The driver parked and helped me out of the limo. Dane got out on the other side and grinned at me. “Now, you wanna see a movie star's trailer? How does that sound?” he asked. I shrugged but I felt myself smiling at him.
“Sure, if there are any movie stars around here,” I said. He laughed at me and led me to the trailers, which were parked at the back of the studio. Each one had a star on the door with a name written on it. I tried not to panic when I read 'Chrissy Jones' on the one next to Dane's.
“I thought you said this movie was low budget,” I said. Dane pulled out some keys from his pocket and opened the trailer door. He glanced back at me.
“It is. Kind of, but the director's Dad is a big exec so he's pumping this picture with as much money as he can without making it look too expensive. It's like buying a pair of ripped jeans for a hundred dollars. He wants the movie to seem really low budget in a good way but not so low budget that people don't want to see it,” he grinned, “That's why I'm in it.”
“And Chrissy Jones?” I asked. Chrissy Jones was possibly the hottest actress in Hollywood at the moment. She was the same age as me but in her short life she'd been on the cover of Vogue six times, nominated for about a million acting awards and she'd released two albums. At design school I'd always designed with her aesthetic in mind. I hoped that some day she might wear one of my gowns on the red carpet. A girl could dream.
“Yeah, Chrissy is cool. I think she's back today too. Now come on in,” he beckoned me inside. The trailer was the size of a small apartment. There was a kitchen area complete with breakfast bar and soft brown leather sofas. On the other side was a double bed with a large mirror placed behind it.
“Did you ask for that?” I asked, raising one eyebrow at the mirror. Dane grinned sheepishly. “No, but it has its uses.”
“Well don't expect to use it with me,” I said. I sat down on the sofa and looked up at Dane, “So, when does filming start?”
“Not for another hour or two. I've gotta reread the script and see what scene we're redoing,” he said. A copy of the script had been left on the bed, a certain page highlighted in red. Dane looked at it and rolled his eyes, “Oh for fuck's sake.”
“What? Is there something wrong?”
“No, just that Mark's making us redo one of the sex scenes. I would have gone to the gym yesterday if I'd known. I'm starting to get all soft, see?” he lifted up his shirt to reveal his perfectly chiseled six back, complete with a defined v cut by his hips. Most guys would kill to be in that kind of shape. Most girls would kill to fuck a guy with a body like that. If that was soft for Dane I wondered how he looked when he was at peak fitness.
“Yeah, you're practically obese,” I said, my eyes fixed on his body until he pulled his shirt back down, “What's so bad about sex scenes? I thought that would be your kind of thing?”
I tried to sound casual but my heart was beating fast. I'd seen plenty of Dane's sex scenes and enjoyed them all immensely, but that was different. The thought of him rolling around naked with another woman in front of me was upsetting. That was my own fault, of course. I was getting too attached.
Before Dane could answer me there was a knock on the trailer door. Since I was closest, I stood up and answered it. A baby faced redhead guy dressed in a baseball jacket and jeans gave a double take when he saw me. He had a copy of the script in his hands.
“Hi,” he said breathlessly, “I'm Mark Dixon, the director.”
He put out his hand for me to shake. I took it, though I found it strange. He hadn't mistaken me for an actress, had he?
“I haven't seen you around here before,” he said.
“I'm Savannah, Dane's friend,” I said, just as Dane appeared behind me with the scrip. I saw the blood drain from Mark's face as soon as he spotted his star.
“Oh, hi Dane. Thanks so much for coming along at short notice. It means a lot,” he said, but Dane wasn't having it.
“What do you want?” he snapped. Mark nodded, as if he understood Dane's frustrations. “Chrissy just arrived and she'd love to run lines with you for a little bit. I think it would be a good idea. I just want you to have the same chemistry you had before,” he said.
Dane looked at me.
“Wanna meet Chrissy Jones, Savannah?” he asked. My mouth opened wide at the thought of meeting my favorite starlet. She was elegant, classy and talented -everything I wanted to be. I had no idea what I would say to her but I knew I would have to say something.
Mark quickly shot that idea down.
“Sorry, but I think it's best if you guys rehearse alone. Chrissy gets very particular about these things,” he said. The two men exchanged knowing glances. Oh, so she was a diva. I hadn't expected that. I guessed that if I was in her position that I would be too.
“What about Savannah?” he asked, turning to me, “Won't you be bored here?” “I'll be fine,” I said. Mark nodded eagerly.
“She'll be fine. Hey, what's say I stick around and look after her?” he suggested. Dane's nose turned up as if he'd just suggested something disgusting.
“She doesn't need looking after. She's a grown adult with a fucking brain,” he snapped, “She'll be fine.”
I didn't like the tone he was taking with Mark. What was the big deal? I needed someone to hang out with while he was busy spending time with the most beautiful actress on the planet. I didn't have a book to keep me occupied. Mark would do just fine.
“Hey, Mark's just being nice Dane. Come on in and I'll make you some coffee,” I smiled at him. He gave Dane a nervous glance before slipping into the trailer. Why was this such a big thing? Dane was looking at Mark like he wanted to strangle him. It was so silly, such a typically masculine attitude. He couldn't really be jealous, could he?
“That's really nice of you,” grinned Mark. He took a seat on the couch, “We're good from here, Dane. Chrissy's waiting for you.”
Dane looked at me. I'd never seen him look so angry before in all the time I'd known him. How fucking ridiculous.
“Fine,” he growled, and barged out of the trailer.
“Jesus, what's his deal?” asked Mark. I shook my head.
“I have no idea.”
Chapter Eight
Dane
I should have known that bastard Mark would take a liking to Savannah. He was an 'anything that moved' kinda guy. In the weeks we'd been working on the movie he'd fucked three interns, five extras and any female on set who would have him. It was pathetic. I had no idea how they agreed to it, but somehow the found this puny little man child appealing. I hated him from the moment he met. I could tell right away that he thought actors were beneath him and that he had never struggled for anything in his life. Things are a lot easier when you have Daddy's money to fall back on. Despite this, I'd accepted the job and figured I'd deal with it as best I could until it was over. Hollywood was full of dickheads, so I didn't let him get to me.
But Savannah was different. He couldn't have Savannah. That was just going too far.
Then I realized it wasn't up to me. She wasn't my wife. She wasn't even my girlfriend. Unless I planned on changing that then I had no say in what she did.
I walked to Chrissy's trailer with my hands shoved in my pockets and the scrip tucked under my arm. Suddenly, I didn't feel like doing work today. I didn't feel like myself. Dane Reynolds didn't do love and he certainly didn't do girlfriends. Having a girlfriend meant being tied down and expected to conform to ridiculously high standards. I was just a guy. Just a guy who wanted to live his live without getting berated for forgetting an anniversary or not buying a good enough present for Valentine's day. Savannah was special, that much was obvious. She was sexy as fuck, but it was more than that. I liked her. I liked her personality. I liked hearing what she had to say. I liked holding her in my arms. I liked her a lot. Dating her would ruin all that.
Plus, she just wasn't ready for my lifestyle. We were from two different worlds. She valued privacy and she could kiss goodbye to that if we ever made our relation
ship official. It was silly to even consider it. Savannah might sleep with Mark or she might not. Either way, it wasn't my problem.
I knocked on the trailer door.
“Just a minute!” called Chrissy. She answered the door and I couldn't help but laugh. Her hair was still in hot rollers and she had some sort of terrifying green face mask on. It was funny to think she'd just been voted the third sexiest woman in the world by some men's magazine. Right now, in her bathrobe she looked more like someone's grandma.
“Hey gorgeous,” I teased and she laughed at me, pulling me into a hug.
“Shut up Dane,” she pulled away and looked at me, “Thank god it's you. Mark's been bugging me all morning and I was afraid I'd end up slapping him or something. Please, come in.”
Chrissy's trailer was similar to mine but she'd gone out of her way to decorate it. The little kitchen area had a vase filled with fresh flowers. She even had a vanity with lights around the mirror, old Hollywood style. There was a plate of peanut butter sandwiches, cut into perfectly equilateral triangles on the kitchen table. That was good. I'd heard second hand about the tantrums she could through when they made her sandwiches the wrong way. It was pretty funny, actually. I liked Chrissy a lot, despite her reputation. As long as I wasn't the subject of one of her hissy fits we were good.
I sat down on the sofa and got my script out, but she wasn't ready to start yet. Instead she sat across from me, a giant smile on her face.
“What?” I said, “Why are you looking at me like that? It's creepy.”
“You're like a changed man,” she replied. She still hadn't blinked. Her big doll eyes were giving me the creeps. A changed man? What the fuck was she on.
“Yeah, well I haven't been to the gym this week so I might be losing some definition,” I said,
feeling a little defensive. I was ripped by anyone else's standards but I always tried to push myself that little bit further. Missing a week of work outs was way too much for me. Maybe Chrissy had noticed the difference already. She just laughed at me again.
“Don't be stupid Dane, we both know you have the best body in this trailer. Come on, are you going to tell me or will I have to say it?” she asked. I didn't even have time to enjoy the compliment. Why did women have to be so damn confusing? She could have been talking about literally anything.
This was why I didn't have a girlfriend.
“Say what? Chrissy, I have no idea what you're talking about,” I said slowly, so she'd know I wasn't joking. Even so, it took a moment for her to respond.
“Oh my god, men are so terrible. I don't know how she puts up with you,” grinned Chrissy. Then she glanced at my body, “The abs probably help.”
“Jesus Christ, will you speak English woman? Who is 'she' and what are you talking about?” I said. This just sent Chrissy into another fit of giggles, “Please, just tell me what you're talking about. I'm really confused here.”
“Your fiancee!” she exclaimed, “Of course I'm talking about your fiancee! What happened to Dane Reynolds the ladies man, huh? I thought you didn't do commitment? Well, I guess this girl must be special if she managed to get you to put a ring on it. Do you have a date set yet 'cos I better be getting an invitation.”
It took a moment for me to take all of this in. I knew that the tabloids had been pushing this bullshit story about us being engaged, but I hadn't realized quite how far it had reached. If Chrissy knew about it then things must have been worse than I'd thought.
“Chrissy,” I took a deep breath, “I'm not engaged.” She laughed at me once again.
“Yeah, that's what I thought. Then I hear you come to the shoot with a pretty blonde girl with a ring on her finger. That's just too much of a coincidence. I've never in my life seen you bring a girl on set before,” she said, before lowering her voice, “If you're trying to keep it on the down low I can respect that, but you can tell me the truth. You're engaged, right?” I sighed.
“No. No we're not.”
Chrissy looked disappointed. It was strange seeing her so enthusiastic about the idea of me in a relationship with someone else. Back in my early days working on big pictures we'd fooled around a little. She'd wanted things to get more serious and I'd shot her down. She'd gotten married since to some musician twice her age and we'd somehow managed to keep something of a friendship going. It was nice working with someone who had your back.
“Oh. So she's just another bimbo?” she asked. I hated that word being applied to a woman as intelligent and talented as Savannah.
“No, she's not. She's really smart. Went to college and everything, and she reads old books and knows tonnes of classic movie trivia. She's smarter than me,” I found myself saying, “And she designs clothes and sews and stuff. She's really talented.”
Chrissy gave a smug smile. “You love her,” she said. “What? No, I don't.”
“You love her,” she repeated, “I can see it your eyes. You're crazy about her. It's pretty adorable.” “OK I don't know what the fuck you've been smoking but I want some. I don't do the love thing, all right?” I said, my voice slightly raised. I was genuinely starting to believe that this girl was on crack. Me, in love? What the fuck was wrong with her?
“All right,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows at me.
“Can we just run through the script?” I snapped. Chrissy giggled. Her laugh was supposed to be the most endearing thing about her, according to most magazines. Right now it was pissing me off. “There's nothing to run through. You tell me you're going to fuck me, you fuck me, I tell you to go faster and then I fake an orgasm. Kind of like when we were together, huh?” she teased. Now that was a bit much to believe. She was a good actress but certainly not good enough to fake that kind of response.
Despite her protests, we did a run through. It was only occasionally interrupted by Chrissy's fits of giggles and her asking me if I was pretending she was Savannah. I ignored her and powered through my lines, though my hands were shaking. Chrissy had always been so perceptive. She knew our first day on set that Mark would want to re shoot. She could always tell which of our co stars were screwing around she'd predicted at least ten celebrity marriages (and fifteen celebrity divorces). Could she really be right about this?
Did I love Savannah?
Savannah
Mark was nice. A little bit too nice, really. He reminded me of my study buddy in high school who let me copy his math homework and then threw a bitch fit when I didn't agree to blow him as a reward. That was a mean comparison but it fit.
“So, do you want to be an actress?” he asked, handing me a beer from Dane's fridge. I took it, though it was a little early in the morning to be drinking. I didn't want to be impolite. For all I knew this guy would be the next Quentin Tarantino. If I could say that I was friends with him that might get me somewhere. In LA they called that networking.
“No, not at all,” I said. He sat down next to me, just a little too close.
“A model?” he grinned. Ugh, was that just a generic line that Hollywood guys used on dumb small town girls? I was too short to go on most roller coasters for Christ's sake. I wasn't going to be walking down a runway in Paris anytime soon.
“No,” I said, “And I don't want to be a singer either.”
“You're not like most girls in LA then,” he said. I couldn't argue with that, though I hadn't met any so far. I'd just heard about them.
“I guess not.”
“It's a real shame, you have the face for camera,” he said, “It's really symmetrical.”
“Thanks.”
I could sense his eyes roving around my body and suddenly I knew why Dane didn't want us to be alone together. This guy had a thing for me. It wasn't like I wasn't used to being hit on. I wasn't unattractive by any means and men liked my curves. It just felt strange that to have a guy who was surrounded by movie stars twenty four seven interested in me. It was flattering at the very least, even if I didn't find him attractive. It was funny to think that Dane was jealous of this guy. There w
ere very few women in the world who chose a guy like Mark over a guy like Dane.
“I think you'd be great in romantic comedies. Down to earth and palatable but inspirational at the same time, you get me?” he said.
“Sure, I get you but I don't act,” I said. He was getting on my nerves now. I opened my beer and took a sip.
“I know, but you should think about it,” he said, “So, what do you do if you don't act?”
I took another long gulp. Normally when I told people I designed clothes they looked at me like I said I worked in Santa's toy shop. However, this was Hollywood. Everyone had unrealistic career goals in Hollywood.
“I'm a designer,” I said, wording it that way on purpose. It was true. I didn't want to be a designer. I was one. It was in my blood and my spirit. I just wasn't a very successful designer. Yet.
Mark nodded and drank his own beer.
“Cool, cool. You know I'm always looking for costume designers for these movies. We have all we need for this one but I'm directing a period piece soon, set in the twenties. Prohibition, flappers, all that cool shit. You wouldn't be interested, would you?” he asked. He said it as if he was asking me if I liked spaghetti when he was literally offering me the opportunity of a lifetime.
“Wow! I mean, of course I would! I love the twenties aesthetic, I think I could make some really great pieces!” I said, not able to hide the excitement from my voice. The twenties was my absolute favorite period in fashion history. As a junior I'd designed a whole dress line for Daisy from The Great Gatsby. A local museum actually used one the dresses for an event it was having on fashion in the twentieth century. This was just the opportunity I needed.
Sweetest Sin: Bad Boy Bundle Page 71
