THE
SCENE
STEALER
Renee Harless
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Copyright ©2019 Renee Harless
This work is one of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. All trademarked items included in this novel have been recognized as so by the author. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
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Scene Stealer (noun) (scene-steal·er | ˈsēn-ˌstē-lər): an actor who attracts attention when another is intended to be the center of attention.1
The glow of fame only casts shadows. The name Devyn Dane was once lit up amongst the stars. Everyone worshiped me. But now, I’m on the edge of darkness. No one warned me about the fall. My crash was lethal. These days I’m nothing more than a forgotten child-star with a tainted reputation.
Redemption is what I need. When a chance is handed to me, I vow not to blow it—I can’t. This could launch me back to stardom. But nothing is given freely in Hollywood. Everything comes with a price. This time, mine is a bombshell waitress battling insecurities deep enough to rival even my own.
The resilient Larsen is a mystery I can’t wait to unravel. Her brokenness makes me feel not so alone. But together, we are a complete mess that should never work. I know it, Hollywood knows it, and someone is Hell-bent on making sure we don’t beat the odds.
I truly believed she was my ally. An added boost on my rise back to fame. But the shine of Hollywood masks many things. She broke my focus, pulling me away from the most important goal.
That’s the thing with a scene stealer – you never see them coming.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PLAYLIST
CHAPTER ONE - DEVYN
CHAPTER TWO – LARSEN
CHAPTER THREE – DEVYN
CHAPTER FOUR – LARSEN
CHAPTER FIVE – DEVYN
CHAPTER SIX – LARSEN
CHAPTER SEVEN – DEVYN
CHAPTER EIGHT – LARSEN
CHAPTER NINE – DEVYN
CHAPTER TEN – LARSEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN – DEVYN
CHAPTER TWELVE – LARSEN
CHAPTER THIRTEEN – DEVYN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN – LARSEN
EPILOGUE – DEVYN
BETWEEN THE LINES SNEAK PEEK
COMING ALIVE SNEAK PEEK
STOLEN NIGHTS SNEAK PEEK
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PLAYLIST
You can listen to the full playlist HERE
"Right Left Wrong" Three Days Grace
"Dear God" Avenged Sevenfold
"Sweet Child O'Mine" Guns N' Roses
"Here With Me" Marshmello, CHVRCHES
"Better Now" Post Malone
"Monsters" Shinedown
"Infra-red" Three Days Grace
"Goodbyes" Post Malone
"I Don't Care" Ed Sheeran, Justin Bieber
"Song #3" Stone Sour
"No Promises" Cheat Codes, Demi Lovato
"Sit Still, Look Pretty" Daya
"House of Gold" Atreyu
"Shameless" Garth Brooks
"In My Blood" Shawn Mendes
"Wash It All Away" Five Finger Death Punch
"Red Cold River" Breaking Benjamin
CHAPTER ONE - DEVYN
“Cut,” the director shouts from his position behind the camera after one of the production assistants rushes to his side, the quiet on the set quickly overtaken by the onlookers’ rising voices. I’ll never admit to anyone on the set how much I had been craving to end the scene. My vision is blurry from another night of binging on alcohol. Tessa has been trying to talk me into admitting myself into another rehab center, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I promised her I would find a new outlet – a safer way to let myself numb the pain. I traded stardom for drugs, then drugs for alcohol. My parents were the first things to go, that one was easy. But if left to my vices, I may not have anything to fall back on.
“Devyn.” The production assistant wipes his palms against his pants a few times as he approaches, trying to wick away any of the residual moisture. The squeaking of his sneakers on the concrete flooring pings against my growing headache. By his downcast eyes and sweaty palms, I can assume that he’s a fan of mine. I don’t see as many fans as I used to, girls and boys crying at every encounter when I was younger, but I do occasionally run into one on set when they grew up watching my show.
“Hey, Kenny.”
Stunned, the kid looks at me in awe; his eyes wide like coffee cup saucers against his oblong face. “You. . .you know my name?”
I begin to nod, but quickly I realize that the motion was a bad idea. It takes only a second for a roll of nausea to flip my stomach, and I have to bite back my curse to rush back to the small dressing room where I’ve hidden a bottle of vodka from everyone.
“You okay, Mr. Dane?”
My lips pull back in what I hope resembles a smile, but I’m certain is more of a sneer if the kid’s surprised expression is any indication.
“I’m fine, just hungry,” I point out by placing a hand on my stomach, though the thought of food elicits another wave of nausea in my gut. I suggest Kenny and I walk to the Craft table for a snack. I hope that a few carbohydrates and starches will settle my stomach.
“So, Kenny, what can I do for you?”
The kid stares at me as if I’ve grown two heads, but luckily his momentary lapse in judgment doesn’t last too long. I’ve always hated awkward silence, quickly followed by a forced conversation.
“Sorry. I was sent to tell you that your presence has been requested at The Film Festival in Lake Tahoe in two months. They’re going to premiere the film there.”
His request actually catches me by surprise. “Will it be finished and edited in time?”
“Definitely. I mean, we’re only working on reshoots right now. Most of the film is already complete.”
A film festival. My chance to make my debut back into the public eye. My chance to show everyone that I’m not the screw up they claim me to be.
“Cool, I should be able to make it work. Did you check with my personal assistant, Tessa? She knows my schedule better than anyone.”
Kenny blanches at my question and I can tell that he failed to speak with her. Normally I wouldn’t care, but Tessa runs a tight ship; even more so since I promised to end the nightly parties and blackouts, and to get my life back on track. I haven’t exactly been keeping up my end of the bargain.
Resting a hand lightly on his shoulder, I try to reassure him, if only to ease my own conscience. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll let her know. I need to check in with her anyway.”
The assistant visibly relaxes as he releases a sigh. “Thanks, Mr. Dane.”
“No sweat, Kenny. Do you know when we need to be back on set?”
“In fifteen.”
“Catch ya then.”
Two croissants from the table beckon me and I shove the buttery pastries into my mouth so fer
vently that the flaky crumbs feather down my black T-shirt. I walk toward the direction of the dressing room using the back of my hand to wipe away the crumbs on my chest. With my eyes cast downward, I miss the claw-like hand that reaches out for my arm to try and stop my movements. Her nails dig into my bicep as I keep walking and she’s forced to keep up at my pace.
“Devyn, I wanted to speak with you about the next scene they want to reshoot.”
Without glancing in her direction, I continue toward the dressing room trailer. “Uh-huh.” My goal completely set on finding that bottle of vodka I tucked behind the makeup artist’s bag under the counter.
“They want another angle for the second sex scene and I feel like we owe them to make it as real as possible. What do you think?”
Her insinuation stops me dead in my tracks. I turn to look at Elena as I reach the door to the dressing room. Her exotic looks, ample curves, and glowing green eyes are the reasons she’s made the jump from model to actor. Her talent is what is making her an indie starlet.
It’s not unheard of in this industry for actors to commit fully to a love scene – especially those that aren’t in a relationship. And any man would be lucky for Elena to approach them with her request. She hasn’t asked outright, but I can sense her underlying meaning.
But my draw to the bottle right now is so much stronger than my need to consider her suggestion. I run through a list of letdowns in my head – words that won’t make our working relationship difficult or ruin the chances of her falling in my bed at some point. Never burn bridges, I always say.
Luckily, I’m saved from having to let Elena down because Tessa flings the dressing room door wide, staring at me in disdain. I imagine that if I had parents that actually cared about me, this is the look I would have received from them many times. Hard eyes, rigid body, flushed face, all the tell-tale signs of an underlying explosion waiting to happen.
“Elena, please let the director know that Devyn will be a few minutes late. He has an important call to make.”
Elena’s head turns back and forth between Tessa and me before realizing that she’d rather not interfere in whatever squabble is about to take place.
“Get. Inside. Now.” Tessa seethes each word as she directs me inside. I’d like to say that my desire for my precious bottle of vodka has subsided, but I’d be lying. If anything, I crave it more.
“Yes, Mom?” I jest as I stroll past Tessa’s angry stance, barely jerking when she slams the door behind her. The temperature in the room drops, its negative energy palpable in the space, sucking out what little hint of optimism may have remained.
“Sit.” I do as she commands even though I’d much rather dig behind the cabinet door first. Arguments with Tessa never work in my favor.
Settling in the chair across from the wall of mirrors, I spin to find Tessa holding up my coveted bottle of vodka, her grip on the neck clenched so tightly that I worry about her shattering the glass against her palm. Turning my attention back to her eyes, I’m slain. They convey such a mixture of emotions: anger, fear, nervousness, dread. She’s a Jack-in-the-box waiting for the trigger before she blasts.
“Explain.” She gestures toward the bottle by raising it slightly higher in the air.
Tessa hisses as I motion my shoulders up and down. “What do you want me to say? Filming is stressful and I need it.”
“No, you need rehab. You need help, Devyn.”
I bounce up from my chair and stalk toward her, my six foot two stance casting a shadow over her five foot one height. “I. Do. Not. Have. A. Problem.” I punctuate each word hoping that I convince her, and possibly myself, that I’m not addicted to alcohol.
I’ve been to rehab once and I refuse to go back. She knows this. She knows what the stay did to me. The therapist was determined to “fix” me, but I don’t need to be fixed when I believe that there is nothing wrong. However, the wounds she tried to reopen irritated me the most. Trying to have me rehash all that ruined my life, all that knocked me from my tower. The money, the exploitation, my parents – all topics I would rather ignore. She said that I was suppressing, I called her crazy.
It wasn’t rehab that fixed me, it was the three weeks in jail for driving down a major highway the wrong way while high on pills someone had given me at a party. The judge claimed that I was endangering hundreds of people’s lives. My lawyer argued that I was only endangering my own. That hearing didn’t work so well in my favor.
It was the jail stay that became the final straw to producers and directors in Hollywood. No one wants to work with someone teetering on the edge of stability. In three weeks, one hour, and forty-three minutes my name was tarnished in Hollywood. That pillar that once held me so high crumbled beneath my feet, sullying the hundreds of awards I received in its wake. I was a laughing stock.
It took years to get myself back into the indie scene – directors that were too young or naïve to remember my downfall. The pay isn’t good, but I have the royalties coming from syndication and movies that keep me afloat, at least the money my parents hadn’t squandered away when I was too young to know any better. It provides me a small house that I share with Tessa just beyond the Hollywood hills in the Sherman Oaks area of Los Angeles.
Her exhaustion hits her like a freight train. Fatigue that I caused. And as she leans against the wall of the trailer she appears to have a weight pressing down on her shoulders. “Devyn? An explanation? Why are you drinking on set? Don’t you know that they can fire you for this?”
“I’m aware, Tessa.”
She drops the bottle in the trashcan and my body jerks when I hear the glass shatter against the plastic. I have to fight the urge to lash out at my cousin. Fight the urge to reach into the disposal and salvage whatever liquid courage resides inside.
Maybe Tessa is right.
Falling into the closest chair, my back arches forward and I rest my elbows on my knees, unsure if my heart is pounding due to the realization that I’ve disappointed Tessa yet again or if it’s because my need to drown my emotions in alcohol is stronger than ever.
Running my hands through my hair, I look up at the same dark brown eyes as mine, the same tanned skin that looks as if we’ve been laying in the sun for days. Tessa and I look more like siblings than cousins. Her look of defeat mirrors my own.
“I came here with good news. Great news, actually.” My ears perk at her statement. “But I’m probably going to have to call them back after everything.”
“Tessa. What is it? I could use some good news.”
She looks at me skeptically, her eyes narrowing into the thinnest of slits as she rakes me over. I can tell she’s weighing her decision, her fingers tap out a melody against her forearms where they’re crossed against her chest. It’s been her tell since she was little. The song has changed over the years but not the motion.
“I’m only telling you this because I love you and I want what’s best for you – always.”
“I know, Tessa,” I remind her again, as I do on a daily basis it seems.
Her voice is faint, as if it’s still a shock to her as well. I almost expect her hands to cover both sides of our mouths as if she’s telling me a secret. “You got it, Devyn.”
“Got what?”
“The role of a lifetime. The role hundreds of A-list and B-list actors auditioned for.”
My body moves on impulse once I recognize the film she’s mentioning. The new franchise by Tuinn Productions guaranteeing an eight-film contract. News of this magnitude flooded through Hollywood faster than a tsunami. Everyone wants a piece of this movie. Why? Because Tuinn Productions is owned by America’s sweetheart Quinn Miller. Since she launched the company, Quinn has what many call the “Midas Touch.” Everything she produces turns to gold in dollars and acclaim. She knows the business and the audience.
Shock crashes through me and I can’t help but stare at Tessa waiting for the laugh, the guilty cackle telling me that she’s playing a cruel joke. When it doesn’t come, I can do nothi
ng but continue to gaze at her in disbelief. “I got the Fire & Vice part?”
“The lead – Brody Granger.”
It doesn’t register that I’ve moved without thought until I go to hug Tessa only to notice that my hands are already clenched on my cousin’s shoulders. She stiffens as I embrace her but I ignore my dejection at her lack of interaction.
She pushes free of my embrace, her surprised face morphing into that stern motherly look from just moments ago. “Devyn, listen to me. There is a caveat.”
“Okay, what is it? Do I need to train? Learn some certain skill? What? You know that I can do it.”
“No, Devyn. It’s not like that. Quinn is your friend and has known you for a long time. Now, I spoke to her directly and this is coming from all of the investors on the project.”
My agitation is rising as she continues to bypass the topic.
I take a step back and study Tessa as she continues to grapple with her thoughts.
“Just spit it out, Tessa.”
“Fine. You have to be sober. Not just on set, but one hundred percent of the time. The investors are requiring random drug and urine tests throughout filming all the way up until the movie premieres. Your slip ups haven’t gone unnoticed, Devyn. And with their money on the line they want a guarantee that you’re on board one hundred percent.”
Shock. Devastation. Denial. Ignorance.
I feel everything at the moment. Every emotion I wash away with the alcohol bubbles at the surface, begging for a chance to break free. I imagine if my emotions were a rope I’d be pulled and tugged in every different direction until my body is torn apart.
It’s not until Tessa’s soft hand grips my bicep that I come back into myself.
“Devyn, Quinn is backed into a corner. She knows you have the talent, but she can’t fight everyone on this. It’s an all or nothing offer. She’ll understand if you can’t do it, but she believes in you. I believe in you.”
The Scene Stealer: A Hollywood Romance Page 1
