by Maya Brooks
The Actor
Maya Brooks
The Actor
Copyright © 2013 Maya Brooks
ISBN 1493593854
EAN-13 978-1493593859
Cover image by canstockphoto:curaphotography
Published in the United States of America
Publish Date: November 2013
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. Characters and places are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, neither this entire publication nor parts of it may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, without having written permission from the copyright owner.
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Chapter One
The actor lifted the hat off his head and ran a hand through his hair.
I’m never signing up for a convention again. Maybe one of the bigger ones, but something-con in nowhere-ville will never see me again.
Maybe he needed to accept that times had changed. The world moved on without him, and he wasn’t popular anymore.
The thought stung.
Was he growing old? He was young not long ago and still felt young, but it was hard to deny the gray hairs that snuck up on him as soon as he averted his attention. Oh well, nothing a good hairdresser couldn’t remedy.
What if my hair falls off?
Being bald would make it hard to maintain the image of sexy rogue. Thus far, the amounts in the shower drain seemed normal, and if all else failed, hair replacement surgery had leaped forward.
Voices drifted over to him.
“Hey, let’s ask dude over there. I bet he knows.”
A group of teenagers in fantastic suits headed his way, but didn’t quite make it. A girl trailing after the others bounced and hollered, “Guys, I got it, I see the sign.”
She wore a tan leather bikini and at least twenty-five pounds of wooden beads. Her boobs bounced with her.
Nice. Come over here and do that.
The little gang headed away, laughing and nudging each other. Crap.
If he couldn’t even get people to stop to ask for directions, it might be time to throw in the towel. Just a couple of years earlier the waiting list to get his photo or an autograph would have been at least an hour long. At times, people got in line in the middle of the night to make sure they got an autograph ticket. Now, no one waited.
He took a quick glance around. No one looked in his direction, so he snuck a flask up and took a swig. It was too early in the day to be drunk, but hey, what was a guy to do?
Picking up a magazine and leafing through it didn’t improve his mood. It said his wife was about to leave him, and the news didn’t even reach the front page. He had a small headline in the black and white section, and it featured an alleged interview with his teenage daughter confessing how much she hated him.
Why?
He bought her a pony when she was six, shouldn’t that be enough?
Women. Never happy.
He shrugged and tossed the glossy pages over his shoulder, keeping his eyes away from the photos of his family.
For all he knew it might be true.
He couldn’t call himself a model husband on the best of days.
Buying a pony didn’t make up for him being a pretty crappy dad. Drinking to it seemed a sensible decision.
A woman came up to his table and he ignored her. She could find the way to the ladies’ room on her own, or go to the information desk. He stared into nothingness, sipping his whiskey.
Why doesn’t she leave?
She kept her eyes fixed on the floor and fidgeted with the purse, but stayed put right in front of the table.
He held his flask up.
“You want a drink?”
“No. Thank you.”
So, she had a voice after all.
The deer in the headlights look on her face was familiar.
This person might actually be there to see him. Time to work.
He flashed a bright smile meant to convey charm and energy. He knew it did, because he practiced it for hours early in his career. The professional greeting widened into a real grin as he met a pair of warm brown eyes in a pretty face.
He should have looked at her earlier, instead of ignoring her. She looked a few years younger than he, maybe around 28. Or 35.
How old am I, again? Who cares…
His brain put her in a folder labeled, “Nice body, maybe a little saggy but not too bad. Pretty face and kind eyes, would probably be a good lay.”
The woman smiled back.
“Sorry if I disturbed you. I...”
Her face turned prettily red and she looked about to fall through the floor.
She was definitely there for him.
*****
Laura held her purse in front of her. It wasn’t much of a shield, but better than nothing.
It dangled from her fingers, and her death grip on the shoulder strap was the only thing keeping her from fidgeting.
She had hoped for an opportunity to get an autograph, or maybe a photo, but that seemed so shallow when facing a chance to talk to her hero.
Say something. C’mon, you can do it. Say something.
Pep-talking herself didn’t help one bit and she wanted to slap herself for not being more eloquent. Good thing her hands were busy with the handbag so they couldn’t make her look even more like an idiot.
Say something smart, something about his work, something he doesn’t expect.
Her mind wasn’t just blank; every thought sounded like static. Could he see white noise in her eyes? The idea made her even more self-conscious, and she blinked several times to make sure he didn’t see anything inappropriate.
The actor seemed completely oblivious to her dilemma. He fished out a promo-picture of himself from a pile under the table and signed his autograph. It was a smooth movement. How many thousands of times had he done it?
“What’s your name?”
This, at least, she could answer without hesitation.
“Laura.”
The pen made marvelous things happen: To Laura with Love. Marc.
She didn’t believe her eyes when he giggled and made a smiley face. During the weeks leading up to the convention she imagined dozens of scenarios. Giggling and smileys weren’t in any.
He started to hand the picture over, but pulled it back. Was she doing something wrong? She had a ticket to his table, should she pay him directly too?
If I don’t have enough money, I’ll die.
“Are you having a good time here Laura?”
Not a word crossed her lips. It wasn’t like her to be star struck, but this man was so bloody handsome, and it was surreal to have the voice she heard so often on TV address her.
The way he said her name made her want to faint.
Speak, Laura. Say something.
“It’s okay, I guess. I came here to get your autograph. I’ve been Googling, but you don’t do many public performances anymore.”
Why did I tell him the truth? Sound like a loser, much?
She watched boring movies and TV-shows for years just to get to see him, and never expected to meet him, or talk to him. She certainly didn’t expect him to be interesting or nice if she ever did. His autograph would be a little treasure to save, something to take a secret peek at when times were hard and lonely.
Marc put the
pen down and fixed her with his eyes. The stare made her want to sink through the floor. Her cheeks had to be crimson red; no woman caught in that gaze could be unfazed.
“You came here just to see me?”
“Yes.”
Why was it so difficult to lie and play cool?
“You know what… come back here.”
He jumped to his feet in a sudden burst of energy, rummaged around behind a curtain, and came out with a folding chair. Laura shifted her weight from foot to foot but couldn’t resist the temptation. She shuffled around the table, struggling not to stumble on her own feet, and forced her fingers to relax their grip on the purse.
“So, Laura, what’s your favorite movie?”
He didn’t even have to glance at the photo to remember her name. Impressive; at the moment she could barely remember it herself.
“Any that you’re in, of course.”
Deeming from the content look on his face, it was the right thing to say.
“Good answer. Is this your first convention?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
The questions were coming too quickly for her to think of good answers.
“Yes.”
“Why are you here all alone?”
Good question. She could have asked someone to go with her, some of her friends might even have said yes.
“I wanted you to myself, of course.” He grinned and she changed the subject. “I think you’re getting visitors. I should leave.”
“Nonsense. Just smile and look cute.”
The approaching group was rather big, and wore costumes bizarre enough to make Laura ogle. A young man looked at his photo with Marc’s signature, shifted his eyes to her, and smiled.
“Could I have yours too?”
“Oh no, I’m…”
Marc shoved a pen in her hand.
“Of course you can. Laura and I work together on a big project. I can’t give any details yet, but it’s big.”
Great. She couldn’t call him a liar in front of everyone, so she bit down all objections and signed everyone’s photos.
A girl pulled out a camera.
“Could I take a photo of you two?”
Marc beamed and slammed his arm around Laura’s shoulders.
“Sure.”
He kissed her cheek just as the flash blinded her. The white spots almost prevented her from seeing people gather around the camera.
“That’s an awesome photo.”
“Oh, this is soooo going on the website.”
Website? I’m going on someone’s website? With him? Oh lord…
His kiss burned on her cheek. Thankfully, no one paid much attention to her, and they all roamed away after just a few minutes.
“What’d you do that for?”
He lifted an eyebrow, but she heard suppressed laughter in his voice.
“Don’t be a grouch. All those kids feel like they got a bonus. It doesn’t matter if you’re famous or not, you made a bunch of people happy.”
Why can’t there be a hole in the ground for me to fall through?
“I… You’re much smarter than me.”
“I doubt that. More experienced.”
If she ever needed a distraction, now was the time. A woman in a Xena-like costume walked past, and all embarrassment was forgotten.
“Wow. I tried green nail polish once, but had to take it off because it made me feel so silly. I was just too old for it, you know. I wish I had the guts to go outside like that.”
Marc laughed.
“You’re just too precious. You’re like… A real person. I can’t remember the last time I met a real person.”
What was that supposed to mean?
She opened her mouth but closed it again. Asking would probably lead to another answer she wouldn’t understand.
“You’re not an act. You have actual thoughts and fears that are your own and not invented. I bet you know what you like and don’t like. You choose your own clothes, and I’ll bet you a thousand dollars you can even cook. For real, not just playing a chef, but you can cook because you’re hungry and you want something to eat.”
Was he making fun of her?
All these things seemed so self-evident.
Who wouldn’t know what they liked?
He took out his flask and helped himself to a good swig before offering it to her. She shook her head and he chuckled.
“Don’t be like that, babe. A real person is... I’m giving you a compliment.”
“Thanks… I think. I still don’t want any booze.”
“That’s okay, I’ll take yours too.”
His eyes glittered with suppressed mirth.
As more people came and went and her new friend signed photos, exchanging a couple of words with every visitor, his cryptic words became clearer. The man doing the work was a professional, playing a role. The man talking to her was a completely different person, one who might or might not be the real him.
She caught a glance of a visitor’s watch and felt a jolt of shock: she’d been sitting behind the table for over an hour.
“I should go. I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much of your time.”
Marc rolled his eyes with mock exasperation.
“Oh no, you can’t go off and leave me to face all these vultures alone. You, Laura, came here to see me, and you have me. Tell me all about yourself. What was your favorite game when you were a kid?”
Was talking to him always a rollercoaster ride?
“I… I liked hide and seek, and sometimes I would sit behind an armchair and pretend I was in a submarine.”
People weren’t exactly flocking around the table, and she didn’t want to leave, so she stayed until her conscience screamed he couldn’t want anything more to do with her.
As soon as she reached for her purse, Marc made a face and put a “closed” sign on the table.
“You’re trying to leave again and I’ll hear of no such thing. C’mon, I’ll get you lunch.”
He seemed enormously tall when he stood up and held his hand out to her. She hesitated for a split second; touching him seemed morally dangerous. Still, how could she turn down lunch with her hero? Even more important, could she manage it without goofing up and spilling all over herself? Either way, there was no going back. He held her hand in a firm grip, finding a path through the crowds.
The more she thought about it, eating with him horrified her. All the women she saw were so thin they probably never ate anything except maybe a carrot. Deeming of the amounts of wondrously beautiful women heading towards the restrooms, they probably made sure not to keep even the carrots. She was hungry and wouldn’t be able to resist food if it was right in front of her. Compared to everyone else, she would come across as a pig.
Saying no wasn’t an option. She was an asteroid caught in the gravitational field of a planet, or maybe a sun. She’d stay in orbit until she crashed and burned, and he’d go on with his life without ever noticing she’d been there, or that she was gone.
Her allegory had one flaw: he did notice she was there, to the extent where he wouldn’t let her go.
Calling the restaurant crowded would be an understatement.
Oh my goodness, look at all these people.
So many faces familiar from TV, and so many journalists. She wasn’t aware of squeezing Marc’s hand until he sent her a sideways glance and wrapped his arm around her shoulders instead.
“Hey, don’t worry, you’re here with me.”
Surely, his breath against her ear would make her heart stop.
Miraculously, it beat one more time and only took a little leap when he murmured, “Smile for the camera.”
This time, the flash didn’t even make her see dots.
If that ends up in a magazine I hope mom won’t see it. I’ll never live this down…
Once seated, she poked her food. Was she supposed to eat it? Did anyone else eat?
Marc waved his fork at her with mock anger.
He leaned over the table and whispered, “Yes, not eating gives them bodies to die for. Trust me, I have screwed enough of them to know. They’re good lays, but you know what happens to your brain without food? I get better answers talking to my car. It has the sense to say Make U-turn Now.”
Chapter Two
The Cinderella story didn’t end with food.
Marc took her on a tour, wrote autographs, and smiled. Before she knew it they were back at his table, and between visitors, he had a million stories to tell. Most of them started or ended with, “True story.”
Stop staring like an infatuated school girl. He’s making all this shit up, and you’re just fueling his ego.
It didn’t help. She really was that impressed, and playing cool was out of the question.
A young, bowing, and smiling couple from somewhere in Asia wanted to take their picture, and he slammed his arm around her shoulders once more, producing a million-dollar grin. Laura did her best to smile too.
Can they see how awkward this is?
The way this day was going people all over the world would wonder who she might be. It was comical, but scary too.
This time, as the smiling people backed away, he didn’t let go.
Should she wriggle free?
He gave her a squeeze, turned his face towards her, and mumbled into her hair.
“You know, there’s this big party here tonight. Please come with me?”
Her heart beat so hard, he must be able to hear it. No matter what his reason for asking might be, she was clearly in over her head. His breath was hot against her skin, and when she didn’t answer, he whispered, “Please, pretty Laura, don’t abandon me.”
Crap.
How could anyone say no when he was so close and so overwhelming?
What’s the worst thing that can happen? He’ll leave you in a corner and stagger off with one of the beauties. Take a chance, have some fun.
The inner pep-talked helped.
“Okay. I’ll come.”
He smacked a kiss on her cheek, making her face heat, and his arms around her were too good. Things like this happened to young, beautiful, and super thin models from magazines. Not to her. It happened to people who could afford breast implants, a real hairdresser, and fashion clothes, not to a woman closing in on her middle age whose belly pouted out, whose thighs were too thick, who wore last year’s clothes, and who colored her hair at home in the bath tub.
