Just Like the Movies

by Natasha Preston

  Muffled voices and the jingle from a TV ad fills the air.

  My heart sinks to my toes. I was hoping they’d be asleep so I could quickly check them before going upstairs.

  I slip off my shoes, and I take my clothes to the washing machine.

  My blood boils as I walk into the kitchen. Fucking really? The place is disgusting. Empty microwave meal tubs lie on the countertop along with used cutlery and plates. The sink is full of mugs, and it smells of old food.

  Grinding my teeth, I walk straight past the mess, and into the utility room. They’re fucking useless. It’s the same in here as it was when I left. Unsurprisingly, neither of them have done any washing. Who can live like this?

  Don’t they want more?

  I shove my clothes into the washer with way too much force before I slam the door shut.

  Taking a breath from my crouched position, I place my palms on the floor and close my eyes, wishing I was still in LA.

  “Oh, you’re back,” Mum slurs.

  I jump up and spin around. She’s standing in the doorway with an unopened bottle of cheap vodka in her hand.

  “Yes,” I say though gritted teeth.

  Her brown hair is dull, and her skin tinged yellow. Big, dark circles have sunk underneath her eyes, and her shoulder bones poke through her threadbare T-shirt. She’s ill, but she doesn’t care.

  I wait for her to ask about my trip… not that she knows where I’ve really been. They think I took a trip with the girls. Mum leans against the doorframe and watches me. I’d die if I held my breath waiting for her to ask something about my life—to take just a little bit of interest.

  “The kitchen is a state,” I say, my anger for this woman magnifying.

  “Don’t go on, Indie. I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

  “I wasn’t going anywhere. I haven’t expected you to put down the booze to do anything since I was a kid.”

  Her eyes narrow, and she spits, “Watch who you’re talking to.”

  “Who? My mum? I haven’t seen her in years.” I push past her and grab my suitcase on my way to my room. I’m burning in anger. Steam would be pouring from my ears if I was a cartoon. How dare she?

  Mum doesn’t call after me. What can she say? I get to my room and kick the door closed. I’ve gone from deliriously happy to being in despair in a matter of minutes. I cling to the side of my dressing table for something to ground me.

  Eventually, I slide to the floor, my legs giving out, and I land on my butt with a thud. I place my head between my knees.

  Breathe, Indie. Breathe.

  I open my mouth and suck in as much air as I can. After a minute, I feel my muscles relax, and I raise my head. In my handbag, Alien Ant Farm’s Movies begins to tell me that ‘just like the movies, we played out our last scene’. Spencer is calling.

  Blowing out a deep breath, I straighten my back and rummage through my bag for my phone.

  “Hey, Hollywood,” I say as I pick up the call.

  “Hey, yourself. Are you home?”

  “Yep.” I certainly am. “How did it go?”

  “It went well. The casting crew seemed to like me.” I hear the smile in his voice.

  “Of course, they did. When will you hear?”

  “Soon. They have another audition after me.”

  “You really want it.”

  “It’s a good movie. It would be a quick start. They’re eager to begin production.”

  Which means he won’t be home anytime soon. Maybe not until Christmas. There’s a lot to do before they start filming.

  “Well, that’s great.”

  He chuckles. “Once more with sincerity.”

  “I’m sorry. I do want you to get it.” I just selfishly want him home more.

  “I know. If I do, I’ll let you know the schedule. I really want to see you between now and Christmas.”

  I’ve been putting off thinking about how I’ll juggle Christmas. Will he question us constantly hanging out at his and me never letting him pick me up from home? Christmas is spent the same as any other day, but I do cook a nice dinner. I place two plates in the living room for my drunk parents, and then I collect it after they’ve fallen asleep. They pick at it, but they’ve not eaten a whole meal in years—only when they play sober and Dad makes spaghetti carbonara.

  What the hell do I say when Spencer asks to meet my parents?

  Don’t think.

  “Me, too. But we have calls, texts, and FaceTime if not.”

  “Yeah,” he breathes like it’s not enough. It never will be, but we’ll have to make do until we’re together. “I’ll make it home to you as soon as I can.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “I’m on my way to Ethan’s. We have a TV appearance later.”

  “No Ella this time?”

  “She’s shooting an ad today.”

  “Wow, the only thing I’m doing today is meeting Mila.”

  I sense his scowl. “Don’t do that. You’re amazing, Indie. Do you have much to catch up on for uni?”

  “Grant has emailed some work. I had a quick look. There isn’t a lot, so it’ll be fine.”

  “Excellent.”

  That ‘excellent’ was loaded with sarcasm.

  “Spencer,” I warn, though my heart makes a little leap. It doesn’t feel terrible to have him jealous.

  “Sorry. He’s a nice guy who doesn’t want to get in your pants, I remember.”

  “Well, on that note…”

  He laughs. “Call me when you’re in bed.”

  “You might be filming.”

  “I’ll answer if I’m not, or I’ll call you back. Speak later.”

  “Bye,” I say hanging up the phone, only adding the I love you in my head.

  I put my phone on charge and go for a quick shower. As soon as I’m dressed, I leave my house as fast as possible to drive to Mila’s. I’m about forty minutes early. I’ll have to wait outside if she’s busy.

  She answers the door wearing the biggest smile—her whiskey-coloured eyes sparkling. “You’re back! Did you sleep with him? Tell me you slept with a movie star.”

  “Hi, Mila,” I say, laughing as she hugs me hard.

  Here, I’m happy, too. Today is an emotional rollercoaster.

  Pulling back, she holds my arms and says, “Well?”

  “Can I at least come inside first?”

  “Oh.” Stepping to the side, she lets me in. “Tea? Coffee?”

  “Tea, please.”

  She walks into her kitchen, and I follow, trying not to laugh at the bounce in her step. She wants all the gossip right now.

  Mila fills the kettle and turns to me with narrowed eyes. “Spill.”

  “We’re together.”

  Squealing, she bounces up and down. “Oh my God, Indie, finally! I knew it. The way you guys were during golf: so cute.”

  She ties her jet-black hair up on top of her head like she’s about to get busy. If talking and quizzing someone was an Olympic sport, Mila would win gold.

  “Okay, calm down.”

  “Are you happy? You look happy. I need to know everything.”

  I hold my hands up. “You’re about to explode. Sit, I’ll make the drinks, and you can ask me anything.”

  She does as she’s told and sits at the kitchen table. “How is he in bed?”

  I glare over my shoulder.

  “Hey, you said I could ask you anything.”

  “And, of course, you ask that.”

  “Well?” she prompts.

  “Amazing,” I say, biting my lip as I make two teas.

  “You can tell he would be. How was the movie? I watched the red carpet, but I didn’t see you.”

  I take both mugs to the table. “It’s so good. Spence was incredible, and no way was I going to walk on the red carpet.”

  “As if you kept a low profile.”

  I can imagine Mila now, perfecting her bloody catwalk pose and blowing kisses to every camera aimed her way.

  “W
hat have you been up to?”

  “No way are we talking about me right now. Have you discussed being long-distance? When is he coming here? Or are you going there again? You have to take me next time.”

  “One question at a time. We think we’ll be okay with the distance. It’s better than not being together. He’s definitely home for Christmas but he might have another movie to shoot soon.”

  “Wow,” she sighs. “Will you move to LA?”

  “No.”

  “Not even if he does?”

  “He won’t move there. He wants his home to be here.”

  “Good. Although I would love many holidays in LA, I don’t want you to leave.”

  “Not going anywhere.”

  “How did you get together?”

  I answer that question and the five million that follow.

  Mila’s shoulders sag as soon as she’s ran out of things to ask.

  “Are you done?” I ask, grinning in amusement.

  “Yeah, I think I am. Oh, have you spoken to Wren about all of this yet?”

  “I’m calling her later tonight. She’s out with Brody and his parents.”

  “I’m so happy for you,” she gushes, picking up her tea. “I can’t wait for your wedding. I better be bridesmaid. Wren has already screwed me out of one.”

  Laughing, I shake my head at my crazy friend.

  Marriage is terrifying. I’ll have to tell him about my parents if everything works out and we eventually get married.

  Twenty-Six

  Spencer

  I’m beat. My eyes sting from the lack of sleep last night. I think I watched that little plane on my phone for almost the entire flight. The casting director seemed to love me, despite the fact that I looked like a zombie. I was, at least, able to turn it on for the audition.

  Indie is now home after hanging out with Mila, catching up with uni work.

  We hung up on each other fifteen minutes ago. I already want to call her back.

  I’m done for.

  I towel myself off after a quick shower and get into bed. Ella and Ethan wanted to go out tonight, but I need to be pathetic and wallow for the evening. Ella understood. Ethan told me I’m whipped.

  My finger hovers over the TV remote when my phone rings.

  Mila.

  Of course, it is.

  “Hello,” I say.

  “I love that you and our girl got it on! Ugh, you two are so cute together. How did the snooping go?”

  No pleasantries. Not that I expected any. “How are you, Mila?”

  “Wonderful. Oh, congrats on the awesome movie, by the way. Indie said it rocked. Now, please answer my question.”

  I laugh. “Right. I’m not snooping on our girl.”

  “Call it whatever you want, dude. Did she open up?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She scoffs. “I wish I could shake her and force her to let us in. I hate it when she leaves, and I don’t know what’s waiting for her at home.”

  “I had the exact same thought the other day.” I rub my hand over my face. “I hate this.”

  “Do you think I should just ask her? Or turn up at her house? I suggested we find a place together a few months ago but she said she can’t afford it until she’s done with uni.”

  Mila really wants her out of home. “How do you think she’d handle you asking her what’s going on, or going to her house?” I ask.

  “Oh, she’d be pissed and refuse to talk to me for a while, I imagine, but at least we’d know, and maybe she would be out.”

  “And if she refused to talk to anyone and stayed?”

  “Hmm.” I feel Mila’s defeat. “I don’t know. I just want to help.”

  “Look, Indie and I have just started something, and I’m home in a few weeks, if not before. I’ll continue to push gently and see how she responds.”

  “If she doesn’t say anything?”

  “Then I’ll wait a couple days after Christmas and ask her straight.”

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?” Mila asks quietly, her voice breaking.

  I swallow. “Whatever it is, we’ll be there. I’m glad she has you there looking out for her.”

  “Thanks. If things get worse, I’m kidnapping her.”

  “Dramatic, Mila. If things get worse, you call me, and I’ll come home.”

  “Then you’ll kidnap her?”

  “No one is kidnapping her.”

  “I didn’t mean with Chloroform and a blacked-out van. We just tell her she’s staying with one of us.”

  “That’s the plan. When are you seeing her next?”

  “Couple days. She now has a shift at The Waffle House after uni. We’re meeting at the pub for a drink after that.”

  “Okay. You’ll let me know how she is?”

  “Yeah, and you let me know if she says anything on the phone that we should be worried about. I can be at her house in ten minutes.”

  “All right. Speak to you soon, Mila.”

  “Bye, movie star and sex stud!”

  She hangs up, and I laugh. Indie has the weirdest friend… and probably one of the best. At least she’s got Wren and Mila. I know she’s not on her own dealing with whatever her home life is.

  I lay down and put a movie on. Seconds later, Indie texts. I don’t even glance up at the TV until I turn it off to sleep.

  “It’s yours!” Denny, my agent, shouts down the phone the following day. “I’m telling them you’re taking it, right?”

  I stand up from where I was sitting with the guys in a noisy, heaving club. Day two post Indie leaving, and Ethan and Jared weren’t letting me wallow anymore. I push my finger into my other ear. “Yes! Call them, Denny. Fuck, I can’t believe it.”

  Jared stands and grins, flashing teeth so white, they could blind you.

  Shit, I did it.

  “The schedule is tight, and there’s a lot on location, but you’ll still have two weeks off over Christmas.”

  “I’m ready, man.”

  “Damn straight, you are. Right, I’ll call you later with the finer details tomorrow.”

  He hangs up, and I punch the air.

  I fucking landed the lead in End of the Road.

  “Yes, mate.” Jared slaps me on the back.

  We’re in a bar having a drink. There are a few actors in here I admire; some musicians, too. When I first walked in, they came to talk to me. It was surreal as fuck.

  We’re letting off some steam before I go home alone and obsess over Indie again. I can see that being a solid routine.

  “You got it?” Ethan asks.

  “I got it.”

  “Yeah, you did!” He slaps my palm. “Let’s celebrate.”

  The prices in here are eyewatering. I’m new to the game, my bank balance is looking great, but I still remember how much is reasonable to pay for a beer.

  “I’m splitting.”

  “Really? Wait, you’re going home to call Indie, aren’t you?”

  Chuckling, I nod.

  “You struck gold there.”

  “I’m aware. Thanks for the drinks,” I say.

  “See you later.”

  Jared shakes his head at me, showing his disapproval for not staying out and celebrating until the early hours. “See you fuckers later.”

  “Arnold will be outside. I think I can make it,” I tell him.

  He raises his brow like I’m a naughty child. Jared doesn’t let me go places alone. Not places like this, anyway. “I’ll see you get home then call it a night.”

  “I’ve actually not forgotten how to get myself home.”

  “I’d hope not. You only need to walk out of the club and your driver will be waiting.”

  He likes to roast me for being rich and having hired help, despite being on my payroll.

  “You’re getting driven home by that same man.”

  “I live in your building. Way down low in it.”

  Laughing, I elbow him in the arm. “In Santa Monica, close to the beach. How do you cope with such terribl
e living conditions?”

  “I do it all for you.”

  Jared comes from money. His parents are rich as fuck property developers. He doesn’t need money and he has someone to cook and clean for him. But he’s never been particularly materialistic, and he likes to work. I think he’s in this to flex his muscles and get a look at the celebrity lifestyle.

  It wouldn’t surprise me if he decided to try something else in a few years. Before he was organising my life and pledging to take a bullet for me—which he will, hopefully, never have to do—he was in training to be a WWE wrestler.

  We leave the club to screams from the queue of people outside waiting to get in.

  I lift my hand to the throngs of women shouting my name. I bet every one of them would sell our story three minutes after orgasm.

  I’ve been given a very frank warning about some of the things people will do for fame. Never rely on a woman to provide the contraception. I learnt in high school that you only depend on yourself where that is concerned. Some women actually try to get fucking pregnant. It probably happens the other way around, too.

  Now, I don’t trust anyone.

  Arnold pulls the car up. Jared opens my door first, and I get in.

  He rolls his eyes as Arnold pulls away. “Everyone loves the weird dude from England.”

  “Coming from the rich WWE athlete turned PA? Really?”

  He chuckles and pulls his phone out. “I’ll live a thousand lives before I die.”

  He smiles a little every time I don’t get into the back, which is every time I’m alone. I already have someone to drive me around. I don’t need to feel like I’m being chauffeured about, too.

  “You two weren’t long,” Arnold says.

  “Spencer is a pussy,” Jared says without looking away from his phone.

  “I wasn’t into it. I got the lead in End of the Road.”

  I get to play a gangster whose life starts to unfold when he’s fucked over.

  “Well deserved,” Arnold replies, offering a nod.

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you going home to call Miss Croft?”

  Jared makes some sort of snort. He’s also a big advocate of not settling down until you’re forty. He has nine years left.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “Are you going to call right now?”