The Scene Stealer: A Hollywood Romance

by Renee Harless

  Inside my space, I tear open the box and marvel at a brand-new pair of my favorite sneakers and a slew of new clothes. I went a little crazy, but after my weekend with Devyn, I realized that I didn’t want to hide away any longer. These clothes are all bright and attention-seeking, the complete opposite from my normal attire.

  In my bedroom, I make sure to try everything on, not caring that my scars are out in full display. I set out one of the outfits for tomorrow’s hike and head back toward the kitchen to sort through the mail.

  Sifting through, I set aside the bills in a stack, some thank you notes from previous tenants, and a few travel magazines.

  Reading the letters from the tenants is my favorite part of opening mail. I get quite a few routinely, renters that have become friends and write to me to tell me of their travels. One sends pictures of their trip to Machu Picchu, another sends me a copy of their first sonogram, a baby they conceived here while on their honeymoon. They wanted to be away from everything and focus on each other for a week. A third letter tells me how he’s dealing with his father’s battle with dementia and another is worried about their son entering high school.

  They all have stories to tell, essential memories that they want to share with me and it warms me to my soul.

  The last letter is from a Brody Granger and I don’t recognize the name on the return address. Slipping my finger under the flap, I open the envelope and almost drop the letter when I recognize the masculine scrawl – Devyn.

  My sweet Larsen,

  I bet you figured I wouldn’t find a way to contact you with our endless game of phone tag. Honestly, I thought the same, then I barely made it a day without you and I knew I needed to find a way to reach out. And then it hit me – snail mail.

  You asked me once if I had any good memories with my parents. I couldn’t really think of anything until now. That’s how I got this idea. When I was younger, my mother and I would sit on the couch and watch those old movies. Casablanca. Gone with the Wind. They all used letters to communicate. I used to love that time with my mom, maybe that’s why I enjoy acting so much.

  Or it could be that it gives me a chance to escape my own world for a little while.

  I’m sure you’re busy keeping your uncle in line or trying to balance the world on your shoulders, but I wanted you to know that I miss you. We didn’t have enough time together and I wish that things were different.

  I start filming next week and I’m here for another few weeks before I head back to LA to finish filming. They’re letting me do most of my own stunts, which I’m still shocked about.

  I’m trying to figure out a way to see you when I get a break in the schedule. I don’t know how, and maybe I won’t be able to, but I can’t ever say that I didn’t try.

  I wish that I could tell you how I feel right now, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around how I can feel this way in such a short time.

  I’m sorry that this letter is just random ramblings, I’ll do better next time.

  Until then,

  Yours,

  Devyn Dane

  P.S. Brody Granger is my character name; I’ll change it at some point. If you want to respond, you can send a letter to P.O. Box 74589 Chicago, IL 55602.

  P.P.S. I can’t stop thinking about you, or dreaming about you, really. It’s annoying the shit out of Tessa.

  Holy crap, he wrote me a letter. A love letter. And he misses me. With the paper gripped in between my fists, I jump around my apartment in elation. I can’t believe I affected him as much as he affected me. It’s surreal. Maybe we can work things out? Figure something out?

  I re-read the letter a few more times, my body sparking in recognition. Running to the hall closet, I grab a stationary kit Susan and Uncle Jeff gave me the night I earned my GED and head back to the counter to write Devyn a letter of my own.

  My dearest Devyn,

  I begin the letter then pause when I remember what Joanne said before I left the diner today. That I needed to let him go before I could move forward. Then I remember the hike I have with Cole and his friends tomorrow. It’s not a date, but maybe it could be in the future.

  Staring at the thick floral paper, I contemplate putting down any more words. Maybe it’s best if I don’t reply, but just the thought of having Devyn think that he doesn’t matter to me is like a knife spearing through my chest. It’s a battle I’m not prepared for.

  With an ache building behind my eyes and my heart, I head Joanne’s advice and try to rest. I swallow a few over-the-counter pain meds and settle in my bed, closing my eyes and letting the shadows pull me into the darkness.

  ~

  Everything feels wrong. My shorts too tight, my shirt too revealing, the only thing that feels normal is my old worn sneakers. I couldn’t bring myself to hike in my new ones.

  Standing in front of my mirror, I pull my ponytail through the opening at the back of the ball cap, exposing the scars on my face and neck along with the ones on my arm and leg.

  Cole is late, punctuality being one of my pet peeves, but I suppose he has a group of other people he needs to wait for. In the kitchen, I check my small backpack again for snacks and water as well as a few bandages and moleskin. I had to search online for hiking tips and tricks. It took everything I had to keep from searching for Devyn’s name. He’s now on set with his gorgeous costar. Of course, I had to look up Elena Andrews, supermodel, rising A-lister, and drop-dead gorgeous. There has already been a rumor of them being a couple circulating through the Hollywood vines. And with this being their second film together, it pretty much solidifies it for fans.

  But if I learned anything about Devyn during our time together, it’s that he isn’t a liar. A great actor, sure, but he wouldn’t cheat on a woman he is dating.

  A knock sounds on my door and I rush over to answer, smiling at Cole as I open the door wide. He looks cute in his cargo khaki shorts and a tight blue T-shirt, the cotton stretched taut against his abdomen.

  “Hey, you ready?” he asks, and I nod, grabbing my bag from the counter and locking my door.

  I follow him out to the old Ford Bronco idling on the road, his group of friends that I met earlier this summer waving as I approach. A moment of panic overtakes me as he helps me squeeze into the back seat, wedged between him and two others. My chest heaves and I struggle to catch my breath, fear and excitement dueling against each other.

  “You okay?” the stranger sitting beside me asks, drawing everyone’s attention.

  I don’t do well in cars or confined spaces, and I usually can talk myself through it, but being squished between people with very little chance of moving or access to a seatbelt overpowers my senses.

  “Air, I just need air,” I whisper, trying to calm myself down.

  Behind the haze of my eyes, I watch the group look over at Cole in question. He opens the door and slips out of the passenger seat, giving me a chance to escape. Walking over to the other side of the road, I work through the panic, no time to focus on the embarrassment that I feel.

  “Larsen, are you okay?” Cole asks, concern evident in his voice, and when I look into his eyes, I can see the same emotion there.

  Rubbing my scarred arm with the opposite hand, I tell him, “Yeah, I just don’t do well in confined spaces.” He must connect the dots between my scars and the fear I feel because he nods his head and looks back at the truck.

  “Would you be more comfortable in the front passenger seat?”

  “Would you mind?”

  I watch as his body relaxes in its stance. He must have thought I was going to back out of the trip. “No, not at all. You take shotgun, I’ll move Evan to the back.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  He settles his hand on my lower back and I wait for the same tingle I felt when Devyn would place his hand there, but I’m disappointed that it never comes.

  When we reach the car, he tells his friends about the change in seating, making sure everyone is comfo
rtable before we take off.

  Arriving on the trail, the group takes off ahead of us, leaving Cole and me to take the path at our own pace. The skin on the back of my neck prickles and I find myself continually turning around to see if we’re being followed, but I find no one.

  We finally catch up to the group and have lunch on the riverbank posing for pictures. The camaraderie is nice, something I’ve been missing out on, but I stand off to the side while the group gathers close, a family-like intimacy between them. Jessica, the woman from LA that gave me her business card weeks ago, stands close to Cole but I don’t feel any hint of jealousy that I would if it were Devyn she was sidling up against.

  And isn’t that telling.

  The man I have been crushing on for years is nothing more than a pretty wildflower amongst a meadow, something of fondness to gaze upon. But Devyn is like the blooming Dogwood tree along the parameter of the meadow. You don’t notice him at first, but the white and pink flowers dangling from the branches call to your eye and you can’t look away. You’re drawn to them and mesmerized by their beauty and frailty.

  “Did you have a good time?” Cole asks as we all head back toward the truck.

  “Yes, I did. Your friends are great.”

  The ride back to my apartment is completed in silence. Either everyone is exhausted from the hike, or they’re waiting to pounce on Cole with questions about me. Besides asking Jessica about working in a hospital, I mostly keep to myself.

  As we arrive at the apartment, Cole helps me from the truck and then walks me to my door.

  “Thank you again for inviting me, but I kind of want to ask what changed your mind after all these years.”

  Cole has the decency to blush a little.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I always thought that you were beautiful, far more than anyone I’ve ever seen. But you seemed so closed off and unsure of yourself. Then that. . .guy.” Cole stops and takes a deep breath as if thinking of Devyn elicits a violent response in him. “That stranger waltzed in here and did what none of us were able to do. He made you smile. You came out of your shell. I knew I just had to bide my time and I’d get my chance with you.”

  I’m unsure how to respond. On the one hand, he’s saying everything I’ve ever wanted to hear, but on the other, it’s all tied to Devyn and his leaving.

  “Would you. . .” I begin, my mouth growing dry, forcing me to lick my lips to continue. I watch in fascination as Cole’s eyes shift down to my mouth. “Would you have asked me to join you if Devyn had never come to town? If someone else had shown interest in me?”

  He shrugs his shoulders, that tight shirt I had previously admired lifting against his chest. “I don’t know. I’ve been wanting to ask you out, but you never seemed ready or willing.”

  I can’t fault him for holding back, though it hurts to know that he probably never would have asked me out had Devyn not blasted his way into my life so violently.

  “Can I kiss you?”

  He catches me off guard. I didn’t assume that this was where we were headed when he walked me to my door, although I probably should have. I’m also curious to see if there is a spark there, the ember that seemed to have fizzled out.

  “Okay,” I whisper and I close my eyes as he leans closer toward me. Cole’s steady hand brushes against my left cheek. Internally I wonder if that is on purpose, if he’s horrified by my scars.

  When his lips finally meet mine, I feel nothing. Maybe it’s because kissing Devyn had felt like being shocked by one thousand volts of electricity and equally as unexpected. But our lips feel like nothing more than two soft paintbrushes passing against each other.

  “Damn.” Cole looks as disappointed as I feel as he pulls away, his shoulders slumped, face downturned, but his soft hand remains resting on my cheek.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I just need some time to get passed him and then we can try again?” It’s far from what I want to do, but I’m someone that wants to please and comfort those around me. Probably another reason that I want to be a nurse.

  “Yeah, okay. You know where to find me,” he says with a smile, the one I get at the diner. A complacent smile.

  He turns to leave and as he reaches the stairs, I have the overwhelming urge to thank him again. Not just for asking me to join him and his friends, but for taking a chance on me.

  “Cole,” I call out to him and wait for him to turn around. Words don’t need to be exchanged, I’m pouring my gratefulness to him in my eyes. Understanding my unspoken thanks, he nods and smiles before taking off.

  Stepping inside my apartment, my eyes immediately drift to the letter on the counter I’ve read and re-read a hundred times imagining Devyn’s facial expressions as he scrawled each word.

  The sense of betrayal I felt this morning weighs heavier than before. Devyn and I aren’t together and we never were anything more than a fleeting moment of lust. But the day and kiss spent with Cole feels like an unfaithfulness toward something that I wish existed.

  The overwhelming urge to cleanse myself rockets through me like a comet in the night sky. I strip free from the confines of my clothes, practically tearing the garments from my skin in my haste.

  I step into the water before it even has a chance to warm, the shower pelting me with chilled water, but the icy temperature shocks the emotions from my body. My tears join in the arctic waterfall, and as the shower finally heats up and turns to a scathing temperature, my body slouches under the stream.

  My feelings for Devyn are stronger than I imagined or could have ever predicted. Romantic involvement with a stranger had never been on my radar, but maybe that’s why the pain is so raw. The emotion hit full force when I let my guard down, when I allowed myself to feel as if I belonged.

  The shower isn’t as refreshing as I had hoped, and as I twist my long blonde strands of hair into a knot at the top of my head, I pull on a pair of gym shorts and a loose shirt. It’s late afternoon, but I have no desire to go anywhere in town.

  Grabbing the stationary I had set out earlier, I pen a letter of response to Devyn. I tell him about the hike with Cole, about what everyone in the town is up to, about his car getting sent back to LA, even though I’m sure he knows about that already. If one was able to ramble in letter form, then I’ve mastered that ability.

  I leave a piece of myself on the thick paper when I write that I miss him too, that he took a part of me with him when he left, but that I’m trying to keep my head held high.

  Pausing with the ink dripping from the calligraphy pen leaving a mark similar to the Rorschach inkblot test, I consider my next thought as unfettered darkness passes through me. I want to make him hurt, the same way I was hurt when he left. It’s silly and uncalled for. I want to tell him that I wish he hadn’t stopped in our town, that I wish I hadn’t laid with him, that I wish he hadn’t affected me the way that he has.

  But there is no reasoning toward my vengeful words. Because I don’t feel that way, not even in the slightest. That’s the crazy thing about feeling so strongly toward someone, the emotions wage war with each other. The hate, the love, the lust, they battle for reign, continually knocking each other free from their throne.

  With one final deep breath, I sign my name with a yours always as a valediction.

  Sliding the letter into an envelope and readying it for the mail, I resolute myself to sending it out tomorrow. Back on the couch, I think about all the things that could go wrong. He may not receive it, he may ignore it, he may have already moved on. The latter sends a pang in my chest.

  But he should move on. I should move on. We don’t belong together. We’re like a messed up version of Romeo and Juliet, two star-crossed lovers destined to meet, but instead of the poison and dagger in the Shakespeare play, Hollywood wields an unforgiving weapon in the form of gossip and photographs. Truth holds no power over the desire to watch someone crumble beneath the words of falsehoods.

  I don’t belong in his world and he doesn’t belong in mine. I almost consider taking the p
recious letter I just penned and tossing it in the garbage but decide against it. The idea that he actually receives the scrap of paper is comical as it is. I’m certain that his cousin or another assistant sorts through the hoards of mail the actors must receive. I chuckle at the thought of the items they may have to toss.

  I silently beg my phone to ring, as if he hears my yearning for his voice. But I’m met with silence.

  Grabbing my laptop and flicking on the television, I settle in to get ahead for some of my classes in the fall. As the night falls and I finish a quick dinner, the screen switches over to an old show – Devyn’s old show.

  “Real funny,” I grumble to no one in particular. It’s just Fate playing another cruel joke on me.

  As if my scars aren’t enough, I’m probably destined to watch Devyn’s light shine brightly for the rest of my life. I’ll watch him with a supermodel or top-notch actress on his arm because there is no doubt he will be at the top once again, even if he has to crawl his way there.

  Flicking off the television, I decide to call it an early night and head back into my bedroom, praying that Devyn’s scent has finally started to dissipate. Of course, as I settle between the sheets, it seems to have grown stronger. The cotton material scratches against my skin and it leaves me feeling unsettled.

  Tossing and turning for an hour, I realize that I won’t be able to drift off in this space, my thoughts are too heavy and Devyn’s presence is too strong.

  Grabbing the throw at the end of my bed, I walk back to the living room and lie on the couch, rolling myself up in the blanket like a burrito. It takes a little while, but eventually, my mind floats away into blankness.

  Days pass, one after the other, the only change being that of the sky’s coloring. A constant repetition. I hadn’t realized how much I had distanced myself from everyone, from the world, after my accident. But even as I try to make the most of every moment, a piece of me feels like it’s missing.