Double Stuffed: An MFM Menage Romance

by Dawn, Daphne

  Maybe I’m not as much a Palmer as I could be.

  Todd

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  I pull into the studio lot and past the paparazzi. I remind myself to smile as I put my Porsche in park.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  Vultures, I think to myself as I turn off the ignition. They've run after me and now have me surrounded. Just keep smiling.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  I get out of the car, keep my eyes focused straight ahead, and make my way to the Megastar Gate. It’s only a few yards away, but I feel as though I'm running the gauntlet, practically forcing my way forward. I just smile and keep my mouth shut, avoiding the barrage of questions from these bottom feeders as they continue to snap pics and hurl questions.

  “Is it true you’re being sued by the man you punched?”

  “When do you start your anger management classes?”

  “Did the studio insure the picture for one-hundred million because you’re a flight risk?”

  Each question, more ridiculous than the next. These people really need to get a life, because I’m sure as hell not giving them mine.

  I reach the gate, and this walk of shame finally comes to an end. Mercifully, the guard recognizes me and waves me through.

  “Hello, Mr. Alexander.”

  I’m greeted by a twenty-something woman, wearing a headset and carrying a clip board.

  “I’m Marcey, the production manager.”

  I shake her hand and see Jordan jogging toward me.

  “Hey!” he calls out. I nod and we wait for him to catch up. “I’ll take you to your trailer and you can drop off your things. Then we’ll head on over to hair and make-up,” Marcey says in a crisp, professional tone.

  I follow her lead and Jordan falls in step. “So, you excited?” he asks.

  “As if.” I groan. “This isn’t my first movie, you do know that.”

  “Listen, Todd, we didn’t get off to the best start on this project,” he leans in close and whispers. “Let’s not continue in that vein, OK?”

  I roll my eyes. First, I gotta deal with the sharks outside, and now, I got my best friend and PR man telling me how to act. It’s not yet 6:30 in the morning. What’s next?

  I get to my trailer, and thankfully a production assistant hands me a triple espresso, just the way I like it. I smile and take a sip.

  Ahhh, much better. I’m getting my groove on. I look around to get my bearings.

  The trailer is smaller than I’m used to, and it has fewer amenities, with only one couch and a small TV, but it will have to do.

  Jordan shoos everyone out and lets Marcey know we’ll be at the hair and make-up trailer in a minute.

  I give Jordan a What’s up? shoulder shrug. “If you’re worried that I won’t be cool, give it a rest. I’ll be a good boy,” I say, crossing my heart.

  “I just want to make sure you understand that this movie hasn’t even shot yet, and there’s already an Oscar buzz. Important people love this script. It’s the hottest property around and the fact that Sophie Palmer is attached, well―”

  I give him my best raised eyebrow. The one that says, You’re overselling and it’s not necessary, I’m here. I’m a sure bet.

  “Wait, let me finish before you act like you’ve heard it all before,” Jordan protests. “This could really break your career wide open. So, if you have any kind of problem, let me know before you let your temper take over.”

  Now I give him the Who, me? look.

  Jordan doesn’t find this amusing. “Promise me you won’t get stupid. That’s all I ask.”

  I’m saved by the knock on the door, and Marcey calls out, “Mr. Alexander, they’re ready for you.”

  “Call me Todd,” I say as I open the door, “I’m ready, lead the way.”

  I admit I’m a little apprehensive when I sit in the make-up chair. I’ve been in enough box office hits that I’ve earned the right to have the make-up and hair person of my choice. But this is an indie, and they could never afford the three-thousand-dollar-a-day price tag my stylist comes with.

  So they gave me Lloyd.

  Okay , I say to myself, let’s see Lloydy-boy do his stuff .

  I’m facing the mirror while he’s working on my hair, but I can’t see a thing, because not only is he standing right in front of me, his enormous frame covers the width of the mirror.

  I just try to relax, but that's proving to be difficult, because Jordan is talking my ear off and Lloyd is slightly heavy-handed with the patchouli oil this morning, and I’m now concentrating on breathing through my mouth. Not easy.

  After what seems like an hour, Lloyd adds one more spritz of hair spray and with a flourish says, “Tada! Gorgeous!”

  He steps away and I can’t fucking believe what I’m looking at. I yank the black nylon cape from around my neck and throw it to the floor.

  “What the fuck is this?” I yell, “If I wanted to look like a hipster, the script would call for a hipster. Have you even read the script? Do you have any idea what character I’m playing?”

  Lloyd looks scared shitless. But I really don’t care.

  “You just spent forty-minutes making me look like a clown. And we all know I’m supposed to look good. And that should have taken you all of five minutes!”

  “I…I’m…I…” Lloyd stammers, but nothing is really coming out.

  “Hey, Todd, calm down.” Jordan puts his hand on my shoulder, but I shake him off.

  “I will not calm down.”

  “So…sorry…I…”

  “Oh, just shut the fuck up and get out of my face. You’re fired!”

  “Todd, you can’t do that,” Jordan says, and positions himself between me and Lloyd.

  “Lloyd, just give us a minute.”

  “Oh, hell no. We don’t need a minute, he’s out!”

  Lloyd scurries out of the trailer as I go to the sink and stick my hair under the faucet to wash out the goop. I hear Jordan yelling, but I can’t make out the words over the running water.

  “What?” I yell back.

  “You’re barely over the last shit storm you created, and now you’re starting another one. Not an hour ago, you promised me if there was a problem, you’d come to me first.”

  I get a towel and dry my hair. “You were here. You witnessed first-hand the disaster that was created. Why didn’t you say something?”

  I reach for the blow dryer. It’s time for me to take matters into my own hands. Jordan won’t stop staring at me, and I don’t give a flying rat's ass.

  I’m right. And everyone else is beyond wrong.

  I continue to style my hair and scream over the sound of the dryer. “He’s out. That’s it. Him or me. There’s no more to discuss.”

  Jordan turns and leaves the trailer without uttering another word.

  No one fucks with Todd Alexander.

  Or with Todd Alexander’s hair, for that matter.

  Sophie

  “Cut,” yells Mason my assistant director and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  I hear clapping from the rest of the crew, and Mason is giving me the thumbs up. With a slight bow of my head I walk off set.

  Todd has been hovering at the far end of the studio. The second my eyes spot him, a few unwanted butterflies take up residence in the pit of my stomach. I’m not sure why, but the fact that he’s watching puts me on edge.

  Then, to my horror, he seems to be making his way toward Alice and me slowly, and deliberately. I don’t know what to make of it. I can’t judge his facial expression, but he’s not smiling.

  “Great stuff, Sophie,” Alice pats me on the back. “I love the way you shine on camera. You literally light up the screen.”

  I shake my head and laugh.

  “Mason’s been in your ear, has he?”

  My best friend puts her hands on her hips and stares at me, mouth agape.

  “How could you say such an awful thing?”

  We both giggle.

  “Here comes Mr. Broody,” w
hispers Alice and I have to agree. Todd looks anything but happy.

  “Now,” Alice holds her clipboard in front of my nose. “This is your next scene. It’s a bit longer than the previous one, and you have a few more lines. It’s also the first time we’ll introduce your new companion.”

  Alice flicks over the page.

  “Where is he?” I look around.

  “Out the back. His owner said he wanted Goliath to rest as much as possible before the scene.”

  I chuckle. Goliath sounded about as temperamental as the best of the main stars.

  “Are all standard poodles so delicate, or does it go with the name Goliath?”

  Alice shrugs.

  “You’ll be alright then, with the lines?”

  “I’ll give it my best.”

  It’s my turn to give her the thumbs up.

  “Do you know what his problem is?” I thrust my chin in the direction of the sourpuss Todd.

  “Bad hair day, I think,” whispers Alice. “I hear he fired the hair stylist this morning.”

  He what? I stop myself from making an outburst, as Todd is now standing in front of me.

  His hands applaud softly, and he smiles. He even bows his head a little.

  “Well done Ms. Palmer,” he says.

  Suddenly my mouth is dry, and those pesky butterflies have multiplied to about a hundred.

  “Thank you.”

  I don’t know what else to say.

  “Is there anything I can get you?”

  Is this Todd Alexander being nice? I furrow my brow. A nice, steaming cup of strong, black coffee would be awesome, with something sweet and fatty, but my senses are on high alert.

  Why would superstar Todd, offer to get me something? I’m sure there’s some underling in the production team—our general dogsbody—who will get me a cup of coffee when I have my first break.

  I decide to play it safe.

  “No, thank you.” I try and sound cool, calm and collected.

  I still can’t believe he fired the hair stylist without talking to anyone about it first.

  “I’ll be at the back of the set,” Alice interrupts us. “I think Mason’s ready for you.”

  I nod.

  There’s something I need to do before I go back to filming.

  Before I follow Alice, I pull Todd to the side. I don’t want others to listen in.

  “I hear you fired our hair stylist?”

  Todd shrugs.

  “He was no good.”

  Anger wells up in me. This man really is impossible.

  “It’s your first day here and you fire the stylist. It doesn’t work that way.”

  I know I’m yelling but I cannot control my temper any longer.

  “News flash, Todd Alexander. You can’t just fire someone on your first day. No, let me rephrase that. You do not have the authority to fire anyone on any given day. Basta .”

  Both hands are on my hips. I’m breathing hard, as if I’ve just sprinted an eight hundred meter race.

  Todd’s expression is difficult to read. Is he looking at me bemused or is he getting angry?

  “The man hasn’t got a clue,” Todd explains.

  I hadn’t thought him to be stupid. Surely there’s a brain somewhere in that pretty head of his?

  “I don’t care,” I start again. “We are not firing and hiring people simply because we feel like it. This is not a big budget production. We’re all doing our best here, including that hair stylist.”

  Todd points to his hair.

  “But he got my hair wrong. He’s useless.”

  I roll my eyes skyward. It’ll be a miracle if I survive this film with Todd Alexander in it.

  Suddenly, I have a whole new level of respect for my father who has been a director for a lot longer than me. I’m sure he must have worked with some difficult actors in his time. Dad must be a saint, I decide, before I turn my attention back to Todd.

  “Look. Tell the man how you want your hair done, and I’m sure he’ll be able do it. It’s called communication. You should try it sometime.”

  Todd shakes his head.

  “Why should I have to tell someone how to do their job? That’s pointless. If the man doesn’t know how to do my hair, he’s got to go.”

  I stomp my foot. A rather childish act, I know, but I need some way to vent out my frustration other than by punching Todd right between the eyes.

  “Listen to me, you stubborn, insolent, arrogant excuse for a man. You’re not firing the hair stylist or anyone else for that matter. Just because you don’t get your own way, doesn’t mean other people have to suffer.”

  Todd’s stare takes my breath away. I cringe inwardly, and am reminded of the restaurant scandal. Is he going to hit me after showering me with a barrage of abuse?

  Relief washes over me when Todd turns and walks out, without so much as uttering another word.

  When he’s gone, I breathe again.

  Only now do I realize my whole body is shaking.

  Todd

  I storm to my trailer and slam the door behind me.

  “Fuck this! Who does she think she is?” I mutter to myself and look for something to throw.

  I know I’m being a bit childish, acting like a five-year-old whose favorite toy has been taken from him, but heck, I’m a superstar. I’m allowed to have tantrums.

  “I mean, who stands up for a useless member of the team, and who wears their hair up the way she does?” I’m on a roll now.

  I find my putter and golf ball, and then proceed to practice my putting. I’m not a golfer, but trying to get the little ball into the hole is oddly satisfying when I’m in a rage.

  “What are you raving about?”

  I don’t see Jordan come in, who appears in front of me out of nowhere.

  I point my club at him.

  “That stuck-up prima donna, prancing around, and calling herself director and main star of the film, Sophie.” I try to slow my breathing.

  Anger swishes around me like water in a whirlpool.

  Someone has to stand up for actor’s rights.

  Jordan takes the club from me and hands me a triple espresso, muttering something about caffeine possibly not being what I should be having.

  “Why are you in such a rage at this time of day?”

  Despite my own inner turmoil, I have to admire Jordan. Good old dependable Jordan who personifies calmness.

  “Sophie,” I growl, savoring the bitter taste of the extra strong coffee. The way my day is going, I’ll need at least five of these before lunch.

  “She’s a typical woman. There’s just no reasoning with her, and she’s made up her mind before even listening to my side of the story.”

  I see Jordan raise his eyebrows. He gives me the ‘what the fuck are you rambling on about man’ look and I slump onto my couch.

  “She thinks I shouldn’t have fired the hair stylist.”

  “And?” Jordan asks.

  Is it just me or is he extra slow today?

  “And her solution, is for me to tell him how I want my hair done.”

  “Again, I can’t see the problem.”

  I throw my head back in frustration. Why do imbeciles surround me today? Surely, I can’t have been that bad in my former lives to deserve this?

  “Man,” I breathe out long and slow. “What’s the fucking point of telling someone how to do their job? Isn’t it simpler to fire the guy, and get someone remotely competent?”

  “Todd, stop being so precious.” Jordan is very matter of fact. “Sophie is the director, and therefore you do as you are told.”

  My protest dies on my lips with Jordan holding up his hand.

  “Zip it, buddy. You’re not really in a position to be making demands. I’m trying to save your bacon here, and get you back in the limelight for the right reason, avoiding the wrong ones. And what is your thanks? You come storming in here, making ridiculous demands. You should be groveling at my feet, and worshiping the ground I walk on.”

&nb
sp; Jordan’s outburst stuns me so much, I don’t know what to say.

  I swallow my non-existent argument, and go to my personal dresser where I pull out gel, comb and hairspray. Without another word, I style my hair my way, making sure it still looks good.

  There’s a knock on the door and I hear Jordan open it.

  “Mr. Alexander is required on set,” says a faceless voice from the door.

  I see Jordan look at me and I hold up two fingers.

  “Todd will be there in a couple of minutes.”

  I look at my reflection. My hair is nowhere near as good as when my own stylist does it, but hey, it’s a lot better than before.

  As I step out leave my trailer, Jordan stops me.

  “You need this film. No more tantrums.”

  Without a reply, I stride toward the set where they are shooting.

  What the fuck does Jordan know? I don’t need this film. They need me. I’m their draw card. Without me, this sorry little low budget film would be nothing. And I’ll make sure, I do things my way.

  “If you start the scene over here,” Sophie points to the far end of the made up hallway. “You’ll have just walked in through the front door.”

  Without a word, I take up my position. For a few seconds, I close my eyes and visualize my character. I do this before every shoot. It helps me get in character.

  Filming starts, and I become my character, my body just a vessel.

  “Cut,” yells Sophie, and I hear shouts of appreciation from some of the onlookers every film has.

  “Where’s my towel?” I bark at someone standing to the side of the set. The boy flinches as if I’d just poked him with a cattle prod.

  “I—” he stammers, and I feel my fuse is just about to explode.

  “Well, don’t just stand there like you’ve grown roots or something, go and get it from the trailer.”

  The youth scurries off.

  “Jordan?” I call and look around. “Where the fuck is Jordan?”

  No one answers.

  “Someone get my PA,” I demand to no one in particular, and I’m pleased to see someone scurries off to obey my command.

  “A chair. I need a chair.” I growl at the junior who is returning with my towel. Promptly the boy disappears and comes back with my request.