But it was all for pretend. Why did we feel the need to put ourselves through that for so long?
Melissa was the one who asked me that question, and then I asked Nick that exact question the night we drunkenly broke up. Neither of us had an answer.
I can tell that Melissa is trying to hide her excitement when I finally tell her what’s been going on with Nick. For some reason, we have moved to her stairs. She’s sitting three steps above me, close enough to Austin’s door where she can hear him if he wakes up from his nap, but far away enough where our conversation won’t wake him up.
“So is it over, for real?” She gives me a face, knowing the answer even before I give it to her.
“I think there are still a few more conversations in the wind. But,” I shrug, “we live on opposite sides of the country. Out of sight, out of mind, right?”
“Or,” Melissa gives me a half-hearted smile, “absence makes the heart grow fonder…”
Damn those contradictory phrases.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The movie is interesting. Actually, the whole process is interesting. It takes so long to film a single page of the script. They keep cutting and resetting and cutting and resetting, and then they change the camera angle, and then they change it again. I get it, it makes sense, but wow: it’s kind of a big waste of time.
I know that television is a bit different, as they’re on a much stricter timetable, but it really has to be hard for people to see the vision of the piece, or at least feel the journey of the characters when they keep cutting and resetting.
“Hey,” I approach Johnny as he comes off set for a quick sip of water, “what are the chances that you could introduce me to the screenwriter?”
He looks around, focusing on a few people around the camera. “Yeah, I could do that. Why? The dude is kind of old.” He pushes his hair back. “And honestly, I think he might be gay.”
“Johnny, I’m not asking you for a hook up.” I playfully slap his chest. “I want to talk to him about being a writer.”
“Oh, okay.” Then he does a double take. “Why?”
I sigh. “Because I’m a writer, Johnny.”
Okay, I can’t be mad at him, I never told him that. But I’m actually madder at myself. I’ve been on a movie set for a few weeks now, and I haven’t told anyone what I actually want to do for my career. I spend every minute of every day with Johnny Braylock and he had no idea. Shame on me.
“Was I supposed to know that?” He squints his eyes as he searches his memories.
“I guess I never told you.” I cross my arms, all of a sudden feeling very vulnerable. “I guess with the whole mugging thing, I just got a little sidetracked.”
He lightly rests his palm on my shoulder, and I suddenly feel a shock through my body. He must feel it too, because he pulls quickly away and makes an odd humming or awkward laughing kind of sound.
“Umm,” he shoves his hands in his pockets, “yeah, when filming is wrapped for the day, I’ll see about introducing you two.”
“Thanks Johnny.” I smile, but quickly turn and walk away.
I just have no idea to where I’m walking.
After about fifty paces, I turn around and walk right back to where I was standing. Luckily, he has returned to set, so I don’t have to face him again... at least right away.
That wasn’t at all awkward.
And now I’m back to staring at him. Since I seriously took notice of his dark, seducing eyes, they’re now the first things I see when I look at him. They draw me in. They freeze me. Okay, let’s be honest: the first things I see are his shoulders. Their sheer girth makes me want to collapse into his chest. So then I notice his chest. He has the kind of definition that you only see on guys in movies and you wonder if a normal guy could ever achieve anything of such greatness. But, seeing as he is one of those ‘guys in movies’, I guess I do still wonder that. After his shoulders and his chest, though, I see his eyes.
No, I’m lying again.
You have to understand that I am much shorter than him, so my eye level naturally rests in the shoulder/chest region. And, seeing as I have of late been a bit self-conscious and timid, my eyes tend to veer down. So then I see his abs. Even with his shirt on, I swear, they just peek through, it’s not my fault. And, it’s most likely attributed to the fact that he wears really tight shirts. So in reality, he’s asking for the attention.
Yeah, I don’t doubt that for a second.
And then I notice his eyes… unless his shirt is off, which it often is. When his shirt is off, I’m drawn to those freaking boy lines at his hips that leave a perfectly straight v-shaped arrow that slips just below the line of his pants, or often, his towel. And then I start to think really dirty things.
But, when the shirt is on, I look into his eyes, as I am now. I want to know what the mystery is behind that darkness. I want to know what he’s thinking. I want to know if his life is where he thought it would be. Has he accomplished his goals? What more does he hope to achieve? Is this the life he always wanted or is something missing?
Is he happy?
Melissa was right. I’ve been basing every feeling I have for this man only on what I think I know about him. The truth of the matter is that I don’t know him at all. When did I become so shallow?
And do I actually want to know him?
As I think that, I feel something sink inside of me. I feel the muscles in my face relax and the constant twisting in my stomach subside. Of course I want to know him. If nothing else, I owe it to my ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and eighteen year old selves to see how my fairy tale fantasy plays out.
When I was seventeen, I dated Billy D. Jenkins. He knew how to make a young girl forget about a silly crush.
After about a year though, I realized that he was very, very gay. That’s why when I was eighteen years old, I went back to my silly crush on Johnny Braylock. It was the logical choice.
Shooting is a bit ahead of schedule, and we’re already working on the few pages leading up to the stint where Johnny’s character is in the Marines. Tomorrow, we’re filming the big goodbye scene between Johnny and his love interest. I’m oddly excited to see that one. I don’t know why, but I am. The girl is an up-and-coming actress, whom I believe is only twenty three or twenty four. She has one of those faces, though, where if I told you she was thirty, you’d believe me, so it doesn’t look too creepy when her and Johnny are together.
Or maybe it does, but I’m too focused on Johnny to notice otherwise.
Either way, I’m excited about the scene.
As the director yells, “cut,” at the end of the day, I feel my phone begin to buzz in my pocket. It’s Nick. And I’m not excited.
I walk to the back of the studio and answer the phone. “Hey Nick, what’s up?”
“Where are you?” He quickly responds.
“At work. Where else would I be?” I’m short with him, because honestly, I don’t know why he’s calling me.
“It’s like eight o’clock. You’re still on set?”
“That’s how these things normally work.” I feel bad for my tone, but I can’t help myself.
I don’t know if Nick doesn’t notice or maybe doesn’t care, but he plows through my apathy. “Will you be home in about two hours?”
I look back out to the sound stage and it seems that everyone is packing up, meaning we’re most likely wrapped for the day. “Yeah, two hours is about right. Why?”
“I just want to talk.”
And I don’t want to talk. I don’t understand why we’re still playing this game: why he still thinks we need to talk this out. We’re not going to solve anything. I don’t want to solve anything. But, I obviously still care about him, so I appease him.
“Okay, I’ll call you in two hours.”
“Thanks, Caroline. I’m looking forward to it.”
I feel a tap on my shoulder, which causes me to yelp as I spin around.
“Oh my God, Johnny, you s
cared me half to death.” I scold him.
Then I realize Nick is still on the phone. I only realize it because he’s yelling at me to tell him what happened. I quickly do, and he yells at me to drop Johnny for two seconds and talk to him. But it’s not just Johnny. Standing next to him is the older, possibly gay man who wrote this very movie. Johnny is smiling from ear to ear, like a puppy that is anxiously waiting for a treat, a pat on the head, and the obligatory “good boy”.
“Nick, I have to go.” I hang up the phone without waiting for his response. “Caroline Carver.” I stick out my hand.
“Josh Mandelbaum.” He returns my shake. “Nice to meet you, Caroline.”
“You too.”
“So Johnny here tells me you’re a writer.”
Johnny stands there with that same stupid grin while I pour my heart and soul out to Josh Mandelbaum. I tell him about the classes I’ve taken and the bites I’ve had, and the stories I’ve had published, and why I ultimately moved to LA. We walk out into the studio lot as he briefly tells me of his journey and how he found success.
It is exciting, thrilling, and for the first time, I feel like I was doing something important. I feel like I am on my way.
“Can you send me some stuff?” Josh asks as our conversation begins to wrap.
“Absolutely.” I say almost too quickly. “What would you like to see?”
“Whatever you want to show me, but a spec script and maybe a pilot are definitely good pieces to start with.”
“Absolutely.” I say again, as if it’s the only word in my entire vocabulary.
He hands me his card, shakes my hand, and promises to see my on set tomorrow.
I turn to Johnny with ridiculously wide eyes and make some sort of screeching sound as I begin to jump up and down.
“You happy?” He raises his eyebrows at me.
“More than happy.” I say, trying desperately to refrain from hugging him.
“Great. Now I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.” I don’t care if this is an eye for an eye relationship. The eye he just gave me is worthy of anything in return.
Johnny pulls a few sheets of paper from his pocket. “Love scenes aren’t really my cup of tea. Would you help me work on tomorrow’s pages?”
“You just want me to read lines with you?”
“Umm, yeah.” He smiles. “Pretty much.”
So I repeat again the only word I seem to know during this entre conversation. “Absolutely.”
“Thank you, Caroline.”
I’m just going to read a few lines with Johnny. That’s easy enough, right?
CHAPTER TWENTY
We decide to make the trip to my apartment, with Johnny using the excuse that aside from his early morning personal training session and our lunchtime MMA lessons, he really didn’t get to work out as much as he was hoping, and he could really use the twelve mile bike ride back to my apartment.
I know the real reason though: although I’ve been feeling much safer since starting our training, much more confident that I could handle myself out there on the big, scary streets, Johnny has been overly cautious about me lately. He says he just wants to know where I am at all times in case he needs something or we get called back onto set, but I know he’s more so worried about me since the incident. So I don’t fight too much when he makes me text him as soon as I get home, if I plan on going to Melissa’s for dinner, or even out to the corner store to buy milk.
It’s annoying, and against everything I believe in as an independent woman, but I have to say: sometimes it’s nice to have someone looking out for you. It’s a weird feeling that pulls me in so many different directions, but deep down, I think I kind of cherish it.
So we end up at my apartment. It’s a nice night: a little chilly, but when I propose that we sit outside on my little porch, Johnny is all for it. I pour him a glass of wine and we both sit silently for a moment, looking over my apartment complex. Overall, it’s not a bad place. There’s a nice-sized pool-not nice-sized enough to swim laps, but I don’t do that anyway, so it’s not a big issue. There are lounging chairs positioned around it for sun tanning. That’s what I do. There’s also a volleyball court. I love volleyball. It’s probably the only thing I love that I’m simply terrible at. I wonder if Johnny likes volleyball.
Not important.
“Let me see the pages.” I hold my hand out to him.
“First tell me how you got into writing.” Instead of placing papers in my hand, he wriggles his fingers between mine.
“This is more important right now.” I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. He also doesn’t let it faze him that I am trying to pull away. He just squeezes my hand tighter and smiles bigger.
“No, this is more important right now.” He lifts my hand to his lips and plants the smallest kiss.
And I crack up.
“Johnny! What are you doing?”
“Seducing you?” He finally releases his grip on me.
“What did we talk about?” I try to remain on task, but there is only so many times I can ignore his advances before I just give into his charm. “We have to work on your pages. That’s why you came over.”
I take a quick peek at the time on my phone. I have one hour until I have to call Nick, and I’m quite certain that if I don’t call him first, he’s going to call me, so there isn’t much wiggle room.
“Are you going somewhere?” He grabs my attention back for my phone.
“No.”
“Liar.” He accuses.
“I’m not lying. I just have an hour until…” I stop myself. Why don’t I want to tell him that I have to call Nick?
“Until what?”
“I just have to make a phone call.” I shake my head, hoping he understands that I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to move on.
He drops that, but doesn’t drop the whole thing. “Tell me why you became a writer and we can get to the pages.”
I suck in quick, trying to decide what to tell him. “Why’d you become an actor?”
“No, you can’t do that, Caroline. I asked you first.” He leans his elbows onto the little table that separates us.
“Fine.” I huff. “I…” I stall, trying to think about how to say what I’m thinking. “I’m not super funny, or seemingly well versed in real life, but for some reason, when I sit down to write, words just make sense to me. It’s like music that no one taught me to play, the words have a rhythm, and when I put them together on a piece of paper, it’s like my own little symphony.”
I catch myself smiling as I hear the word “symphony” escape my lips. “I’m sorry.” I shake myself from my rant.
“For what?” Johnny’s voice is soft. He seems intrigued.
“That was weird.” I chuckle, breaking myself free from the awkwardness.
“It wasn’t. Not at all.”
I still try to divert the attention from myself. “Your turn. Why’d you become an actor?”
Johnny sits back in his chair and looks to the darkened sky. “I don’t think it was ever a dream of mine. When I was twelve, my mom took my sister and me to an audition, and we both got the parts. Then, it kind of just spiraled out of control from there.”
I look to him as he continues to look up. “Have you ever thought about trying something else?”
“Wait.” His eyes catch my stare. “Do I get to ask you another question?”
“Nope.” I childishly shake my head.
“Then we’ll have to save my answer for another time.”
Johnny takes a quick sip of wine before handing me the pages he wants to work on. I glance over it quickly, so I’m not surprised by anything while we’re reading.
It’s pretty straightforward. It’s the night before he leaves to go overseas and he’s trying to tell Lara, his love interest, that he doesn’t want her to wait for him. She’s still hoping he’ll change his mind and not go on the “suicide mission”, but his decision is made: he’s doing it for his
brother.
We run the beginning a few times, helping him settle into the moment.
“Okay, at this point, you’re sitting on my lap.” He pushes his chair back.
“Right.” I agree, but don’t move.
He chuckles at me. “Caroline, it’s very different talking to someone across the table than it is talking to them while they’re six inches away from you.”
“Luckily, you’re a good actor.” I tease.
“This is the weird part.” His eyes widen as he silently begs. “I just don’t want it to not work.”
“Why wouldn’t it work?”
He looks up again before looking back at me. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course.” I easily say, expecting him to make some sexual joke.
“I can do the shoot ‘em up and kick ‘em in the face movies, but this… something like this scene is what people are going to look at and decide what they think of me. If I do this well, it could mean that I might one day play real parts instead of just the high school jock turned street fighter.”
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