hand on the subwoofer on the floor next to the cabinet. “Bass seems to be working.” He walked around the room listening to each of the five cube speakers mounted on the wall.
“It’s that one in the corner.” Emily pointed across the room and turned up the volume. The speaker crackled as the sound cut in and out. “Hear that?”
Caleb drifted in that direction, navigating through the collection of electric blue beanbag chairs covered with stuffed animals filling the corner underneath the speaker. He tilted his ear toward the speaker. “Sounds like you got a short or maybe just a loose connection.” He looked around for something to stand on.
Emily pulled over the bench from her makeup table. “Here. Use this.” Creating a path, she kicked the beanbags against the wall, sending the stuffed animals tumbling in all directions. “I used to collect these stupid things, so people always got them for me as gifts. Still do. Kind of ridiculous, huh?”
The chorus bellowed from the surrounding speakers. “We can kiss who we want. We can sing what we want.”
Caleb took the bench from Emily and angled it in the corner. “Nah, it’s pretty cute, actually. My older sister collected stuffed animals. Kept them over the years and gave them all to her daughter.” He stepped up on the bench and stretched toward the speaker. “You should do that.”
“I’m never having kids.” Emily held her hand on the side of his thigh to steady him on the bench. “Be careful. I don’t want you to fall.”
Caleb looked down at her and all the beanbags and stuffed animals scattered around on the floor. “Looks like a pretty soft landing if I do.” Emily kept her hand on his leg anyway. He reached up behind the speaker and wiggled the input wire. The music drifted in and out. “I think I found it. Somehow the wire came loose.” He stood on his toes, bracing himself on the wall with one hand and popping the cord back in with the other.
The music blasted smoothly through the speaker. “Can’t you see it’s we who own the night? Can’t you see it’s we who ’bout that life?”
Caleb stepped down from the bench. Emily stayed where she was, her hand running up his thigh, across his abdomen, and up to his chest. He hesitated, unsure what to do. Emily just stared up at him. Her hand climbed to his cheek. He leaned to step around her. She corralled him around the waist with her other arm and pulled him toward her. “Don’t go.” She extended and kissed him on the lips.
The music resounded from all directions. “And we can’t stop. And we can’t stop.”
Caleb kissed her back for a moment then pulled back.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. We can’t. I’ll get fired if someone finds out.”
Emily dropped her hand to his inner thigh, stroking lightly. “No one will know. I locked the door. Besides, I’m the boss. If anyone says anything, I’ll get them fired.” She kissed him again, her hand climbing from his thigh to his waistline, unbuttoning his jeans.
Caleb tensed then relaxed, putting his arms around her and kissing her strongly.
Emily pulled him toward the beanbags pushed against the wall, lowering herself and him on top of the comfortable mounds. Although it was her first time, she was hardly an amateur and knew exactly what to do. She had researched this situation like she would have any other role. She peeled off his shirt first then hers, relishing the feeling of his bare, muscular chest against hers. Sensing his reluctance, she initiated every action. Her hands lowered to his waist. She pried down his zipper and yanked the jeans down to his knees. He laid on his back, staring at the ceiling like the helpless, willing victim he was. She rolled him over on top of the adjacent beanbag. The tail of a stuffed monkey and face of a penguin stuck out along the sides of his body. She stood over him and shed her black cotton leggings. Completely naked and confident, she lowered her lean, nubile body between his legs.
Caleb sat up, holding her wrists to stop her from pulling his boxers down. “I’m sorry. I just don’t think this is a good idea. I could get in so much trouble.”
Emily freed her wrist and pushed against his chest, forcing him back. “I told you. I’ll take care of it. You’re safe.” She leaned over to a beanbag stuffed in the corner directly under the speaker. Reaching underneath, she pulled out a condom.
Caleb’s forehead tightened as he looked up at the speaker and down at the beanbag, then at Emily. “I never had a chance, did I?”
She tore open the package and applied the condom, again demonstrating she had prepared in advance. “A girl has to take what she wants in this world.”
Surrendering, Caleb placed his hands on her hips and guided her toward him. After several attempts, Emily found the spot and worked him inside her. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth, feeling more pain than pleasure but relishing the satisfaction that another accomplishment had been made ahead of schedule, which was all anything ever was to her.
When t
hey resumed filming after the holiday break, Emily ignored him, never even looking in his direction. Caleb tried talking to her once.
She looked at him impassively. “If you ever speak to me directly again, I’ll have you fired.” He ended up leaving the show on his own shortly after that. She never even noticed. He was just the first of the same relationship over and over. Emily would see someone she wanted, seduce him or even her a few times, and discard the person like he or she never existed.
In Gabe’s garage, Emily says, “I don’t see what the big deal is. I’m the one who came on to Levi. That was the first time we were together, and it was all me. I don’t think anyone is really going to come after you because you stumbled upon me seducing someone.”
Uncomfortable with her suggestive stance and speech, Gabe picks up a framed picture of an ocean sunset from the table and positions it with the ones propped against the wall to move away from her. “That’s not for you or me to decide.”
With his back turned, Emily moves around to the other side of the table, only a few feet from him. “Who knows what anyone will believe?”
Gabe turns back around, surprised to see her so close. Shuffling away, he says. “What do you mean by that?”
“Maybe it wasn’t an accident you were there,” Emily says, stepping toward him. “Maybe you’ve been following me.” She unbuttons her blouse, her gaze locking with his. “Maybe you coerced me here to blackmail me with the pictures. Maybe we can work out another arrangement. The ending is really up to you.”
Gabe stumbles back and knocks over one of the pictures. Changing direction, he darts toward his desk. “This is crazy. What—why are you doing this? Just stop.”
Emily untucks her blouse from her tight skirt and unfastens the final buttons, revealing a pink lace demi-cup bra. She brushes the left collar of her shirt over her shoulder. “Guess it will be the word of a confused seventeen-year-old against yours.”
Abbie’s voice radiates from the kitchen. “Gabe? Are you home?”
Gabe looks at Emily. “Maybe not just my word.”
Abbie appears in the doorway to the kitchen. “When did you get home?”
Keeping her back to the door, Emily buttons up her shirt.
Sensing she walked in on something, Abbie says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”
Gabe walks toward Abbie, motioning to the back door. “Not a problem. I think Ms. James was just leaving.
Abbie looks at Emily, who finally turns around. Abbie shuffles toward her, gushing. “As in…Oh my god…I am your biggest fan.”
Emily’s shirt is still untucked but buttoned except for the top two. Emily holds her hand out toward Abbie to shake and also keep some distance. She had learned the technique to prevent strangers from hugging her, which was their usual response when seeing her. Playing the girl next door on TV invites them to treat her as such. “Nice to meet you.”
“I can’t believe Emily James is actually in our house. Can I get a picture? Or even better, do you have time to sign your poster in my room? It’ll take only a second. I promise. Or maybe later if you’re busy or another time. Geez. I’m sorry. Listen to me. Just rambling like an idiot.”
Emily breaks away, moving toward the door. “Like your brother said, I really should be going.”
Abbie walks alongside her. “At least come say hi to my friends. Pleeeease. They will never believe you were here.” She takes hold of her hand and leads her toward the house.
Gabe says, “Ab, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. Ms. James is really busy and needs to get going. We don’t want to keep her.”
Emily locks eyes with Gabe, seeing how badly he wants her to leave. “Quite all right. I’m happy to do it. I always have time for my fans.” She follows Abbie into the house.
Gabe stands alone in the studio. He sags back against the door, emptying his lungs in frustration and relief while bumping his head against the glass.
Chapter 18
A box elder tree midway between the house and the front gate stretches above the bushes and fence that encircle the property. Wedged between two of its branches twenty feet off the ground, Levi watches a mob of paparazzi lurking in front of the gate through a riflescope. A bottle of Jack Daniels pokes out of the hip pocket of his beige hunting vest. He lowers the rifle and lifts the bottle for a drink. Every day more and more of them gathered out front. If he left, they just followed or there were more waiting wherever he went.
Levi returns the scope to his eye and aligns the crosshairs on the back of an unsuspecting paparazzo. With rapid pulls of the trigger, he fires two shots. Red paint splashes across the back of the photographer in his sights. The other paparazzi scatter for cover. In the chaos, Levi lands three more paintball shots on the easy prey. Confused what is happening, they turn their cameras on each other.
Levi lowers the rifle and feeds the grin on his face with more whiskey.
One by one, the paparazzi emerge from hiding and look in every direction except up for the source of the attacker. Levi drops the empty bottle to the ground and slings the rifle around his shoulder to climb down.
Palo verde canopy trees and juniper bushes line the sides of the long, basalt paver driveway that connects the gate and the garage. Closely clipped grass fills the two inches of space between each of the arranged black igneous rocks. As he plods back to the house, the leaves to his right rustle and shake. He steps off the rectilinear path into the grass toward the stirring, but the only movement is the gentle shifting of branches from the light evening breeze. He steps closer, removing the rifle from his shoulder and poking into the bushes. Extending further into the bramble, the rifle is yanked from his hands. Levi jerks back, startled. Through the leaves, he sees the red jacket of the culprit retreating deeper into the thicket and lunges forward to chase.
Weaving along the matted path, the person scurries toward the white wooden fence twenty feet away. Levi lumbers after him, branches scratching at his legs and arms. Losing his short lead, the person slings the rifle over his shoulder. A camera swings over the other. He reaches the fence and leaps up. His fingers grasp the top lip, and using his momentum, he runs up the side. His right leg swings over, but his left still dangles down.
Levi springs toward the fence, jumping up and latching onto the trespasser’s lagging limb. Falling back, Levi keeps his grip, pulling the person back on top of him. The guy scrambles to his feet, kicking Levi off and springing up to try the fence again. Levi easily wrangles him back down, delivering several blows to his midsection.
Dropping the rifle to the ground, the guy says, “Just take it, man. I don’t want it that bad.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Levi asks, driving the guy’s head into the wooden fence. Blood oozes from the gash in his forehead. Levi bashes his head again into the fence. “Who sent you?”
The guy puts his hands over his head to shield further drubbing. “No one. I swear. I was just out front when the paintball attack happened. Somebody said there was a way over the fence, so I thought I would try it and see if I could maybe get a few photos of the shooter.”
Levi drives his knee into the guy’s midsection, causing the intruder to cough and wheeze. “And? Did you get any?”
“No. I swear.” The guy falls to the ground and curls up into a ball. “I was about to, but that’s when you found me.”
“Bullshit! I don’t believe you.” Levi kicks him repeatedly, in the shins, thighs, and stomach. “I’m sick of you fucking parasites.” The kicking becomes stomping. He drives his boot downward into the guy’s shoulder.
The interloper rolls away, but the thick bushes keep him close. He gasps for air. “Please, just stop. You can check my camera.”
Levi follows the last word with a boot to the guy’s head. The pleas for mercy cease, and all movement stops. Levi looms over the body. Slow, steady breath seeps from the guy’s lips. Levi nu
dges him with his foot. “Get up.” The guy doesn’t move. Levi picks up the rifle and slings it over his shoulder. Grunts and groans gurgle from below. Levi grabs the guy by the ankles and drags him back down the matted path toward the driveway.
Standing over the body in the grass, Levi looks back toward the solid wood gate to check for additional eyes or lenses on them. Not seeing any, he picks the guy up and slings the unconscious form over his shoulder. The camera falls from around the guy’s neck. Levi loops it around the end of his rifle and follows the tree line toward the house. The sun dips behind the two-story structure, forming a halo along the roof. Levi lugs the lifeless lump through the house out into the backyard and drops him into one of the chaise lounge chairs by the long, rectangular lap pool. Still out cold, the guy lands with a thud, his head lolling over the side of the chair.
Levi retrieves a roll of duct tape from the house and secures his prisoner to the chair. Reviewing the pictures on the camera, Levi doesn’t find any of himself, only a video of the other paparazzi being shot with paint outside the gate. Levi watches it several times, enjoying each viewing more than the one before.
Cupping his hands, Levi scoops water from the pool and throws it on his captive’s face. Spitting and gagging, the guy lurches forward. Unable to move, he relaxes and settles into the chair. Flopping his head from side to side, he looks around assessing where he is and how he got here. Seeing Levi, the guy recoils, panicking. “Come on, man. I don’t want any trouble. I’m just doing my job. I promise, I won’t say anything. Just let me go.”
Levi hovers over the guy, dropping the camera in his lap. “What if I wanted you to say something?”
Confusion twists his captive’s face. “I don’t understand. Now you want me to tell people what happened? You didn’t have to beat the shit of me. You could’ve just let me go to begin with.”
“You shouldn’t have run,” Levi says, picking back up the camera. “I didn’t know what you had. But now I think this video is hilarious. I want you to sell it. Just don’t mention our fight. You’ll have to make something up about how you got the bruises. I don’t need that biting me in the ass.”
