by Talia Hunter
“I’m afraid so.”
“Then you’d better make fucking sure nobody finds out.”
Max didn’t bother to respond. He had no intention of letting his practice week leak to the media, and he’d taken enough precautions to be certain of it.
“And make sure you’re back in L.A., ready to shoot on Monday morning,” continued Walter. “I spoke to Cromhill, and he’s pissed. You’ve gotta get it right from day one. Prove him wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Max’s voice sharpened. Cromhill was the director for Mastery. Max had only met him once, at his audition, before he knew he’d gotten the part.
“Cromhill wanted some other guy to play Thomas. The studio overruled him. They’re hoping you’ll be the next Mark wasshisname. The model in that Anderson porn movie.”
Porn movie? He had to be talking about Boogie Nights – a movie about the porn industry, not a porn movie, but Max didn’t correct him. “Mark Wahlberg,” he said. “So the studio thinks I’ll be good for box office, but Cromhill doesn’t think I can pull off the role?”
“Starting Monday, you gotta change his mind.”
Max’s jaw tightened. He’d thought he’d done a good job at the audition, but maybe he hadn’t, and the studio had gone with him anyway. More likely Cromhill assumed that an underwear model couldn’t possibly pull off a leading role, even if he’d graduated with honors from Julliard or had glowing reviews for his small parts in other films. Max was heartily sick of being judged by his looks. He constantly had to be better than everyone else to prove his worth.
Walter slurped his coffee. “Cromhill’s not the only reason you’ve got to give a good performance. Like I was saying, I sent you a package of scripts, including one or two that aren’t totally shit. I’ve marked the ones I’m taking seriously.”
“I’ll ask the hotel to forward the package so I can read them while I’m away.”
“Don’t get excited, but I’ll be seeing Jack Jacobson in a couple of weeks and I’m going to drop your name. A wild card suggestion for his new flick.”
“Jacobson?” Max caught his breath. The director was a legend, one of the rare few who created top quality, challenging films that were guaranteed box office hits. “What kind of role?”
“A remake of Lawrence of Arabia. He’s looking for someone who can live up to Peter O’Toole’s performance.” Walter snorted. “Remaking a classic that got seven Academy Awards? Ask me, he’s fucking nuts to try it, but his budget’s bigger than Texas, and he pitched it to the studio as an epic three-parter that would finally tell the full story about Lawrence.”
Max closed his eyes for a moment. A role like that would be a dream come true. “Think I might have a chance at getting it?”
Walter’s answering grunt sounded like he didn’t think Max had a chance in hell. “He’ll probably laugh in my face. If he doesn’t, I’ll see if I can get him some early rushes of Mastery. But even if they’re spectacular, he’s practically guaranteed to go with one of the big names. Budget like that, the studio won’t want to take chances.”
“I’ll do everything I can. I want that role, Walter.”
“You and everyone else. So change your mind about that hooker before she destroys your career.”
Max hesitated. But if he was going to give a great performance, he needed Ally’s help. “I can’t.”
“Then do yourself a favor and don’t let anyone snap a photo.” He gave a raspy cough. “I gotta go. See you on set in a week.”
He hung up before Max could say goodbye.
Max paced around the apartment, thinking about the Jacobson movie. He shouldn’t get hopeful for such a long shot. Shit. He wanted it so bad it hurt. Opportunities this huge didn’t come around very often. Come to think of it, Megan, his first manager, had almost done him a favor by disappearing, because if she hadn’t, Max probably wouldn’t have hired Walter. Nobody but Walter could have gotten him even this slight chance.
Megan had been new to the business, and her first bookings were for his early modeling shoots. He’d thought they were a great team… until she’d betrayed him, stolen from him, and disappeared. The worst part was how much he’d trusted and confided in her. He’d believed in her friendship and thought that having been through so much together had meant a lot to both of them. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Far better to keep people at arm’s length than have them turn on you.
The irony was that a few months after Megan cleaned out his account, he’d gotten the Vogue cover and his career had skyrocketed. If Megan had waited, the money she’d taken would have looked like peanuts, and her commission would have been well worth sticking around for. He’d intended modeling to be a stepping-stone to his acting career, but when he’d reached a certain level of fame, the rewards had been very good indeed.
Sitting back at his desk, Max deliberately put Lawrence of Arabia out of his mind and pulled up his to do list on his laptop. Mastery had sparked a lot of media interest, and there were an endless number of people wanting to interview him, or schedule appearances. There were a lot of calls he still needed to make, but first he wanted to ring the youth center.
A familiar voice answered, and he smiled, picturing the woman it belonged to, her glasses crooked on her nose, her gray hair untidy. Mrs. B was the one exception to his rule about not letting anyone close. At least he knew without a doubt he could always rely on her. She was more of a mother to him than his real mother had been.
“Mrs. B? It’s Max.”
“Max! It’s lovely to hear from you.”
“I’m in Sydney, but only briefly. I have to be back in L.A. to start shooting a new movie in a week.”
“I’d love to see you. Will you get any time to drop in?”
“I’ll be out of town the next few days, but I’m coming back on Friday, so I could stop in and do something with the kids in the afternoon. That good for you?”
“Really? My goodness, wait until they hear that, they’ll be beside themselves with excitement… hang on a minute.” She shouted, “Lance, put that down! Lance, did you hear me? Greta honey, don’t do that. Both of you, go and help in the kitchen.” Max held the phone away from his ear, wincing and grinning to himself. “Sorry, Max. It’s always chaos here in the mornings.”
“Don’t I know it.” In the background he could hear young voices rise over the sounds of laughter. The youth center was always full of noise, with a hundred things going on at once. He remembered how overwhelming it had been when he was a teenager and he’d walked into the big hall for the first time. “How are rehearsals going?”
“Wonderful! A Midsummer Night’s Dream was an excellent choice. Thank you again for sending the scripts. I confess, I’ve been enjoying it as much as they have. I played Titania myself once, when I was a girl.”
“I wish I’d seen you perform. I bet you bought the house down. Any chance of reprising your role, Mrs. B?”
“Oh you!” She chuckled. “You know how to charm an old lady.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you and the kids on Friday.”
“I can’t wait to see you. We’re grateful for the wonderful packages you send, but it’s not the same without you. We’ve really missed you, Max.”
His heart twisted. “Me too.” The worst thing about moving to L.A. had been giving up running the drama program at the center. When Mrs. B had first asked him, he’d thought working with the kids would be a distraction to his career and almost turned her down. But somehow he’d grown to love it. The kids were the perfect antidote to the craziness of Hollywood. Some had been through stuff that made his childhood troubles seem like a cakewalk, and they weren’t impressed by his fame. Winning them over had been a challenge, but the first time they’d rewarded him with grins and high fives had been more satisfying than getting his first bit part.
“We’ve got a good bunch this year,” she said. “Lots of familiar faces and some new ones who’ve settled right in. I think you’ll enjoy yourself.”
“Se
e you on Friday, Mrs. B.”
“Bless you, Max.”
Max hung up and then checked his watch. He’d never get all his phone calls made before Ally arrived and they left for the house in the mountains. It was a good thing he’d borrowed that house, because though his to do list was important, not one of the things on it were as vital as nailing the part of Thomas. If he stayed here, he’d be too easily distracted by phone calls or emails. Getting away would help him focus.
But he could at least check a few phone calls off his list. Max worked through it methodically, and had done more than he’d expected before there was a knock on the door. Ten am. Ally was right on time.
Chapter Four
Even a ninety-minute drive that snaked up windy mountain roads was comfortable when you were sitting in the back of a limo, Ally decided. And the scenery was stunning even if Max was too distracted to talk to her. He spent the entire time on his cell phone telling an incredible number of people that he wouldn’t be available for a few days. How could one man have so many invitations to refuse and events to schedule?
While he made business call after business call, they drove west of Sydney, wound their way up the Blue Mountains, passed through the town of Katoomba, and then left the main road. They went through quiet countryside for some time, then turned off through an impressive set of gates. The wide driveway was so long it was several minutes before they pulled up to a large house surrounded by farmland and bush.
Max finally hung up his cell. He grinned, and in the warmth of his smile Ally forgave him for all the phone calls. “This is it,” he said. “Welcome to paradise.”
The limo driver jumped out and opened her car door for her. She filled her lungs with fresh country air. “It’s lovely.”
The house looked far too big for two people, but at least they wouldn’t be trapped in a small space together. And was that a swimming pool around the back? Max hadn’t told her to bring a swimsuit. Mind you, her suitcase was already so tightly packed she couldn’t have squeezed in the skimpiest bikini.
Grunting under the strain, the limo driver pulled her suitcase out of the trunk and staggered inside with it. Geena had given her a large bag filled with things from the store and Ally had dumped it into her suitcase and piled all her own clothes on top. She had no clue what a real dominatrix might pack for a week with a movie star, so she’d shoved in as much as she could, making sure to slip her laptop in too. It looked like she was expecting to stay forever, not just a week.
Max slung his own bag over one shoulder and picked up a cooler full of groceries. “Come and see inside.”
She followed him into the marble entrance, trying not to show her awe at its size.
Max started putting away the groceries in a shiny kitchen with wide bench tops and luxury appliances, while she admired the living room and gazed out at the lush garden.
The limo driver set another big box of groceries on the kitchen counter. “I’ve left your bag in the bedroom on the right, ma’am,” he said to Ally. Then he nodded at Max. “I’ll be back on Friday.”
“You’re leaving?” asked Ally, suddenly nervous.
“Of course he is.” Max handed the driver some money. “Thanks, John. See you Friday at noon.”
“On the dot,” he agreed.
Great. She was going to be trapped here for five days without a car, so there’d be no way to get away if anything went wrong, or if Max turned out to be another Barry.
Ally listened to the sound of the limo driving away, and her heart started thumping. What if Max found out she wasn’t really a dominatrix? She couldn’t take off — there was nowhere to go. They really were trapped here, the way people got trapped in pretty much every horror movie she’d ever seen. So it wasn’t a rundown old house built on an ancient burial site, but it was still freaking her out to realize she couldn’t easily leave.
“What do you think of the place?” asked Max.
She took a breath, trying to calm her nerves. “It’s nice.” Understatement of the year. It was the one of the most impressive houses she’d been in. At least if he turned out to be a serial killer she’d die in a luxurious setting.
Max held out his hand. “I need your phone. You can have it back when we leave.”
“What? Why?”
“Otherwise you might accidentally let it slip to someone where we are or what we’re doing.”
“You don’t trust me.” She managed to sound indignant, even while she tried not to blush. “What if I get an urgent call?”
He raised his eyebrows. “One of your clients might need an emergency spanking?”
“It could happen.”
“Ten thousand dollars says they can wait a few days.”
She glared, but he gazed calmly back, his hand still extended, waiting for her phone. Finally she sighed and turned to the kitchen counter where she’d dumped her handbag next to the groceries. She rummaged for her phone, then reluctantly switched it off and slapped it into his hand.
“You don’t have a camera?” he eyed her handbag.
“Nope.”
He hesitated, so she snapped her bag open to show him. She’d planned to bring her camera, but this morning she’d discovered the battery was dead. It had probably been dead for weeks, so even if she’d managed to wrestle it out of her bag at their first meeting, it most likely would have been useless. Typical. She had to get more organized.
“Did you bring a laptop or tablet? Anything you could use for Skype or email?”
“Nothing.” She crossed her arms and met his gaze defiantly. Thank goodness she’d stuck her laptop in her suitcase. Surely he wouldn’t insist on searching her luggage? “Anyway,” she said to distract him. “I’ve got some rules of my own.”
“Shoot,” he said calmly.
“Rule number one, you don’t touch me without permission. If you don’t obey that rule, our time together is over. You call your driver to come and get me right away, and you still pay me the full ten thousand.”
“Agreed.”
Wow. Not even a tiny hesitation. Maybe in the light of day he didn’t find her attractive? He’d probably noticed her thighs.
When she didn’t say anything else, he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Is there a second rule?”
She tried to think of another rule and gave up. “That’s it.”
“Fine. Why don’t you get unpacked while I make coffee.”
She found the bedroom with her giant suitcase in it. It had a king-size bed and an en suite bathroom that seemed enormous compared to the tiny apartment above Geena’s store. Staying here wasn’t exactly going to be a hardship.
Instead of unpacking, she took a tour of the rest of the house. Max’s bag was sitting in another king-size bedroom, opposite hers. Down the hall was a third bedroom, and yet another bathroom. A small office with an empty desk was at the end of the hall.
By the time she made it back to her room, she could smell fresh coffee coming from the kitchen. Mmm. But before she went to claim a cup, she unzipped her suitcase, pulled out her laptop and checked the battery. Flat. Yeah, of course it was. At least she’d remembered to bring her power cord. She unplugged the lamp to plug her laptop in, and left it hidden under the bed.
Max had finished putting away the groceries and was sipping from a steaming cup. He nodded at a second coffee on the breakfast bar, and she slid onto a stool to enjoy it.
“I’ve drawn up a plan for the next few days.” He handed her a neatly typed sheet of paper with a schedule. Each day started with a run at six am, an hour was allotted for each meal, and there were many scene rehearsals, all numbered.
Ally blinked. “You’re kidding. Eleven o’clock bedtime? You’ve set a curfew?”
“It’s not carved in stone, but this isn’t a holiday camp. I need to be certain I’m going to achieve my objective.”
“Which is?”
“Making sure I’m one-hundred-percent prepared to give the performance of my life when shooting starts in L.A. on Monday.”
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br /> “Are you always such a control freak?”
He shot her an amused look. “I like to be organized.”
She read the schedule through again. What kind of guy mapped out every hour of every day for five whole days? You’d have to be pretty obsessive, right? Although all that planning obviously hadn’t done him any harm. The guy hadn’t gotten rich, successful, and famous by accident, that much was clear. Maybe she should be taking notes.
“What I want from you is probably different from what you’ll be used to, so let’s ease into it.” He sat on the stool next to her and sipped his coffee. “I’ll tell you some more about Thomas and Cora and when you’re ready we can try running through a scene. How does that sound?”
“Great.”
Thank goodness he wasn’t expecting her to jump straight in with a dominatrix act. Geena had given her the rundown on what a role-play scene might be like, but in practical terms, Ally wasn’t sure how to start. Like, if Max wanted her to spank him, would she simply tell him to bend over her knee, or first stride around in front of him, barking orders and tapping a whip against her leg like a sexed-up army interrogator? And how hard would she have to paddle him? Geena had said the first thing dommes do is give their clients a safe word. Ally hadn’t even thought to ask what kind of word it should be. Was it something you’d never say during normal conversation, like Gazump or Zoink? Or was it something more ordinary, like Ouch?
“I have some footage of Cora and Thomas that will help you to get to know what they were like. I also have photos, newspaper clippings, that sort of thing.”
“Newspaper clippings?”
He fetched a folder, and she leafed through it. There were cuttings about a criminal trial, complete with black and white photos of a lovely, dark-haired woman and a tall, serious-looking man. Cora and Thomas. Funny, Thomas wasn’t nearly as good-looking as Max, but he wasn’t too dissimilar either. There was something compelling about the way Thomas stared straight into the camera like he had nothing to hide. Max had the same direct gaze. If she didn’t know Max was an actor, paid to play make-believe, she’d think he’d never told a lie in his life.
