Rebel
Seven thirty-seven, Tuesday morning . . .
We were kissing.
I was on top, Rush inside. I was moving slowly, enjoying the feel of him filling me, gliding him out, taking him again, while his arm rested almost casually around my waist, the fingers of his other hand tangled in my hair, our mouths connected.
That morning, in my bed, it was just us. No drama had just occurred. No imminent nightmare was on the horizon. No relatives down the hall or about to show with donuts.
We could kiss. We could fuck. We could take all the time we wanted. We could be as loud as we wanted. We could be together, as close together as we could get, and get to know each other even better.
And after, I could make him my egg and bacon cheesy buttermilk biscuit sandwiches.
It was already shaping up to be the perfect day.
And we could use that.
For certain.
I knew Rush was ready to get busy when he rolled me. Linked my fingers in his. Lifted my hand over my head close to the crown and pressed it into the bed. His other hand going between us so he could roll my clit with his thumb.
I slid my hand down his spine and grabbed his ass.
We kissed through it, my fingers tensing in his, his tensing in mine, his rhythm speeding up, the force of his thrusts ramping, the pressure of his thumb increasing.
Until I broke the kiss and whispered, “Rush.”
Then my eyes closed, my neck arched, I clutched his flesh and it rolled over me, lazy and long and beautiful.
His came before mine was over, but I got to hear and feel and watch a bit before he tucked his face in my neck and gently sucked me there.
He didn’t let go of my hand and he didn’t stop moving inside me until he couldn’t do it anymore.
But he still didn’t let go of my hand or stop his lips working my neck.
“Happy anniversary,” I said.
His head came up. “What?”
“We met a week ago today,” I reminded him.
He stared down at me, those gemstone eyes a little hazy with residual sleep (I woke him up to get down to business), fucking, coming . . .
And being with me.
“That seems impossible,” he muttered.
“Well, it’s not official until later. You and your brothers hijacked me in the evening.”
“Babe, that is impossible.”
“No, it isn’t. A week ago today.”
“If you’re counting the hijacking, we met last Monday.”
“Oh,” I mumbled.
Shit, he was right.
Damn.
We missed our anniversary.
He gave me a sweet smile, rolled us to our sides and took our linked hands to his chest, pressing in and not letting go.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Okay, well then the anniversary of the first time we kissed,” I amended. “And now that phase one of celebrating is done, we’re going on to phase two and I’m making breakfast.”
His smile got bigger. “Babe.”
I made a move to pull away, saying, “I’ve gotta get on that. The biscuits take a while.”
His hand tightened in mine and he rolled slightly into me, preventing my exit from the bed.
“Babe,” he repeated.
I looked back into those eyes. “What?”
“Hate to remind you of this, but you’ve been off set for days. Your cast and crew just lost their funding. We don’t yet hold the title, but when we do, the brothers did not vote to fund one final porn film. And they won’t. Since they don’t want them, they’ll be down with taking the proceeds of Bang and infusing them in Luxe. But again, we don’t own that yet and it’ll take time to liquidate. You still need to convince the brothers about your plan, so you gotta write it. This means your crew needs to know the state of play. There’s a lot of shit to do and I’m thinkin’ breakfast sandwiches don’t factor into that.”
I stared at him, thinking about my cast and crew and the fact they were out of jobs until I could sort stuff out.
And some of them would be out of jobs until we got through post production, distributed the last film, and got cash flowing so we could start up again.
Further, I wanted to do the Chaos film first, and the way that was forming in my head, that would not take much crew, if any at all, and it definitely wouldn’t need a cast.
My eyes drifted to the window behind Rush as the realization this insanely cool boon was also a burden.
“Rebel,” he called softly.
I looked to him. “My Benito money.”
“Say again?”
“All that money I made for the last eight months. There’s a lot, Rush. I’d have to go over the figures, but I think, with that, I can keep production going with payroll for at least a week. I can call a meeting today with the cast and crew, share what’s going down, close production for this week. Start back up with my cash. The stuff gets signed over, we can begin the liquidation process, feed that money in to keep things rolling. We only have two, maybe three weeks left on production. I can bank any further monies. I do the cuts myself. Editing, laying over music, bringing the cast back for any reshoots needed, I’ll use that bank. Get the DVDs burned and distributed, the last film gets done, proceeds go into the coffers for my indie, and in the meantime, I can start on Chaos.”
“You got that all planned pretty quick,” he murmured.
“I need to call Meryl,” I told his scruffy jaw. “Get her to call a meeting this morning. So I need to get in the shower.”
I’d pulled free, rolled, but didn’t make it when an arm hooked at my belly, hauling me back in.
“You need cover, Rebel,” Rush said into my ear.
Oh shit.
I twisted my neck. “Anniversary present?”
When he looked harassed I went on swiftly.
“The only time I’ll ask. Promise. And I’ll try to make it fast. Though there’s a lot to go over. Me being Rebel, not Tallulah. Why I was Tallulah. The fact they’ll have to take a week off without pay.”
He sighed.
“Outside of, you know, having to ask when I get back to work, if this situation hasn’t settled yet,” I finished carefully.
He stared at me before he sighed again.
Then said, “You’re lucky you’re a great fuck.”
I grinned.
“And got great hair,” he went on.
I grinned bigger.
“And fantastic legs.”
My grin got seriously toothy.
“And beautiful cheekbones.”
That surprised me. “Beautiful cheekbones?”
Another sigh.
“Baby, you pretty much got beautiful everything, which means I’m fucked.”
I did not grin at that.
I turned in his arms and laid a wet, sloppy kiss on him.
He rolled to his back, pulling me over him, and let me.
We went at it for a while before Rush broke it and reminded me, “Production meeting?”
“Shit!” I cried, then in a flurry of pillows and limbs flying, I jumped out of bed.
Nine forty-five that morning . . .
I stood in front of my cast and crew in the cavernous space that was the studio for Luxe Films, the area behind them dressed as a romantic dinner set, all of their eyes on me.
“So there are no guarantees,” I continued laying it out. “We feel good the handover will go smoothly, but further funding is dependent on the liquidation of Bang. If the handover happens, however, I’ll be personally funding production until assets can be sold. My hope is, we’ll finish this film. But I have to be honest with you, after that, things are up in the air. So I’d ask for you to stick with me, even though I understand it will be a hardship. But I do it with forewarning that you’d be advised to get your resumes out there because once we wrap, I don’t know what the future holds.”
“Mr. Valenzuela is out?” Sharon called.
“It’s my understanding he will
be by the end of the week,” I told her.
“Fuckin’ brilliant. That guy gave me the willies,” Darinda, one of my camerawomen muttered.
“You’re gonna fund it yourself?” Janna asked.
I’d gone over the figures. Benito had not been stingy with my salary. If necessary, I had enough to keep us rolling for two weeks.
That said, it would clean me out, and since this was mine, mine, mine, and he didn’t factor in anymore, I considered that money mine. So I was hoping for a week because I needed that extra to actually eat.
“Yes,” I answered.
Glances were exchanged through a general shifting of feet.
“And you’re not Tallulah Monroe, your name is Rebel Stapleton, but you were Tally because . . . what? You weren’t down with putting your real name on a porn film?” Dryden asked, sounding unhappy.
I looked behind me to where Rush was standing wearing his cut with his arms crossed on his chest, scowling at Dryden.
I looked back at Dryden.
“My best friend was Diane Ragowski. Some of you probably knew her and if you didn’t know her by her real name, you knew her as Chantilly,” I announced.
There was a lot more glancing around, shifting of feet, and I felt them focus more fully on me and they’d already been giving me a lot of focus.
A lot of them knew her.
Or of her.
And what happened to her.
“I loved her,” I carried on. “I wanted justice for her. I’ll be honest with you, a foray into pornography wasn’t part of my hoped-for career trajectory. But my friend was murdered. I’m not going to explain what I was doing, you can probably figure it out. I’ll just say I had to do it. But the worst part of doing it was lying to all of you. You’re talented professionals. I’m proud of my team. I’m proud of the work we’ve done. This is why I haven’t bowed out. I want to finish what we started. I want our work to be seen and appreciated. And in future, even if my future is not in this branch of the industry, I hope to work with you all again.”
No one said anything when I stopped so I kept going.
“That’s what I’ve got. My understanding is any contracts you had with Mr. Valenzuela will also be transferred to our new owners. But I’ll say if you don’t feel you can carry on considering all of this, you can speak to me and I’ll let you out of your agreements and find a way to replace you.” I looked to Shaughnessy, then to Dryden. “Unless you’re principals. And I’m sorry to say the pressure is on you because if you back out, this film is done, and everyone will be done with it.”
“I’m not backing out,” Shaughnessy called out then looked at Dryden. “And you aren’t either.”
“I didn’t say I was backing out,” Dryden returned to Shaughnessy. “Just wanted to be clear we’re all in this because we believe in it.”
“I believe in it, Dry, I assure you,” I told him.
He nodded. “Works for me.”
Thank God.
I turned to Rush and mouthed, “Another hour?”
He jerked up his chin.
I turned back to my team. “I’ll be here for an hour. If you feel you need to move on, we’ll talk in my office. Everyone else, shut down and someone will be in touch. If all goes well, we’re back up, Monday at nine o’clock. I’ll send scene and script notes through email on Thursday.”
I got nods, more shuffling of feet, but again, no one said anything.
“We’re done. Thanks, everybody. And if I don’t speak to you, see you Monday,” I concluded.
People broke into huddles and started murmuring.
I went to Rush, got his hand on my waist the minute I got close, and he muttered, “Did good, baby.”
“Come to my office?” I asked.
“You bet,” he said.
We went to my office.
I sat behind my desk, an old metal one (Benito’s generosity didn’t extend to office furniture) and Rush stretched out in the sole tatty chair that was across from me.
There was a square window that looked out into the space.
I stared through it, my body tense.
But all I saw was folks moving around, covering equipment and monitors, turning off makeup mirrors, rolling garment racks.
“None of them are gonna quit.”
I looked to where Rush was sprawled in the chair. “Sorry?”
“None of them are gonna quit, Rebel. Things might be up in the air, but they wanna see this through and they believe in you. You tell ’em production is gonna start again in less than a week, they believe production is gonna start in less than a week. They got a job. They got a paycheck coming. You’ve given them warning they’re gonna have to sort themselves out after that, but they got some time to do that. So they’re all gonna be here on Monday.”
I looked back out the window in time to see Dryden, his arm slung along Shaughnessy’s shoulders, strolling by calling. “See you Monday.”
I lifted a hand to wave. “See you guys Monday.”
“Later, uh . . . Rebel,” Shaughnessy said.
“Later,” I replied.
Shaughnessy smiled at me. “Rebel’s the only name more kickass than Tallulah.”
I smiled back, relief—real relief this might work—starting to invade.
Over the next ten minutes, this happened with half a dozen more of my cast and crew, before I noticed Janna making an approach.
I drew in breath, though this didn’t surprise me. Janna was really good at what she did. She did all hair and makeup and costuming. She had a way with hair and makeup, but her real talent was in putting clothes together, making them look good but doing it in a way it subtly but assuredly helped to define a character. Half the class of the films we’d done so far was about her making the actors look classy.
She could easily get a job elsewhere. A stylist at a store. Starting up her own shop. Moving to another production.
She was one of the few who really didn’t have to hang for a week without pay then come back only to be let go in a couple of weeks.
It still would suck without her, and I wondered if I could pay her to draft boards for the rest of the scenes that needed filming so we could at least dress our actors.
I forced myself to seem light and casual when she hit the door.
“Hey, Janna,” I greeted.
“Hey, uh, Rebel. Can I have a minute?” she asked.
I looked out the window.
More folks were passing by, waving, nodding, but now also looking curiously at Janna.
I turned my attention back to Janna.
“Sure,” I said.
She gave Rush a careful look.
I smiled at her. “He doesn’t bite. Let me introduce you. Rush, this is hair, makeup and costume, Janna Adrian. Janna, this is my boyfriend, Rush Allen.”
They looked to each other, and Janna didn’t appear any less careful, in fact she was more so, when Rush stood, held out a hand and muttered, “Nice ta meet ya.” Then he offered, “Take my chair.”
Something new.
My man.
A gentleman biker.
Nice.
“I . . .” she took his hand, let it go, “okay, sure.”
She then took his seat, sitting on the very edge of it.
Rush assumed his position with shoulders against the wall behind her, watching her attentively.
“I understand, Janna,” I assured in order to make this easier on her since she seemed so nervous.
“I’m not licensed,” she blurted.
I stared at her.
She kept blabbing.
“I didn’t mind pulling one over on Rodrigo. Rodrigo was a jerk. So I didn’t mind lying to him, or Mr. Valenzuela, though I kinda did with Mr. Valenzuela since he’s scary. But I was small potatoes to him. He wouldn’t care. But since they’re gone, and it’s you, I don’t want to lie to you. I don’t have my cosmetology license. In hair or makeup. And I didn’t work as a stylist at Nordstrom for three years.”
“I . . . uh . . .�
�� I mumbled, surprised at this news, and in light of it, wondering where she got her mad skills.
“I’d like to . . . like to . . . stay. Finish the movie. But I understand if you want to let me go.”
Well, thank God.
I leaned into my forearms on my desk and smiled at her. “I don’t wanna let you go. You’re really good. I’m not sure we could finish without you.”
“I curl hair.”
“You give a feel to the production no one could imitate.”
Janna’s head jerked.
“You’d be a loss and it’d mean a lot if you stayed,” I told her.
“I . . .” she seemed to get stiffer, move more to the edge of her seat to the point I thought she’d teeter off, then she declared bizarrely, “Your man might not want me.”
I felt my brow furrow. “He’s just here to—”
Her voice was pitched high when she declared, “Beck’s my boyfriend.” She woodenly twisted to Rush and repeated, “Beck’s my boyfriend. Throttle’s my boyfriend. Though he’s not Throttle anymore. Throttle is gone. But he’s my boyfriend.”
I felt something beating out of Rush that made me look at him, see the tight in his jaw and around his eyes, so I started to get up.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Janna jerked around to me.
“You need to know it all. I was there. I was,” her voice cracked but she pushed through it, “I was there. When Chantilly was killed. I was in the closet. I . . .” She shook her head, all her blonde hair floating around her, but when she lifted her eyes again to me, they were tortured.
I sat my ass back in my chair, unable to keep my feet, even in a squat. It felt like all the air had been forced out of me.
My hair, makeup and costume person was the witness who came forward for Diane.
How could that be?
“It’s all totally messed up,” she announced. “They were allies of Mr. Valenzuela. Both of them. And I was there to try to get her to end things with them. It was bad. She had to get out of that. At least that. Everyone was worried. He . . . he hurt her. I heard it all. It was terrifying. And I knew . . . I knew . . . if I said anything, I knew Mr. Valenzuela would—”
“You’re the one who called me,” I whispered, and Rush’s bad vibe ratcheted up about fifteen notches.
“I did,” she forced out, looked like she was going to make a break for it, but then she lifted her chin, even if that chin was wobbly. “We met. Briefly. At her house once. You didn’t remember me.”
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