by Max Walker
That’s when a knock sounded on his trailer door and caused Red’s eyes to practically pop out of his head in surprise. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath as he reached for the jeans by his ankles. He thought he had lit the couch on fire with how quickly he moved to get dressed.
“One second,” he called, stuffing his still-aching cock back into his jeans. He buttoned them, tucking his stiffness under the waistband so that he wasn’t pitching a full-on tent.
“Don’t have time for this, Red.”
Fuuuckkkkk.
It was Peter.
I thought our meeting was canceled?
He slammed his laptop shut and hurried to the trailer door. The producers had splurged on the budget for the trailers. Red’s might as well have been a mini-apartment. With a full bedroom, overhead lighting, laminated dark wooden floors, a fifty-inch television, and marble-fucking-counters.
More knocks on the door. They were urgent. “Hurry the fuck up, Red.”
Peter’s attitude made Red take a few seconds longer to unlock the door. Red had never gotten close to his agent but found his work invaluable. Even though Red was an incredibly recognizable face, he still couldn’t go out and get whatever role he wanted. Peter knew everyone in Hollywood, and he knew how to get Red onto the top projects, so Red had to put up with his brash and aggressive personality. The flip side of Peter’s immense web of Hollywood connections? It meant that if they ever got into a fight, Peter could potentially stop him from getting any future roles. He knew Peter had done that with one of his previous clients, Emily Rogers. She was a rising star and set to lead an entire franchise, but something had happened between the two of them, and suddenly she was let go from the project, citing creative shifts. Red's status was higher than Emily's, so he might be immune to what happened to her, but he didn't want to risk it. Not now. For what?
For who?
“Jesus, who were you with in here?” Peter said, barging into the trailer as soon as Red opened the door.
“No one, I was napping.”
“Right, where’s your computer?”
“Huh?” Red pretended to play dumb even though he immediately went into ‘holy-shit-did-I-close-the-porn-tab?’ mode. For those uninitiated, that mode felt equivalent to getting chased by a starving cheetah while being led into a pool of famished piranha. Adrenaline and fear pumped through him as Peter spotted the shut laptop placed so innocently on the black leather couch.
“My dumbass, useless assistant is nowhere to be found and my fucking phone died,” Peter explained, clearly pissed as he made his way to the laptop. “I have to get back to casting before they leave the office today which is in… shit. Five minutes.”
“Right, here, use my phone,” Red said, thinking on his feet as he pulled his phone from his jeans pocket. He went to hand it over, but Peter waved him off.
“It’s easier for me to type here. I need to send an email before Angela’s role ends up with someone else.”
“Right,” Red said, clenching his fist and biting on his lower lip in frustration. He turned his back to Peter, not wanting to see the expression on his face when he realized why Red had taken such a long time to open the door.
Sure enough, as soon as the laptop opened, the video started to play and the sound of a meaty baseball player jerking off filtered out from the speaker. Red felt like all the blood in his body was drained out with one swift motion. He was dead. He had to have died and this was hell. What ring in the Inferno was this? Dante would have had an entirely new level devoted to the hell that was someone opening up your laptop and being greeted by porn. The sixty-ninth ring? That sounded fitting.
And it wasn’t just some vanilla porn either. Red had a feeling things would have been laughed off if a girl was playing with herself in a locker room. Hell, Peter might have asked for the link. That wasn’t the case. Instead, a man was jerking himself off. Exactly what Red found attractive and also exactly what made Peter exclaim “shit” before he jammed the mouse pad down so hard Red thought he’d turn around to see Peter’s finger stuck in the laptop.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
All of a sudden, Red felt like a teenager again. Here he was, a movie star pushing into his early thirties, and he was stressing out about his internet history like a horny—and incredibly guilty—teen. He was caught red handed. Quite literally.
Red turned away from the large television playing a loop of landscape wallpapers to look at Peter. Something flashed in Peter’s eyes. His entire demeanor shifted. His shoulders tensed and the wrinkles between his brows turned into deep valleys. His gaze practically drilled a hole straight through the laptop screen, avoiding any looks up at Red. Red took a breath and looked away again, back to the TV. He tried to escape into the emerald green field practically begging him to jump through the screen. The damage was done. Now, he had to deal with the fallout.
Minutes of silence passed, punctuated by rapid clicks of the keyboard. Red tried to busy himself with his phone, but he could barely even scroll through Twitter before his mind went racing back to the situation at hand.
“Here,” Peter said, closing the laptop and standing up in one swift movement. He handed the laptop over to Red while looking him straight in the eyes. Red met the stare, but felt himself wavering.
“Did you get the email out?” Red asked, unsure of what to say. He figured the best course of action was to forget this had ever happened and never bring it up again.
“Yes.” Peter was curt. More so than usual. He turned, his perfectly ironed suit looking more like a suit of armor now.
“Right,” Red said to Peter’s back. He tossed the laptop back on the couch and followed Peter to the door so he could lock it after.
“Hey, Red,” Peter stopped at the door. He turned to look at Red, those piercing gray eyes pinning Red in place. “Don’t do anything stupid and fuck this up for the both of us. We’ve got something good here.”
Peter didn’t have to elaborate. His tone and glance at the laptop said everything else he needed to say. For a second, Red felt a blaze of anger scorch through him. It came from the years and years of having to do exactly what Peter was telling him to do. He was being told to keep up appearances. Fuck what he really wanted. All that mattered was the image he was projecting. He had to keep it as straight as possible or, god forbid, ticket sales would drop. And the sick irony of it all? Red didn’t need any of the money. He was the son of a billionaire. He was set for the rest of his life and more.
The money didn’t matter, but the acting did. It was part of Red. His life wouldn’t have felt complete if he couldn’t work in front of the camera, bringing stories to life and taking people on thrill rides through his stunts. He had tried producing his own film once, cutting out the middleman, but it wasn’t the same. He didn’t enjoy the other aspects of filmmaking as much as he loved his role as an actor, so he couldn’t just go out and make his films. He had to keep up his image so he could keep getting roles. It was a devil’s pact, and it was making him more than tired.
But, all in the same breath, that anger was stuffed back down to the depths of his closet. He couldn’t blow up on Peter. Now wasn’t the time or place. He took a breath and nodded, meeting Peter’s eyes without any wavering.
“Right,” Red said. “Got it.”
Peter nodded and left, shutting the door with a finality that left Red reeling.
Four
Caleb Forester
Driving onto the studio lot felt like driving into a dream. The majestic black gates, framed by insanely tall palm trees, swung wide open for his regular ol’ Honda, making him feel like he was somehow sneaking onto the property. As though he didn’t really belong.
...Nah, forget that.
Caleb wasn’t one to let those feelings stick around. He liked thinking that he belonged. He had grown up as a little bit of an ugly duckling and went through a phase of intense self-deprecation through much of high school. As he grew and became more confident in himself, he started valuing himself w
ay more. It didn’t hurt that he had grown out of his ugly duckling features. There was nothing ugly about him. He was often reminded of that when a random patient would drop a sly comment about raising their blood pressure.
Caleb looked around as he drove through the lot, admiring the classic bungalows that housed all sorts of famous directors, writers, and actors. Some of the bungalows had plaques with the names of their former famous residents; Oprah, Alfred Hitchcock, Steven Spielberg. He continued to drive until he saw a parking lot marked by a giant statue of a director’s clapper. The word ‘guest stars’ was scrolled across the front of the clapper.
He parked and looked around, seeing Studio B just across the street. That was where he was supposed to be filming, so he started his walk over, trying not to look like a wide-eyed baby deer in the process. All he wanted to do was whip out his cell phone and start taking pictures of everything he saw. He wanted to snap a shot of the three women walking past him dressed in huge vintage ball gowns. Or a shot of the classic film inspired mural painted onto the side of the tan walls of the huge studio.
Fuck it.
He couldn’t help it. He had to take a photo in front of the mural. Caleb pulled his phone from his pocket and stopped just in front of the studio door. He held the phone out and flipped the camera so that he could see himself smiling back. He didn’t care that he looked like a full-on crazy tourist that had somehow snuck onto the lot and happened to be wearing scrubs. All he needed were the blots of sunscreen on his cheeks, and he would have completed the crazy look.
He smiled and clicked the shutter button.
Damn it, I blinked.
He raised the phone again and tried to get a better angle of the mural this time, framing himself with a colorfully painted director’s chair just behind him. He smiled again and took the photo.
Are you kidding me?
Eyes shut, once again. Caleb always seemed to have that problem. He could never keep his damn eyes open in a photo, and now he was finding himself having to take one more selfie.
“And you sure he’s ok?”
The voice was deep and instantly arresting. Caleb perked up and dropped his phone to his side, looking to see who owned that sexy voice.
Holy shit…
It was Red Miller. Caleb would have recognized that man anywhere. He had his back to Caleb as he talked on his phone, which gave Caleb some precious time to completely, and without abandon, devour the sight. His eyes raked over the strong back, imagining the ridges of muscles that outlined his shoulders underneath the black t-shirt he was wearing. Caleb looked down from his shoulders, landing on an ass that almost had Caleb go instantly hard. Red was wearing light wash jeans that seemed perfectly fitted to highlight that firm and totally biteable ass.
“Can I talk to him?” Red asked over the phone.
Caleb turned back to the mural. He suddenly felt like he was intruding. There was concern in Red’s voice. Whoever he was asking about didn’t seem to be doing well, and Caleb was in no place to go and console him if he needed it.
Although… rubbing his back must feel real fucking nice.
Caleb shook it off and slipped his phone back in his pocket. He threw a glance over his shoulder and saw that Red went on his way, toward the row of trailers parked in the lot.
And, to no one’s surprise, Red’s ass looked just as good walking away as it did standing in place.
Alright. Let me find the production assistant.
Caleb turned to the door, making sure that the huge red light next to it wasn’t flashing, indicating that a shoot was in progress. That was all Caleb needed. He would be the one to walk onto a live set for an entirely different scene, ruining the entire shot and make them have to start all over.
The light was off, telling him it was ok to enter. Opening the door revealed a flurry of action that was almost overwhelming. If Caleb wasn’t already immune to the chaos at the hospital, then he would have ended up in a state of panic. In fact, he felt like he had been on the brink of a panic attack that same morning. He couldn’t tamp down the nerves as he got ready for the day. By the time he had put on the dark green scrubs he had been asked to wear, he felt like he was tied up in some weird fisherman’s knot of tension and stress. He had met with the director and one of the producers the day before, just to go over a few of the basics. Caleb also figured they wanted to make sure they weren’t casting some crazy loon off the street either. After that meeting, Caleb had felt a little more relaxed, but something about the morning of a big event always made him a mess.
And yet, from the minute he walked onto the set, he could feel an electric energy that coursed through the cast and crew which immediately helped ease some tension and replace it with pure excitement. This was such an insane opportunity, Caleb was probably never going to see the inside of a movie set again, he had to enjoy every second of it.
And that wasn’t even the highlight of this whole experience. No, no. The main course revolved around meeting the sexiest hunk of hunks; Red Miller. He couldn’t believe he was about to share words with one of the hottest actions stars around. Just seeing the guy’s clothed back had him all kinds of excited.
Like….. I’ve jerked off to pictures of this guy.
“You’re our nurse?” asked a friendly looking woman wearing a casual navy blue suit jacket over her white t-shirt. “I’m Nicky, the production assistant.”
“Yep, I’m here to take everyone’s blood pressure,” Caleb joked. Thankfully, Nicky seemed to enjoy Caleb’s humor. Her bright purple lips curled into a smile as she started walking.
“Let’s get you into hair and makeup,” she threw a glance over her shoulder and gave a look that wasn’t far from the way Caleb pictured a vampire would look at her prey. “Not that you need absolutely anything done to you.”
Caleb was about to respond when another voice entered the conversation. This one sounded far and muffled, though. It took a second for Caleb to realize he was hearing someone yelling into Nicky’s headset. She reached down and pressed a button on her walking talkie before saying “got it, bringing Caleb to hair and makeup. We’ll be on set in ten.”
There was an organized, well-oiled chaos that rippled through every aspect of the set. Caleb was impressed with the way Nicky handled herself while leading him to hair and makeup while also getting commands barked into her earpiece, loudly enough for Caleb to hear them. He imagined it must not have been an easy job in the slightest.
The makeup trailer was just behind the sound stage, so she led him through the fake hospital hallways they would soon be filming in and out through a back door. Caleb looked back and admired the massive studio.
“Crazy, huh?” Nicky commented as they walked out into the warm LA afternoon.
“Insane,” Caleb said, shaking his head in disbelief. The outside was nothing special. It was just a huge, tan building with elephant sized hangar doors. And yet inside, there was a completely different world. Stories waiting to be told, all constructed by someone writing away their soul.
“Got it,” Nicky said.
“Huh?”
“Will do,” Nicky continued.
Caleb nodded, understanding that she was talking into her headpiece. If he could be any less cool, he would have been surprised.
“Alright, right in here,” she said, assuring Caleb that she was talking to him by putting a hand on his shoulder. She motioned to the small trailer before getting distracted by more demands over her ear piece.
“I’m on it,” she assured. A woman must have heard them and opened up the trailer door. She wore all black which made her bright green and blue hair pop in contrast.
Nicky managed another warm smile and introduced Caleb to the makeup artist, who ushered him inside the trailer and over to a comfortable chair sitting in front of a wide mirror, surrounded by big, white lightbulbs.
Tricia, the makeup artist, opened up her see-through fanny pack of tools and got to work.
“You won’t be long in the chair, honey, don’
t worry.”
“Oh, I’m not. Do I look worried?” Great, now he was worried he looked worried.
“Just a little anxious,” Tricia said, smiling as she patted his face with a soft oil-absorbing wipe.
“This is my first big break. Or role. Not my first big break. Sounds like I’m breaking a bone. That would suck. Sorry, I’m a nurse.” Caleb took a breath. “And also I tend to ramble a little when I’m nervous.”
Tricia chuckled as she took a step back and raised a perfectly done eyebrow. “You’ve got nothing to be nervous about, hon. I have a feeling all you need to do is stand in front of a camera and you’re set. No one’s going to pay much attention to what you’re saying.”
He sat there as Tricia and her assistant worked on making him camera ready. During that time, Caleb felt like Tricia was able to extract his entire life story. He was describing his tenth-grade bully by the time the last blemish was covered up. Which was an accomplishment to Tricia’s skills as a talker, because Caleb wasn’t sitting in that chair for very long.
“Well, look at you now,” Tricia said, taking a step back. “I’m sure that bully is off somewhere being a miserable dickwad and here you are, looking like a stud in your first movie.”
Caleb looked into the light-bulb lined mirror. “Wow,” he said, leaning in and looking closer. “You’re a miracle worker.”
Tricia chuckled and zipped up her make-up bag. “I didn’t have much work to do with you. You and Red. Both of you give me serious complexion-envy.”
Caleb sat up a little straighter in the chair at the mention of Red. He was about to ask Tricia if she had any insight into Red but was interrupted by three knocks on the trailer door. Nicky popped her head in and raised her perfectly done eyebrows when she saw Caleb.
“Look’s like you’re ready,” Nicky said, nodding out toward the set. “Let’s head on over.”
Caleb said his thanks to Tricia and checked himself out one last time. He really did look like he had been photoshopped in real life.
