by Azzi , Gina
I told her I’d only disappoint her. That I don’t stick around. I’ve shown her, even though it nearly killed me, that I won’t cross the lines we’re blurring, no matter how badly I want to.
I turn away and walk over to my marker.
“Okay.” Brooke smiles, sauntering closer to me. “I’m ready.”
Brian claps as actors and crew jump into motion. “Places, people. Lights.”
“Quiet on set!”
Silence descends over the set like a curtain, blocking out everything outside of this moment.
Right now, the only person I can focus on is Brooke.
Her breath hitches, her eyes widen, and her mouth parts the slightest bit, a sigh falling from her lips. It ripples the air between us, charging it with a natural electricity needed for this scene.
I fight my grin, knowing we’re about to make one hell of a movie.
“Action!”
13
Zoe
I’m not insecure. I never have been.
I’ve always known my place in the world and how to navigate it.
This feeling of a sour stomach coupled with a blaze of heat across the back of my neck, is something new. It surprises me, the intensity of this feeling. Of knowing that in certain areas, I am lacking. I am less-than.
Brooke Silver is a queen.
Long black hair that curls to just above the swell of her ass, dark, almond-shaped eyes that bewitch when they land on you, a perfect nose, upturned the tiniest bit at the end, and a perfectly symmetrical face. For my entire childhood, she was the child-star. The one in every kids show, family sitcom, and major Blockbuster. Then, she was the supermodel. The one who walked every runway in every European city and graced the covers of all the major magazines.
When that grew old, she returned to her roots, jumping back into feature films as easily as I navigate gym equipment and racks of dumbbells. Effortlessly. Naturally.
But it’s not only her looks that cause my heart to ache in my chest. No, that’d be too shallow.
It’s the way she moves around Eli, like she knows him intimately, and she does. Not just her body, but her heart. When the director calls “action,” the world falls away, and I am entranced by the scene unfolding on set.
The slight uptick of Eli’s mouth, uncertain with a shadow of hope until Henry realizes that it is, in fact, his beloved, Adelina. Then, Eli’s face transforms. His eyebrows rise, his mouth drops open in surprise, and his hands, they cup Adelina’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, his pinkie trailing down the side of her face and hooking around the back of her neck. He drops his mouth to hers slowly, reverently, desperately.
She arches into him, her hair tipping toward the ground until he fists it in his hand, pulling her flush against his chest.
I can’t see her expression, but I can read the wonder in his. The need. The hunger.
His mouth crashes over hers, almost violent in its intensity. She moans, the sound splitting the air until the hairs on my arms stand to attention. I’m drawn to them, like a voyeuristic shadow, desperate for more, and ashamed.
Jealousy churns in my stomach, an unfamiliar sensation of inadequacy.
The kiss on set breaks as Brooke pulls back, her fingers digging into the back of Eli’s neck as she whispers, breathless, “Oh, my love. I’ve prayed for you, for this. For us.” Then her lips are fused to his as he lifts her off the ground and walks almost drunkenly until her back slams into a tree trunk. As his hands undress her, hurriedly and desperate, his eyes closed as if he knows her body from muscle memory, and her frantic panting fills the air, I silently snap one photo on my iPhone, turn away, and slip off set.
Back in my room, I study the photo of Eli and Brooke.
Unbridled passion. Yearning lust. Desperate need.
Whatever was between them was more than. Maybe not hearts and rainbows, true love forever, but it was more than a fling, a hook-up, or a “it’s just sex” arrangement.
The realization burns way more than it should. Eli kissed me once. Probably from gratitude for helping him with his role. It didn’t mean anything to him. If it had, he would have stopped me as I walked away, or reached out with more than a text message asking to rehearse lines.
I was a brief lapse in judgement for him. A random moment that was better fulfilled by kissing than speaking. It didn’t mean anything.
I don’t mean anything.
Dropping my phone on the bed, I collapse in my desk chair and open my laptop, suddenly desperate to speak with Charlie. I need my friend, someone who can ground me in my real life as I float into this new world like a buoy without an anchor.
Pulling up the FaceTime app, a reminder alert floats in the corner of my screen.
Subject: Reminder - Call Dr. Salinas
Shit, I’m supposed to schedule a breast screening.
Ignoring it, I dial my dad instead. When he doesn’t answer, I leave him a voicemail with a reminder to call his doctor. Hypocrite much?
Sighing, I press Charlie’s contact next.
“Tell me everything about your glamorous life!” Charlie answers, holding the phone on top of the bar at Shooters, the beer taps behind her.
“I miss you!” I smile, a soothing sensation washing over me at the sound of my best friend’s voice.
“I miss you too, babe. Sunday Night Football blows without you.”
“But the extra pitcher of beer you convinced Dad to do with every order of wings?”
“A hit!” Charlie literally pats herself on the shoulder. “Papa Clark is on the verge of adopting me. We could be sisters for real!”
“How is Dad? I just called him, but he didn’t answer.”
Charlie’s expression sobers and my heart lurches into my throat, my fingers itchy with energy. I just spoke to Dad two days ago and while he was his optimistic and positive self, I could tell from his voice that he was missing me.
“He’s okay.” Charlie glances away from the screen before inching her face closer and dropping her voice. “Dr. Kent had a cancellation yesterday, so they were able to move his appointment up. Dr. Kent wants him to come back for some additional testing.”
Frowning, I feel my nerves zing into heightened panic. “Why?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t want to talk about it. I even tried to liquor him up. All I know is that he has a follow-up appointment in two weeks. Don’t worry, I’m going.”
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I know, in my heart of hearts, that additional testing isn’t favorable where Dad’s eyesight is concerned. “Is he okay?”
Charlie nods, “He’s acting like himself. I mean, obviously, he’s missing you, but he’s being normal.”
Blowing out a deep breath, my cheeks puff out.
Charlie’s eyes narrow. “What’s going on, Zo?”
“Ahhh.” Tears gather in my eyes.
“Homesick?”
I nod.
“That’s normal, babe.”
“Eli kissed me.”
“What?” Charlie shrieks, glancing up from the phone. “No, I’m fine, Fred. Enjoy your fish and chips.” Her gaze returns to the screen. “Are you effing serious? You better be serious because if you lied about that…wait, why are you crying?”
Dropping my face into my hand, I hide my stupid traitor tears.
“Zoe, what happened?” Charlie gentles her tone, the concern in her voice strong. She gathers her hair into a high ponytail and asks someone to cover the bar for her. I hope it isn’t Fred. Moments later, she’s sitting on the bathroom countertop, peering at me expectantly.
“He kissed me. We, I don’t know, sort of started hooking up on the beach.”
“The beach?!”
My shame from the moment when Eli told me to get up, my stomach stuck in the granules of sand, my heart thudding in my chest like a butterfly’s wings flapping against a net, rushes to the surface all over again. “And then, he, he abruptly ended it, called me his employee.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Ew
.”
“I know.”
“Take a deep breath, Zoe. What happened afterwards?”
“I don’t know. I went out for drinks with Harlow. We had a real girl’s night, made me miss you.”
“Don’t replace me, bitch.”
“Never.”
“And then, Eli messaged me to help him run lines.” I click my tongue. “His character deals with blindness so…”
Charlie nods.
“And now, his co-star had to be replaced and Brooke Silver is here.”
“Shut the heck up.” Charlie’s mouth drops open, her blue eyes nearly bugging out of her head.
“You look like an alien.”
“I feel like I stepped into an alternate universe. Did you meet the she-god?”
“I’m glad that’s your takeaway.”
“Wait. Do you like Eli Holt?” Charlie asks, horror mixed with delight flashing across her face in a strange expression of furrowed brows and a crazy smile.
I sigh. “I don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Holy shit. He really got to you, didn’t he? I thought you just liked messing with him and that the whole flirtation between you guys was cute and funny. But not this.” She shakes her finger at me. “Don’t let that man make you cry, boo. No man is worth your tears. Only Papa Clark.”
I swipe the back of my hand across my eyes. “What do I do?”
“You train him. Do the job you went to do, focus on the opportunity to expand your business. Don’t let Eli Holt distract you from why you’re there. You got this, Zoe. You’re the most ambitious, badass bitch I know. Don’t go acting basic.”
I snort at the severity of her tone. “You really are my best friend.”
“Duh. Now, tell me about this kiss.” She licks her lips, grinning devilishly.
I laugh. “Full details later, I promise. But I actually need to prepare for my training session with Eli.”
“Really? I see how it is, Zo.”
“Shut it. I’ll call you soon. Promise.”
“Mean it?”
“Swear it.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Thanks, Charlie.”
“Bye bae.”
I disconnect the call, open the closet, and pull out my suitcase. Unzipping the side pocket, I unfold the white piece of paper with my BRCA results and stare at the large question mark stamped over my future.
I need to schedule the screening.
Should I do preventative surgery?
Positive for BRCA 1 and BRCA 2.
Images of my mom, her head bald, her body frail flicker through my mind.
Then come more recent moments containing my grandma in her final days.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I know this is my fate.
I won’t have the fairytale ending that girls like Charlie speak of with certainty. Marriage. Babies. Fulfilling, lifelong careers. Growing old and wrinkly like a raisin, sitting on a rocking chair on a wraparound porch next to the man I built a life with. It’s not in the cards for me.
I have this moment. The present. Right now. I have to build my dream career as fast as possible, ensure dad’s financial stability, fall in and out of love so I can live that pinnacle of the human experience before I kick the bucket.
Feel all the emotions, do all the things, embrace all the moments.
Squaring my shoulders, I slip the paper on my keyboard and close my laptop.
This is my life. And damn it, I intend to live it.
The chirp of a text message rings out.
Eli: Sorry, need to cancel today’s session.
Damn him. He shouldn’t blow me off with his career on the line.
Me: Reschedule?
Eli: Get back to you.
Me (to Harlow): Dinner and drinks?
Several minutes pass before Harlow responds.
Harlow: Are you trying to kill me? I’m so hungover.
Me: YOLO.
Harlow: Bish, meet me in the lobby at 9. I’m napping now.
Me: You’re the best. Mean it.
14
Eli
“I think I’m going to marry him.” Brooke flashes heart eyes as she talks about her boyfriend, Jean Michel.
“And move to Paris?” I snort, her fairytale relationship making me nauseous…and a tad jealous with how effortless it seems.
Aren’t real relationships, the ones where marriage is discussed, messy and soul sucking? At least, that’s been my experience.
Brooke just laughs, waving a hand at me. “You’ll see, Eli. When you meet the right woman, even Paris doesn’t seem that farfetched.”
“If you say so, Brookie.”
“I do. I’ve been in this industry a lot longer than you. Trust me, finding the right person to share your life with is difficult for everyone. It’s even harder for people like us. Months spent filming on location, flying around the world for premieres, engaging in endless interviews.” She lifts her linen napkin to dab the corner of her mouth. “There’s a lot of pressure on the relationship right from the start. Why do you think so many of us have partners also in the industry?”
I think of my friends from L.A. and their significant others. Brooke’s right – nearly all of them are in the Hollywood world. The thought depresses me, making my stomach sink. When I imagine my happily-ever-after, it’s in a simple house, with the mess and clutter of children. A whole basketball team of them. Sticky hands and sloppy kisses. A woman whose warmth could heat our entire home.
Not that I would ever admit that out loud, and certainly not to Brooke.
“Jean Michel understands that,” she continues, sharing more about Jean Michel’s modeling career.
Our conversation drifts to common friends, shared acquaintances, and upcoming movie roles we’re considering auditioning for. However, her words stay with me throughout dinner. About finding the right person. About the pressures of our careers. Something about her easy acceptance when she said them, even though I know she spoke the truth, rubbed me the wrong way.
It made the possibility of finding a partner almost hopeless. It made Brooke’s relationship with Jean Michel seem unrealistic for the majority of us.
It reaffirmed the belief that I’ll always be alone, even though I don’t want to be.
* * *
I spot her the moment I leave Achara. The brightness of her purple hair, the outline of her perfect body, dressed way too sexily for walking around a hotel on a weeknight.
Brooke follows my line of vision and smiles. “She’s beautiful, Eli.”
“She’s my trainer, Brooke.”
“If you say so.” She chuckles. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She brushes a kiss against my cheek just as Zoe turns in our direction.
As Brooke walks toward the elevator, I keep my gaze trained on Zoe, on the widening of her eyes, the blush creeping across her face. She forces a tight smile and lifts one hand in a half-wave, before turning around and walking through the lobby to the front of the hotel.
Damn it. Where the hell is she going? And who is she going with?
I stride toward the sliding doors leading outside. To where Zoe is probably slipping into a cab, about to head into Victoria. Bursting through the doors, the heat of the tropics hits me full in the face.
“Violet!” I call out. Zoe looks up, a frown on her face. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her phone clutched in her hand. “Harlow had to cancel on me.” She gives me the once-over. “Dinner worth skipping out on training?” Her voice is clipped, her features tight.
“You’re angry.” I frown, reaching for her.
She steps back, her eyes narrowed and her face flushed. “Of course I’m angry, Eli!”
Several people waiting at the taxi stand glance at us curiously. I sigh, tilting my head to a quiet bench off to the side.
Zoe strides toward the bench, not sparing me a second glance to make sure I’m following.
She really is angry, and not because she didn’t get
something she wanted, expected from me, but because she holds me to the same standards as herself.
And I disappointed her.
When she reaches the bench, she whirls around, her index finger pointed between us like a barrier. “You blew off your training session, for your film. You know, the one where you’re playing a defining role for your career, so you could have dinner with your ex-girlfriend? Are you kidding me?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” I mutter lamely, not wanting to explain that before dinner, I dealt with a frantic Natalie, desperately trying to get hold of Gray. As usual, I didn’t understand her motives, but the fear in her voice indicated that it was important. As usual, I did my best to help her.
“I don’t believe you,” Zoe murmurs, and the thread of honesty in her voice hurts.
“You don’t have to. But I’m telling you the truth. What are you doing now, anyway?”
“Nothing. I was supposed to meet Harlow, grab dinner and drinks. But she’s not feeling great.”
“She’s nursing a wicked hangover.” I grip the back of my neck, sitting on the bench.
Zoe sighs, looking out over the expanse of tropical trees and flowers. With each exhale, her eyes travel farther away. “It’s beautiful here.”
At the ache in her tone I nod, studying her profile. God, she’s gorgeous. And real. And exposed in a way I wish I could be.
“Come on.” I stand up, holding my hand out like an olive branch. “Let’s go get dinner and drinks.”
“You just ate.”
“Coconut soup and lettuce wraps.” I gag. “After today, I need a big, fat, juicy burger with fries. And alcohol. Don’t tell my trainer, she’s a tyrant.”
Zoe stares at me for a beat before a peal of laughter falls from her lips. “Okay, I feel you, Hollywood. Consider this the ultimate cheat day. But tomorrow —”
“I show up, I train, no excuses.”
“I don’t care how hungover you are.”
“What about you?” I point out.
“I can handle my liquor, thank you very much.” She takes my offered hand and pulls me toward the taxi stand. “Here. Now. This is my life,” she whispers, her fingers squeezing mine.
