Hollywood Dirt
Page 21
His optimism was punished with DeLuca’s next words. “I told that guy at the airport that I’d have his truck back in an hour. So I’m just dropping you off with this guy. His name is Bennington—he’s the location scout for the movie so he should know his way around town and be able to get you settled.” The sun shifted behind a cloud, and the outside world grew a little darker.
Cole glanced toward the sky. “Bennington?” he repeated.
“Yeah. Bennington Payne. I didn’t pick the guy’s name.”
Cole smiled, glancing down at the phone when it chimed. “Turn right here.” They eased around the bend, and Cole glanced back at the road they’d just left. They hadn’t passed another car since they left the airport. It felt strange after a lifetime in LA, a city where rush hour stretched twenty hours a day, and cars became second houses. He’d been to remote locations before, had filmed a samurai film in the Netherlands, had spent two months in Alaska, but this was the first time he had really felt the openness, the quietness, the solitude of a place. Maybe it was because the divorce papers and Justin’s accident were so recent, the two key parts of his life, of his armor, breaking off at once, his skin underneath raw and delicate. He watched the fields go by, perfect row after row of uninterrupted green and white. The phone buzzed in his hand, and he pointed to the right, to the large plantation house, ivory columns stretching up three stories, the wide front porch complete with a half dozen rockers, the ensemble framed by a chorus of hundred-year oaks. “That’s it.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Ben watched me in confusion, one perfect brow arched high as I tore through the house, a laundry basket in hand, scooping everything off every surface, my feet slapping at the floor, my damn bathing suit riding up my crack. The tampons, can’t forget those. I rushed into the bathroom, the yellow box dumped in, along with half of the contents of our medicine cabinet. Tonight would be fun, Mama screaming for Preparation H while I fished the remote control out of the loaded-to-the-brim basket.
“Shh!” I hissed at Ben, going through a mental checklist of the things I had time to do versus what was critical.
“He’s not going to come inside.” I heard Ben’s sentence through the fog of self-preservation and skidded to a stop, the laundry basket bouncing, a roll of toilet popping out and tumbling down the hall ’til it came to a stop alongside Ben’s foot.
“What?”
“They’re just coming by to pick me up. They probably won’t even get out of the car.”
Of course. I took my first actual breath in. That made perfect sense. Why would they come in? They probably won’t come to a complete stop—will just roll by and pop open the door, yelling and waving for Ben like he was chasing a train. I set down the laundry basket on the kitchen counter and glanced down at my bathing suit. “Okay. Great. I’m gonna change.”
There was a loud knock on the door, and my eyes flicked to his in panic.
CHAPTER 26
“Are you sure this is the right place?” The porch board under Cole’s left heel was soft, and he shifted his weight onto the other foot, his eyes taking in the embroidered curtain covering the window. Inside, there was the murmur of voices, the shuffle of steps.
“Yes,” DeLuca said shortly, glancing at his watch for the umpteenth time. “This is it.”
They had bypassed the main home and pulled up to a tinier version with two vehicles parked in front—an old Chevy truck and a Ford sedan with Oklahoma plates. The car was probably the scout’s—a rental. The truck… well, who knew what hillbilly would be--
The door swung open, a tall blonde standing there, Cole’s eyes dropping past her face and landing on her swimsuit—a faded black one-piece with jean shorts hastily buttoned as he watched. Her hair was wild and long, as were her tan legs, stretching down forever and ending in pink toe nail polish. Nadia would laugh at that polish, would snicker under her breath and mutter ‘juvenile’ or ‘white trash.’ She’d also raise her brows at the tan, her hand frantic in her bag for some sunscreen, the reminder to apply taken seriously, all while texting her assistant to book her next spray tan.
“Is Bennington here?” Brad rested a hand on the doorframe, his arm blocking Cole’s view of her chest but Cole saw the flick of her eyes from his to the attorney’s, saw the slight drop of her mouth as she looked up into DeLuca’s face. Something inside of him twisted in an ugly manner. The girl had a damn movie star on her front porch and had looked away. He turned away, resting his hands on the worn wood of the porch’s railing and coughed out a laugh at the state his fragile ego had become. Wow. How low had he fallen that a strange girl couldn’t look at another man without him caring? DeLuca was a handsome guy; anybody could see that. Plus, he had the alpha male type testosterone that made women crawl over each other to his side. It was natural for the girl to look at him, for her attention to divert from Cole, especially when he had asked her a question. But still. Three Oscars in his storage unit. Her gaze could have at least lingered.
He turned back to the door, leaning against the railing and crossing his arms, waiting for this round of introductions to pass so they could get to the hotel and he could take a shower. The location scout had appeared, replacing the blonde at the door. Too bad. She’d been better to look at. The scout was hyper, his head bobbing rapidly, his hands occasionally joining in—the combination of gestures and head nods making Cole’s head hurt.
Cole glanced toward the sky. “Bennington?” he repeated.
“Yeah. Bennington Payne. I didn’t pick the guy’s name.”
Cole smiled, glancing down at the phone when it chimed. “Turn right here.” They eased around the bend, and Cole glanced back at the road they’d just left. They hadn’t passed another car since they left the airport. It felt strange after a lifetime in LA, a city where rush hour stretched twenty hours a day, and cars became second houses. He’d been to remote locations before, had filmed a samurai film in the Netherlands, had spent two months in Alaska, but this was the first time he had really felt the openness, the quietness, the solitude of a place. Maybe it was because the divorce papers and Justin’s accident were so recent, the two key parts of his life, of his armor, breaking off at once, his skin underneath raw and delicate. He watched the fields go by, perfect row after row of uninterrupted green and white. The phone buzzed in his hand, and he pointed to the right, to the large plantation house, ivory columns stretching up three stories, the wide front porch complete with a half dozen rockers, the ensemble framed by a chorus of hundred-year oaks. “That’s it.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Ben watched me in confusion, one perfect brow arched high as I tore through the house, a laundry basket in hand, scooping everything off every surface, my feet slapping at the floor, my damn bathing suit riding up my crack. The tampons, can’t forget those. I rushed into the bathroom, the yellow box dumped in, along with half of the contents of our medicine cabinet. Tonight would be fun, Mama screaming for Preparation H while I fished the remote control out of the loaded-to-the-brim basket.
“Shh!” I hissed at Ben, going through a mental checklist of the things I had time to do versus what was critical.
“He’s not going to come inside.” I heard Ben’s sentence through the fog of self-preservation and skidded to a stop, the laundry basket bouncing, a roll of toilet popping out and tumbling down the hall ’til it came to a stop alongside Ben’s foot.
“What?”
“They’re just coming by to pick me up. They probably won’t even get out of the car.”
Of course. I took my first actual breath in. That made perfect sense. Why would they come in? They probably won’t come to a complete stop—will just roll by and pop open the door, yelling and waving for Ben like he was chasing a train. I set down the laundry basket on the kitchen counter and glanced down at my bathing suit. “Okay. Great. I’m gonna change.”
There was a loud knock on the door, and my eyes flicked to his in panic.
CHAPTER 26
“Are you sure this is the right place?” The porch board under Cole’s left heel was soft, and he shifted his weight onto the other foot, his eyes taking in the embroidered curtain covering the window. Inside, there was the murmur of voices, the shuffle of steps.
“Yes,” DeLuca said shortly, glancing at his watch for the umpteenth time. “This is it.”
They had bypassed the main home and pulled up to a tinier version with two vehicles parked in front—an old Chevy truck and a Ford sedan with Oklahoma plates. The car was probably the scout’s—a rental. The truck… well, who knew what hillbilly would be--
The door swung open, a tall blonde standing there, Cole’s eyes dropping past her face and landing on her swimsuit—a faded black one-piece with jean shorts hastily buttoned as he watched. Her hair was wild and long, as were her tan legs, stretching down forever and ending in pink toe nail polish. Nadia would laugh at that polish, would snicker under her breath and mutter ‘juvenile’ or ‘white trash.’ She’d also raise her brows at the tan, her hand frantic in her bag for some sunscreen, the reminder to apply taken seriously, all while texting her assistant to book her next spray tan.
“Is Bennington here?” Brad rested a hand on the doorframe, his arm blocking Cole’s view of her chest but Cole saw the flick of her eyes from his to the attorney’s, saw the slight drop of her mouth as she looked up into DeLuca’s face. Something inside of him twisted in an ugly manner. The girl had a damn movie star on her front porch and had looked away. He turned away, resting his hands on the worn wood of the porch’s railing and coughed out a laugh at the state his fragile ego had become. Wow. How low had he fallen that a strange girl couldn’t look at another man without him caring? DeLuca was a handsome guy; anybody could see that. Plus, he had the alpha male type testosterone that made women crawl over each other to his side. It was natural for the girl to look at him, for her attention to divert from Cole, especially when he had asked her a question. But still. Three Oscars in his storage unit. Her gaze could have at least lingered.
He turned back to the door, leaning against the railing and crossing his arms, waiting for this round of introductions to pass so they could get to the hotel and he could take a shower. The location scout had appeared, replacing the blonde at the door. Too bad. She’d been better to look at. The scout was hyper, his head bobbing rapidly, his hands occasionally joining in—the combination of gestures and head nods making Cole’s head hurt.
