Hollywood Dirt
Page 64
“I’m not in a relationship, I’m not seeing anyone, and I’m not fucking anyone.” He bit out the last line in easy concert with the truths and rested his forehead on the door, willing the man on the other end to buy his words. It wasn’t really a lie. He wasn’t fucking Summer, he had fucked her. Past tense. Wasn’t going to happen again. Probably. “If you want me on a plane by eleven, I have to go.”
DeLuca sighed into the receiver. “Fine. I’ll see you in LA. Justin’s arranging a driver for you at the airport.”
“Okay.” Cole ended the call and straightened, tossing the phone onto the couch and pulling open the door, the sky full of morning light, a sparrow flying off the porch railing at first sight of him. Cole jogged toward the truck, squinting in the direction of Summer’s house and was pleased to see her truck wasn’t out front.
He climbed into the cab, starting the big diesel and heading toward town. It would be a busy morning. SCENE #22. The first kiss between Royce and Ida.
He’d knock that out, then he’d fly to Los Angeles, and rejoin the demons.
CHAPTER 72
I was halfway through a plate of Belgian waffles when Mary popped her head in. “May I come in?” she chirped.
I nodded through a mouthful of strawberries and syrup, glancing up from the script I was reviewing. I was about to ask if she could run some lines with me when she held up a new call sheet. “Bad news,” she said, placing it before me. “Mr. Masten has to leave for California so they’ve shifted some scenes around.”
Cole leaving for California sounded like great news to me. I put a regretful look on my face and picked up the call sheet. “Scene twenty-two?” I started to flip through my master script, but she stopped me.
“I’ll get you a new script. Twenty-two was revised after your, ugh…” she glanced down at her clipboard and made a notation of sorts, “… after your ad lib yesterday. Or rather, Mr. Masten’s ad lib.”
Revised. That didn’t sound good. I flipped through the sides she passed me and looked up. “A kiss? That’s what this scene is?”
“Yes.” She tapped the side of her pen on the clipboard. “They want you camera-ready in fifteen.”
Fifteen. Fifteen minutes wasn’t enough to get me into hair and makeup and camera-ready. Five years wasn’t enough to get ready to kiss Cole Masten.
SCENE 22: OFFICE PARKING LOT. ROYCE GIVES IDA CAR.
“This is stupid.” I balled up the top page of the script and walked over to Don. We stood in the middle of a fake parking lot, in front of a fake office front, the vintage Coca-Cola sign hanging above the building’s door the only authentic thing on the set. Well, it and a vintage Cadillac Phaeton that sat before us, a big bow wrapped around her middle.
Don sighed, resting his hand on the top of a camera and looking at me. “What’s the problem, Summer?”
“Royce, out of the blue, gives Ida a car, and she’s supposed to kiss him for it?”
“It’s a peace offering,” Cole chimed in, coming around Don with a cup of coffee in hand. He was already dressed in a brown suit, his face shaved, green eyes blazing. I ignored him.
“Ida’s not going to accept a car, and she’s not going to jump up and down and do this whole pathetic routine you have her doing.” I waved the script in the air, and one of the writers looked up from his chair, his brows pinching.
“It’s not pathetic. It’s how women in the fifties acted. You have to realize that she is a divorced woman looking for a man. Royce is giving her a very generous gift and, when she hugs him in gratitude, he goes in for the kiss…” The man, a tiny bit of a man with bright red hair and a Grateful Dead shirt, shrugged. “It’s logical.”
I stared at him, and, by the look on my face, hopefully communicated how much of a sexist idiot I considered him to be. “It’s logical if we are talking about a woman who sits at home and knits all day. It’s not logical if we are talking about Ida Pinkerton, one of the Original 67.” I looked at Don, then Cole, in disgust. “Did anyone read this book other than me?”
“Scripts aren’t the book. It’s an adaptation.” Now Grateful Dead boy was rising to his feet.
“You—shut up,” Cole snapped, pointing at the writer and walking toward me. He glanced at his watch and stopped in front of me, so close that I could see the tiny green lines inset in his brown suit. “Summer, I’ve got to get on a plane in two hours. Please don’t fight me on this. Just say your lines, and let’s wrap this baby up.” He cupped the side of my arms with his hands, and I looked down at them in surprise.
“It’s not her,” I hissed at him. “This whole hero-worship bit is bull crap. It’s completely out of character.”
“Then ad lib it,” Don interrupted. “Like you guys did in the office. I can’t get either of you to stick to the damn script anyway.”
I turned to Don, distinctly aware that Cole’s hands still were on my arms. I jerked my shoulders, and he let go. “Ad lib it?” I asked.
“Sure. Say whatever you think Ida would say. But in return I need a kiss.” He pointed at me and held my contact. “Deal?”
“A kiss,” I repeated with dread.
“Yes,” Cole said. “I know. Painful. Trust me, Country. I’m not looking forward to it any more than you are.”
I whipped my head to him, his mouth curving a little bit when he took in my glare.
DeLuca sighed into the receiver. “Fine. I’ll see you in LA. Justin’s arranging a driver for you at the airport.”
“Okay.” Cole ended the call and straightened, tossing the phone onto the couch and pulling open the door, the sky full of morning light, a sparrow flying off the porch railing at first sight of him. Cole jogged toward the truck, squinting in the direction of Summer’s house and was pleased to see her truck wasn’t out front.
He climbed into the cab, starting the big diesel and heading toward town. It would be a busy morning. SCENE #22. The first kiss between Royce and Ida.
He’d knock that out, then he’d fly to Los Angeles, and rejoin the demons.
CHAPTER 72
I was halfway through a plate of Belgian waffles when Mary popped her head in. “May I come in?” she chirped.
I nodded through a mouthful of strawberries and syrup, glancing up from the script I was reviewing. I was about to ask if she could run some lines with me when she held up a new call sheet. “Bad news,” she said, placing it before me. “Mr. Masten has to leave for California so they’ve shifted some scenes around.”
Cole leaving for California sounded like great news to me. I put a regretful look on my face and picked up the call sheet. “Scene twenty-two?” I started to flip through my master script, but she stopped me.
“I’ll get you a new script. Twenty-two was revised after your, ugh…” she glanced down at her clipboard and made a notation of sorts, “… after your ad lib yesterday. Or rather, Mr. Masten’s ad lib.”
Revised. That didn’t sound good. I flipped through the sides she passed me and looked up. “A kiss? That’s what this scene is?”
“Yes.” She tapped the side of her pen on the clipboard. “They want you camera-ready in fifteen.”
Fifteen. Fifteen minutes wasn’t enough to get me into hair and makeup and camera-ready. Five years wasn’t enough to get ready to kiss Cole Masten.
SCENE 22: OFFICE PARKING LOT. ROYCE GIVES IDA CAR.
“This is stupid.” I balled up the top page of the script and walked over to Don. We stood in the middle of a fake parking lot, in front of a fake office front, the vintage Coca-Cola sign hanging above the building’s door the only authentic thing on the set. Well, it and a vintage Cadillac Phaeton that sat before us, a big bow wrapped around her middle.
Don sighed, resting his hand on the top of a camera and looking at me. “What’s the problem, Summer?”
“Royce, out of the blue, gives Ida a car, and she’s supposed to kiss him for it?”
“It’s a peace offering,” Cole chimed in, coming around Don with a cup of coffee in hand. He was already dressed in a brown suit, his face shaved, green eyes blazing. I ignored him.
“Ida’s not going to accept a car, and she’s not going to jump up and down and do this whole pathetic routine you have her doing.” I waved the script in the air, and one of the writers looked up from his chair, his brows pinching.
“It’s not pathetic. It’s how women in the fifties acted. You have to realize that she is a divorced woman looking for a man. Royce is giving her a very generous gift and, when she hugs him in gratitude, he goes in for the kiss…” The man, a tiny bit of a man with bright red hair and a Grateful Dead shirt, shrugged. “It’s logical.”
I stared at him, and, by the look on my face, hopefully communicated how much of a sexist idiot I considered him to be. “It’s logical if we are talking about a woman who sits at home and knits all day. It’s not logical if we are talking about Ida Pinkerton, one of the Original 67.” I looked at Don, then Cole, in disgust. “Did anyone read this book other than me?”
“Scripts aren’t the book. It’s an adaptation.” Now Grateful Dead boy was rising to his feet.
“You—shut up,” Cole snapped, pointing at the writer and walking toward me. He glanced at his watch and stopped in front of me, so close that I could see the tiny green lines inset in his brown suit. “Summer, I’ve got to get on a plane in two hours. Please don’t fight me on this. Just say your lines, and let’s wrap this baby up.” He cupped the side of my arms with his hands, and I looked down at them in surprise.
“It’s not her,” I hissed at him. “This whole hero-worship bit is bull crap. It’s completely out of character.”
“Then ad lib it,” Don interrupted. “Like you guys did in the office. I can’t get either of you to stick to the damn script anyway.”
I turned to Don, distinctly aware that Cole’s hands still were on my arms. I jerked my shoulders, and he let go. “Ad lib it?” I asked.
“Sure. Say whatever you think Ida would say. But in return I need a kiss.” He pointed at me and held my contact. “Deal?”
“A kiss,” I repeated with dread.
“Yes,” Cole said. “I know. Painful. Trust me, Country. I’m not looking forward to it any more than you are.”
I whipped my head to him, his mouth curving a little bit when he took in my glare.
