Chemistry

by Tess Oliver

  There had been no sign of Harlow near the set, which had helped the scene move smoothly. After her mean taunt and the lie about Jameson feeling sorry for me, I found myself quite invigorated. I was determined to do a kickass performance, and I wasn't going to hold back a bit. In truth, just imaging she was out there, watching everything in her teeny, tiny shorts with her overfilled lips helped push me to really go for it. Sawyer wanted chemistry. That wasn't a problem because I felt nothing but attraction for the leading man. Heart be damned. I needed my career back on track.

  Feeling spry and accomplished and a little heady from the kiss, I climbed the steps and swung open the trailer door. Music was thrumming through the trailer. I heard movement in the bed area. Apparently, I'd woken Shelby from one of her many naps.

  I pulled open the partition and squealed. Shelby squealed too and grabbed the blanket to cover her nakedness. The laptop was open and her extremely fit boyfriend was stretched out on an uncomfortable looking cot, wearing even less than Shelby.

  Shelby threw a pillow at me. "Get out!"

  Grant was just figuring out that something had happened on the other side of his Skype sex session, and it wasn't anything romantic. His face peered into the camera.

  "Hey, Grant," I laughed. "So sorry but I didn't know. You should hang a sock on the door or something."

  Shelby pushed me and closed the partition.

  "Carry on," I called out. "I'll just head back outside, so make as much noise as you like. I won't hear a thing." I picked up my script and grabbed a cold bottle of tea from the refrigerator. "Please, don't stop on my account," I said.

  "Kiki!" Shelby yelled.

  "Yep, I'm out." I opened the door. I couldn't stop laughing as I headed out and shut the door sharply behind me. After their last session, that ended with a cold bucket of water, namely his call to duty, this incident was surely not going to help. I almost felt sorry for the two of them, but considering my barren sex life, I could only sympathize. Especially with heat from Jameson's mouth still lingering on my lips. And his breath mint. Who manages to make a breath mint smell that sexy. Jameson Slate, that was who. I'd probably react with a tingly pussy every time I passed a display of Tic Tacs after that kiss.

  I popped open my tea and decided to take my script to a shady spot at a picnic bench that was positioned in the shadows of the food tent. Sawyer hadn't sent the text about this afternoon's filming, but I wanted to reread Cassie's diary entry after the kiss. It would get me in the right mindset for the rest of the day. I was done worrying about Harlow and Jameson and Roger and even Sawyer. I had one job to do and that was to nail this part.

  I slid onto the bench at the table and looked around. Most crew members were milling about, heading to the caterer's tent and walking back to the air conditioning in the trailers. I let my gaze drift casually toward Jameson's trailer. It looked quiet, possibly even unoccupied or possibly occupied. I pulled my eyes away. I didn't need to start imagining what might be going on inside. This whole thing was going to be agonizing, but I had to put my career first.

  "Stay in the zone, Kiki," I told myself. "Let Cassie be madly in love but keep your own heart in bubble wrap." I opened to the diary entry I'd been wanting to read. It was Cassie's first entry after the kiss scene on the porch.

  Dear diary, I am officially Shakespeare's Juliet, and while you probably don't understand that reference, without going into detail or iambic pentameter, let me just say, things did not end well for the maiden or her star-crossed lover.

  I'm beside myself with two conflicting emotions, one so deep, so painful it scars me with each breath. The second has me floating so that I'm sure my feet have not touched the ground once in hours. Up until now, I thought passion was a meaningless, frilly notion, made up by poets and composers. I've been married for three months, yet I never felt even a tiny spark of anything that could remotely be called passion.

  When I grabbed his arm on the porch, I had no real plan for my next move. I just wanted to stop him. I didn't want him to leave. The house was right and pleasant and home when he filled it with his broad shoulders and masculinity. I'd asked myself more than once while I muddled through making dinner, my head in such a spin I burned the biscuits, if I'd somehow asked for the kiss. What if something in my expression or in the way I desperately held his hard, muscular forearm in my grip had been an invitation? It was hard to know. What I did know was that when he pulled me toward him and his mouth pressed over mine all the muscles and bones in my body turned to melted butter. If he hadn't been holding me, I would have sunk to the ground in delirium. It was not just any kiss, it was a silent exchange of feelings.

  For weeks, everything about the man had me on edge. I trembled at the sound of his voice, the pounding of his boot heels on the porch. Every time I caught him staring at me across the yard, or through a window, or across the room, it turned me into a clumsy, dithering fool. And every night, when my husband stretched out next to me, I had to force myself to stop thinking about Nate. My sinful thoughts plagued me and at the same time left me bereft.

  The kiss, the few moments of stolen passion, of unbridled joy changed everything as much as it changed nothing. I would still have to lie in bed next to my husband, a man who hardly spoke to me or looked my direction, a man who nearly hit me because I'd brought the chickens inside, the man who seemed to fancy his nightly paper and bottle of moonshine more than he fancied me. It would still be Tom next to me no matter how much I wished it to be Nate. That had not changed, but now I knew a secret, his secret. Nate had been longing to kiss me for as long as I'd been yearning for it.

  I picked up my tea and quenched my parched throat. "Cassie, Cassie, Cassie, I can relate." Cassie had to live on a farm with the man she loved, only she could never have him. I was stuck on a small movie set with the man I loved. And he was inside his trailer with the teeny, tiny and mostly perfect girlfriend.

  My phone buzzed. It was a picture and text from Marley. I opened it and a short laugh shot from my mouth. Marley was dressed as a clown, full white makeup, red nose, rainbow colored hair, but she looked quite annoyed about something. "That damn Stephen King. I thought it would be fun to dress up as a clown and make animal balloons for the twins' sixth birthday. Rode in on a tricycle and everything. The kids screamed in terror and ran into the bounce house to hide so that IT couldn't get them."

  I laughed as I sent back a text. "I would have been in the bouncy house too. I hate clowns but you do look adorable. You should win the mother of the year award."

  "Not sure about that. I think a lot of the other parents are going to think twice about sending their kids to any of our parties again. How are things on set? To be honest, I've been afraid to ask."

  "Actually, not too bad." I felt it was an understatement, but I didn't want to jinx anything or get her expectations up. We were still early in the process.

  "So there's still some of that old magic left?" she texted.

  "Yep and then some. I'll keep you posted. And stay away from clown makeup."

  "Trust me, I have learned my lesson. Next year, pizza parlor and video games and that's it. Break a leg."

  Thirty-One

  Jameson

  I sat on the couch with my sandwich and drink deciding to ignore the icy chill coming from Harlow's direction. She sat at the little kitchenette table flipping angrily through the bridal magazines. Each turn of the glossy page was meant to get my attention and let me know, in no uncertain terms, that she was pissed. But I couldn't give a damn. I was hungry and I'd just had a successful morning on the set. Kinsey and I had synched up, we were connected, and it was impossible to deny there was anything but chemistry flowing between us. Sawyer was happy, and I was feeling pretty damn good about a box office hit. The only thing nagging at me, tugging at me, annoying me was that everything between us on set felt real. It wasn't just Cassie and Nate connecting in front of the cameras, I was starting to yearn for that amazing time when Kinsey and I were together. The fans and the press and ever
yone, it seemed, made it hard and miserable, but I'd had the best fucking time of my life with her.

  "I suppose we need to talk about this," Harlow said, slamming shut a magazine.

  I swallowed a bite of roast beef sandwich and continued to watch the movie I'd pulled up on my laptop. "Must we? Not really in the mood for any impromptu couple counseling session."

  "Don't even know why I'm looking at these." She swept the stack of magazines onto the floor with all the drama of a tantrum throwing toddler.

  I was regretting not staying in the food tent to eat my lunch. Harlow stomped over and snapped shut the computer on my lap.

  I looked up at her with my blandest expression. "There is nothing to talk about. I'm doing my job, which just happens to be acting, which just happens to require me to kiss the leading lady." I moved the laptop to the couch cushion and stared up at her as I lifted my soda can to drain it.

  She put her hands on her hips. From the angle I was at, I could see how wide her nostrils had flared in anger. It wasn't a good look.

  "You know damn well what I'm talking about—the part of the kiss that happened after Sawyer yelled cut. Normally, at least this is what I've found in my experience, the action stops when the director yells cut. But you stayed locked in that fucking kiss—" She pressed her fingers to her mouth to stifle a sob. It would be the first of many.

  "I didn't hear him say cut." It was a lame ass excuse but it was partially true. I was so lost in that damn kiss, our surroundings faded into oblivion and it was just me and Kinsey and a kiss. I could have explained that to Harlow, but I was sure it wouldn't go over too well.

  "Bullshit," she snapped.

  I pushed to my feet, no longer wanting to sit under her glower. I sidled past her with my lunch plate. My sandwich was no longer tasty. "I told you not to come on location with me. You should just head back to L.A. so I can get this job finished and, with any luck, get my career back on track."

  "Sure, you'd just love that wouldn't you? You'd just love me to leave."

  I spun around. "Yeah, I would."

  Her face scrunched up into a sort of shocked and hurt hybrid expression.

  "Look, Harlow." I reached for her but she yanked her hand away.

  "Don't touch me."

  I lifted my hands. "Fine. I won't touch you. But I stand by my suggestion. Take my car and head home. It's going to be at least two more months of this dry desert air. You keep complaining about dry skin and chapped lips. Really, Harlow, I think it'll be better for both of us."

  Her lips quivered. I couldn't tell if she was holding back a sob or trying to work up a believable one. "You're trying to get rid of me."

  I shook my head. "Never mind. Do what you want. I've got to head back to wardrobe, so I'll see you later."

  "I'm leaving," she said angrily.

  I looked back at her and tried to squelch the happy look on my face. I didn't squelch it fast enough.

  "You're smiling about it." She plucked up one of the fallen magazines and hurled it at me. I ducked out of the way. The magazine smacked the door and fell to the ground, splayed open to a center picture of a dazzling bride and groom modeling team gazing dreamily into each other's eyes.

  I kicked it out of the way. "I'm not smiling. I just think it would better for both of us if you headed home. I can always get a ride home on weekends or days off."

  "You just want me out of the way so you can be with Kinsey. She's always been in the way. She's always been between us."

  "You're really nuts. This desert sun has gotten to you." As I spoke, her unexpected words sort of lodged in my chest. Was she right? I pushed the thought away. "Kinsey and I have hardly spoken in years and those times it was only just comments on Twitter or Instagram. You couldn't even count it as a conversation." I was pushing the whole thing off as stupid, yet I was defending myself against her accusation as if it was true, like a kid insisting he didn't set the garage on fire knowing he had the matches in his pocket.

  "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Just because the two of you never talked doesn't mean she wasn't always there, lurking in the background. You can't go anywhere on the internet without stumbling over some post about Kinsey and Jameson, Katy and Jake."

  I laughed but stopped it short realizing it wasn't going to make the situation better. "So, in your mind, obscure posts from people still obsessed with a nine-year-old teen movie is the equivalent of Keezy coming between us." I'd accidentally used the nickname, but I couldn't exactly suck it back in. And it hadn't escaped Harlow.

  "Keezy?" she huffed. "Shit, you're even calling her by your pet nickname for her." She spun around and headed into the bed area. "I'm going to pack up and get the hell out of this stupid trailer and this fucking hot desert and away from Keezy and you."

  She started tossing clothes into her luggage, making sure to kick my stuff out of the way. One of my shirts came spinning out of the sleeping area like a disc. I caught it and tossed it on the couch. This should have been the time I walked into the bed area, took hold of her for a kiss and assured her I would come home during breaks from filming. But I was still angry about what she'd said to Kinsey. And if I was being totally honest with myself, I just didn't feel like kissing her or reassuring her about anything because the truth was, I was relieved she was leaving. I wasn't sure what direction our relationship was going, but at the moment, it wasn't a priority. Some time apart might be just what we needed to see where things landed.

  In the meantime, I was late getting to wardrobe. I pulled the keys out of the pants I wore the night before and placed them on the kitchen counter. "Drive safely, and I'll talk to you later."

  Her only answer was the sound of my shoes being thrown against the partition.

  Thirty-Two

  Kinsey

  I drew my sweatshirt shut as I hurried across to the chow tent. Who knew the desert could get so chilly? We'd been on location seven weeks, and everyone was giddy at the prospect of heading home for a ten day holiday break. Shelby had left two days earlier. Grant was on leave for two weeks, and they weren't going to miss one second together. I was so damn envious I told her I didn't want to hear one thing about their time together when she returned, but she knew what I was really saying was record every detail and send a complete narrative of your time together, including dialogue. While most of the crew were checking flights and finalizing plans for ski trips and family holidays, I was trying to figure out how to hibernate alone in my house without leaving for ten days, all the while keeping a supply of hot cookies flowing from the oven. I'd decided grocery store delivery was my new friend. They could bring me buckets of scoop and bake premade cookie dough and fresh milk, and I would never have to change out of my sweats. I could easily join my family at my Aunt Mary's winter cabin, but I'd have to shoot myself full of tranquilizer first, and not the easy stuff they use for scared dentist patients. I was talking full on elephant tranquilizer. There was no way I could sit through four days with my siblings and their kids and my cousins and their kids and my parents and aunts and uncles without substantial drugging. Normally, they would all pelt me with questions about when I was going to finally have a baby, but this year, my disastrous wedding was still too fresh in their minds. They'd be tiptoeing around me, whispering about how I looked sad and that it seemed I would never actually get married. That sort of pitying gossip would be far worse than just being directly confronted about having kids. So I made the excuse that we were still filming and that I just wouldn't make it home for the holidays.

  Rocky and Gina were in the food tent filling their plates with the amazing pasta salad that everyone had been talking about after lunch.

  "Well, look what the desert wind pushed in," Rocky said. "Sweatshirt gray looks good on you."

  I held out my arms and stared down at my standard gray hooded sweatshirt. "Thank you. It took me forever to decide on a color." I grabbed a plate. Gina was already scooping the salad into her mouth. "Is it as good as everyone says?"

  She chewed
and flashed me a thumbs up. Then her eyes smiled at something behind me.

  "Who is this fair maiden in gray fleece?" Jameson's deep voice drifted over my shoulder.

  I smiled at Rocky. "I've got to wear this thing out to a party sometime. It's gotten way more attention than any of my designer dresses." I smiled over my shoulder at Jameson. "I suppose you came for the infamous pasta salad?"

  "Sure did," he said.

  Once Harlow left the location for good, in an angry huff from eyewitnesses who saw her exit, things between Jameson and me got more relaxed and natural. Sawyer was over the moon with the way things were going. Of course, we still had the notorious rain scene, and he had insisted we get it done before everyone took off for the holidays. To say I was anxious about it would have been an understatement but then things were flowing so nicely, I was sure we'd get through it just fine. Deep down, my heart broke a little bit when I thought about filming coming to an end and both of us going our separate ways, Jameson back to Harlow and me back to my empty house. But eventually, I'd get over it. I had no choice.