The digital bedside clock blares in the darkness, announcing that it’s three in the morning. Just about the time Jack and I finally fell asleep last night after our epic, long-awaited lovemaking marathon. How is that possible? Could it really have been just last night that we were wrapped up in each other’s arms, at peace with the world, sure and confident in our direction? How could everything have gone so wrong in just a day—and how, after all these years of sorrow and loneliness, do Jack and I only deserve a single day in the sun?
Chapter Sixteen
My mind refuses to let my body sleep. I don’t drift off for a second all night, despite desperately needing a reprieve from the world. As soon as the sun starts to lighten the sky over New York City, I surrender my efforts. May as well get a jump on facing this sure-to-be godawful day.
Since I can’t check my phone, I amble out into the suite and sink down before my laptop. I know that it’ll only make things worse, but I can’t stop myself from scrolling through the news headlines about me and Jackson Cole once again:
“Another Benson Sister Falls into Jackson’s Cole’s Mixed-Up World”
“Jackson Cole Threatens Reporter. Get Out Now, Callie!”
“Who Is Callie Benson, and How Can We Save Her?”
“I don’t need saving,” I rasp into the empty suite. What I need is a plan to get out of this mess, and these horrible gossip mongers aren’t making that any easier.
Wincing in anticipation of the awful emails that are surely waiting for me, I open my inbox. The tone of the subject lines has changed from “You dirty slut!” to “You poor, poor thing!” And I’m not sure which one bothers me more. But at the end of a long line of strangers’ messages, there’s a note from an email address I actually recognize.
It’s from Rupert Davies.
I swallow a sigh and open up the director’s email. I imagine he’s wondering what the hell is going on with his two lead actors. I read on:
Hey Callie,
Looks like you’re a full-fledged celebrity now, babe! I have to say, I’m digging the post-coital look in all these press photos. Ha-ha. But as fun as this must be for you and Jackson, the show must go on. I know I said you could have the weekend off, but you already seem to have had your fill of good times. So could you come into the studio for a few hours today? We need to reshoot some of your stuff before we can continue on with production. Let me know! :D
Rupert
“Oh goodie,” I mutter to myself, burying my face in my hands. The last thing I want to do this Sunday morning is subject myself to Rupert Davies’ snide remarks and overt innuendos. But hey, at least I’ll have something to take my mind off of the fact that my personal life is unalterably screwed. I shoot Rupert a reply right away:
Hi Rupert,
Yeah, things have definitely been better. But no worries. I’ll come to the studio as soon as I can.
Callie.
I step around the counter to fix myself a cup of coffee, trying to ignore the desperate need to run into Jack’s room and beg for a reconciliation. Last night, I saw a completely new side of him, a side that truly scared me. The drinking, the cruel dismissal, the self-hatred…I despised seeing Jack in the depths of such self-destructive despair. But as much as my heart hurts for him, its feeling pretty bruised on its own right now, too.
No. I’m not going to be the one to apologize first. I have nothing to apologize for. If Jack wants to make things right between us, he’s going to have to find a way on his own. The idea of our newly-forged relationship blinking out of existence forever is hard to bear. But setting a precedent of blind concession to Jack’s will? That would be impossible. I’ve worked too hard building myself back up from nothing to let anyone level me again.
Even Jackson Cole.
I fill a travel mug to the very top with rich, dark coffee and grab my things. No phone to speak of, thanks to Jack’s outburst, so I guess I’ll have to do without. Though I’ve resolved not to check on him this morning, I can’t just disappear without a trace. I take a minute to scribble a note to Jack on The Rogue’s stationary before I go:
At the studio. Rupert wants to go back and redo a couple of my scenes. Talk later. — C
I slip the note under the door to Jack’s penthouse as I make my way to the elevator. The temptation to go inside is overwhelming. I’m rooted in place before his door, desperate to see him. I rest my hand on the polished knob, closing my eyes to keep from tearing up. Things have never been more confused and fractured between me and Jack. I honestly have no idea how we’re going to make up for last night, see this shit storm through together.
Heaving a deep sigh, I straighten my spine and brush the tears away from my eyes. Squaring my shoulders, I march away from the door and set off for the studio. The show must go on, as the old saying goes.
I just wish the going weren’t quite so tough.
Chapter Seventeen
“There you are!” Penelope gushes as I step into the hair and makeup trailer.
“You poor thing,” Parker coos, taking my hands in his.
“What’ll make you feel better?” Penelope asks anxiously, “A cupcake? A cigarette? A stripper? Just name it.”
“You guys are sweet,” I laugh softly, sinking down into my chair, “I think just getting back to work will do wonders for my mood. But thank you—I’ll take a rain check on that stripper. Hey, where are all the other actors?”
“Rupert just wanted you in today,” Penelope informs me, “I think he wanted to give the whole media frenzy a few days to calm down before bringing the, uh, rest of the cast back in.”
“You mean he wanted to give Jack a few days to calm down,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Well…OK, yeah,” Penelope gives in. “The way Miriam tells it, Mr. Cole is on pretty thin ice at the moment.”
“I know we’re supposed to be acting all professional and everything,” Parker cuts in, spinning my chair around to face the lighted mirror, “But I simply cannot go on living without getting at least a little of the scoop about you and Jack.”
“I don’t know if I should be talking about it,” I say to my stylist’s reflection.
“Please!” he begs, clasping his hands, “I’ll just burst if you don’t tell me! Come now. This is a medical emergency.”
I can’t help but smile at Parker and Penelope’s eager faces in the mirror. I didn’t expect to find too many kindred spirits in this industry, but these two have grown on me quite a bit these past couple of weeks.
“OK,” I sigh, “But what I’m about to say doesn’t leave this trailer. You hear me?”
“Absolutely,” Parker gushes, clapping his hands together.
“You got it!” Penelope assures me.
“Well,” I begin, “First of all, forget what you’ve read in the gossip blogs.”
“Okay,” Penelope chirps.
“The truth is,” I go on, “Jack and I aren’t just costars or colleagues. We’re old friends, too. Jack grew up in the same town as me and Avery. We’ve known each other since we were five years old. Jack and I had huge crushes on each other growing up, but never said a word about it. Well, not to anyone but my sister, that is. The timing was never right, and we both spent most of our childhoods looking out for Avery. She was, um, troubled. We all were. I actually hadn’t seen either of them for years when Jack came to me about this movie. Right after Avery passed away…Finally being reunited here, we couldn’t put off being together for another minute. The tension just kept mounting, and mounting, until a couple of days ago we just couldn’t hold back any longer. But I guess it’s all over now…”
I’m surprised to hear the tearful crack in my voice as I reach the abrupt end of my tale. Saying it out loud, the end of me and Jack as a pair feels so certain. So irrevocable.
“Oh, sweetie…” Parker says, laying his hands gently on my shoulders.
“It’s OK,” I assure them, though tears have already started rolling down my cheeks, “I’m fine, really.”
&nb
sp; “You are so not fine!” Penelope says, kneeling down beside me and taking my hands.
“You must really love that man, huh?” Parker smiles softly.
I look back and forth between my coworkers, feeling something lock into place inside of me at Parker’s words. He’s absolutely right. I do love Jack. I always have. Only now, it may be too late to do a damn thing about it.
The trailer door clangs open, and I whip around hoping to see Jack striding across the threshold. It’s impossible to hide my disappointment when Rupert Davies strolls into the room instead, leading with his gut as ever.
“There’s my little tabloid princess,” he chuckles, swaggering toward me.
“In the flesh,” I reply dryly.
“If only,” he winks.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I turn back to the mirror. The last thing I need today is Rupert’s “jokes”. I pull my robe a little tighter around myself as the director makes himself comfortable. He’s decided that he wants to reshoot some of my more dramatic scenes today. And because this script is basically just man-candy, those dramatic scenes all happen to take place while my character, Rosalie Danes, is in her skivvies. I’m already wearing my ‘50s style undergarments beneath the terrycloth robe, and nothing else.
“Are you sure you’ll be OK to work today?” Rupert presses, brushing a stray crumb off his tee shirt. “You’re not too love sick or anything?”
“I’ll be just fine,” I say flatly, looking away from him. “I’m a professional, Rupert.”
“That you most certainly are,” he smiles appreciatively. How can he turn even a simple compliment into something uncomfortable?
“Is there anything I can help you with, Mr. Davies?” Penelope asks, her own professional demeanor straining in the midst of our rakish director.
“Actually, I’d love to speak with Callie alone for a moment,” he replies without missing a beat, “Would you two give us the room? Well, trailer, but still. Beat it for a sec.”
Parker and Penelope exchange an annoyed glance. Rupert has a habit of treating the entire rest of the crew like his personal footstools. Still, he is the director. What he says goes.
“We’ll be back in a minute to get you all ready,” Parker says, squeezing my shoulders.
“Just holler if you need anything,” Penelope adds.
“All we need is a good heart to heart,” Rupert smiles, ushering my assistant and stylist out of the trailer. The second they’ve cleared the threshold, he closes the door and turns back to me. I feel his eyes lingering on my body from across the room, his gaze searing against my skin as it rakes down my form. It occurs to me that we’ve never been completely alone before, Rupert and I. I have to say, I’m not a fan of the experience so far.
“So, what do you want to talk about?” I ask him politely, swiveling my chair around to face him.
“Well, we’re going to be filming some pretty intimate scenes today,” he replies, crossing to the makeup counter and leaning jauntily against it. “Just wanted to check in with you, see if you were comfortable with all the material.”
“Sure,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest, “We’ve been shooting intimate material for the past couple of weeks. That’s what happens when you write sex objects rather than real women into your movies.”
“Ouch!” he exclaims, miming being shot in the chest. “That’s what I like about you, Callie. You never hold back. You’re spontaneous. Uninhibited. I have to tell you, it’s a pretty sexy quality in a woman.”
“Well, I’m good to go with today’s scenes,” I reply, refusing to address his inappropriate comments. Men like Rupert are always trying to make you take the bait. But this little fishy isn’t biting. Not today.
“Why don’t we run over some of your lines?” Rupert suggests with a smile. “I want to hear what we’re working with.”
“OK,” I reply, glad that we’re at least talking about the work now. “What would you like to hear, Rupert?”
“How about your monologue at the end of scene ten?” he suggests, “The one right before you give into Joel Brennan’s advances for the last time.”
“Um. Sure,” I reply. Of course he goes for the most sexually charged bit of text in the film. Whatever. I’m not the least bit squeamish about dirty talk. Especially when it’s scripted.
“Just get comfortable, and start whenever you’re ready,” Rupert tells me, sinking down into one of the other chairs.
I swallow a sigh and rise to my feet, turning away from Rupert as I get into character. Every actoress has her own way of tapping into the body, mind, and heart of the person she’s playing. I always start with a physical shift. In real life, I tend to always be adjusting my body—putting my weight on a different foot, fixing my hair, what have you. Rosalie is far more grounded than I am. I plant my feet on the floor of the trailer, fix my eyes on the opposite wall, and begin the monologue Rupert requested to hear.
“Joel Brennan, you sonofabitch,” I whisper, “Why did you have to go and make me fall in love with you? Why couldn’t you have just treated me like every other man—taken what you wanted and left me with a sound mind and a quiet heart. Isn’t it enough that my body responds to every little thing you do? I swear, I can hear my need for you. I can taste it. Smell it. It just keeps growing inside of me, this hunger. My whole self needs to feel you. Touch you. Give myself…”
My attention is torn away from my lines as a low, murmured groan rises up from across the room. I swing my gaze toward the sound and feel the ground fall out from beneath me.
The pumping, telltale motion of Rupert’s hand in completely unmistakable. Even as I catch him in the act of jerking off to me, he keeps his gaze riveted to my body. A maniacal grin spreads across his meaty face as he strokes himself unceasingly.
“Don’t stop now,” he murmurs, “It was just getting good…”
“What the fuck is the matter with you?!” I breathe, too stunned to move.
“Don’t act so innocent,” he laughs, the muscles in his neck straining, “You had to know I didn’t just want to hear you say your lines, babe.”
“I’m not your babe,” I spit, coming to, “And how the hell could I ever imagine you’d be this…repulsive?”
I march for the door of the trailer, furious. But just as I’m reaching for the handle, Rupert lunges into my path, blocking the way. He’s faster on his feet than any man his size has a right to be. I hear the lock click behind his expansive body, and feel cold panic shoot through my heart. This isn’t happening, I think desperately to myself, this can’t be happening, not again…
“There. That’s better,” Rupert sneers, advancing on me. “Now you can finally drop the good girl act.”
“I’m not putting on an act,” I say in a rush, “You’re way out of line, here. Do not come any closer to me. I’m warning you. If you lay a finger on me, I’ll—”
“What? Tell on me? Please. In a game of ‘he says, she says’ you know he always wins,” Rupert goes on, fingering his belt buckle.
I can feel myself dissociating from the present. My mind is going into emergency mode, shutting down to avoid experiencing what’s about to happen. I trash against that numbness, trying like hell to stay in the moment, fight back, and get away. But I’m losing my grip with every second that goes by.
“I have to say,” the director continues, as my back hits the far wall of the trailer, “You are far more uptight than your sister.”
His invocation of Avery catches my attention, halts my descent into panic.
“Excuse me?” I breathe, staring at the repellant man before me.
“She hardly put up a fight at all when I came calling,” Rupert chuckles, unbuckling his belt, “There was a little fuss, sure, but she was pretty easy in the end. I got her by the time our second photo shoot was over. Sweet girl. I miss that tight little ass.”
I’ve never known what rage feels like. Real, murderous rage. Not until this very second, that is. My entire body swells with it. It root
s my feet to the ground and balls my hands into tight, punishing fists.
“What did you do to her?” I growl, my voice low and ragged.
“I landed her, what else?” Rupert laughs, utterly unmoved by my anger, “Quite a few times, actually. She kept saying she didn’t want it, but you girls always say that. It’s never stopped me before.”
A furious, keening scream rings out through the air. At first, I don’t even realize the sound is coming from me. I’ve lost all control of myself as I go flying across the trailer at Rupert Davies. I bring my fists wailing down on every part of him I can find, striking out again and again as tears begin to streak down my cheeks.
“You bastard!” I shriek, shoving him as hard as I can, “Do you have any idea what that must have done to her? That’s what drove her to overdose. It’s your fault. It’s your fault.”
“That’s enough,” Rupert growls. The room cartwheels around me as Rupert spins my body around, clasping a hand firmly over my mouth. I strain frantically as he wraps a thick arm around my waist, pinning me to him. “There,” he goes on, his stinking breath hot against my cheek, “Can’t have you making any more noise now…”
He shifts his massive body, and I can feel him growing hard against me. His appalling erection presses against my back, and a wave of nausea crashes through me. In a panic to be free of his twisted embrace, I bring my teeth down hard on the hand that covers my mouth. A pained yowl rises up from his throat as I bear down. The sharp taste of blood makes me even woozier, but I can’t give up now.
“You stupid bitch!” he roars, shoving me away from him as hard as he can.
I lose my balance and stumble across the space, crashing hard against the trailer wall. My head strikes the immovable surface, and bursts of light shoot across my field of vision. I sink down onto the floor, trying to keep my mind sharp. But panic and rage are rushing in to blind me as Rupert glares down at my fallen form. As he takes a swinging step forward, I can feel in my bones that there’s no way to overpower him. No way out.
Damaged In-Law Page 17
