Unscripted

by Swallow, Lisa

  What the hell happened to the nice guy in Vegas, who sat on the floor with me and spun tales from our past, drawing me away from the nightmare I was lost in? Was I too drunk to realise he’s still the guy who plays people?

  And what the hell possessed him to marry me? Joke or not, it’s a bloody weird thing to do.

  14

  A couple of weeks on set, and every day, I consider whether I made the right decision about the marriage. Tate and I don’t speak much beyond polite niceties unless we’re rehearsing or on set. I stick to hanging out with crew and those who’ve minor roles while watching the strange world around me.

  Mine and Tate’s polite professionalism and indifference work. Admittedly, my indifference is greater because I still hold images of Savannah leaving his trailer the first day on set. The probability Tate will stick to the “no sex” condition ranks low, although his bet I’ll give in to his charms helps keep me at an extra distance.

  A friend from school works for the charity I decided Tate should donate to, one that helps homeless women and children escaping domestic violence. I spoke to Donna at my nonwedding, and she vented her frustration at lack of funding and how she struggles to help everybody who needs the organisation’s help. The number she gave of those living on the street shocks me. At the time, I walked away and swore if I ever had money, I’d give Donna more than the small amount I can afford now.

  The conversation with Donna came to mind following Tate’s offer of money, and I decided something good would come of the mess I’d made.

  Why did I make the other condition about sex? Seriously, what difference does that make? I question myself whether this is a secret jealousy, and I want Tate away from other girls because I want to give in to my attraction to him. Then I remind myself the condition’s my signal to Tate that I’m in control of the situation.

  But why fool myself? How would I know if he’s keeping his promise? It’s not as if I follow him around all day and night. My chest twinges at the thought of Tate and Savannah, but that’s because she’s decided to be a bitch to me. Right? Not because I can’t stand the idea Tate would be interested in someone the polar opposite of me.

  I steer clear of both people anyway.

  Once I realise Tate’s backed off and switched to professional mode, I relax into my role. The majority of Brit and Dev’s scenes are as professionals working together too, with his character’s maverick nature causing Brit issues. And friction. A perfect situation as it’s not too difficult to turn on Brit’s frustration with Dev when it mirrors mine with Tate.

  The brutal filming schedule leaves little time for life outside the show, a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I joke to Audrey I’ll forget where I live soon, or who I am, as I spend more time hanging around the studios than home pretending to be somebody else. This makes Tate the one person I spend more time with than anybody else in my life.

  I also spend most evenings with the man too. Including today.

  The outdoor studios contain carefully constructed back alley sets, to save on location filming. Tonight’s scene: Brit wants to know Dev’s secret—where he goes in the evenings that he’s cagey about. Who does he meet? Of course, this involves Brit stalking him into a part of the city she knows she should avoid.

  These plot lines grate on my nerves because I hate when Dev rescues Brit. I’ve spoken to scriptwriters about Brit’s years on the job pre-Dev and ability to look after herself, and they agree to include some of this. But the network and audience love the protective Dev, which means she will never be as strong a character as I’d hope. Sure, she can kick ass on occasion, but if Dev’s around, that’s his role.

  I hang back, wrapping my arms around myself against the night cold as crew mill around me. Stuntmen stand nearby, and I joke around with the actor, Landon, who’ll have his hands around my throat within the next few minutes.

  Tate and Savannah stand at the end of the alley, cameras on them as they act a scene. What is their deal? I haven’t seen him with her apart from when they’re onscreen.

  And really, listen to me still wasting time and energy on that situation.

  Tate and Savannah break from filming, and I side glance Savannah as she stalks past me, beckoning somebody to bring her coffee. Tate approaches and smiles before turning to speak to Landon.

  Brit’s attraction to Dev isn’t hard to emulate considering the man does ridiculous things to my insides when he’s close. Tate needs to step up his game if he wants to win the sex bet. Or is this a strategic move? Probably a good thing he doesn’t turn smiles and attention my way.

  His mussed hair apparently isn’t mussed enough, and I watch as the make-up girls polish Tate into Dev. He plays the character well, edgy and mysterious with a smattering of attitude. Dev’s secretive nature broods across the screen, and I can’t fault his acting skill. Tate’s ability to translate this off-screen charms everybody. Oh yeah, this man is good.

  The director chats with the camera crew about shot angles, and we’re left alone, waiting for instructions.

  "How are you?" asks Tate.

  I wrinkle my nose at his formality; our conversations rarely move beyond niceties. "Tired."

  "Long days, huh?"

  "Yes."

  "You’ll get used to it." I nod and tighten my coat. "We should catch up sometime?" he suggests.

  "What for?"

  Tate raises a brow. "Is it wrong to want to spend time with you?"

  "I thought we were avoiding each other."

  "Ah, a bit of gossip about the co-stars won’t hurt the ratings."

  "You mean you and Savannah?"

  The eyes I avoid fix on mine before he speaks. "Is this why you don’t talk to me? You think I’m with another girl? There isn’t any me and Savannah. There can’t be, can there, Myf?"

  I can’t mention his celibacy vow. I’ve no desire to revisit that conversation. "But you and Savannah would work well if you want publicity for the show. The rival love interest actually being a real —"

  "Rival love interest?" Tate drags long fingers through his fringe and grins at me. "I’d like to spend time with you. Is that so bad?"

  I waver. He’s denied the Savannah situation; maybe we could meet up sometime. But we promised to stay away from each other socially.

  "Depends on what you had in mind."

  The pause. The smile. That Tate look in his eyes; the one he knows affects me. "Very bad things." I open my mouth to protest. "If I can tempt you."

  "Are you talking about our bet again? I think I can resist you."

  He shuffles closer. "Prove it. Spend time with me."

  Tate takes my speechlessness as disdain, thankfully, because I’m focusing hard on not agreeing to one on one time with him. The last thing I need is to allow myself to see the Tate I met in Vegas, the one who treated me a hell of a lot better than the last man in my life.

  No. The last thing I need is to open myself up to hurt again, which is guaranteed in this case. I’m in control, and I keep things this way.

  Tate pouts and rests against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles. "How am I supposed to show you what an honourable guy I am if you won’t let me?"

  A man shouts Tate’s name, and he wanders off, hunched down in his leather jacket, straight into Dev-mode.

  I lift my head and wait for the signal to begin, cameras tracking my moves.

  Acting as Brit, I edge down the alley, hand on my gun as I scout around. Dev disappeared down here ten minutes ago and never returned. No sounds. No traffic nearby. A figure moves and blends into the wall. A doorway? I hug the wall, halting behind a dumpster and hold my breath.

  No sounds.

  Fingers gripping the weapon, I poke my head around the dumpster. The figure has gone. Another shadowed person passes the opposite end of the alleyway. The street lamp briefly illuminated his features. Dev? I sidestep out and back against the wall, distracted by my goal.

  Something lands with a heavy thud behind, feet on metal as someone jumps from a roof onto
the dumpster, and then boots on the ground as he lands behind. I spin on my heels, face to face with a trench-coated man, with close-cropped hair and an impassive face, his gun pointed at me.

  Silent.

  I draw my weapon too, steadying it in both hands. "Drop your weapon! FBI!"

  The man doesn’t respond, barely registers me. Grasping at my options, I lunge forward, grabbing the man’s arm and attempting to dislodge the gun from his hand. What other option is there? If he pulls the trigger, I’m dead.

  His gun’s knocked to the ground, but strong fingers bite into my arms. I gasp as he slams me against the dumpster, holding my hand above my head so I’m unable to use the gun. His other hand grips my throat in a chokehold.

  He doesn’t say a word. A silent assassination attempt? I struggle to move, and only manage to kick the gun on the ground across the alley, where it skids out of reach.

  The man’s grip loosens as he grunts, sinks to the floor, and reveals Dev behind him. Dev looks down, one fist clenched, the other holding half a brick in his hand.

  "What the hell are you doing, Brit?" he growls at the man on the floor, refusing to look at me.

  "Looking for you." I straighten my clothes, and he watches as I rub my sore neck.

  "Why?" His voice is harsher than I’m used to from his character, anger seeping through his guarded exterior.

  "No reason."

  Dev folds his arms across his chest. "You follow me into this part of town for no reason? Come on, tell the truth."

  I tuck the gun back into the holster. "Because I want to know your contacts and who exactly feeds you the information."

  "I told you before I don’t have contacts. I’m here because this is the part of the city I live in."

  I frown. "You? Here?"

  "So this was a social call? You wanted to visit me at home?" He slowly appraises me. "I can be accommodating."

  I move forward, tiptoeing closer to his face. "Something’s off about you, Dev. You might fool others, but you don’t fool me. Nobody could know where to find people minutes before they commit the offences and stop them, but you do. How do you manage that?"

  "I have my methods."

  "Which are?"

  His voice lowers. "Successful and none of your business."

  "They are my business if I’m your partner!"

  "Partner? Then why are you sneaking around places like this in the dark, alone? We need trust."

  "You don’t trust me, why should I trust you?"

  I’m aware the increased intensity between our characters matches a reality not far removed from Myf and Tate too. These two people hide how they feel about each other. But this situation won’t change soon, Brit and Dev aren’t supposed to reveal part of themselves they keep hidden. Neither will Myf.

  He’s often frustrated by Brit and her unwillingness to allow him to lead their cases the way he’d like. He’s not used to somebody who doesn’t acquiesce to the way he thinks life should be. All this... oh, so familiar.

  This man, the actor and the character, winds a spell around us that pulls me tightly to him as both Myf and Brit. Dev’s protectiveness the fans love so much is also a side of Tate, which exists beneath his bluff and bravado too. The problem with seeing this in his character is Dev reminds me of the Tate from Vegas who cared for me, the one he insists he can be again. The one I’m jealous another girl could have.

  But how much is an act? Tate’s bloody skilled at turning on what he needs and when.

  "Don’t put yourself in danger." Dev’s words, as spoken by Tate, don’t match the mood I’d pictured in my head on a read through. I imagined them angry and frustrated, joined by the familiar flashing anger in Dev’s eyes. “I don’t want you threatened.”

  Tate’s delivery in soft tones arrests me, and I tense as both Brit and Myf because he might add an action to his words. A gentle touch. A hug. Instead, he buries his hands deep in his pockets and trains the intense gaze on me; one the cameras focus close on. The Dev smoulder the fan’s swoon over holds concern and an unspoken depth in his feelings for the woman in front of him.

  Oh good god, my hormones.

  "Don’t be reckless, Brit. You don’t know these people and what they’re capable of." Low, soothing tones. Worry tinged with frustration. I stare back, disarmed. This isn’t how we rehearsed the scene. I’m ready for the confrontation to spiral, but instead, Tate’s Dev winds it back.

  But I can’t apologise. Brit never admits she’s wrong. I imagine the fans screaming at the TV to move closer to him, attempt to push further through his barriers. He rubs the back of his hand across his scruff, evidently fighting the need to protect that Brit doesn’t want.

  We stay silent, locked in a moment wavering between us and the characters.

  The man on the floor groans, dragging us both from our reverie. Eyes not leaving mine, Dev slams a booted foot on the man’s chest.

  "I suggest you leave, Brit."

  "I can’t. The guy assaulted me, and there must be a reason. We arrest him."

  "He just wanted your money, didn’t he?" he says, voice loud enough for the man to hear.

  "I don’t think that’s the reason."

  "It is, right?" Dev snarls.

  The man groans. "Yeah. Let me go."

  "Still, arrest him." I drag cuffs from my jacket. "Dev?"

  "Go, Brit."

  "No, but—"

  Dev’s expression changes, stance stiffening. "Go, or I’ll put you over my shoulder and carry you out of here!"

  "And let him escape because you do something that insulting and unprofessional?" I snap back.

  "You want me to carry you?"

  We switch to a glaring match, as I dare him to do as he says. "I don’t want you to touch me."

  Dev holds out a hand, fingers stopping short of my face. "But I think you do. Don’t you? You came looking for me tonight for a reason."

  Again, something in the conversation sends a message this is Tate talking to Myf—and Myf responds with wide-eyed silence to match Brit’s.

  The rest of the scene blurs, as I go through the motions of Brit leaving the alleyway before Dev can say or do anything else. Once the scene cuts, and the director steps in, I excuse myself and tell him I’ll be back in a few.

  Beneath the lighting rigs, Tate remains still, hands in pockets as he watches me walk away.

  15

  Weird dreams bother me the more entrenched I find myself in the role of Brit. In my sleep, I’m with Dev, and unsure if I’m dreaming of him or Tate. Often, I’m in episodes I hate; lost and running through maze-like alleys and streets, cornered in abandoned buildings by violent men, where Dev steps out of the shadows to save me. I continue to hate the damsel-in-distress scenes with Brit, as if Tate might believe that’s what Myf wants too.

  This highlights a bigger issue—my continued problem separating us from our characters. Unprofessional. Annoying. Which begs the question: when I kiss the man in my dreams, am I Brit kissing Dev, or Myf kissing Tate? I’ve kissed actors before, including him, but that’s the limit of my physical on-screen relationships. What if the script goes further? I’ve seen teen-targeted dramas with characters in bed. Not explicit, but not fully clothed. Audrey’s taken part in one or two and told me love scenes are never sexy; how could they be with everybody on set watching, and the director barking instructions?

  The scripts in recent weeks point to the direction I’d hoped wouldn’t happen for a long while yet. Dev and Brit’s relationship is about to turn a corner. This confuses me—didn’t the showrunners want the “will they, won’t they?” to continue for a while longer? How will I deal with this? Professionally. My oh-so-favourite word losing its definition with each passing day.

  The show hasn’t followed the book’s plot line closely, fans reactions changed the story’s course as the creators attempt to keep the network sweet and get the go-ahead for a full season.

  Fans love Dev.

  Fans wish they were Brit—that Brit would just see how he’s
hiding his love for her. Ugh. I’ve read the fans’ show discussions online, the desperation for Brit and Dev to let down the barriers and give in to the simmering passion.

  The attention to the show grows, and the media’s interest in Tate with it. So far, I haven’t received the same, but I’m aware what will happen. Once the characters take their relationship to the next level, I’ll be under scrutiny to see if Tate and I have too.

  Luckily the romantic fantasy, that Brit and Dev exist in reality as Tate and Myf, is non-existent. We don’t see each other off set, and our refusal to socialise away from the show prevents rumours. Rumours regarding me, anyway. Tate’s name’s linked to Savannah, but the press can’t quite get a hold on their relationship. They’re not a handholding, public kissing couple. Nor are they seen at each other’s homes or on secret rendezvous at hotels.

  Still, I’m on guard for hints he’s lost the bet.

  I wake, emerging from the dreamlike scenario, and eye the script ever-present on my nightstand. I should be impressed that I rehearse the scenes even when asleep. Ha ha.

  The other item on the nightstand when I wake today: my phone, complete with the text from Miles, which woke me.

 

  In my sleepy state, the deluge of emotions wash over before I’m conscious enough to stop them. My immediate reaction to Miles’s words: no freaking way.

  The next two days are supposed be downtime in the middle of a schedule that’s left me out of breath and exhausted, a chance to recharge before launching back into the show’s intensity. We need to wrap the episodes up so the network can decide whether to sign off for the second half of the season. Ratings indicate this looks likely, but there’s never a guarantee.

  Losing a restful day to Miles and the past I’ve left for my new life doesn’t appeal. There was never any point to a showdown with Miles, even though it’s taken almost two months for the asshole to grow a pair and talk to me