Child Star: Part 1

by J. J. McAvoy

  “Move!” I elbowed any part of him I could, dropping to my knees beside him. Tears fell from his eyes uncontrollably as his whole body shook like he was freezing. “What are you doing? Call a doctor—”

  “I…m…fi..ne,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Shut up,” I said. He was anything but fine. “You need a—”

  “It will pass. He ran out of his medication. He’s just needs to calm down,” Austin whispered behind me.

  Noah, the idiot he was, tried to smile, and if he could, he would have said something snarky.

  “I’m going to hug you—”

  “I…am…fi…ne.”

  “Well, I’m not.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I don’t like seeing you like this, so I’m going to hug you, and when you’re back to yourself again, you can go back to hating me.”

  Unlocking his hands, I put one over my waist and then placed my arms around his neck, sliding into his arms. Biting my lip, I stared at the skirt of his bed, doing my best to ignore the quivering. His whole body was so cold, so stiff. I could only imagine how painful it must be for him, so I squeezed tighter.

  He needs to calm down, but how? What do I say? He’d always loved poetry and plays. I tried to remember anything, but my mind was blank. So I did what all actors did: I made shit up and prayed it worked.

  “Once upon a time,

  a most joyous time

  before the dark times

  a time before time

  there was you, and there was me

  as stupid as young lovers could be.

  Not our mothers,

  fathers

  sisters or brothers

  could separate us

  not even to a degree.

  They mocked us about sitting in trees.

  We made out

  put out

  then fell out of that tree.

  So it was just you

  and it was just me

  now fruits of a poisonous tree.”

  He didn’t reply, at least not with words, but he did hold me a little bit tighter. It was only then that I realized he had stopped shaking. Pulling back enough to see his face, I put my forehead on his, and his blue-green eyes stared right back into mine.

  I could feel his cock hard between our bodies, just like I was sure he could feel my nipples on his chest. The air between our lips became hotter and hotter.

  Yet neither of us moved.

  “Don’t make fun of my poem later.”

  The corners of his lips turned up. “I promise I won’t…but can I make fun of it now?”

  Frowning, I tried to pull away, but I held on tighter.

  “I’m still shaking.”

  “No you’re not. You liar!” I laughed, and so did he.

  I didn’t realized how badly I missed hearing him laugh or seeing him smile until that moment.

  Noah

  Dear God, tempt me with anything else but her.

  Sitting up, I couldn’t tear my eyes from her. The white silk robe she was wearing was now completely open. Her nightgown had risen up, exposing her smooth, milky-white thighs and the curve of her beautiful ass. With each breath she took, her breasts rose over and over and over again. Her dark hair was spread out under her. She looked like an angel, one that had fallen for the sole purpose of giving me blue balls.

  Sliding one of my arms under her waist and the other under her knees, I lifted her up easily, trying my best to ignore the shiver that went down my spine. When I placed her in the center of my bed, she turned over to one side, curling her legs up to her chest.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’m not going to able to say it later. But thank you.”

  I wanted to kiss—I wanted to do more than kiss her.

  “Fuck…” I hissed when my cock twitched painfully. Stripped down in the bathroom, I didn’t even wait for the water to get hot before I stepped under the showerhead. My skin was so hot that I was sure steam rose off of me.

  I stroked the length of my dick slowly at first and then more swiftly the more I thought of her, my mouth parted. What I’d give to pin her body under mine, spread those beautiful thighs of hers and bury myself in her wet pussy. Her sexy legs would wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper into her as I, without restraint, fucked her so hard, so thoroughly, that her back rose off the damn bed.

  I wanted to hear her beg me for more when I pulled out and tied her to the bedpost, her smooth ass up high, ready for me to beat it till it was red.

  “Jesus Christ….” I gasped as I came, dropping my head under the freezing stream of water. Even after all of these years, Amelia London was still my kryptonite, and she still didn’t know it.

  I couldn’t think straight around her. My body reacted on its own around her. My heart, too. It was Amelia’s world, and I was just trying to survive in it.

  Grabbing a towel for my waist and another for my hair, I heard the bedroom door open and shut. I figured I’d woken her up and she’d made her escape. However, when I opened the door, she was standing right there, her nightgown barely hanging on to her at this point. Her hair was a mess and pushed up at the back. She looked ridiculous and sinful at the same time.

  “Can I use your bathroom, please?” she asked softly, her blue eyes traveling down my abs to my crotch and then back up.

  Grinning, I crossed my arms, leaning in the doorframe. “Sure, but I’m not leaving.”

  “Ahh…move, you pervert!” She scowled at me, her little nose bunching up as she tried to yank me out.

  Laughing, I moved out of the way, and she slammed the door behind her.

  “You’re welcome!” I called out, a smile glued to my lips. I knew she was either flipping me off or making a face on the other side of the door, but it only made it funnier.

  “Smile any wider, and your face might break,” Austin said when we heard her turn on the shower.

  Ignoring him, I moved to the closet, knowing he would follow me. “Did you get it?”

  “Ten milligrams of clonazepam…” he whispered, handing me two pills and a bottle of water. I threw them into the back of my mouth and swallowed without it. “You need to slow down, or you will run out again.”

  “That’s why you’re holding the bottle, Austin,” I replied, stepping into my jeans. “I’m going out for a smoke. Make sure she’s not here when I get back.”

  “Why?” Austin asked.

  “What?”

  He looked me over carefully, then asked, “Why do you want me to tell her to leave when you want her to stay?”

  Without answering, I snatched up my jacket and left.

  Amelia

  I could have gone to my room. I should have. It would have saved me a lot of embarrassment, but I didn’t want to leave yet. Because of that one decision, I was now standing in front of Noah’s manager dressed in his cotton shirt because I had nothing else to change into. I was hoping—I’m not sure what I was hoping, exactly, but this was not it.

  “Where is he?”

  “He just went out for a little bit. We’ll see you on set. If you’d like, I will run over and grab something from your…”

  He left.

  Forcing a smile, I shook my head “no” to his offer because I didn’t trust my own voice. The fact that he wasn’t here meant he wanted me to leave. He didn’t want see me. Yeah. This was the Noah I knew all too well.

  Picking up my nightgown and robe, I tried to keep my head up as I headed back to my room. Austin became silent, understanding the message. When he closed the door, I bit my knuckle.

  Why the hell are you upset, Amelia?

  You should know better. I did know better, but there was still a familiar feeling of rejection building in my chest.

  Knock. Knock.

  It took a second before Ollie ripped open the door, his cellphone at his ear.

  “Where the hell—”

  “Give me one second before you yell at me,” I whispered, sliding into the room and leaning against the
white doors.

  “Amelia?”

  “One second more.” I held up a finger for him, blinking back my tears. I took a deep breath and then turned to him.

  I started to explain. “I didn’t sleep with him or anything. He was having a hard time, so—”

  “So you sacrificed your peace of mind for his comfort.” The look of disappointment and sadness on his face wasn’t helping right now.

  “It’s nothing, really. He didn’t ask me to come. I came over because I was nosy, and I’ve been properly punished for it. Can I get ready now?” I didn’t wait for his answer before I stepped around him, hoping he would drop it. But Ollie always had to get the last word.

  “Amelia, Noah Sloan is and will always be bad news. Nosing around him will only leave you hurt.”

  “I know.” But when it came to Noah, I was apparently a masochist.

  Chapter Five

  Amelia

  “Cut,” the director sighed, taking of his violet-tinted glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Amelia, why don’t you take a break? Everyone else, let’s pick up from scene twenty-five, Damon’s offer.”

  Humiliation: if anyone deserved to copyright that shit, it was me.

  I knew it was bad when even Ollie didn’t have words as I walked back to my chair. He handed me my phone, a bottle of water, and shades, because apparently I was so goddamn bad today that he was going to have to make up some excuse.

  “Is she hungover or something?” someone whispered much more loudly than they needed to. But I kept my head down and scrolled through Tumblr, because I didn’t have the heart to get on Twitter. We were in the Art Institute of Chicago. Only a section of it had been closed, but I was willing to bet that some fans had managed to capture my shitty display to provide yet another reason that I didn’t deserve to be here.

  “Action!” the director called again, and I looked up to see a woman dressed in a tight red dress and black heels standing beside Noah¸ who was dressed in a fitted gray suit, vest, and blue tie. He was probably uncomfortable as hell, but if he was, he didn’t show it. With ease, that smug smile of his spread across his face as he leaned closer to her.

  “How much do you think this painting is worth?” he questioned.

  Brushing her fingertips over the tops of the pearls around her neck, the woman pretended to think.

  “Probably a few million?” she offered.

  “Wrong,” he replied.

  “The same price as that suit?”

  “Still wrong, but cute,” he said with a wink, and I wondered how “Blair” would feel about them flirting out in the open like this.

  “Well then, Mr. Shaw, tell me. What is the painting worth?”

  Raising his hand, he pointed to the corner of the frame. “It’s a trick question, because the painting is worthless.”

  “Worthless? That’s impossible.”

  “Why? Because it’s in a museum?” he questioned, turning to face the piece. “The truth is, museums don’t buy art. They buy names. Van Gogh, Monet, Matisse. Whether it makes sense or not, whether it’s beautiful or tragic—as long as there is a name that matters in one of those four little corners, it is as good as gold.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” the woman asked.

  “Because you’re going to help me steal a name. I’ll be in touch, Ms. Beaulieu.” He pulled out his phone, as his character was supposed to be talking, and causally walked off scene.

  “Cut. Brilliant. I liked the wink, Noah,” the director yelled, rising from his chair as the makeup artist went to the woman in red.

  “Don’t you think she’d make an amazing Blair?” the same bitch, not evening bothering to whisper this time, said beside me.

  I saw Ollie move to talk to her, but I shook my head. The last thing I needed was to be a talentless actress and a diva. Handing him the water, I stood up and walked away myself.

  “Don’t let anyone notice you,” Ollie called out, but I was too focused on my own thoughts to care. Anyone watching today would have thought I was the one who had a fight with my father in the hall and spent the morning shaking on my bedroom floor. It was like it never happened for him, none of it.

  In all of my other scenes, I was fine. But in the ones with Noah, I just couldn’t focus, and if I couldn’t separate my personal and private life, what kind of actress was I to begin with? I’d always thought of myself as a professional. Yeah, a professional idiot.

  Taking out my phone, I dialed the one of four people I had on my contact list.

  “Well if it isn’t Blair Hawthorne,” Mayko laughed on the other side of the phone.

  “Oh, not you, too!” I groaned.

  “Everyone is a sinner,” she recited the tagline of the book and now movie.

  “Shouldn’t you be building a rocket ship for NASA or something and not reading smut?” Her dream was to become a rocket scientist, go to space, and build a colony on Mars.

  “Why can’t I do both?”

  Giggling, I shook my head. “How are you?”

  “Well, I was great until my older sister called me at seven in the morning.”

  “Shit, the time difference. I’m so sorry, Mayko.”

  “It’s okay—”

  “It’s not okay,” a male voice muttered on the other side of the phone.

  “Who was that?” I asked, puzzled.

  “The reason I don’t have to read smut,” she giggled, followed by a few other noises that I did not feel comfortable identifying. “Sis, I’ll call you back, okay? Antigone was up all last night, so I’ll let her know you called when she is alive…Kevin…oh my god…haha!”

  The line dropped right after that, and I was too stunned say anything.

  “Wow, you really have no shame.”

  When I spun around, there, in torn blue jeans, flip flops, and a black shirt, was a man glaring so intensely you would have thought I had insulted his mother, his father, and all of his ancestors. His hair was pulled back into a bun, and he had a five o’clock shadow that looked like it had reached its twelfth hour.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m sorry, was I interrupting your phone call? Here I was just trying to appreciate the piece of art you are standing in front of…still.”

  Following his gaze, I saw the blue painting he was so passionate about and took a step to the right.

  “Better, your majesty?” The sarcasm dripped from my lips as I practically bowed.

  “Well, now that you’ve moved—”

  “You really are an ass,” I said before laughing for some reason. I could not catch a break today.

  He laughed and shrugged. “It’s all about perspective. Here I was, silently trying to enjoy Picasso, when some strange woman in shoes she can barely walk in starts mouthing off about smut. And to top it all, she’s wearing sunglasses inside a museum.”

  “I can walk fine, thank you very much!” I said, taking off my shades.

  Again, he chuckled at me. “That’s the only thing you have a problem with? Not the rudely interrupting my view or talking about smut or the glasses?”

  I nodded, proudly crossing my arms. “Yes, because I can fix the other things, but if I still haven’t mastered how to walk in heels at twenty-five, there is no hope.”

  As I spoke, couldn’t help but laugh, brushing my hair behind my ears. “Okay, I apologize for being—”

  “An ass,” he finished for me.

  My mouth dropped open, and he waited.

  “Fine. I’m sorry for being an ass.”

  “Apology accepted. I’m Léo.” He extended his hand, and I tried to remember the last time I had to introduce myself.

  “Amelia.” I shook his hand. His palm was hard, and I noticed his hands had paint and graphite on them. Not too far from the windows was a sketchpad. “Are you an artist, Léo?”

  “What gave me away? What are you doing in an art gallery if you don’t like art, Amelia?” he questioned, moving to get his bag and supplies.

  “What makes you think
I don’t like art?”

  To that, his eyebrow rose.

  “It’s not that I don’t like art,” I said. “I’ve just never really understood it. I’m more of a words person.”

  “You don’t think there are words in that paint?” He frowned, rising again. He stepped right in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders.

  “What are you—”

  He turned me to face the painting. “What do you see?”

  “A man holding a guitar,” I replied.

  “Okay, but what do you feel when you see it?”

  “I—”

  “Shh!” he cut me off.

  “Did you just—”

  “Shh,” he shushed me a second time with a laugh. “Just stare at it. Imagine it’s someone you love, and you walked in to them like this. They didn’t say a single word. They just stayed frozen like this.”

  Tilting my head to the side, I did what he asked and tried to see someone in the image, but the person I saw bothered me too much to keep staring.

  “What would you ask?” he asked softly.

  “Why are you so blue?” I joked.

  “Right,” he answered seriously. “Why. So. Blue? Of all the colors, why did Picasso choose blue?”

  “I’m guessing you know the reason,” I said.

  “Yeah. It was during his blue period.”

  “You’re fucking with me now,” I laughed.

  “Nope,” he said, and I noticed how he didn’t back away. Yet I didn’t mind it. “During this time, he was struggling with depression. Some sources say he even thought of giving up painting. Nothing he did was good enough anymore. Under this very painting, there are three other figures. I always wondered how it must have felt to be one of the greatest and most influential artists of the twentieth century and walk into your own studio not once or twice but three times and hate the very thing you created with your own hands so much that you had to cover it up.”

  “Amelia?” We both turned toward the entrance where Noah stood, staring at us blankly. “Everyone is waiting for you.”

  “Shit! Really?” I rushed toward him, but stopped halfway. “It was nice meeting you, Léo, and thank you.”