The Wrath of Dimple
Page 27
The Powers That Be are a group of male studio executives who base an actress’ worth on a calculation that goes something like…fuckability + sexiness * (hilarity + popularity on Twitter2) + (blonde * 10)
I score highly enough in the tits and hilarity departments—even though I am no longer blonde, but redheaded—that they have taken a massive risk on me with this new movie. Not for the first time, I clutched my stomach, terrified that I’d outpaced my abilities. In a few days, I’d begin shooting What Could Go Wrong?, a heist spoof about a down-on-their-luck couple who rob the British Museum with a group of misfits.
Now, Sam would tell you that he was instrumental in getting me this movie. He’s my illicit thief lover and yes, I had indeed learned about skulking and running and lying and truly superior oral sex from him. And about how you can drown in hazel eyes whether they’re mossiest green or deepest brown.
He also taught me that the dimple is the most savage of facial features, causing everyday ladies ‘brain paralysis’ so they throw off the shackles of their boring, secretarial lives and embrace an existence on the lam from cops and robbers alike. He’d used me to steal a Picasso. I’d turned the ensuing notoriety into the acting career I’d always dreamed of.
“Yup.” I slashed the air with my vodka cup. The dude beside me ducked and cowered. “Life is good,” I told him with a pat on the arm. “Sometimes storm clouds assemble and piss rain all over your head, but other times—ouch!”
My other seatmate had woken up. Captain Taco’s claw still clutched my ankle, his mournful feline cry echoing throughout the elite cabin. I tapped at his paw until he released me, then I pulled his carrier out from below the seat. My human friend muttered, threw down his Wall Street Journal—a paper one! Perhaps he was from the past—and stalked to another part of the airplane.
I stuck my head above the seat, periscope-style, to search for flight attendants. The coast was clear. I released Taco from his prison and took his bundle of feline black fluff into my arms. He actually did comfort me, the little bastard. He was an ex-pet of Sam’s, and it had taken some time for us to form a solid relationship, but we had finally meshed. I loved Taco to bits and cuddled him at every turn. He agreed not to murder me in my sleep as long as I fed him. I cradled him, belly up, while he gave me a glare of wild condescension.
The last year had been surreal, going from depressed secretary comforting herself with roller skating and Pizza Rolls—often together—to respected working actress. I considered pinching myself to make sure life was real, but Taco took care of that with a bite to my hand. I hissed and sucked on the already flaming pink wound.
“Ma’am, I’m afraid you cannot have an unrestrained animal out during flight.”
I smiled at the polite, frowning flight attendant whose pasty skin reminded me I’d soon be on an island where clouds battled the sun and often won. She offered to help me put Taco away, but I did it myself. No reason for the innocent to be mauled by eleven pounds of adorable rage. I’d given him kitty sedatives, but he didn’t seem to enjoy them the way I did.
The lady hung around, a smile creeping into the corner of her mouth. She leaned forward. “I’m a big fan, Ms Williams. Love your new hair color.”
Le sigh. “I’m not Michelle Williams. I get that a lot, though.”
“Wait—are you the lady from the Tina Fey movie? What was it… The World’s Worst Wedding? You are! You’re so funny!”
She got me on the second try—I couldn’t have stopped the grin that split my face if I’d tried. “Hi. Thanks. Hi.”
“Meeeewwwwrrrrr,” said Taco. My resume left him unimpressed thus far.
She put one knee on the empty seat beside me. “I’m sorry, it’s just in case the cat gets free, you know? I don’t want her to get hurt.”
Taco hissed and swiped. I jerked my leg to safety. “Captain Taco is a he. He’s sexist, that’s why he thinks being called a girl is demeaning.”
The flight attendant laughed. “Can I get you some champagne? Perhaps a magazine?”
I held up the now-slightly-soggy-from-vodka script in my lap. Very professional. “I should probably keep studying this. Although champagne would definitely help.”
She sucked in a breath and gawked to read the title page. “Is that the Daniel Zhang movie? Oh, my goodness, he is so unbelievably hot.”
“I know! They’re gonna pay me to kiss him!”
“Jammy devil!” She giggled more and whipped off to get me bubbly I didn’t really need.
I didn’t know what a jammy devil was, but I generally approved of both jam and devils. “Am I bovvered?” I asked no one.
“Hhhhhhhssssssss,” replied Taco.
“Oh, you’re always taking the piss.” I settled back, my glittering bubbly in hand. You’re going to be brilliant, I told myself. And you’ll have a killer British accent any minute now.
Yes—I felt much, much less terrified. No more fear of plummeting into the cold ocean like Kate Winslet in Titanic. Although she’d won an Oscar for her icy plunge. Hadn’t she? Leo DiCaprio sure hadn’t. Always a bridesmaid, never a golden statue for Leo. Poor Leo. Only his millions to sustain him. I would absolutely win an Oscar, though. Someday.
I blinked away some of my brain haze, pulled up my script and read the title aloud. “What Could Go Wrong?” My case of the yawns reached its zenith after the flight attendant handed me even more champagne. I decided to catnap before I studied my script. A powerful yawn overtook me. Yes, I’d already memorized the thing, anyhow. Super professional…yawn…respected actress…burp. “Excuse me,” I said before I nodded off.
What Could Go Wrong?
by
F. Langley
Draft 2—Shooting Script
Int. The British Museum—night
Chase Dakota, disbarred barrister (played by Daniel Zhang), crouches in the doorway of a dark gallery of the museum and blows powder into the air. Ghostly streaks of laser light appear, criss-crossing everywhere. The way forward is blocked. His partner in crime, unemployed museum curator Jayde Loving (played by Samantha Lytton), pokes her head up from where she’s been skulking along the floor.
Angle On: Jayde tucks some of her red hair into her black skull cap.
Jayde Loving: Daniel Zhang, I loved you in Mission Extremely Difficult III.
Chase Dakota: Thank you, lesser-known actress from America. I wanted Kerry Washington for your role. You’re just so…pasty and short.
Jayde Loving: I know. It’s not even genetic.
Chase sneers and turns away from Jayde.
Chase Dakota: Sad. But my star power will guarantee box office success, especially in Sweden. They love me there.
Jayde Loving: Really?
Chase Dakota: Why wouldn’t they? You think blonde people can’t like actors of Chinese descent? That’s racist.
Jayde Loving: What? No, I didn’t mean it that way! I just don’t know anything about Sweden! Except that they made Alexander Skarsgård which, you know, bravo.
Chase glares. Jayde pulls the script from her back pocket.
Jade Loving: I—I’m confused. None of this is in the script.
Chase Dakota: It’s called ‘improvisation’, you hack. If you can’t act, can you at least lose ten pounds?
A shadowy figure slinks in and crouches beside Jayde.
Illicit Lover Sam: I don’t think you should lose ten pounds, my love. Your boobs might shrink, and then where would I lick food off of?
Jayde Loving: You can’t be here! You’re a thief!
Chase Dakota: This film is about thieves, idiot. I can’t work with this Yankee trash!
Chase storms off set.
The Director: You’re fired, you bargain-basement Emma Stone.
Jayde Loving: What? No, I—what is happening?
Illicit Lover Sam: Everything seems to be going wrong.
Jayde Loving: No shit, Sherlock.
Illicit Lover Sam: Remember when you didn’t get cast in that episode of Sherlock? That was a pathetic day.
<
br /> They are joined by the executive producer, Captain Taco.
Captain Taco: When she lost the role, she cried all over me. I was licking salt from my fur for a week.
Illicit Lover Sam: Disgusting. Hey, do you have Ms Washington’s number? I’d rather illicitly lover her.
Jayde Loving: I thought you cared about me!
Illicit Lover Sam: We are now beginning our descent into London Heathrow Airport.
Jayde Loving: I swear by this tray table, I love you, Sam! Don’t leave me!
Illicit Lover Sam: I’m sorry, but you must turn off all romantic attachments in preparation for landing. All penguins to the cockpit.
Angle On: A procession of human-sized penguins begins waddling their way down the aisle of the set, which is now dressed as the inside of an airplane. The last one leans over Jayde’s seat. He whispers in her ear.
Giant Penguin: They’ve stopped manufacturing Cheez-Its.
“No!” I yelled, bolting up only to be whipped back into the seat by the belt. Both my seat mate and the once-friendly flight attendant were grimacing as if I were a madwoman.
“Ma’am, please prepare for landing.”
I nodded and shifted from butt cheek to butt cheek, but both were numb as bricks of, well, bricks. My head pounded like a…pounding…lump of…pound cake. I squeezed my eyes shut. Wow—Xanax and champagne do not mix. It was far too early in my career to need rehab—that was the sort of thing you saved for when you slipped to the D-list.
I squared myself away and squeaked as the plane made one of those swooping, steep banks that makes you feel like you’re gonna die.
In…out. In…out. My heart rate slowed with my breathing, and I glanced at the script I’d half-crumpled. I’m okay, I told myself. Life was heavenly, after so long a struggle. I was a smart, strong, capable woman with bright red hair at the top of her game.
Not a damn thing would go wrong.
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About the Author
Lucy Woodhull has always loved le steamy romance. And laughing. And both things at the same time, although that can get awkward. Her motto is: “Laugh and the world laughs with you—cry and you’ll short-circuit your Kindle.” That’s why she writes funny books, because goodness knows we all need to escape the real world once in a while. She believes in red lipstick, equality, and the interrobang. Lucy daydreams in Los Angeles with her husband and a very fat cat who doesn’t like you.
Email: lucywoodhull@gmail.com
Lucy loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.
Also by Lucy Woodhull
Samantha Lytton: The Dimple of Doom
Samantha Lytton: The Dimple Strikes Back
Totally Bound Publishing