It was large, dark, and gorgeous. The main set was made to look like a subterranean control room. Everything was bathed in a blue light. Banks of softly lit panels and screens cropped out of the craggy walls. There was a ramp that swung down from high to the right, some thirty feet up, and curved all the way down to the floor. Though there was a sizable space in the center, filled with more control panels, you got the sense that there was no “center stage,” so to speak.
The other sets in the studio were done in much the same fashion to depict hallways, a bare looking conference room, and an armory.
Things got started, and we were directed to walk around, look busy, and so forth, while Troy, looking much more sober than the last time I had seen him, drove the scenes. I was having fun, but something was picking away at the back of my mind. I hadn’t seen Scott anywhere in the last hour or so. Gary seemed to be taking on the duties of director for the day. While I knew I should feel relief, I was uneasy, and a little disappointed. I had gone through all of this worry, and built myself back up to be hard against him, and he wasn’t even there.
We were running through the main control room scene for the fifth time. I was seated in front of one of the panels, feigning determined concentration, but in actuality being bored out of my wits. The novelty of the costume and the props had worn off and hearing Troy deliver the same lines over and over again was working to put me to sleep. The scene was nearly finished and so I made a quick glance over to the camera to gauge Gary’s mood. Scott was standing next to him, attention on the scene. My heart jumped a beat when he turned, making eye contact with me. I quickly darted my eyes back and began pressing buttons, adjusting nobs. I glanced back, but Scott had his full attention on Troy right now.
I didn’t know what I was feeling. There was a strong sense of indignation; it was as if he didn’t even recognize me. He puts me through all of this mess, makes a point of singling me out to be on set that day, and he can’t even give me a smile, a wink, an apologetic look. All of this anger turned from Scott to myself when I realized just how much this concerned me. The sticky oil of guilt spread in my chest when I realized that I wanted him. His attention, his touch, his green eyes to look at me with desire, I wanted it all.
I had to work myself down, convince myself that he really hadn’t recognized me in the new costume. After all, the lighting was so dark, the makeup so heavy, I doubt even my mother could recognize me right now.
Scott directed us to the hallway set, where he wanted to do some quick shots of the rebels going about their lives in the base. We were broken up into groups of two to five and directed to go from one side of the set arguing, laughing, or anything else that would help to give life to these background characters. I was in a set of four, two pairs, one in front of the other, who were supposed to be having a heated argument. Scott called action. As we walked down the hallway, the camera rolling along beside us, I could only think of two things. One, that Scott was now just a few feet away from me, his attention on me for the first time today, and two, that the pair in front of me was walking too slowly. Before we reached the other side, Scott yelled, “Cut,” and I walked straight into the back of the large man in front of me. I didn’t have time to say something because Scott had rounded the camera and was addressing us.
“Guys I need you to work with me a little more on this. Freedom Fighter Three, you’re just walking too damn slow. Good energy with the argument, but use that to move you forward. You’re all into the argument, but subconsciously you know shit still needs to get done. Slave Girl slash Freedom Fighter and Freedom Fighter Seven, I need you to stagger yourselves.”
It took me a second to realize he was talking to me. He was standing right in front of me, an arms length away. He was taking in my partner and I with his green eyes. All I could think was, “He may not know Freedom Fighter Seven, but he knows me. Why isn’t he using my name?”
“Sorry, stagger?” I blurted out.
“Yes, stagger. As in walk a distance in front of or behind the person next to you. The both of you are nearly the same height; you’re blocked from the camera. Again.”
We started over, finished the sequence, and that was it. He didn’t say another word to us, he just directed the next group to get started.
My stomach felt icy. There was no denying it, no explaining it away. He had been standing three feet from me, looked me in the eye, so he must have recognized me. And had disregarded any connection between us apart from the scene at hand. This was work, and I was just another extra again.
For the next hour, I did the scenes feeling wooden and beaten. When they called for a break, I went out with the rest of the extras, grabbed a water bottle, and leaned up against the wall of the studio. The constant standing and walking was taking its toll so I pulled off my boots and began massaging my feet.
No matter what, I thought, this is my last day working here. Tonight I’m going to start looking for a new job, and that will be it. No more stupid costumes, no more stupid props, no more stupid Scott.
One of the production assistants was walking towards me, looking for all the world like an indignant bird, holding a clipboard in front of him, his elbows stretched to his sides.
He even squawked like a bird, “Stand up, you’re going to ruin the costume. It’s worth more than you. I could get you fired for this.” I added to the list in my head: no more stupid production assistants.
I stood up, barely coming up to the young man’s chest. Standing with my fists on my hips, fixing him with the most I’m-too-tired-for-this stare I could muster I said, “Is that what was so urgent, you came all the way over here?”
His indignation fell from his face, replaced with consternation. He addressed the space an inch above my head.
“Mr. Rushmand wishes to see you in his trailer after the shoot.”
“Did he specifically use my name?”
The assistant looked confused. “Yes.”
I nodded. I stepped closer to him. “So what you’re telling me is you walked over here, yelled at me for sitting in a costume that is meant to look dirty, threaten to have me fired, with the knowledge that Scott Rushmand, director of this movie, founding member of this studio, has asked for me personally. Now does that sound smart to you?”
The assistant didn’t even respond. He just shook his head, eyes filled with terror, and turned to go. I looked around and saw that Gary was standing not too far away. He seemed surprised more than anything else. I nodded at him, as if to say, “I mean business.”
As strong as my demonstration had been, my hands were shaking as I put on my boots. As nice as it was to know I could tell someone off, I was definitely not comfortable with this yet. Had the guy been a little more determined, I really could have lost my job.
Chapter Five
The rest of the shoot was uneventful, what with more walking interspersed with bouts of standing. I felt sad as I disrobed, not wanting to give up my fatigues. Slipping into my orange and yellow sundress, I felt almost naked against what I was about to face. I wanted to be fierce; I wanted to be suited up for war. But in the dress, I felt as vulnerable as when I had worn the slave girl outfit for the first time.
Outside it was dark, the California night warm as I made my way to the trailer of “Mr. Rushmand”. I felt like a bundle of frayed nerves, uncertain as to how things would play themselves out. The lights of the trailer were on and I could see a silhouette pacing back and forth. I pulled together my resolve and knocked on the trailer door, and the silhouette stopped mid pace.
“Come in.”
Inside, the trailer was filled with smoke. Scott stood there in a blue suit, sans the tie, looking crisp and coiffed as ever. A half-burnt cigarette rested in his hand and there was a glass ashtray on the table.
“I didn’t know you smoke.”
“Only in passing.”
He took a drag and squished it out in the ashtray. There were already three butts in it. I took a closer look and realized it was brand new. Looking ba
ck up at Scott I said, “You’re nervous.”
He sat at the table, ignoring my comment completely. He raised an eyebrow.
“Gary tells me you made quite a scene during the break. Really chewed out one of my assistants.”
“He deserved it. And you deserve more than that. What’s going on? You have your greasy little assistants call me up specifically so I’m on set; they harass me and threaten me while I’m here, and you? You treat me like you never met me before.”
“While I can’t speak for my assistants personally, I assure you I’ll have them reprimanded. I can speak for myself though, and I apologize for being so cold to you today. But had you not hung up on me when I called, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
He didn’t even flinch when I slammed my hands on the table, doing my best to tower over him. The ashtray was knocked off the table and bounced harmlessly on the floor. The action seemed to surprise me more than Scott, who looked at me stony as ever. But I couldn’t back down now. I was done with this, his concise manner of addressing me, as if he were explaining a hard fact of life to a child for the first time.
“Cut it out Scott. You’re doing it now. Just cut out the bullshit. I’m in this situation because you filmed us having sex, and it got out. Now I’m in every tabloid, every gossip column, and all over the Internet. You screwed up somewhere and it’s hurting me. You may be used to this kind of attention, but I’m not. But what pissed me off the most was the fact that it took the scandal for you to actually call me up. If that video hadn’t leaked, you never would have talked to me again. I was just something you used. Right now, you’re not even talking like I’m equal, like I’m an adult. To you, I’m just an animal, a plaything.”
Hot tears were searing my eyes, falling onto the table. My throat was dry.
“You’ve ruined my life. I wish I had never met you.”
I felt exhausted now. I slipped into the seat across from Scott. I wanted to leave, but just didn’t have the energy to move. Scott was sitting next to me with an arm around my shoulder. I didn’t fight him. I didn’t give into it either, remaining rigid and still. He reached into his blazer and I began to shake my head, ready to refuse the handkerchief. I stopped when he placed a yellow sheet of notepad paper neatly in front of me. It was the note I had left after our night together. It had been folded over and the creases were dirty with handling. Scott read the message to me.
“‘Thanks for letting me into your world. Hope to see you soon.’ Do you remember writing that?”
I nodded, gulping back my tears.
His eyebrows were knit together as if he was searching for the right way to express his thoughts.
“That night, I invited you into two very distinct, but interconnected worlds, with their own rules and ways of operation. The first was the world of Hollywood, of stars and artists. You get the clubs, the fun work, and the nice penthouse with that, but at a cost: scrutiny. By entering that world you become an object of the media, everything you do is watched, examined, dissected for other people’s entertainment and, yes, ridicule. I am deeply sorry you had to experience it first hand and in this manner, but the fact is we can’t change what happened. The video got out, I don’t know how yet, but I promise you that we will find out who did this.” He paused for a second and I could tell that he was bothered by it, even though he was trying hard not to show it.
“Regardless, we can’t simply retract it. The best we can do is to find a way to deal with it. I apologize for my cold behavior today, but in my opinion it was the best course of action. I didn’t want to draw undue attention to you, and so on set I kept things completely professional.”
While he had been talking, I had nestled deeper into his embrace, but at this point I pulled further away.
“But still singled me out. You had your assistants make sure I was on set, got them to ask for me during the break. Doesn’t that also draw attention? Why not send somebody who knows about us?”
Scott laughed at this, crisp and hearty, pulling me back to him.
“I still wanted to see you. What would you have me do? Come to you personally? Have Gary come and fetch you? That would draw even more attention. Having the assistants talk to you could be better explained. You were featured in an important scene of the movie, it makes sense, as far as continuity goes, that your character be present for subsequent scenes. As I said, easily explained.”
At this point he propped me up by the shoulders, turning to face me fully. He reached out caressing my cheek. I couldn’t bring myself to move with the touch, but couldn’t stop myself from closing my eyes.
“You said you wished you had never met me, but, if I may be so frank, you enjoy my company, enjoy the way I touch you, look at you, treat you. And with that comes a whole other set of rules. My needs are specific, precise. I enjoy control and conflict, how they work with and against each other. Together they create struggle and to me there is nothing more beautiful.”
I opened my eyes. “So you want me to submit to you?”
There was a glint in his eyes now. “Yes and no. More than anything, I like being in control. But if it was as simple as that, then I would be as bad, no, worse than what you thought of me. Because of my position, the way I am viewed in this town, I could get that complete submission from anyone. But with you, it’s different. I got a sense of it when we had sex, but didn’t understand until today. You enjoy being in a position where you are told what to do and what not to do-“
I interrupted his line of thought there. I was reminded of my time living with Jamison and recoiled at the idea of being controlled.
“I don’t enjoy that at all.”
“Let me finish. Or rephrase it I guess. You enjoy being in the position of being told what to do, because struggling against that oppression gives you a sense of empowerment.”
“Honestly, as I recall, I was pretty submissive to you that night.”
“You may have given in to the act, the situation, but in it you still struggled. You may not have noticed it, but you’ve changed in these past two weeks. You seem more confident.
I hadn’t felt that way, not in my time working at the yogurt shop, feeling I had been swept up in something larger than me, and then cast to the side. I thought back on my days confined to my room, Jenny doing her best to get me out of my depression.
“Before everything came out, I felt helpless, that everything was out of my control.”
“It was wrong of me not to call you back. I wanted to, more than anything else, but honestly I was just as helpless. This studio is pretty small and requires a lot of work, from top to bottom.”
“And afterwards, I just sunk further into myself. I wasn’t taking care of myself. I can’t believe anyone would see me as competent, let alone confident,” I continued.
“Why not? Look at what happened earlier today. My assistant tried to control you in his petty little way. He took the smallest infraction and tried to use it to raise himself to a level above you. And what did you do? You fought back, and intelligently. You could have submitted, you could have just yelled at him, but you used the very information he had provided and twisted it on him. How did you feel after confronting him?”
“Honestly, I was scared. I really thought I could have lost my job”
“Not after you thought about. The instant after you had told him off.”
I thought back to the situation. The fear in the assistant’s eyes, the nod of confidence I had given to Gary, who had witnessed the whole thing. Scott spoke for me.
“You felt empowered. You enjoy being controlled because you enjoy the struggle. I can make you feel that way better than anyone else. You just have to accept the rules of my world.”
Scott’s hands moved to my wrists, which he pinned behind my head. I felt awkward, slightly uncomfortable as my back was pressed against the wall of the trailer, but my legs still sat in the booth of the table. He was kissing me, holding both my hands with one of his own, the other exploring the curves of my body
.
“Scott,” I said. “Just hold on, oh.”
His hand had slipped under my dress, fingers inside me. He was kissing my neck now and I had to suppress a moan of pleasure to get my words out, and then only in a whisper.
“Yes, that is nice Scott. But the tape, you taping me.”
None of this was stopping him, his mouth on my lips again. I wanted him, I wanted every part of him, but I needed him to listen. There were parts I still couldn’t accept. He was slipping my panties off.
“Scott, we need to talk about this.”
He let go, pulling back from me completely. His eyes were not angry, but flashed with frustration, as if I was failing to understand a simple law of nature. I felt vulnerable under that stare, my spine twisted, my panties halfway down my thighs. He exhaled through his nose.
“What is there to talk about? I thought I was being very clear. If you want to be with me, to sleep with me, things have to be done in a certain way.”
His Dark Secret - Part 1 (Erotic Romance Serial Novel) Page 5
