In the Club

by Antonio Pagliarulo

  That was the main reason Park had skipped school today. Last night, Jeremy had called her with one of his customarily dramatic complaints. He’d told her that he was upset, that they didn’t see each other enough, that after a long day of filming he wanted to hang out with her at night and just chill. Then came the list of sappy questions that sometimes made Jeremy sound like an infatuated schoolboy: Why don’t you leave me messages on my cell? Did you like the diamond bracelet I sent you? You do love me, don’t you? It had been a long conversation, and in the end Park had decided to surprise Jeremy and spend all of today on the set. This morning, when she arrived, he’d kissed her passionately in front of the entire crew and refused to let go of her hand. He even waved and winked at her between takes. Park often wondered what would happen if the world knew that muscular, macho Jeremy Bleu was really a softhearted pushover.

  Now she locked her eyes on the unfolding scene. Jeremy—or, rather, the character he was playing—struggled to maintain his grip on the balcony, emitting a series of grunts. The older man posing as the killer held a knife in his hands. Jeremy swung from left to right, the harness holding him tight, the side camera swerving to catch every last bit of the action. Suddenly, the balcony itself began to collapse in a brilliant display of special effects. The older man gave a believable cry as he dropped the knife, and Park marveled at how well he feigned fear. Jeremy’s talents weren’t lost in the fray, however: his face registered shock and his muscles tensed and flexed. In what had surely been a well-rehearsed move, he swung onto the crumbling railing and balanced himself against the wall of the building. It all looked so real.

  Park’s heart fluttered for a single instant.

  The cameras kept rolling.

  Jeremy looked down, then up. There was obviously no escape from the impending disaster. But the heroic main character couldn’t die with whispers of a sequel already in the wings, so at the exact moment the balcony collapsed—hundreds of bricks plummeting to the street in a plume of smoke—Jeremy lurched through the air and landed on the next balcony. He stumbled and rolled. He cried out. One end of his T-shirt snagged something jagged, and the flimsy material tore away from his upper body. He looked breathless and pained and exhausted. But that didn’t stop him from running a hand across his sweat-soaked chest as the cameras zoomed in for a full-body close-up. He threw a careless glance to his immediate left. And gasped. His eyes had spotted the ticking bomb sitting at the opposite end of the balcony—yet another ruse from the nasty nemesis trying to end the world.

  Ten seconds till it detonates.

  The scene was coming to an end. Park kept her gaze focused upward and thanked God that she wouldn’t have to watch the same stunts being shot over and over again. That was the only boring part of moviemaking: the monotony of having to reshoot everything a dozen times. All around her, the onlookers were gasping in panic. She remained calm and cool and braced herself for the finale.

  Still in character, looking stunned but determined, Jeremy leaped onto the balcony railing and stared down at the street. Then he threw a last panicked glance over his shoulder. An instant before the staged explosion flashed against the bright blue sky, he jumped—plunging through the air with a guttural scream. The harness did its job and held him tightly.

  Park sighed as Jeremy’s body landed butt-first onto a huge inflated device that looked a lot like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade float.

  “That’s a wrap!” The director’s voice boomed across the set again.

  Every onlooker cheered and clapped as Jeremy climbed off the inflated device. He smiled as several production assistants and stunt technicians patted him on the back.

  Park finally exhaled. She, for one, didn’t feel like cheering. The near anxiety of the last few minutes had probably etched fine lines around her eyes, and she was sure she’d gone pale. It didn’t help that she was wearing a black Triple Threat tank top with her Sass & Bide jeans. The contrast would make her look even paler.

  “Excuse me, Miss Hamilton?”

  Park turned around. The short woman staring at her was holding a clipboard, and the earpiece circling her head was wholly unflattering. “Yes?”

  “I’m Jenny Kilmer,” the woman said. “Jeremy’s waiting for you.”

  “Oh. Thank you. And you can call me Park, by the way.”

  The woman smiled and led Park through a maze of street markings, tripods, and blue police barricades. They walked past the pile of bricks and debris caused by the recent explosion, then around the inflated thing that had saved Jeremy from certain death.

  “Can I get you anything?” Jenny Kilmer asked. “Coffee? Water?”

  “Water would be great,” Park said.

  “Carbonated or noncarbonated?”

  “Non.”

  “Evian, Poland Spring, Fiuggi, or FIJI?”

  “Fiuggi, please.”

  Jenny Kilmer nodded. “That’s my favorite too. It comes straight from Italy, you know.”

  Park knew. Every July, she, Madison, and Lex traveled to Italy to visit their mother, famed actress Venturina Baci, and were educated in all things Italian. Fiuggi was excellent drinking water. Evian, on the other hand, while basically undrinkable, worked wonders on the hair, sealing split ends like a soothing balm. “At least Fiuggi is bottled in glass,” Park said. “Plastic can be so bad for the environment.”

  They had reached the cordoned-off area reserved for cast members. Three long trailers sat at the corner of MacDougal and West Houston, their entrances manned by security guards. Park accepted the bottle of Fiuggi water, took a long sip, and stepped into the shade. It had to be a hundred degrees. June had come to New York with a vengeance, stifling the air and clogging the streets. Park wasn’t a fan of the summer months. She hated the humidity and what it did to her long brown hair. She hated having to constantly pat the beads of sweat from her forehead. As far as she was concerned, there were only two places to be when the temperature soared to ungodly levels: inside an air-conditioned penthouse, or browsing the floor at Henri Bendel.

  The door to Jeremy’s trailer suddenly burst open, and he smiled down at her from the threshold. “Hey, sweetheart!” he said.

  Park might have been angry with him for doing all those stunts himself, but seeing him standing there in nothing but jeans and the white towel slung around his neck was enough to send a chill up her spine. She raced up the steps and into his waiting embrace.

  “Did you enjoy watching the scene?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  “No, I didn’t.” She shook her head. “I had no idea it was that dangerous. You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

  “Totally not true. I know how to do my own stunts. I’m trained.” He winked seductively. “I can do a lot of cool things with my body.”

  “That’s certainly the truth.” Park tossed her head back and puckered up.

  The kiss was long and passionate, and somewhere on the street, a camera flashed in their direction.

  Jeremy pulled her into the trailer and shut the door behind them.

  Park sighed as a blast of cool air swept over her damp, hot skin. She had been in Jeremy’s trailer before, and while it was impressive for something that occupied a gritty street corner, she couldn’t get comfortable in so narrow a space. When filming had first started, she’d brought Jeremy several scented candles, and now they were dispersed throughout the trailer, the marble countertops splattered with wax. Crinkled protein-bar wrappers littered the table beside the small refrigerator and water cooler.

  “So,” Jeremy said, sitting down beside her. “What are we doing tonight? Dinner?”

  Park stared back at him as if he had just sprouted a pimple on the tip of his nose. “What are you talking about?” she snapped. “I can’t go anywhere tonight. You know that!”

  “I do?”

  She sighed. “Jeremy, tonight’s the opening of Cleopatra, my father’s new club. Remember? We had this discussion.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember.” He frowned and p
ulled the towel off his shoulders. He swiped it across his forehead. “I guess I forgot because I’m not coming.”

  “Don’t sound so disappointed. It’s not like you weren’t invited.”

  “I know. I wish I could come. But we’re filming all night. I can’t get out of it.”

  “You won’t be missing much,” Park said, trying to sound offhanded even though she knew Jeremy would be missing the most spectacular event of the year.

  “What about later on?” he asked.

  “Later on?”

  “Yeah, like after the opening. I should finish filming at around two or three a.m.”

  “We’ll see, okay? If not, we’ll have dinner tomorrow night. I’m yours for the whole weekend. Or, at least until seven o’clock on Sunday night.”

  “Why so early on Sunday night?”

  “Commencement’s on Monday morning. I have to be there to help out. And I have to get a good night’s sleep.”

  He sighed and sulked. Jeremy didn’t really understand why Park was so straitlaced when it came to school. She and her sisters were sitting on billions of dollars. They would never be poor. The way he saw it, school was like a hobby for them—the same way it was for him. He had a private tutor who came by the set three times a week, but he didn’t really give the woman his undivided attention. He was getting his high school diploma to please his mother back in Iowa. When that neat little piece of paper came, he’d kiss school good-bye. He had no time for college. And what would be the point of it, anyway? He’d just signed four new contracts, which would keep him busy making movies for the next three years.

  He stood up and stretched, flexing his thick arms.

  In that moment, Park decided that it would be perfectly fine and lovely to just sit in this tiny enclosed space for the next few hours and watch Jeremy walk around shirtless. She might even opt to do that tomorrow night, and for most of Sunday. Big muscles. Thick lips. It was all good.

  Jeremy turned around, a pensive look on his face. “I’m actually really glad you decided to spend the day here today, Park. I need to talk to you about something.”

  She leaned back in the chair. “Okay. What’s up?”

  Jeremy sat down beside her again. He handed her the towel and indicated the sheen of sweat glistening on his shoulders and back.

  Park was happy to oblige. She maneuvered the towel slowly, methodically, over his smooth, tan skin.

  “Well, you know how Short Fuse has a really big budget behind it,” he began. “I mean, it’s a formula and it’s all there—thriller, action, and the script isn’t bad at all. The studio thinks it’s gonna be a huge hit when it’s released next year.”

  “All your movies have been huge hits,” Park said.

  “Yeah, but this one has a big-name cast. Anyway…you know how Gabriella DuBois is supposed to play my girlfriend in the movie?”

  Park laughed. “Duh. I think I knew that before you did. I saw Gabriella in Paris a few months ago. I think it’s going to be her first action film.”

  Gabriella DuBois was a stunner, probably the most adventurous and opinionated young actress in Hollywood; she had just turned nineteen and already had two Academy Award nominations under her belt. In addition to making movies, Gabriella was noted for her tireless work with several nonprofit organizations benefiting underprivileged children. And when she wasn’t in some third world hot spot, Gabriella DuBois was the face of the new Giorgio Armani campaign.

  “Well,” Jeremy said, “we found out this morning that Gabriella dropped out of the movie. She’s got, like, a bunch of political things to do.”

  “Are you serious?” Park stopped moving the towel across his back. “I can’t believe it! She was so excited about this role.”

  “Yeah, well, it happens. But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Actually, it’s what Gilberto Vitton wants to talk to you about too.”

  Gilberto Vitton was the director of Short Fuse. As it turned out, he had also directed a number of other outstanding movies, one of which had earned him an Academy Award for Best Director.

  Park’s face registered confusion. “Why would Gilberto want to talk to me?” she asked. “I mean, I love his work, but we really don’t know each other.”

  “Well, he wants to get to know you, and soon.” Jeremy stood up. A smile creased his lips as he turned to face her. Then the mildly happy expression went totally ecstatic. He dropped to his knees and grabbed her hands. “Babe, we want you to take on the role that Gabriella DuBois just dropped. We want you to star in this movie.”

  “What?” Park’s voice hit a painfully high note. She felt her eyes bug out of her skull.

  “You heard me,” Jeremy said excitedly. “Gilberto thinks you’d be perfect for the part! It’s the role of Lily Zane, and not only is she my love interest, but she’s also the girl who helps me counteract a nuclear attack—”

  “Jeremy,” Park cut in. “That’s insane! I…I can’t just drop everything—”

  “—and you wouldn’t have to do any of your own stunts. Most of the filming is being done here in New York, and school is about to let out for you—”

  “I have to go see my mom in Italy in two weeks! Madison and Lex will kill me if I don’t go. Plus all the work we have to do for the clothing line—”

  “—and think of the on-screen chemistry we’d have!” Jeremy continued, ignoring her protests. “Think of how great it would be to work together. Babe, this movie’s gonna be bigger than anything I’ve ever done—”

  “Jeremy, stop!”

  “We’d be the next huge Hollywood power couple. Bigger than Brad and Angelina. Bigger than when Tom and Nicole were powerful.”

  Park shot to her feet, the towel tumbling to the floor. She clamped her hands on his shoulders and gave him a little shake. “Jeremy, listen to yourself! You’re not thinking. And you’re not even listening to me.”

  “What’s to think about, Park? This was totally meant to be.” He smiled broadly and touched her face. “Who’s better than you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “How about a professional actress? Someone who does this kind of thing for a living.”

  “You already do it for a living. You’ve been doing it since the day you were born. You live your whole life in the public eye.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. But I don’t act. That’s a totally different thing.”

  “Is it?” He sat down again. He looked up at her, his stare hard and serious. “Babe, think about it. You already are an actor. When you’re out in public, you have to think about every move you make. If you make the wrong one, it’ll end up in the papers. If you feel like crying in a room full of people, you have to hold in your tears and act happy. When you do one of your press conferences, you have to act like you’re interested in what’s going on, even when you couldn’t care less. I mean, aside from me and Madison and Lex and your parents and maybe a couple of other people, who knows the real you? No one…because you have to act the way the public wants you to.”

  Park felt like she’d been hit in the face with a bucket of ice water. She had never thought of her life in that respect—acting almost every moment, playing a role for the paparazzi and the public. But it was, in fact, true. The little, inane details of life completely eluded her. She had never had the experience of walking down Fifth Avenue in comfortable jogging pants and flip-flops. She had never left her penthouse without makeup. And while the very thought of wearing jogging pants and flip-flops made her want to seek urgent medical care, she understood Jeremy’s point. She didn’t really live the way ordinary people lived. How could she? When you were born a celebutante, life demanded nothing less than perfection.

  But that still didn’t qualify her to star in a movie. As far as she was concerned, acting was a true art. She had always marveled at the brilliant women and men who graced the stage, who tackled challenging roles and completely transformed themselves for a captive audience. Like Cate Blanchett in Elizabeth. Like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean. And like her own
mother, Venturina Baci, in countless European masterpieces. It was a magical talent. Looks, of course, played a big role in the theatrical equation, but you could totally tell the real actors from the merely pretty ones. And while Park knew she possessed the beautiful face and hot body for a successful on-screen career, she shivered at the thought of being compared to a sitcom star, or Tara Reid.

  She averted her eyes from Jeremy’s excited face. The trailer was just too small. She couldn’t waltz into another room or hide behind anything. So she sighed and said calmly, “This isn’t the kind of decision I can make right now. I mean, I really appreciate the offer and I’d love to work with you, but…”

  “But what?”

  She hesitated.

  “Babe?” Jeremy prodded. “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure I have the talent,” she finally admitted. “And I don’t want to look like some bimbo in a movie people can watch over and over again. I mean—did you see The Dukes of Hazzard?”

  “Oh my God! Park—that’s totally twisted!” He threw up his arms, then dropped them back down to his sides. “I know you have the talent. I’ve seen the way you appreciate film. You feel it. You respect the craft. And, for fuck’s sake, it’s in your blood.”

  “Watch your mouth and lower your voice!” she snapped. “There could be kids outside!”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. In the strained silence that followed, he reached across the couch and grabbed his Hermès messenger bag. He unzipped it and pulled out a tattered clump of pages.

  Park felt a tiny quiver in her stomach.

  “This is the script,” Jeremy said, holding it out to her. “As far as I’m concerned, it has your name written all over it.”