Today, Adam was shooting the Ghost of Christmas Past scene. The one where he bumped into a former classmate on the street and started to realize he’d been a huge jerk way back when and that his life wasn’t the ski-boat-parties-and-toilet-papering-the-nerd-kid’s-house bliss he thought it was. Epiphany, Hunter had explained this morning, his face so close to Adam’s that the brim of his Sundance hat almost touched him, wasn’t an instantaneous thing. Epiphany, Hunter had explained, happened in tiny bits of realization that swirled around one’s head until they formed into an ah-ha moment. Epiphany, he assured Adam (clearly enjoying saying the word epiphany), like all good stories, had an arc. This scene, he’d said, was “especially crucial to that arc of epiphany for Scott.”
“You ready?” Hunter asked Adam, settling into his chair.
“Yep.” Adam held still, frozen, something he always did right before a scene started, like he was transporting himself from one world to the next. Sometimes it seemed as if actors were time travelers or astronauts. Or both.
Hunter called for quiet on the set.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have jurisdiction over the crowd of protesters who had formed by the roped-off section of the street behind us. They seemed to be multiplying, four times what they were that first day. Clearly, Nora had taken me seriously about organizing. A pack of people holding signs marched up and down the rope, hoisting bold, bright signs that read what they chanted:
Go Home, Hollywood!
No Big Hollywood in Little
We’re NOT Starstruck!
Hunter craned his head. “Oh, jeez — not again?” One of his A.D.s jumped out of her chair, rushing to the rope line. Tiny Tom, who’d strung silvery strands of garland around the roped-off sections, tried to reason with the slim woman at the barrier. Nora. Again. Tiny Tom and the A.D. were getting nowhere with her, Nora casting her gaze straight past them, her sign held high.
I slipped out of my chair. “Hey, Nora,” I said, approaching the line.
She squinted at me. “Carter?” Her sign sagged a bit. “What are you doing with these people?”
“I’m, well, I’m sort of dating the lead.” I pointed toward where Adam stood waiting outside the faux kitchen store. He gave her a charming wave.
“Carter, do you have any idea about the environmental impact of that foam they’re spraying? It could be hazardous. And they just keep shutting down the streets with no respect for our daily lives!” Nora’s voice rose in pitch like a windstorm.
I listened, nodding, and tried to make eye contact with some of the other protesters, giving them each a knowing smile. I recognized most of them from the town hall meetings and various city protests I’d gone to with Mom. One thing Mom always said a protester wanted was to be heard, so I made sure to listen. When Nora was finished, I told her, “They’ve done all the safety checks, and the city approved all the materials. They’re not here long, and they’re paying a lot of money for this space, which is good for Little, right? Can we just let them get on with it, so they can clear out of here on schedule?” I used the cool voice I’d seen Mom use with police or city councilmen.
Nora thought about it, her face darkening.
I bit my lip and added, “Besides, this isn’t a long-term problem. They’re out of here the beginning of July. You’ve organized such an amazing group. Don’t you think it would be best to put them on something long-term?” I racked my brain for a list of Mom’s recent dinner topics. “The new housing development on Madison Hill? Or that company that’s dumping stuff near the river?” I lowered my voice. “Think of the salmon.”
She wiped at trickles of sweat on her face. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying.” She peered at the movie set. “They’re really gone early July?”
I motioned behind me. “They’re barely here; they’re a blip on Little’s radar.”
“They’re obnoxious.” She glowered in the direction of Hunter, who sat up and gave her his best We’re all in this together smile, but it melted quickly under her hot gaze. “Yesterday, one of them parked on Edna Barkley’s front lawn. Her front lawn!” The protesters murmured behind her.
Edna Barkley was a crazy person about her lawn, which spilled dangerously close to the sidewalk on Pine. Many people had parked on Edna Barkley’s front lawn. But I agreed, diplomatically. “That’s terrible. I’ll talk to them. But think of the salmon, Nora….” I trailed off, gazing out in the direction of the river, as if I could hear their fishy cries for help.
She followed my gaze, listening. With a nod, she moved to huddle with several of the other protesters, whispering and slipping quick glances at me, motioning to the others with big sweeping hands. After a few minutes, they lowered their signs and headed back up the street.
Tiny Tom stared at me, his antlers sagging in the heat. “You ever think about a career in politics?”
“No, thanks.” I returned to my seat and (no longer icy) water. Hunter gave me a thumbs-up and called for last looks, then quiet on the set.
Enter the former nerdy classmate.
The guy playing him, an actor named Ryan who’d given me a quick smile earlier, stubbed out a cigarette and pulled on a wool jacket. He got a pat of makeup from Kelly and meandered into the snowy street scene.
Adam came out of the kitchen store, wearing a red ski beanie and carrying a brightly wrapped present. After bumping into his Christmas Past, he started to move around him when Ryan said, “Scott?”
Adam squinted through the falling snow, clutching his package. “Do I know you?”
“It’s Tommy. Tommy Winter-Smith from Washington Elementary?”
Everything looked dreamy, the falling snow, the green of the wreath on the door, the gleaming pots … until a scrub jay decided to land in the middle of the scene, twitching its blue head.
“Cut!” Hunter yelled. “Can someone get the stupid bird out of my shot?”
A crew member shooed it away. At least it wasn’t carrying a picket sign.
They ran the scene about five times, each time dealing with something summery that decided to infiltrate the winter-scape. Finally, Hunter seemed happy with the result and they broke for a late lunch. I pulled my bag over my shoulder and walked over to Adam.
He swept off his hat, winter coat, and sweater. “Man. It’s a hundred degrees.” He seemed older with all the makeup. “We need to go swimming later.”
“Chloe’s uncle lives in a cabin on the river.” I imagined the cold river water enveloping my sticky skin. “It’s got a great swimming hole.”
“Perfect.” He gave me a tired smile, his eyes straying past me, lighting on a pack of girls, maybe two dozen, gathered near the cordoned-off edge of the street where the protesters had been, clutching small notebooks. They took pictures of us with their phones and cameras. Mik stood there quietly, making sure they didn’t cross the rope.
“Adam!” one of them screeched.
He gave them a wave and his turbocharged smile. “Hi, girls.”
More screaming.
The girls had become their own sort of snowdrift, piling almost on top of one another to get as close to the rope line as possible. Behind them, like a layer of flotsam caught against the screaming blob of girls, paparazzi waited, smoking cigarettes in various phases of boredom.
Adam gave me an apologetic version of his smile. “I should go sign some autographs.”
I waved him on. “Of course.” He could try for apologetic, but he clearly loved it, and perked up as he neared them, the attention like an espresso shot.
He trotted over, making casual small talk as he signed their notebooks, their glossy head shots of him. One had the magazine cover Dad had shown me this morning — Adam and I sitting on a bench outside of Little Eats, Adam grinning at something fascinating I was saying (scene 9: look like I’m saying something fascinating). The headline read: “A Little Love.” These magazines were getting redundant.
I wandered a bit closer to the line. Adam signed the magazine, and I heard the girl, an overdressed tween in pl
astic-heeled sandals, say loudly, “What do you see in her?”
Not really interested in the fake answer, I drifted toward the table set with coffee and tea service. My stomach rumbled, so I fished around in my bag for the sandwich I’d brought. I had it halfway unwrapped when Ghost of Christmas Past Ryan wandered over. He nodded at my sandwich. “Where’d you get that?”
“I brought it.”
“Looks good.”
I offered him half. Shaking his head, he told me, “They feed us great on the set. Yesterday, we had lobster salad.”
“Cool.”
He nodded distractedly. “Yeah, we get steak and all sorts of stuff. We had this killer chicken Caesar the other night.”
A flush of pride went through me. “I made that.”
“You did?”
“Well, it’s my parents’ café, actually, that made it. Little Eats.” I pointed in the general direction of our café.
“Well, we can’t all be the star of the show.” He meant it as a joke, I could tell, but it sounded heavy in his mouth.
“Just the star of salad dressing, I guess.” I glanced around the empty set, trying to manufacture a reason to escape this particular conversation. Something in this guy seemed sad, like he was wearing his own ghost of something past. I folded the wrapper back around my sandwich and jammed it into my bag.
Ryan made himself a cup of coffee. As he swirled some cream into his cup, he sighed. “I’ve been doing this ten years,” he said, more to himself than to me.
“Acting?”
He laughed, the heaviness slipping into an edge. “Yeah, acting. I have a degree from CalArts, you know.” He sipped the coffee.
I flashed him the kind of smile I’d seen Adam give fans, kind but distancing. “How would I know that?” I tried to sound like I was teasing him but, unlike Adam, I was a terrible actor.
His eyes fell on me, and he held up his hands as if in surrender. “Okay, you’re right. Of course you wouldn’t know that. Half the world knows what Adam Jakes had for breakfast, but four years of toil shouldn’t be something people know.” He took another short sip of coffee. “Of course, you would already know what Adam Jakes had for breakfast.”
I squinted at him as if he were out of focus. “Are you being mean to me on purpose?”
Ryan’s shoulders slumped. “I’m being a jerk, aren’t I?”
Looking at him, I held up my thumb and forefinger in a pinch. “Little bit, yeah.”
His face softened. “I’m sorry. I’m doing that so much lately. My girlfriend said if I don’t knock it off, she won’t care if I live in my car as long as I’m not living with her anymore.” He watched Adam signing more autographs, his face slack.
I didn’t know whether to flee or give him what was clearly a much-needed hug. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He peeled his eyes from Adam and gave me a smile that was more like a shrug. “Sure. It’s just, all this time, and I’ve gotten a Sprint commercial, a bunch of TV walk-ons, a few bit parts in movies, a couple of plays. At least I have lines in this film. And I was in a play with Bart Jemson, you know, Matt Jones from that sitcom Keeping Up?”
I told him I’d never heard of it. He blinked a few times, deflating like a balloon. “You’ve never heard of Keeping Up? It won, like, six Emmys.” At my shrug, Ryan shook his head. “See, I should just quit the business now and move back to Michigan.”
I fiddled with the little packets of sweetener they had in a bowl on the coffee table, organizing them by color out of habit. “Please don’t quit acting because I’m an idiot about random television shows. I mean, I live in Little, California.” I tried to give him a self-deprecating smile.
“It was on for eight seasons. Oh well.” He sighed and held up his coffee cup, a sad “cheers” of sorts. “At least they feed us.”
Adam sidled up beside me. “Did you say something about a swimming hole?”
I looked at Ryan. “We’re going swimming later if you want to come.”
His eyes brightened, darted to Adam. “Seriously?”
Adam gave him a quick smile. “Hey, man, no offense, but I was sort of just hoping to hang out with Carter. You don’t mind, right?”
The balloon deflated a second time, but he managed to sound breezy. “Totally. No problem. Great scene.”
Maybe four years of CalArts did come in handy.
After Adam finished shooting for the day, we stopped to grab our bathing suits and some food, and Chloe texted us the combination to the lock on her uncle’s chained gate so we could go swimming. Her uncle was out of town attending some sort of survivalist training in the Oregon wilderness, so we’d have the swimming hole to ourselves. She signed off, Jealous! and I was hit with another sickening surge of guilt that I hoped the river would wash away.
When we arrived at the secluded property, Mik parked under the shade of a massive ponderosa pine. He waved off our invite, rolling down the window and opening a novel instead.
“Your bodyguard’s reading a romance novel,” I pointed out as we picked our way over the river rocks to the water’s edge.
“Spy romance; more manly,” Adam clarified, shooting me a teasing smile, and balanced a cooler on a flat rock. “Wow, this is great.”
Nodding, I didn’t tell him how relieved I was that Chloe’s uncle was gone. I’d always thought he was crazy, with his darting eyes and constant need to be canning some fruit or vegetable and stockpiling supplies in his one-room cabin by the river. Alien Drake always joked that his place would make a great setting for a horror movie. Which was true.
But I loved his private stretch of the river, the sweep of the wide water into the swirl of the swimming hole, deep green and still, the trees secluding it from view, the granite boulders huge here, rounded elephant backs in the water. Somehow, even in the early evening heat, the air felt tinged with a damp coolness. We could be the only two people in the world.
I squeezed some sunscreen from a tube and rubbed it onto my face. “Chloe’s uncle’s kind of a recluse. He only leaves to go backcountry camping or to survivalist workshops. He’s lived here for over thirty years. He was a stockbroker who sort of just cracked one day. Moved here. We have a lot of people like that in Little, especially in the remote areas. Really off the grid.”
“How very Henry David Thoreau of them all.” Adam pulled any icy bottle of water out of the cooler.
I offered him the sunscreen. “Some of them. Some of them are more Unabomber than ‘sucking the marrow out of life’ sorts.” I was about to go on, to say something about the different kinds of people who felt drawn to this river, to its flow, its gurgle and click over the rocks. It would have sounded really smart, too, except that Adam took off his shirt, and then I couldn’t think of anything to say at all.
Movie stars really shouldn’t be allowed to take off their shirts in front of normal people.
To say that the expanse of his smooth tanned skin struck me mute would be an understatement. It had some sort of paralyzing body-mind-soul reaction and I became a river rock statue: Ordinary Girl Struck Dumb. He must have seen my face because he hid a smile. “I’m going to jump in before we eat.”
I wore a pale green bikini under my pair of cutoff Levi’s and white tank. I loved this bikini mostly because it managed to cover enough of me while not pulling or puckering in any wrong place, but suddenly, standing next to The Body, I felt like keeping my clothes on. Which was probably the exact opposite of what most girls felt when they looked at Adam Jakes. Especially shirtless.
I plopped down on top of a rock half submerged in the river, wiggling my toes in the cool water. “Why didn’t you want Ryan to come?”
He frowned. “Ryan?”
“That other actor.”
Sighing, he turned and waded out into the river a bit, the water churning around his shins. For the record, the back of him was just as good a view as the front. “Would you believe that I just wanted to be with you?”
“Not really.” Even so, when he said it, my sto
mach flipped.
He turned back to me. The light made the hairs of his arms glow, which only added a sort of superhuman element. “Well, it’s true. I wanted to be with someone who didn’t want something from me, you know? Who didn’t see an afternoon with me as a potential career move.”
“He says to the girl he’s paying to hang out with him.” I wanted to keep my voice a tease, playful, but it caught a bit, stumbling over the sound of the moving river. He must have only heard the tease because he laughed, then dove into the ring of water. I watched him splash around, a slick brown seal. Waiting for him to dive under again, I hurried out of my shorts and tank and dove in to join him, my body shocked by the cold water.
Gasping, I came to the surface, my toes trailing along the rocky bottom.
On the other side of the swimming hole, Adam pulled himself onto a flat rock, the sun dappling him through the trees. “You know,” he said, rolling onto his back, “I wasn’t very happy with our first kiss by that Fairy Tree.”
I flattened myself, belly-down, to a nearby rock, my stomach and head both light. I told myself it was the shock of the water, but I knew it was more likely the shock of him, of being here in this place with him, everything green and moving water and light. “Oh right, well, you could have prepared me a little more. Give a girl a warning.” The sun warmed my back. With my face resting in my overlapped hands, I closed my eyes, smelling the green scent of the rock beneath me, slipping into a sleepy river haze.
Adam sat up. “We have more kisses coming up in the script. Fourth of July. Big kiss there.”
“Right. Kissing under the fireworks. Parker’s not subtle.” I felt dizzy with all this talk of kissing. “Where is he, anyway?” I mumbled into my hands. “I didn’t see him today.”
“He had to go back to L.A. for some business stuff. He’ll be back tomorrow.” I heard a splash, and suddenly, he was next to me on the rock, his skin wet, the cool water spreading out beneath him on the warm rock, spilling under my belly. “So, shall we rehearse?” I felt his breath on the side of my face.
Catch a Falling Star Page 14
