by K E Lane
~ And Playing the Role of Herself... ~
by dabkey
© 2005
DISCLAIMER: This is an original fiction story. Any similarities to real people are purely coincidental.
FICTION WARNING: The entire story takes place in cities where I do not live. The internet is an amazing tool for research and I tried to make things as realistic as possible, but I'm a writer, and I'll admit that when reality didn't suit, I made stuff up. Apologies to residents of LA, New York and the Florida Keys for any 'where the hell is that?' moments you may experience.
LOVE/SEX WARNING: This story contains a love/sexual relationship between two consenting adult women. If this bothers you, move along, there's lots of other good fiction out there.
THANKS: Many, many thanks to those who've helped me through this one, especially Renée and Linda for their beta greatness, Meghan for inspiration, support and always believing, and Deb for infinite patience, steadfast encouragement and love.
FEEDBACK: [email protected]
* * *
Table of Contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thrirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
The boy cowered, shrinking back as I crouched down and reached out a hand towards his face.
"It's ok," I said quietly, stilling my hand, waiting.
Huge, brown eyes looked up at me hesitantly through long, dark lashes.
"It's ok, Samuel." I smiled reassuringly. "I'm not going to hurt you."
I reached out again and his eyes widened in fear, but he let me touch his chin and gently turn his head to the side. I froze for a moment, staring at the swollen bruise that ran along the left side of his face, and then gripped him by the shoulders, harder than I intended, allowing the anger I was feeling to show in my face.
"Who did this to you, Samuel?" I hissed. "Who did this?"
"Cut!!!!"
The voice sliced across the silent set like a pistol shot, and I could feel the small shoulders under my hands jump in reaction.
I sighed and dropped my hands to my thighs as noise and chatter erupted on the set around me. The camera looming to my right moved back and I pushed myself to my feet.
"Crap."
The boy giggled and wiped at his runny nose, leaving a shiny trail of mucus across his upper lip.
Lovely.
"Becca?" I called over to one of the hovering assistants. "Can we get a kleenex or something over here?"
I was all for realism in television, but there was no way I was going to hug this kid with all that snot on him, regardless of what the script called for.
While Becca, a tiny red-head in a tight, lime-green top, hurried over and began fussing over the boy, I turned towards the sound of approaching footsteps, schooling my face into polite deference that I did not feel.
"What's wrong, Adam? I thought that was going well."
I didn't, really - I had been too aggressive, stemming from not enough sleep, a very long week and a vicious headache - but I sure as hell wasn't going to admit that to this asshole.
Adam Kreizeck was short, obnoxious and sweaty; I had disliked him on sight, and it had become quite obvious over the last week of shooting that the feeling was definitely mutual.
"That's why I'm the director, Miss Harris, and you are not."
You're the director because you're married to the producer's niece, jackass.
I forced a non-committal smile, and kept my thoughts to myself.
I hated guest directors.
They threw off everyone's game, screwed around with the normal pace of shooting, and were generally a pain in the ass. Kreizeck's stint as director had resulted in 16-hour days, multiple scenes having to be re-shot, and the killer headache that I'd had for what seemed like the last 72 hours.
"Let's try this again," sweaty-man continued, "with a little more compassion and a little less Rambo. You're trying to help the boy, Miss Harris, not assault him."
The fact that he was correct in this particular case annoyed me even more than his arrogant smile. I nodded curtly, resisting the urge to slap him.
He snapped his fingers impatiently, bringing production assistants scurrying to his side. "And someone please tell Miss Stokley we'll be ready for her soon."
"Miss Stokley," a rich, very feminine voice drawled, "is already here."
The effect of the voice on Kreizeck was instantaneous. He spun towards the sound with more athleticism than I'd given him credit for and practically sprinted to the front of the set where Elizabeth Ann Stokley was regally settling herself into her chair.
"Miss Stokley!"
"Hello Adam," she murmured. "Sorry if I'm a little late. I got held up in wardrobe."
I looked at her outfit - the same one she had worn for walkthrus 3 hours before - and thought her tardiness was more likely due to a certain muscle-bound intern named Chad, Liz's flavor of the week, than any type of wardrobe problem. Not that it would have mattered what her excuse was. Hell, she could have told him she was blowing the head of the network in the men's room, and I doubt he would have batted an eye or changed his panting eagerness one bit.
"Oh, not a problem, not a problem. Wonderful. You look great, just great."
I rolled my eyes, torn between annoyance and amusement as Liz worked her magic and Kreizeck was reduced to a pool of drooling, fawning jello.
And who could blame him?
Elizabeth Ann Stokley was certainly easy on the eye. Blond hair, blue eyes, a dazzling smile, a body that curved in all the right places and a southern belle charm that could wrap even the biggest of assholes, male or female, around her perfect little finger.
An attractive package, no doubt.
She was also a temperamental, moody perfectionist, one hell of an actor, and since the very first day I started work on the set of 9th Precinct, a good friend.
It still amazed me, when I thought about it. An unknown from nowhere - me - acting opposite an established television personality like Liz Stokley. From beer commercials to the big time in the blink of an eye.
9th Precinct, or 9P as the cast and crew called it, was a police drama showcasing the lives of six detectives in a Homicide unit in Los Angeles. Liz played the series' main character, Jen Hastings; a young, optimistic detective with a five year old daughter, a mortgage, and extremely bad taste in husbands, while I played Rita Stone, her rather caustic, intense, and cynical partner. When they were casting for the part of Rita, they were looking for a woman who was basically the polar opposite of Liz. My dark hair, square jaw and rangy 5'10'' frame was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time; I got the part, and my life since then had been quite the rollercoaster ride.
Kreizeck's snapping fingers brought me out of my thoughts; I guess he'd finished his fawning and wanted to get back to work. "Miss Harris, can we try this again?"
I met Liz's amused gaze above the director's head - that's how short the little prick was - and smiled slig
htly.
"Sure, Adam. I'm ready when you are."
"Okay people!" More snapping. "Places!"
I rolled my shoulders, blew out a long breath, and looked down at my snotty co-star. Despite the kleenex, he was still oozing mucus.
"Action!"
It was going to be a long, long day.
##
Some last-minute rearranging of the day's shooting schedule had turned my long day into a relatively short one, and by two that afternoon I was done with my scenes for the day and not due back on the set until an 8:30 call time the following morning. Pleasant thoughts of comfortable clothes, spring sunshine, and a good book in the hammock in my backyard were dancing in my head as I opened the door to my trailer, and I didn't realize I had company until I kicked the door shut behind me and the tall, lean woman on my couch jerked awake, blinked in confusion for a moment, and smiled at me sleepily.
"Caidence...hey." The voice was low, rough and husky - whiskey-soaked, I'd heard someone in the media call it - and I felt it, and that smile, all the way down to my toes.
She stretched luxuriously, like a big, satisfied cat, making a little mewling sound that turned into a long, satisfied groan. With effort, I tore my eyes away from the flash of skin above the waist of her jeans, and the way her breasts - Jesus, is she even wearing a bra? Christ, Caid, stop looking at her breasts! - strained against the fabric of her shirt.
"Robyn. Shit, you scared me." I sat down heavily in the chair in front of the mirror, glad to have an excuse for suddenly weak legs.
You'd think I would be used to it by now.
We'd worked together several times, and I saw her if not daily, at least one or two times a week for the last eighteen months, whether on the set of 9th Precinct or In Their Defense, the lawyer series that Robyn worked on for the same network. The two shows were launched the same year, set in the same city, and often, actors from one show did guest appearances on the other, as Robyn had been doing for the last three weeks. The woman even shared my trailer when she worked on 9P, which explained why she was on my couch.
But no matter how many times I saw Robyn Ward, worked with her, or shared her space, her stunning looks and raw sensuality always left me tongue-tied, slightly off-center and just a little breathless.
"Sorry." She yawned and swung long legs off the couch to sit up, running a hand through long, slightly tousled dark hair, looking around the room blearily. "I think doing this double duty is finally catching up to me. I nearly fell asleep on the set today between takes."
"I'll bet," I agreed, watching her reflection in the mirror, absently going through the motions of removing the makeup that, onscreen, was suppose to make it look as though I didn't wear any. "I'm only working one show this week, and I'm about to drop. If there were more space on that couch, I would have joined you."
Remember what I said about the tongue-tied part? Let me re-phrase. I either can't think of anything to say, or the stuff that does come out of my mouth is really embarrassing and leads to uncontrollable blushing, like I was doing now.
I was thankful for a darker complexion that hopefully hid it.
"Really?" She quirked her eyebrow at me with an amused grin. "I'll remember that for next time, and make sure to leave you some room."
Oh, how I adored when she did that thing with her eyebrow.
In fact, her eyebrows were one of my favorite things about her, sweeping upward across her brow in dark, linear precision, wielded with devastating effect at opportune moments. Indeed, I loved those eyebrows, ranking right up there with chocolate brown eyes, silky dark hair, wide, full mouth, angular face, endless legs, beautiful hands, smooth, tan skin, tall, graceful body, the tiny cleft in her chin, and the mole on the side of her neck, just below her ear, that you could see when she absently pushed her hair behind her ear…
I blinked, realizing that I was staring.
"Caidence?" She had leaned back, draping a long arm across the back of the couch and was regarding me with a look she'd begun to favor me with recently - a secretive little smile that was a mixture of amusement, curiosity, and taunting.
I was starting to think that perhaps Ms. Ward was quite aware of the effect she had on me, and enjoyed watching me make an idiot of myself.
"Uh, sorry. Spaced out there for a second." I smiled weakly, took a last swipe at my face, and turned around to face her.
"I can relate, believe me," she said with a tired smile and stretched out her legs to their full length - which took up nearly half of the room - crossing them at the ankle. "So, what's your opinion of Kreizeck? I haven't had to work with him yet, but I have three scenes today. I talked with Liz, and she said he was fine, but Danny said he was an 'effin' loosa'."
She mimicked the actor's New York accent flawlessly and I laughed, startled by a less serious side of Robyn that I hadn't seen before. The laugh was spontaneous, and seemed to take us both by surprise, probably because my laughter in her presence up until now had always sounded slightly giddy or hysterical, like a 12 year old girl hopped up on pop tarts and ho-hos.
Hey, maybe I could behave like a normal adult around her, after all.
"Well," I said, laughing again and pleased that, again, it seemed very natural. "Liz, in typical Liz-like fashion, has the poor man eating out of her hand. Her only complaint should be that he drools a little too much. I, on the other hand, would have to agree with Danny. The guy's a prick."
This was probably the longest statement I had ever managed to string together in front of her, and I was quite proud of myself. The nervousness I'd felt minutes before had faded into a kind of heady euphoria to just be in her presence and have her attention focused on me. Unable to stop myself, I flashed her a huge grin.
She blinked, and returned the smile tentatively, but her brows were furrowed in what looked like confusion.
"You…" she started, but paused.
"What?" I cocked my head to the side, still smiling happily. I don't think anything could wipe that smile from my face.
"You…" she hesitated again, and smiled slightly. "You have a great laugh, Caidence. I don't think I've really heard it before."
Ok. That worked. Smile now turned into stunned 'O' of disbelief.
"Uh…thanks," I stammered and dropped my gaze, blushing furiously.
My sudden and obvious loss of equilibrium had the opposite effect on Robyn, and when I managed to meet her gaze again, the little secretive smile was firmly back in place.
My nervousness returned, although not to the near debilitating levels of before, and I was reasonably certain that I would be able to continue the conversation without making a further idiot of myself.
"So Kreizeck's a prick, huh?" She raised one arm off the back of the couch and rubbed at her temple, closing her eyes for a moment. "That's just great."
"Yep," I agreed.
"Shit. I hate guest directors."
I smiled slightly at that, and gave her more bad news. "And I've noticed that he's not particularly fond of tall people."
Robyn topped my 5'10 by at least an inch. It was going to drive Kreizeck insane.
She stopped her rubbing and opened her eyes to stare at me. "You're kidding."
"Sorry." I shrugged in sympathy. "But if you really want to piss him off, stand close to him so that he has to look up to talk to you. Works like a charm."
The eyebrow went up, and she said dryly, "Sounds like a technique you may have used yourself, a time or two."
"A time or two," I replied, and winked.
I winked at Robyn Ward.
Holy crap.
One might even construe what I had just done as…flirting.
I was flirting with Robyn Ward.
Me - who had just a few years ago come to the cautious conclusion that I was attracted to women and had yet to act upon that attraction - flirting with Robyn Ward, who was constantly being photographed with her very handsome, very famous, very sweet tennis playing boyfriend Josh Riley; together the poster children for blissful, rich-and-
famous heterosexual coupling.
Holy fucking crap. What in the hell was I thinking?!?
Robyn seemed as stunned as I was, whether by the fact that I had winked and was quite possibly flirting with her, or the fact that, contrary to what she had believed before, I had shown in the last few minutes that I actually possessed a personality equal to my 34 years, and could be somewhat charming when I put my mind to it.
The moment was broken by a loud knock on the trailer door, and both of us jumped at the sound.
"Caid?" The muffled voice of the 2nd Assistant Director, Mariel Lacey, came from outside.
"Yeah," I answered, dragging my eyes away from Robyn's. "Come on in, Mari."
The dark-skinned woman poked her head in the door, the beads in her tightly braided hair clacking gently together. "Caid, I'm glad you're still here. Thought I was going to have to call you back in..." She noticed the woman on the couch, and smiled happily, "Oh, hey Robyn. I'm glad you're both here."
