“That is excellent.”
Arlen doesn't say anything, but he gives a quick nod, then scoots forward in his seat, clearly ready to leave.
I sit up taller to look more brisk. “Good job this morning. Ray will prep you for on-set rehearsals this afternoon.”
He gets up to leave.
“Close the door on your way out, please.”
“Close it yourself, Shitty,” he calls back, just before he swings the door shut behind him.
My mouth drops open.
Shaft.
Arlen just quoted a line from Shaft. Holy hell. The dour, brooding Arlen Black just cracked a joke.
Chapter 29
RAY
Was Lola fucking kidding?
Ray still couldn't believe it. She'd given him to Arlen, like he was supposed to be Arlen's slave or something. And not even a sex slave. A … a … a mentor slave, if that was even possible. But it must be, because sure as shit that was what he was. Lola Scott had commanded him, Ray Collier, to be by Arlen Black's side, every single second of every single working day.
And Arlen was straight.
It was torture being so chained to the guy. And he couldn't ever let Arlen see him dying from lust. That would just make Ray seem so … pathetic. No, Ray had to keep it together. So, every time he wanted to jump Arlen's bones, he just tried to picture Arlen as a big, smelly, flea-infested Bigfoot. And that always made him crack up. So he was always just standing there like a lunatic, laughing at Arlen.
Damn Lola. She knew how sexy the guy was, yet she'd just thrown him at Ray.
“Bitch!” Ray yelled, and flung the script onto the table. He'd been making notes for Arlen for the past hour, and he was getting really mad at Lola for inundating him with Arlen Arlen Arlen. But then, he totally loved her for it at the same time. “Fucking bitch!” he said again, and buried his head in his hands.
“No kidding.”
Ray's head shot up as Arlen swung open the door to the trailer.
“I wasn't talking about Lola,” Ray rushed to say.
“Of course you weren't.” Arlen flopped onto the couch, stretched out, and closed his eyes.
Ray looked at Arlen and swallowed. There he was, long and lean, clad in worn jeans and an old gray T-shirt. Why the hell hadn't Lola fucked him when she'd had the chance? What had she been thinking?
Ray sucked in his breath. Bigfoot Bigfoot Bigfoot Bigfoot.
“Ray,” Arlen said from the couch, not opening his eyes, “why are you always laughing at me?”
Ray tried to swallow down his snuffling and almost choked. He nodded to himself, trying to come up with something to say.
Nothing.
When it came to Arlen, all he could come up with was static and white noise to block the sheer desire. “I laugh a lot when you're around, but I'm not laughing at you. So, is it okay if I don't tell you why?”
“Sure.”
“Really? Just like that?”
“Yep.” Arlen still hadn't opened his eyes.
“The table read wear you out?” Ray asked. “Which would be totally understandable. You killed it in there.”
“The table read was fine. Lola wears me out,” Arlen said. “How do you do it? How do you stay one step ahead of her?”
Ray shrugged. “Mostly I just let her plow right over me and I take notes as the dust clears.”
Arlen grunted. “Have you ever been the one she's gunning for?”
Ray opened his mouth but didn't speak right away. What was Arlen talking about? The show? That kiss by her pool? Both? “Uh … no. You don't trust her, do you?”
“Definitely not.”
“But you trust me?”
“So far.”
“But why?”
“You haven't given me any reason not to.”
“Not even all the laughing?”
“It doesn't fuck with my life.”
“And Lola's fucked with your life?”
“You know she has.”
“Then why did you agree to do the show?”
Arlen sat up and swiveled to face Ray, elbows on his knees. “Bilbo never asked for the ring. It just showed up in his pocket. But once he had it, he had to do something about it.”
“It's really Frodo who did something.”
“True. But he didn't do anything to make the ring his either. He found himself in possession of something very powerful, and once he realized what he had, whether he did something or nothing, there would be consequences.”
Ray swallowed. “So … I still have my job—and everyone here still has a job—because of you.”
Arlen stayed quiet.
Ray huffed out a huge breath. “Well, that's one question answered. The reason you trust me is that if I fuck up then you fuck up and then we're all screwed.”
Arlen stretched back out and closed his eyes again. “If there's a reason, then it isn't trust, dumb-ass. Now shut up and let me sleep for twenty minutes.”
Ray shut up. He looked over at Arlen. Suddenly, he wanted to get a blanket and cover him up and tuck him in. Arlen Black. Arlen fucking Black. He was either the greatest guy on the planet, or totally in love with Lola Scott.
Chapter 30
LOLA
I slam out of my office. I bang the door with all my might but it still doesn't quell my jumping nerves. The damn studio. Suddenly, Forcefield 10's exterior scenes have to shoot when and where our backyard scenes were scheduled to shoot? Really? We just get bumped up in the studio's schedule? But we have Wendy Hunter! So what if Forcefield 10 suddenly needs an extra three days to dress the set for their post-apocalyptic look?
And I couldn't even go to battle. What could I say? No, we cannot move up shooting of our exterior scenes because our leading man has only been an actor for a week and he needs more time to get comfortable on set before we shoot him in a sexually tense scene with America's Sweetheart.
Right.
I couldn't say that. And for the first time in my career, I couldn't spin it on the spur of the second. Because I am Lola Scott, First-Time Show Creator. And my crew and I are so awesome that we can handle a schedule change no problem. We are so balls-to-the-wall amazing that any studio would be lucky to have us.
We're approaching Zero Hour and all I can think about is that movie Nurse Betty. Betty seems so perfect for a role in her dream soap opera, but then she completely freaks once it's Lights Camera Action! Everyone in the scene is either humiliated, scared, or angry. But that was fiction. Fiction! Arlen is real. Arlen is real. Arlen is real.
I stomp all the way to the backyard set, practically kicking the stupid golf cart as I pass it. I need to work off these jitters before Arlen sees me.
Arlen. Focus on Arlen. I try to picture Arlen freaking out. I cannot. I simply cannot. Even when he was at his angriest, after the kiss at my house, he was stony, vicious, and bad-ass. As calm as a cable-show-criminal. Then he smashed my car's mirror. All of that kind of energy is PERFECT for Sam. No, Arlen Black will do just fine.
My phone jingles with a text alert.
Arlen: LOLA GET TO MY TRAILER NOW NOW NOW
Fuuuuuuuuuck!
I quickly type back. Incoming
Shit! I can't run. If anyone sees the showrunner careening Hell's bells minutes before shooting, hysteria will infect the vibe on set. So, I put my head down, punch my phone as if I'm launching a shuttle to Mars, and stride as fast as I can to Arlen's trailer. I arrive and lift my knuckles to knock when the door opens a crack and Arlen's hand drags me into the trailer. He slams the door behind me and then roughly sets me about three feet away from him.
“Holy fuck,” I say.
He's dressed all in black, from painted on, lowriding jeans that grip his long, hard thighs to the skin tight T-shirt that outlines every sinewy rope of muscle on his frame. His black cowboy boots sport spurs that set off his black leather wrist band and feather earrings.
My throat goes so dry I can hardly speak. “Can you even walk, Arlen? Damn, those jeans are tight.”
I look into his face then and finally notice his hair. Slicked back. Slicked back?!
“Bow your head down, please.”
Not moving, Arlen eyes me warily.
“Come on,” I say. “I'm not going to bite you. I gave up biting boys in eighth grade.”
“Isn't that kind of late?” he asks, bending his head forward.
“Early, I'd say.” I plunge my hands into his hair but they get stuck. I try to gently mess his hair back into its natural disarray. “Biting boys would get darn interesting in the next few years.”
I feel Arlen go still.
Oh, no. I shouldn't be talking like this. Because I bit Arlen. On my patio, I bit Arlen.
“I thought you said you gave it up,” he says slowly.
“I admit I fell off the wagon a few times.” I rattle off this big, fake laugh. My knees feel ready to buckle, so I push him back away from me. “This isn't working,” I say, bracing myself with my most capable smile. “How fast can you shower, dry your hair, and get into the clothes you wore to set today?”
“Five minutes.”
“Make it three.”
“Done.”
He disappears into the bathroom as I spin out of the trailer, texting Ray as I go. Where the fuck are you? How could you let them do that to Arlen? Get make-up to his trailer in five flat.
Ten seconds later he texts back. Done. Tom+Wendy=ThePerfectStorm
I hear the shower shut off in Arlen's trailer and start counting down. He should be dressed in about a minute.
“Hi, Lola,” Wendy greets as she breezes right past me on her way to Arlen's door. “Arlen still in here?” she asks.
“I'm waiting for him,” I say, looking at my watch. “A few adjustments before shooting.”
“Right,” Wendy beams. “I just wanted a few minutes alone with him. You know, give him confidence before our first big scene.”
Confidence? Give him confidence?! Exactly how was she planning to administer this damn confidence?!
“I can't wait to see him,” she practically squeals, her eyes dancing. “I said something to the crew about sexing him up. You know, to make it believable I could fall for him.”
“Celeste isn't falling for him quite yet,” I point out. “It's only episode 1. And if we rush things too much, it will look to the world like we're petrified of getting cancelled right out of the box.”
Wendy shoots a glance at me, and in that second, I sense the fear. That's all I need.
I drift up to her, placing my hand on her arm. “I've been meaning to talk to you,” I say quietly, “to thank you. Arlen is a pretty solitary actor, and it's clear as day you totally get that. You give him his space, respect his process. Everyone in the cast follows your lead, so thank you.” I nod in synch with Wendy, who laps up the accolades. “You are such a generous actor. A lot of stars of your caliber would insist on being in everyone's space, but you truly understand your craft. That's really rare.”
“Thanks for noticing,” Wendy says brightly, slipping right into the role of Patron Saint of Method Actors.
“You bet. You really set the tone for this whole production.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “I better get to set and check out my lighting.”
I watch Wendy sashay off. Then I feel a hand brush across the back of my shoulder. I turn around and Arlen pulls me back into his trailer.
“Nice work.” His voice is deadpan and it chills me.
“Arlen,” I say. “You're the QB and I just saved you from being flattened by Lawrence Taylor.”
A muscle in his jaw jumps. “I know. It's what you do. You manipulate all these egos to get them to work together to make a kick-ass show. You built your career on it.”
“Yes, I have. And it's been a really successful career for a lot of people. So why do I get the feeling you want to throttle me right now?”
“Because I wasn't your job. Not when you came up to Valencia to spin your web. Not all those days you were trying to work on me when I was at your house. I was NOT a part of your job. I know I'm on the show now. And I don't regret it. But damn, you still piss me off.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “I told you, I crossed the line with you. I used my superpower for evil, not for good. I am so sorry.”
“Are you? Because what you did got you exactly what you want.”
“Because you gave me what I wanted. I went to your house to apologize for all the horrible things I did to you and you didn't forgive me. But you gave me what I wanted. Please don't punish me for that.”
Just then, Ray bursts into the trailer, leading the three-person make-up crew.
“Everybody look at Arlen,” I command. “Get him camera ready so that the viewers see exactly what you and I are seeing right now.” I look Ray right in the eye. “Stay with him. Make sure they make him look like Arlen.”
I step out of the trailer and lean against the side of it. My heart is racing and I work to catch my breath.
Arlen is so wrong.
I do not have exactly what I want. And the more he gives, the less I have.
Chapter 31
LOLA
Forty-five minutes later I'm standing to the side of the camera, texting Arlen who's standing fifteen feet away from me on set. You are going to be so fantastic.
I see Arlen look at his phone and punch in a response. I look at my phone. I know.
I laugh. I can't help it. I am pretty sure I am seconds away from puking in front of the entire cast and crew, yet Arlen, who is about to have to be as sexy as all get-out on camera opposite America's Sweetheart, is as unruffled as a swan after grooming.
I type into my phone. Still quoting Shaft, I see.
Arlen: Could do worse.
“Quiet, please.” Mackie's voice pulls me back to attention. His voice is friendly, but everyone shuts up. I can feel myself preening with delight. Damn, I hired the best first A.D. in the biz.
Arlen tosses his phone to a production assistant. Wendy takes a theatrical breath, puts her hands on Arlen's shoulders, and looks deeply into his eyes as she centers herself. Whatever. I don't care if she does cartwheels while singing “Break My Stride.” Just as long as this first scene works.
I look at Arlen. He doesn't look rattled even one little bit.
He looks at me then. Our eyes lock but I can't read what he's thinking. At all. Then he smiles. Barely, but I see it. Why is he smiling at me? Am I that transparent? Do I look like a strung-out junkie looking for the next fix? Or like Jack Nicholson in The Shining?
“Rolling,” Mackie calls. Arlen pulls his attention away from me and focuses on Wendy.
My insides roil and I bite the inside of my cheek really hard.
This is it. This is it. This is it.
Then Peg Zimmerman steps out from behind the camera. “Action.”
Wendy takes the lead like the incomparable leading lady she is. “I can't come over, as you so charmingly put it, because I have children to take care of.” She tinges her lines with just the right touch of imperious impatience.
“Your ex-husband's kids.” Arlen's voice resounds with a subtle challenge. The man is absolutely hypnotic. He is bringing Sam to breathing, pulsating life.
“They're my kids now,” Wendy shoots back.
“They can take care of themselves for an hour or two.”
“An hour or two,” Wendy tosses back, giving her lines a saucy flair. “That's what you're offering?”
“Escape is what I'm offering.” Arlen moves in on Wendy. “An escape into abandon, where you can forget about them. And remember who you are and what you want.”
My stomach lurches. Holy shit. Arlen is about to kiss Wendy. Kiss Wendy! And he's not an actor! He's really going to kiss her!
“There's no escape from my life.” I can see Wendy letting Celeste get lost in Sam's eyes.
“Wrong.” Arlen touches Wendy's face. “You're as free as you choose to be.”
I clench my teeth together to
keep from screaming as Arlen leans down and kisses her. Every speck of me snaps like electricity as I watch. He's commanding, all-encompassing—I know exactly how it feels. I remember how it feels. And now he's making Wendy feel that way! Good God! Why the hell is it lasting so long? Why isn't Peg yelling cut? I decide I'm going to fire Peg when she interrupts my thoughts.
“Cut!”
HOLY FUCK THAT TOOK LONG ENOUGH!
I suck in air as Wendy and Arlen break apart. After about half a second I remember to paste a big smile across my face. They nailed the scene. They fucking nailed the scene. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Wendy is all smiles and bubbly good humor, cooing congratulations at Arlen. He deflects her accolades but she insists on No, really, telling him how awesome he is. Arlen finally knocks her playfully in the head and shuts her up. She erupts into a fit of giggles and slaps him back.
No! I do not want Arlen and Wendy goofing around. It is way too much like getting along. Or flirting.
Peg steps forward onto set.
“Perfect,” she says to Arlen and Wendy. “Keep doing exactly what you're doing. We just need a few more takes for coverage. Oh, by the way, great kiss.”
Arlen looks across the set right at me. Does he have any idea what he just did to me? I totally get the feeling that he does. I know I should smile brightly and give rookie actor Arlen Black a thumbs up, but I just cannot do it. I try to stay calm and give away nothing.
“Okay,” Mackie calls. “Reset. We're ready to go again.”
Arlen looks away.
I take a deep breath, then another. They are going to do it again.
Chapter 32
ARLEN
Arlen whacked the hammer so hard that the reverberation cracked one of the roof tiles to his right. He sat back on his heels, wiping the sweat from his face with his forearm. He could fasten the tar paper to the roof with little more than thumb tacks—he didn't need to attack Lola's roof with the force of a jackhammer. What the hell was wrong with him? Destroying the house he was working on wouldn't solve anything.
When shooting had wrapped at five, Arlen couldn't drive fast enough to get to Lola's house and work off the day's thunderous tension. Why on earth did they have to make him kiss Wendy so many times? And with Lola watching?! All he could think of during the scene was Lola on the first day they met, Lola on the patio, Lola kissing him on her bed. But the second he'd touched the tiny, bony Wendy Hunter, every nerve in him rebelled. Apparently, though, his bucking emotions had infused the kiss with an almost angry tension that Peg had found “absolutely blistering.” Whatever. But Jesus, he didn't want to want Lola.
Queen of the Universe (In Love in the Limelight Book 2) Page 9
