Just Physical

by Jae

  Crash was quiet for a moment before saying, “I guess so. What happens in San Francisco stays in San Francisco, right?”

  “Right.” Even though she was finished injecting herself, Jill didn’t leave the bathroom. She wasn’t ready to face Crash.

  Another moment of silence. “I’ll head over to my own room now. I have a stunt later that I need to prepare for.”

  “Okay.”

  Her receding footsteps indicated that Crash was moving away from the bathroom door.

  “Crash?” Jill called.

  The footsteps stopped. “Yeah?”

  Jill opened her mouth, about to tell Crash to be careful when performing her stunt but then held herself back. She and Crash were colleagues, not loving partners who worried about each other’s well-being. “See you later.”

  “See you,” Crash answered. A few seconds later, the door clicked shut behind her.

  Crash shivered in the heavy, damp fog of the San Francisco morning. Chimes drew her attention up to the ferry building’s clock tower. Eight o’clock and they still weren’t shooting. The crew bustled around her like an army of busy ants, setting up cameras and other equipment, while the PAs tried to keep a horde of curious onlookers behind the cordons and Ben instructed their new stunt performers.

  Instead of flying their entire stunt department to San Francisco, Ben had hired local stunt people for everyone but Shawn, Nikki, and Jill. In addition to doubling for their actresses, Crash and her two colleagues also stepped in as extras whose characters were involved in action-packed scenes.

  Today, one of those scenes was on the shooting schedule. Thank God for small favors. At least it meant Crash wouldn’t have to work with Jill today, giving them both some time to get over the awkwardness.

  She should have known better. Her mentor had warned her never to sleep with a colleague or anyone else she had to work with. Maybe she should have listened to Sabrina, but she just hadn’t been able to resist. And why should she? Many of her colleagues indulged in one-night stands whenever they could. It was part of their live-life-to-the-hilt-because-you-could-die-tomorrow attitude. Even Sabrina, the bitch, hadn’t followed her own advice when she’d slept with Crash’s girlfriend, their assistant location manager.

  She shook off thoughts of Jill and the past and focused on work. Their director wanted the greater realism of shooting at the few historic buildings that had survived the earthquake and fires, so they were filming at the ferry building with its arched arcades.

  Crash glanced up at the nearly one-hundred-twenty-year-old clock tower again. What the heck was taking the crew so long? They had permission to film for only two hours.

  That should have been plenty of time for the one scene they needed to film, but it seemed to take forever to get everything set up the way Ben wanted it—mainly because they still needed to establish a rapport with their new colleagues, not because Crash was distracted or tired. At least that was what she told herself. Considering she’d slept for just two hours, she actually felt pretty good.

  Ben did another walk-through with Crash and the San Franciscan stuntwoman, Sarah, and had them run through each of the fight beats in slow motion, almost as if they were dancing.

  Dancing? Crash mentally shook her head at herself. You’re kind of poetic this morning.

  “Okay,” Ben finally said. “Here we go. On marks.”

  Two dozen extras took their places, surrounding Crash and Sarah. When Ben called, “Action,” they started shoving and jostling, nearly pushing Crash over the edge and into the harbor.

  “There it is!” someone shouted.

  Crash, Sarah, and the extras all paused and stared out toward the ocean. There was nothing to see, but later, a computer-generated ferry would be added, approaching the dock, where hundreds of people waited.

  The jostling and shoving started again as panicked San Franciscans fought each other for a place on the ferry, desperate to get away from their burning city.

  An elbow hit Crash a little too hard, making her grunt. She raised her umbrella and threatened to swing it down on Sarah’s head.

  As they had practiced before, Sarah threw a gloved fist at her.

  Crash waited, timing it just right. As Sarah’s fist crossed the bridge of her nose, she jerked her head back and pretended to be hit hard. She stumbled back and landed in the water with a loud splash.

  Shit, that’s cold. She flailed her arms, pretending to panic as her water-logged dress and petticoats dragged her down.

  “Cut!” Ben called from above.

  The crew immediately rushed to help Crash climb out.

  Ben was massaging his chin—never a good sign, as Crash had learned in the past three weeks.

  “We didn’t nail it?” She’d thought the fight sequence had gone just fine.

  “Yes, you did, but it all looked a bit too great.”

  Crash realized her wig had nearly been swept from her head so she tugged it back into position. “Too great?”

  “Yeah. Sarah punched you like a boxing champion, not like a refined lady from 1906. We need to tone it down a little to make it believable.”

  Why hadn’t he thought of that before making her jump into the water? Crash suppressed a sigh. “Okay. I’ll get changed into a dry costume and then let’s go again.” She walked over to the wardrobe trailer they had set up nearby.

  Sagging racks of dresses, blouses, trousers, chemises, and coats stretched along two walls. Shoes and boots of all sizes were lined up on a shelf, while hats filled the opposite wall.

  The costume assistant was busy helping another actress into her corset—and not just any actress.

  Even from behind, Crash recognized her immediately. She’d spent the night worshipping that body after all.

  She paused in the doorway, riveted by the sight of creamy skin and gleaming, coppery hair piled up onto her head.

  The costume assistant threw her an annoyed look. “Come in or stay out. Either way, close the door.”

  Quickly, Crash entered and closed the door behind her.

  Jill glanced over her shoulder. A hint of red crept up her neck. “Oh. Hi.”

  “Hi.” Crash stood there, her wig with the hat attached in her hands. Say something. “Uh, I’m wet.” As soon as the words were out, she wanted to slap herself. God, one night with Jill had reduced her to a bumbling idiot who wasn’t capable of opening her mouth without double entendres coming out. She pulled the wet bodice away from her chest. “Uh, I mean, I had to shoot a scene that made me end up in the harbor, and now I need a dry costume.”

  “Why don’t you strip down, and I’ll be with you in a second,” the costume assistant said without looking away from where she was lacing up Jill’s corset.

  Crash couldn’t look away either. If she had thought that the newness would wear off after exploring every inch of that body several times and they could go back to just being friends, she had deluded herself.

  Come on. Be a professional. She forced herself to turn away, stripped off her wet dress, and put it on a hanger. The petticoats and the corset followed. Even the chemise had gotten wet, so she took that off too.

  “You need to face away from me for this to work,” the costume assistant told Jill.

  A smirk curved Crash’s lips. So Jill had watched her undress. Good to know that she wasn’t quite out of Jill’s system either.

  When Jill was dressed, the costume assistant turned toward Crash and took in the wet dress. “Oh. The duplicate is still with Connie for some last-minute repairs. Let me get it.” She squeezed past Crash, and the trailer door fell closed behind her.

  Crash swallowed as she unexpectedly found herself alone with Jill.

  They stared at each other and then glanced away at the same time.

  Now what? She peeked over at Jill. God, she looked great in that dress. With her hair piled up on her head,
leaving her neck bare, she appeared somehow vulnerable—or maybe it was the look in her eyes. “Are you okay?” Crash asked softly.

  “Would you please stop asking me that?” Jill grumbled and then gentled her tone. “I know you mean well, but all it does is remind me that people…you…see me as an MS patient.”

  “I don’t…I… That wasn’t my intention. I just…care about your well-being.” She stepped around a mannequin so she could see Jill’s face better. “Is that so wrong?”

  “No. Yes.” She looked at Crash and then quickly averted her gaze as if wanting to avoid staring at her bare breasts. “Crash, we really can’t…” Jill tugged on a strand of her hair, nearly making the entire creation come tumbling down. She quickly snatched her hand away and curled it into a fist.

  “Why don’t we talk about this after work?” Crash said. “We could meet back at the hotel at seven and then take a cable car up to Fisherman’s Wharf and…”

  A shake of Jill’s head made her trail off. “I can’t. I’m having dinner in Chinatown with Lauren tonight.”

  “Then how about—”

  The trailer door opened, and the costume assistant entered with the replacement dress. “Here it is.” When Crash didn’t acknowledge her return and kept looking at Jill, she glanced back and forth between them. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes,” they said in unison.

  “We were just talking about an agreement we have,” Jill added with a glance at Crash.

  No commitment. No promises of a happily-ever-after. No expectations beyond the one night. Crash gave her a stiff nod. Message received. Even though it felt wrong to walk away, it was what they had agreed on, and she knew it was for the best. She was an adrenaline-loving stuntwoman, traveling around the globe to get the most exciting gags. A commitment to someone who might become bound to a wheelchair didn’t fit her lifestyle.

  Right. She took the chemise the costume assistant handed her and slipped it over her head.

  Even without being able to see, she felt the moment Jill squeezed past her in the narrow space within the trailer.

  “Crash?” Jill said from right in front of the door.

  “Yes?” Crash struggled to pull the chemise down so she could see her. She held her breath as she waited for what Jill would say.

  Jill hesitated. One hand already on the doorknob, she shuffled her feet. “I… Good luck with your scene,” she said, opened the door, and walked down the three steps without looking back.

  Crash imagined that she could hear the dress rustling long after the door had closed behind her.

  CHAPTER 11

  Crash headed straight from the airport to the playground. That was what she and her friend TJ called his backyard, where he had set up airbags, trampolines, and other equipment for stunt performers who wanted to practice.

  He didn’t ask why she was so eager to train flips until her legs were so tired she couldn’t land safely anymore and then went all out in a sparring session.

  Crash hoped that by the time she got home, she’d be so tired that she’d just fall into bed and sleep for the rest of the weekend. On Monday, things would be back to normal. Just business as usual. They would hang out in Jill’s trailer between scenes and share a fruit platter in the craft services tent, nothing more.

  Two weeks ago, that would have been a pleasant thought, but now it left her feeling dissatisfied.

  TJ finally dropped his gloved hands. Sweat darkened his gray muscle shirt. “Who is she?”

  Crash looked up from trying to untie her boxing gloves with her teeth. “Who?”

  “The woman you’re thinking about.”

  “What makes you think I’m thinking about a woman?”

  He snorted. “Because that was the second time in the last half hour that I nearly broke your nose because you can’t focus for shit.”

  “I just got a lot of work stuff on my mind,” Crash said.

  “Right. Does that work stuff have a name?”

  Crash glared at him.

  “I hear the girls…”

  Another glare from Crash.

  “Uh, the women in San Francisco are hot,” he said.

  “I didn’t notice.” It was true. The only woman she’d looked at lately was Jill.

  “Man.” He shook his head at her. “For a stuntwoman, your life is really boring.”

  Crash finally managed to strip off her gloves and threw them at him. “You have no idea.”

  He took off his own gloves. “Yeah, but only because you refuse to give me any dirt.”

  She put him in a headlock and rapped her knuckles against his head. “Oh, you want dirt? I’m happy to oblige.” She tried to drag him down to the ground so she could rub a handful of grass and earth into his face.

  He grabbed her, and they both went down, tussling for the upper hand. It was like interacting with her brothers.

  Men were just too easy. All you needed to do to divert their attention was to offer beer or to challenge them to a fight. Life would be so much less complicated if she were straight. But then again, she thought with a grin, it would be a lot more boring too.

  Finally, TJ with his heavier weight and superior strength managed to pin her to the ground. “So? Want to tell me about this mystery woman now?”

  Damn. So much for men being easily distracted. She knew he wouldn’t let her up until she gave him something. “I had a one-night stand in San Francisco,” she said as casually as possible.

  “Cool.” He let go of her.

  She sat up and shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Wow.” He laughed. “With that kind of enthusiasm, she must have been bad.”

  “No!” She flicked a handful of dirt at him. “No, it’s not about that.”

  TJ brushed earth of his sweat-stained muscle shirt. “What is it, then? If you had a great time in bed, why are you in such a shitty mood?”

  Crash pushed up off the ground. “I’m not in a shitty mood. I just… I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “Ooh, I get it now. You wanted more, and she shot you down.”

  “That’s not it. Not really.”

  “So you don’t want more?”

  Crash flopped down on the large trampoline in the middle of the backyard. Still bouncing, she stared up into the sky. One of the clouds was shaped like Jill’s car. Crash waited until she had stopped moving and took a deep breath. “I do.”

  The two words rattled around in her brain, leaving her breathless. It was the truth; she realized. A one-night stand wasn’t enough. But the words sounded too much like marriage vows, and that was just crazy. She wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility, was she?

  TJ landed next to her, bounding on his belly, and gave her an expectant look.

  “I want more, but I don’t know what to do about it—or even if I should.”

  Groaning, he rolled onto his back, and they lay side by side, looking up at the sky. “Man, women are complicated.”

  “Tell me about it,” she muttered.

  “I’m the last person on earth you should ask for relationship advice,” TJ finally said. “But if you ask me, you should just stop thinking about it so much. Just get the girl and worry about the rest later.”

  “Woman,” Crash said and climbed off the trampoline. Maybe she should take TJ’s advice. The next time she saw Jill, she’d sit her down and convince her to give her a chance.

  Just a date, with all the other rules still firmly in place. For now. She could handle that.

  But first she needed a beer—or two. She headed toward the house and called over her shoulder, “Last one in pays for the pizza.”

  This was getting ridiculous. Jill had avoided her since their one-night stand in San Francisco, even going so far as to eat the hot, sit-down meals the catering service offered instead of heading over to the craft services tent at lunch t
ime. It was almost as if she sensed Crash’s resolution to ask her out on a date and wanted to avoid the conversation.

  For two days, Crash struggled with her emotions in silence. She was angry and hurt at the cold-shoulder treatment, and she missed their easy banter. For a while, she was tempted to just give up. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. But she knew that was her fear talking. If she walked away now, she could blame it all on Jill, not on her own insecurities about getting involved with a chronically ill woman.

  Jill wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended to be either. Usually, she joked around with Shawn and Nikki in between takes, but now she withdrew into herself when the cameras weren’t rolling, putting on her MP3 player so no one would disturb her.

  On day three after their return to the LA studio, Crash finally had enough. She gathered her courage, got two bowls of fruit salad and two of the wraps Jill liked, and headed over to Jill’s trailer.

  Loaded down with food, she used her foot to knock on the door and called, “Jill? Are you there? Can we talk? Look, I even come bearing food.”

  But when the door finally opened, it wasn’t Jill who stood in front of her.

  Crash nearly dropped her offerings when she came face-to-face with Grace Durand. Even though she tried to stay away from Hollywood gossip, there was no mistaking the woman’s long, golden hair, luscious curves, and eyes as blue as a tropical ocean. She had seen several actresses without their stage makeup and had been less than impressed, but Grace seemed even more attractive off screen. Holy shit.

  She had known Jill was friends with Grace Durand, of course, but she hadn’t expected to find her here, visiting her friend like a mere mortal.

  Grace smiled as if she was used to that kind of reaction. “Jill? It seems someone else had the same idea as we did.”

  Jill appeared in the doorway next to Grace, a container of Chinese takeout in one hand and chopsticks in the other. Her hair looked as if a bird had tried to nest in it—probably from the ladies’ hat and the Gibson-girl-style additions she had worn on set. She was barefoot, and a splash of what looked like sweet-and-sour sauce graced her cheek.