Anyone but Him

by Cassie Graham

Ahh, so that’s why he had a look of apprehension on his face.

  I snort. “You’re quite presumptuous, aren’t you, Jennings?”

  I’m kidding. I know it’s not easy to find non-jaded people in this town.

  He puts his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I said I didn’t want to seem rude. It just seems like you’ve lived in my world. Are you an actress?”

  His question shocks the hell out of me. No one has ever wondered that. It’s never been voiced.

  In all of the years Holli’s been a star and all of the parties and awards shows I’ve attended with her, no one has suspected I was an actress.

  He can’t be serious. Maybe, all of the millions of camera flashes he’s seen over the years has somehow made him lose sanity.

  Has he seen me? I’m not actress material.

  I snort. “No, I’m not an actress.” Far—far from it. “I’m studying to be a teacher. Secondary education.”

  He pffts, but perks up. “Oh yeah? Where are you studying?”

  I bite my thumbnail. “Camford. I graduate in a month.”

  He shifts toward me, seeming sincerely absorbed. “Very cool. I’m thinking about taking some classes.” He stops like he just gave something formative away. He darts his eyes to the left. “I mean, I’m thinking about taking classes online.”

  I’m all about furthering your education. “That’s great, Jennings.”

  He brings his hand to his face and strokes his chin. “So, a teacher, huh?” His flirty eyes dance with friskiness. “Your teenage students are going to have a field day with you, Miss Hayes.”

  I bark laughter, and cover my mouth. “Please. I don’t see that happening.”

  Jennings shrugs his shoulders and flashes that damn dimple. “You’ll see.” He smirks. “Back to my original question. Why didn’t you freak out when you saw me? I’m kind of famous.”

  I moan and roll my eyes to the ceiling of the cab.

  Oh, there’s the cocky Jennings I see so much of on TV.

  I really shouldn’t enjoy it. I know it’s not a good idea, but I do. I do so fucking much.

  Why are women programmed to love cockiness?

  Jennings is fucking heartbreak in a bottle.

  I’m a mess. His half grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I struggle the want to fan myself.

  Is it hot in here?

  I try to look unaffected. “Holli Sloane is my best friend. I’m not new to this celebrity thing.”

  His eyes dart to the side window and looks back at me.

  Does he even care where we’re going? We could be miles from his house. Hell, he could be visiting here for all I know. His hotel could be back in L.A.

  “Holli Sloane from We The People? That Holli Sloane?” he questions, not believing me.

  We The People, has been on the air for almost two years now. Holli plays, badass FBI detective Aubrey Miller. With a disturbing past, she sought a life in the justice system. Putting bad guys away is easy for her. What she can’t figure out is how to love. It centers on Aubrey’s life as a detective while trying to maintain a normal life.

  “Yep. One and the same.”

  He cracks his knuckles again. “Holli Fucking Sloane,” he repeats, looking shocked.

  Ummm….?

  “I actually know her well. Really well,” he jokes with a little innuendo.

  His wording causes jealousy to sizzle through my blood. I have no idea why, but it does. I hardly know the man.

  Jealousy? Seriously, body? Get your shit together. Holli is happily engaged to Blaine and I have Lark. Jealousy is not something I should be feeling. At all.

  I dart my eyes away. “Oh, cool.”

  He snickers at his own joke. I think he knows that he made me uncomfortable. He might even like it.

  “I just meant that I’ve worked with her before. On We The People. That was actually my first gig before I got my first big movie role.”

  He did?

  “Really?” I ask. Holli has never mentioned him.

  He nods his head. “Really, really. Holli likes to brag that she helped make me famous.”

  That makes me grin. Sounds about right. Holli would totally make a joke and take credit.

  “Wow, I had no idea.”

  “Yeah. So how did you meet Holli?” he asks. He’s asking more questions than I’m used to. Most people look me over when they hear about Holli.

  “We met in college. Freshmen year.”

  “Sweet. So, how—.”

  “We’re here,” the cabbie announces, breaking Jennings questioning.

  My oceanside cottage sits along the beach, just feet from the water. With white paint and blue shutters, it calls me home everyday. Vines and flowers grow up the walls, coating it with green and splashes of color.

  “Well, I guess, I’ll see you around,” I joke.

  I know I’m never going to see him again, and having that thought makes my heart flutter a bit. It’s all happy in my chest, floating around, envisioning Jennings and his pouty lips, not realizing I’m never going to see him again.

  Gah!

  Again, what the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never been like this with any guy. Ever.

  Can he hear my heart beating? I can hear it in stereo in my head.

  I take a deep breath. As much as I don’t want it to, the goodbye feels final. I ache to ask him something personal. Something only his close friends would know, so I can at least have a way of contacting him.

  A completely absurd thought enters my mind.

  I should ask for his number.

  Nope.

  That’s insane.

  Lark, Lark, Lark!

  Ugh, Jennings Cohen has turned me into a clusterfuck of emotions.

  His eyes shine, but he looks like he’s forcing his smile. “Sure.”

  Tossing a few twenties on the front seat, I move toward the door handle and click it open. Sliding my purse onto my shoulder, I adjust the strap. I don’t know why it feels like I’m storing rocks in there, but it’s abruptly too heavy to hold.

  “Take care, Jennings.” I give a wave and close the door, breathing clean air. With a clear head and nose, I let a tiny bit of hope well in my body. Jennings knows where I live.

  Maybe I’ll see him again one day.

  As I step onto the wraparound porch, I hear a car door slam. Leaving the keys hanging in the keyhole, I turn.

  Jennings comes jogging up the steps and stands directly in front of me. Looking disheveled and out of breath, even though he only jogged a few feet.

  “I uhh,” he stammers. “I just wanted to tell you it was really great talking to you.” He takes my hand, and brings it to his lips.

  I have to stop myself from closing my eyes at the contact. Soft and full, those lips could do some serious destruction.

  “Have a splendid night,” he says when he lets go of my hand.

  I methodically rub it, feeling heat from the place his lips just left.

  Just as he slips back into the cab, I realize he left a piece of paper in my hand.

  I unfold it.

  My eyes mist.

  Well, shit.

  “LISTEN TO ME,” I threaten with menacing malice lacing my every word. “You’ll be dead before I let you find her.”

  Anchor sneers, his coal black eyes searing me with hatred. “You can’t fucking stop me.”

  My hands fist at my sides and I reign in my anger. He’s testing me and it’s working. I’m going to blow a gasket if he doesn’t shut his fucking mouth.

  “Don’t threaten me, Anchor. I’ll have a bullet in your head so fast, you’ll be in hell before you can take your next breath.”

  Like a cobra striking its prey, he balls his fists and hits me with a strong right hook, square in the face. Blood spurts from my nose and I don’t give it a second thought, I bring my fist to his ribs and make contact.

  One sickening crack after another, Anchor goes down to the floor, gasping for air. Curling into the fetal position, he clutches his stomach.
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br />   I bend down, getting as close to his face as I can. “You tell your boss that I’m coming for him next.” I point my finger in his face. “Tell him to get a good fucking hiding place because I’ll never stop looking.” Perspiration drips into my eyes, blurring my vision, but I don’t let it faze me. “I’ll never stop fighting.” Delivering one more blow to his ribs, I stand up. “You’ll be smart to remember that next time you and your goons attack me.”

  Turning on my heel, I walk to my bike. My black boots squeak against the slick, wet concrete.

  Mounting the motorcycle, I set the choke, pull the clutch and press the starter button. The bike roars to life. The grumbles from the engine echo off of the thin, aluminum walls of the warehouse.

  Pulling the motorcycle away from the curb, I drive down the street, contemplating my next move.

  “And cut!” the director yells from behind the camera.

  I smoothly turn the bike around and drive it to its designated spot. Shutting off the engine, I swing my leg over the side and head for my director.

  “How does it look, Ted?” I ask over his shoulder as he watches the playback.

  He pulls off his hat, and scratches his salt and pepper clad head. “It looks good kid. You did great. Let’s finish with a few more close-ups and you’ll be done for the day.”

  I nod my head and slap him on the shoulder. “Sounds like a plan, boss. Thanks.”

  Ted Bates, our fearless director, works primarily on films that have meaning and significance. You won’t see him directing a slapstick film. He takes his craft very seriously, and that makes him priceless in this business.

  Seriousness has made itself a very prominent characteristic in the movie industry. Comedies are for the big wigs of the business. They are for the actors that are so enormous; they can make a ridiculous film and still get notable credit.

  Ted, as a director, refuses to take those scripts. Some see him as a pompous asshole that doesn’t like to have fun, but really, he wants to make a difference in the lives of his viewers. He wants to change lives with the stories he puts on the screen.

  He’s one of the most genuine and kindhearted people I’ve met. He’s a diamond in the rough.

  I’ve wanted to work with him since I saw his film, In the Common Room, at the Sundance Film Festival two years ago. The minute he had an open call for this production, I jumped at the opportunity.

  Thankfully, last year I won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor, so he at least knew who I was.

  Not that it matters.

  Ted isn’t one to hire a famous actor simply because he or she is well known. I had to go through a rigorous audition process.

  After my initial audition, Ted asked for a callback. It was down to me and four other actors. Two that were just as famous as I am, and the two others, I’d never even heard of.

  From what I hear though, they’d been acting longer than I had. They simply weren’t in my bubble of people.

  That’s not the oddest thing to hear in this business. Actors are insanely self-absorbed. We get into our little cocoons and have a hard time breaking out of our shells to realize anyone else is out there. The only time I really have time to interact with other actors is awards shows.

  That’s fucking sad.

  So, once I went through that callback, he called me back three more times. Each time, auditioning with a potential actress to play my opposite. I didn’t know I got the role until Ted, himself, came to my home in Malibu to congratulate me. That just how he is. He wants to keep this business personal. He doesn’t believe in others doing his job.

  My agent be damned. He was pissed Ted gave me the good news.

  God forbid.

  I started acting in middle school. Simply singing in choir, then eventually got the nerve to audition for our school’s production of Grease.

  I was cast as Danny Zuko on my first try. I thought I was a badass.

  But, as I progressed to high school, I starred in every production my school put on, performed in choir and played football. Living in a small Podunk town in Alabama, it didn’t take much to be the It guy. I was considered the All American Boy Next Door. I both loved and hated that title.

  So once I turned eighteen, I hauled ass to Los Angeles and haven’t looked back.

  I guess hate won.

  I spent a little over a month at a community college a year ago, attempting to study English, but couldn’t get through a semester. Being a famous movie star always turned heads, and put me in the limelight. I was under a microscope sitting in a lecture hall. It was maddening. I know I’d just won a prestigious award, and it was a huge deal, but I wanted to be like every other college student. I wanted to sit and listen to a professor mull over The Odyssey for two hours without girl students passing me their bras to autograph.

  I couldn’t be me around people. I was always hounded, ridiculed and bothered. I found myself retreating. Soon after I was forced to quit taking classes, I got into trouble.

  One night, not long after I dropped out of college, I went on a bender.

  That wasn’t my brightest hour. Drinking for forty-eight hours straight was—stupid, to say the least. I practically killed my liver in one weekend. Waking up in a stranger’s home, on the floor with my arms around a woman I didn’t know, wasn’t how I wanted to live my life.

  The moment my eyes opened, I made a vow to myself: no more selfish acting out, I have a life to lead.

  A life that I love.

  I couldn’t fuck it up simply because I was unhappy with the card life dealt me. I should feel so lucky.

  I took life for granted. I needed to find the good in my hectic life. I had to take time to figure me out. I didn’t really know who I was anymore. My whole existence categorized me into this very limited type of person.

  An actor, an entertainer. Sometimes it’s suffocating. Most days I accepted my life. Then there are other days where I want to throw it all away and quit. Someone who loves what he does shouldn’t think like that.

  I need to find a medium.

  I still don’t know what that medium is. A year later and I’m still trying to figure that out. I’ve had some ideas drift in and out of my mind, but I don’t know if what I want to do is the right decision.

  So, I sit in limbo, weighing the pros and cons, never making a decision.

  Meeting Whitley threw me for a loop. That day was a mess, and dodging screaming fans by bulldozing a cab was seriously not one of my finest moments.

  She was so graceful, though. I don’t think I could get luckier.

  For some strange reason, meeting Whitley spurred me into wanting to do things I’m not sure I’m ready for.

  I let it slip that I was thinking about going back to school, and I regretted it.

  Even if I do decide to go back to school, no one can know.

  In the limited time I’d gotten to know Whitley, I wanted to divulge all of my secrets to her. That was a very, very bad idea.

  I wasn’t sure if it was because I felt like I somehow knew Whitley, like I’d met her before, or the fact that her gorgeous gray eyes spoke to me. I just knew I needed to tread lightly. She was trouble. And dammit—I fucking loved trouble.

  Whitley has somehow managed to pop into my mind at the worst times.

  Two days after our encounter, I was doing a rather heavy scene with my co-star, Becky Slater, and without warning, while kissing my supposed lover, I blurted out Whitley’s name.

  I don’t embarrass easily, but that instant, I felt like crawling into a cave and dying. I was mortified.

  I was a professional. I took pride in the fact that I could separate my personal life from my acting.

  But, sneaky, sexy Whitley set up shop in my mind, and she wouldn’t leave. The eviction notice was taped to her metaphorical forehead, and she still didn’t get the hint.

  I wasn’t sure if I was okay with that or not.

  I’ve dated off and on, and been on the party scene for years now. Most encounters I’ve had with women were s
olely for the purpose to promote a movie.

  “Hey Jennings, go out to dinner and look lovey dovey with your co-star so we can make our box office quota for the weekend. You know, put your arm around her waist, kiss her. Give them a show.” Or, “Jennings, the film isn’t generating enough buzz, let’s do an impromptu shoot with (insert a well known actress’s name here) and leak the pictures.”

  My agent is a sleaze ball. I know it, hell, he knows it, but he also gets the job done.

  I do it because that’s how this world—my world—works. You have to do things you don’t like to get your name out there. I’m not inexperienced, I know they’re playing me, but for the most part it works, so I let it slide.

  Unfortunately for me, that is the reason I’m known as a gigantic asshole. I’m a player in the world’s eyes, and that sucks.

  It doesn’t help that I’ve had my fair share of chicks.

  Openly and publicly chasing tail didn’t do me any good. I used my celebrity to get truckloads of women. I loved it. I fucking reveled in it. It made me feel like a God.

  God-like persona? Meet Jennings.

  It was sick thinking that way.

  It took me a while, but I finally got my shit together and walked the straight and narrow, avoiding any casualties.

  That is, if you don’t consider my image a casualty.

  No matter how prestigious my role, or how well known I’d become, I couldn’t escape the media frenzy that surrounds my love life.

  I can’t go out to dinner with a girl friend, as in a girl who’s a friend, without the papps making a spectacle, thinking we’re banging.

  I haven’t had an honest relationship since I moved to L.A.

  It’s also not easy when most women are money hungry. They can’t wait to get their hands on my credit card. Sad, but true. Gotta love the world we live in.

  Living in L.A. may be good—great even for my career, but it’s a buzz kill when it comes to my personal life.

  I know, I know. Most guys my age would give up their left nut to be in my shoes, but until two years ago, I couldn’t get a serious role to save my life.

  No one took me seriously.

  I didn’t get into this business to be the laughing stock of the acting world. I wanted to portray meaningful roles. I wanted to bring life into others by making them feel something.