by B. B. Hamel
He groans. “Save your breath, Jackson. Your agent already tried.”
I clench my jaw slightly. “I want out.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “You wanna finish this movie? You need to stick it out.”
“I was thinking about that.” I say. “We’ve shot a lot of the movie already, or at least the important bits. If I walked now, you’d still have to pay me for what I did so far. Then you’d have to find a replacement, someone that can draw an audience like I can, and you’ll have to pay them to work last minute and fast. Plus all the footage you lost, all the crew you’ve paid, it’ll all get pushed back.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Studio has a lot of money.”
“Sure they do, but we’re talking millions here. How confident are you guys in this film that you can do it without me at this point?”
He stares at me for a second before laughing. “I have to admit, you’re the real deal, Jackson Hendricks.”
I grin at him but there’s nothing behind my smile.
“Listen, here’s the truth. We don’t give a fuck about this movie. It’s just some summer blockbuster bullshit. It’ll make us some money and then we’ll move on.” He opens a drawer in his desk and takes a cigar out of a box. He clips it and lights it as he talks. “We don’t care about you either, Jackson. Sure, you can act and your story is pretty fucking cool, but you’re replaceable. Everyone is fucking replaceable. It’s when you start to think that you’re important that you get fucked up, you understand?”
He puffs on his cigar and leans back in his chair.
“I hear a lot of talk, but you’re not saying much,” I reply. “I want out of this fake relationship.”
“I want my wife to let me fuck her up the ass, but we don’t always get what we want.”
“Okay then. I’m fucking walking.” I stand up, fully prepared to follow through.
I don’t need this job. I don’t need to be an actor. I can find something else to do if I have to. Sure, I get paid well, and being famous is pretty fun, but it’s not important to me. I’m ready to let it all go for Tara.
“Hold on,” he says before I can turn away. “How about this. You can break up with Holly when filming is over.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why not right fucking now? If we’re not doing promos as a couple, what’s the point?”
“It’ll look bad if you break up so fast,” he says. “There’s a difference between a relationship that doesn’t work out, say, and a fucking volatile one. People will think you’re both crazy actors.”
“Who cares?” I ask him.
“Trust me on this. We want the public to see you two as wholesome people that just didn’t work out, not as crazy actors that fucked for a bit before dumping each other in the middle of filming. That’s bad news for the movie.”
I hesitate for a second. “The second we wrap, I’m done. And no more public appearances.”
“Fine,” he agrees. “Studio might leak some fake stories, though.”
“Whatever. But I’m not doing shit for this, and I’m dumping her very publically when it’s all over.”
“Fine.” He grins at me, puffing his cigar. “You really would walk, wouldn’t you?”
“Absolutely,” I say to him, before turning and leaving his office. I show myself out of his house, get into my car, and head back to my hotel room.
That’s not the solution I wanted, but it’s a good start. At least I can tell Tara that I did something. Mickey is going to be pissed but Mickey is always pissed. I’m still in the movie, he’ll still get his money.
I just hope this is enough to make Tara happy. I hope she can see that Holly means shit to me, that Tara is everything.
20
Tara
At work the next day, I’m optimistic.
Sure, I slept with Jackson in his trailer. Well, really, I had an intense and almost angry fuck session with him, but that’s not the point. Holly was at least tolerable toward me for the rest of the day, and I’m starting to think that maybe things are turning around.
Sure, I’m still confused as hell about Jackson, but whatever. I can figure that out one day down the line. I mean, I can sleep with him and not get emotionally invested, right? That’s totally possible. Absolutely. Definitely something I can do.
Except, of course it isn’t. I know myself. I’ve never been able to separate sex and emotions, but especially not when it comes to Jackson. I can’t even do it when we’re having sex. Yesterday I felt every single moment of anger and frustration come building up inside of me, even as the pleasure built up at the same rate. When I came, it was like releasing all of those emotions, flushing them away and getting rid of them. It was an incredibly emotional and a physical thing, all wrapped up into one.
So of course I’m lying to myself when I think that I can just sleep with Jackson and nothing else. I know I’m getting sucked back into his bullshit, but I have to be careful.
He’s already complicated my life more than I want. Holly seems like she’s going to tolerate me, or at least she did yesterday, but that girl is dramatic and volatile. She can explode basically at any moment. And when she does, I’m afraid I’m going to be directly in her crosshairs.
Even still, despite knowing all of that, I’m slightly taken off guard when it happens.
We’re resetting for the next shot. It’s around nine in the morning, and we’ve been shooting since six. It’s going to be a long day and everyone knows they’re in for some overtime, so everyone is trying to work as hard as they can to get through today’s schedule. Nobody messes around and the early morning portion goes smoothly. The stunts are clean and we get them on the first take, and I can tell that Lionel’s pleased.
And so I’m not expecting Holly to come up to me as I’m skimming the script to get a feel for the rest of the day.
“Script girl,” she says to me.
I look up, still a little groggy, a cup of coffee nearby. Jackson is in makeup at the moment, so he’s nowhere to be seen, and I figured Holly would be with him.
“Uh, hey,” I say to her.
“We need to talk.” She stands in front of me and crosses her arms.
“Sure,” I say, wary of this. “What’s up?”
“I heard from my agent last night. Apparently, Jackson went to a studio executive’s house and tried to get out of our relationship.” She steps toward me, her eyes narrowing.
I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Okay,” I say to her. “Are you okay?” I don’t know what else to say.
“Don’t pretend you give a shit, you little bitch,” she hisses at me. My eyes go wide. “This is your fault.”
“Uh, I didn’t intend—“
“Save it,” she snaps. “He can’t get away from me even if he tried. We’re still together and we aren’t breaking up anytime soon. So back the fuck off my man and don’t ruin this for me.”
I stare at her, wide-eyed, and I have no clue what to say. Jackson isn’t really her man, and he’s clearly trying to do everything he can to get out of it. That actually makes me really, really happy.
But Holly isn’t having it. She’s seething right now, and I’m pretty sure she’s one wrong move away from trying to claw my eyes out or something. She looks like a wild animal on the hunt, ready to kill at any moment.
“Okay, Holly,” I say to her very carefully. I’m not going to try and poke a bear when it’s angry, and Holly is clearly an angry bear.
“Good. We can work together, but I swear, if I catch you trying to ruin what I have with him…” She trails off and grins at me. “We’ll just say that there are a lot of script girls in this town.”
I just stare at her, not sure how to react. She turns and actually flips her hair like we’re in some freaking movie and she stalks off toward the makeup trailer, no doubt to chat with Jackson.
Holy crap. That woman is totally insane. She must have just been too hungover yesterday to give me shit.
But that news about Jackso
n… that seems like good news. I bite my lip and look down, not sure what to think. Holly wants to murder me and get me fired, but Jackson is doing his best to get away from her.
I never asked for any of this. I didn’t want Jackson back in my life and I definitely didn’t want the wrath of Holly Hart. She’s clearly nuts and nothing but a huge liability for both myself and this whole freaking film.
I can’t do anything about that though. Lionel will just scold me for getting involved with the actors. It’s totally unprofessional for me to be fucking Jackson, of course, regardless of the history between us. So if I try and do anything about Holly, I’ll just be shooting myself in the foot.
Fortunately, the crew hasn’t caught wind of any of this yet, and the gossip mill is still silent about my relationship with Jackson. I don’t know how long that’ll last, though. I’m shocked nobody heard me screaming as he fucked me yesterday, though those trailers are pretty soundproofed. Probably for this exact reason. But anyway, I’m on thin freaking ice.
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to think too much about it, because Lionel calls my name and it’s back to work. We have a long day of filming ahead of us, and I’m going to need to keep it together. I’ll just pretend like Holly said nothing and hope that this all blows over soon.
21
Jackson
I heard you visited that studio guy last night,” Holly says to me, and I can already tell that I’m fucked.
I don’t know why Franklin would tell anyone about our conversation, much less let Holly fucking Hart find out about it. Maybe they don’t know how goddamn volatile Holly is, but it’s pretty clear to me that she’s out of her fucking skull.
“You mind giving us a sec?” I say to Stacey, the girl doing my makeup for the next scene. I’ve got some fake blood half-drawn on my face and she nods, quickly excusing herself. I’m sure the crew will be talking about this one for the next week.
I turn to Holly and stare at her. “Look, you need to understand something. What we have is fake.”
“Sure,” she says, smiling. “Is that why you helped me the other night?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask her.
“I came to your hotel room wasted, and instead of fucking me like every other guy, you helped me home.” She leans toward me, smiling. “It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
Holy fucking shit. The nicest thing any one has ever done for this girl is not fuck her while she’s basically incapacitated? Holly may be even more messed up than I realized, but I’ll try not to go too deep into that.
“Listen, Holly, I did that because I’m not interested in you like that.”
She pouts. “You think I’m pretty, right?”
“Of course,” I say, which is a fucking mistake.
“So then there’s no problem here.”
“No, you don’t get it. Just because you’re not ugly, doesn’t mean I want you.”
She clearly doesn’t understand that. “You’re just being silly,” she says, trying to be flirtatious.
“Holly,” I say, trying to get fucking serious. “I’m not into you. This relationship is fake. I went to Franklin because I want to get the fuck out of it, not because I like you.”
“You’re just confused,” she says to me sweetly. “You wouldn’t do that. Because you know that if you did, I’d tell the paparazzi that you raped and abused me.”
Her tone of voice is so sweet. She doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t drop the act, not even for a second, not even when she fucking says that. It doesn’t register as first, because she says it so nicely.
But I quickly understand what she’s trying to do. “You’re blackmailing me?” I ask her, incredulous.
“No, I’d never blackmail you. I’m just telling you that I need this relationship at this point in my career, and if you keep trying to get out of it, I won’t be happy.”
I gape at her before getting it together. “Don’t threaten me,” I say.
“Don’t be a pussy,” she responds. “You’re my man now. Might as well fuck me and enjoy it a little.”
I get up out of my chair and walk away from her. “When shooting wraps, we’re done. Did Franklin tell you that?”
“No,” she says.
“That’s the deal we made. I’ll stay, but I’m not doing anymore public shit with you, and when wrapping is done, we break up.”
She goes quiet for a second. “That doesn’t sound acceptable to me,” she says finally, shaking her head. “No, I need you at least until I book my next movie. Might not be until after the premiere.”
“Fuck that,” I say to her. “Understand this. You’re nothing to me.”
She stands up and smiles, like she doesn’t hear a word I’m saying. “And you understand this. If you mess this up, I’ll cry rape, and you’re finished.”
She smiles sweetly, waves, and leaves the trailer.
I stand there, staring at the door. I want to fucking break something as rage flows through me, but I don’t know what to do.
Holly can fuck me. If she really does come out and claim that I raped her, I would be finished in more ways than one. I’d be done as an actor for sure, but I don’t know how Tara would react to that, either. She doesn’t exactly trust me. She thinks I’m some fucking manwhore who left her on a whim, even though I had to do what I did back then to help my family.
She doesn’t know that, of course, and if Holly suddenly starts saying I’m an abusive rapist… who knows what she’ll do. I’ll be fucking wrecked.
I can’t let her get away with this. But I need to figure out what to do first. Holly can snap and say whatever she wants at any moment, and I fully believe that she’ll follow through with this.
What a goddamn mess. I try and get myself out of it, but she just keeps sucking me back in. At least now I understand her motivation. She doesn’t care about me at all. This is about her fucking career.
I’m a rising star, and she wants to attach herself to me. I can understand that. It’s why she wanted to do this stupid Hollywood relationship to begin with. She wants people to link her with me, and she thinks that’ll help her book better movies and advance her career. It does make sense, but it’s fucked up how far she’s willing to go to make it happen.
I can’t come at this half-baked. I need to figure out a plan. I can’t let this girl outflank me and wreck what I’m trying to build with Tara.
For today, I’ll play nice and get through filming. But I’m not rolling over and giving up.
22
Tara
Long days of filming leave me exhausted, and I need to try and get some sleep.
Except that’s pretty impossible these days. All I want to do is look up rumors and news stories about Jackson and Holly, which is totally an insane thing to do. I can just ask him about it, but I don’t fully trust him yet, although I don’t know why I’d trust the freaking paparazzi.
It’s not just the news stories. It’s everything. I keep thinking about what I used to have with him, back in the day. I keep seeing the guy he used to be, and sometimes I see that guy still inside of him. I can tell he’s been through a lot since I last saw him. I mean, he was a freaking Navy SEAL that saw actual combat. I feel like people don’t think about that nearly enough. He’s a real badass, not like those fake pretty boys that pretend to be tough.
The Jackson I knew was always hard, but he has a soft side, and he always showed it to me. I miss that side of him. I miss the way he used to sneak to my house in the middle of the night and throw rocks at my window. It was really cliché, but he didn’t own a cellphone. He’d climb up onto my roof and help me out the window, and we’d sit there together and kiss each other for hours. He’d sneak back home before the sun came up, and we never got caught.
At least I assume he never got caught. I know his home life was far from ideal. I’m pretty sure he snuck out to come to my place when his father was blacked out drunk and acting aggressively. I think his whole family would vacate the
house when his father got like that. I don’t know how he handled it. I’m not close with my family, but at least they weren’t alcoholics.
I try and shut my eyes, try and let sleep come, but my brain just keeps buzzing. I can’t stop seeing the way Jackson used to hold my hand, used to whisper in my ear, used to tell me that we’d get out of town together and never come back. We both got out, but it wasn’t together.
Maybe that’s how it goes. Maybe I’m holding him to impossibly high standards. He was a kid back then, just like me, and he was dealing with some serious shit. Maybe I don’t know why he left me because I couldn’t possibly understand the sort of pressures he was under. He didn’t talk about his father much, but I know that the man was always on his mind, always a part of him. As far as I know, his dad’s still out there somewhere, probably drunk and angry.
I roll over onto my side and notice my phone’s screen is lit up. I reach out and there’s a text from Jackson, which is almost spooky.
“Need to talk. You awake?”
I smile to myself. “I was just thinking about you.”
“I bet you were. Hand down your panties, sweat rolling down your skin?”
“Not exactly.” I bite my lip as I type. “I was remembering how you used to throw rocks at my window to wake me up.”
“We were stupid kids back then. But those were good nights.”
“Very true. Anyway, I’m awake.”
“Can I come by your apartment?”
My heart skips a beat. I never thought I’d actually have Jackson at my place. But if he says he needs to talk, I can’t turn him down.
“Okay,” I say, and send him the address.
“Be there in twenty.”
Instantly I jump out of bed and get myself together. I don’t want to look like I’m getting too dressed up for him, so I keep it casual, but I fix myself up a little bit. I don’t know why he’s coming over, and part of me thinks this might be a booty call.
