The Redhead Plays Her Hand
Page 7
As I made my way to the set, I saw Michael waving me over. Winking at the assistant director, I made a beeline for him, grasping his hand and squeezing it tightly. “I see you’re not wearing Adidas today. Good call.” I laughed, looking down.
“No way. I know how you like to puke on them.” He laughed as well as we looked at each other nervously. Years of history, months of rekindled friendship, and weeks of frenzied work had brought us to this moment. We were about to start shooting our TV series, and it was a little surreal.
“Can I tell you something?” I whispered as we walked toward the set.
“Sure,” he whispered back, nodding at PAs as they scurried by.
It was a hot set, and there was activity everywhere. I’d been there since early this morning, getting hair and makeup just so. This was the world I’d been dreaming of since I was little, and it was all here now, right in front of me. Since we’d shot the pilot and everyone finally figured out how green I was, I’d been sent to “acting for the camera” class. I finally knew how much work went into television production, after taking it for granted all those years as a viewer.
“I kind of can’t believe this!” I quietly squealed, resisting the urge to shout and scream. I was here! I was doing this! Holy Lord, I was doing this!
“I kind of can’t believe it either, but we’re cool. We’re cool. Nothing to see here, just two industry professionals.” He squeezed my hand even harder as we caught sight of a chair with my name on the back.
“Wow,” I said, dropping his hand to run my fingers along the back, tracing the letters in my name. “I have to take a picture of this. I don’t care how dorky it is.” I snapped a quick shot with my phone and immediately texted Jack.
Look look! They gave me my own chair!
“Did you send that to Jack?” Michael asked as I settled in my chair. My chair!
“I did. I wanted to document the beginning of the diva.” I laughed, posing as he took a picture as well.
“Oh, please. I think I have an actual Polaroid of that moment somewhere in my parents’ basement.” He snorted as he texted furiously. “How’s he doing, by the way? That accident with the photographers looked intense.”
“Who are you sending that to?”
“Holly. She has to see this too.”
“Of course. You know, he’s doing okay. We circled the wagons a bit. We had Bryan come to the house and check things out, increased the security system, that kind of thing.”
“He’s okay then?”
“He’s as well as can be expected. Normally when someone has a little car accident, it doesn’t end up on the nightly news.” I sighed, looking down as my phone chirped.
Looks great, Crazy! As long as you’re taking pictures, I need a new one of you. Sparkly boobies?
I smiled. He was pretty freaked out after everything that had happened, to say nothing of the accident I almost caused trying to get to him. When his phone went dead I had damn near come out of my skin. My mind went through the worst possibilities, calming only when Holly was able to get through to Bryan and find out where he was. Bryan was able to track him with his cell phone—how weird was this world? When your boyfriend’s bodyguard could find him just by tapping a few buttons on his phone?
As weird as a world where you have your name on a chair and people asking you if the right kind of bottled water is in your trailer.
Touché.
Jack had been glad to get out of town and to the desert for this new film. His mind was already in character, and he’d been working closely with the other guys in the cast. They had a week of boot camp before they started shooting, and he was really getting into it. Boys. They liked to run and jump in the mud. They just don’t always look so good doing it . . .
My own boot camp had consisted of cucumber and air, twice daily workouts, new hair extensions, a deeper shade of red, and a spray tan or two. I was down nine pounds, but luckily I had kept the girls. Jack would be grateful.
I may have also bought new boots for the boot camp.
“Hey, how’s the new house, by the way?” I asked Michael.
“It’s great. Moving in next week. That Holly, she really has this town on lockdown, doesn’t she? She found that house in one afternoon. Everything I wanted, she found it.”
“I’m glad she’s on our team. She is not someone I’d want to mess with.” I laughed, straightening in my chair as David, the director, approached. David Lancaster was known for being hard on newcomers. So far he’d been easygoing, nice . . . funny even. But I knew he’d had something to do with the notes the producers had given about my weight, and I hadn’t been able to get a good read on him yet.
“Grace, you ready to shoot?”
You got this; you got this; you got this. You. Got. This.
“Good to go, David,” I answered, my voice coming out in a squeak, which quickly turned into nervous giggles. “Might be a little nervous.”
“No problem. We’re going to start off slow today. We’re set up to start with the kitchen scene: your ex has papers for you to sign, and he brings along his new girlfriend. You got the rewrites last night, right?”
“Yep. They’re great,” I answered, winking at Michael.
“Okay, let’s get set up on your first mark. We changed the blocking a bit. We’re going to have you behind this potted plant to start with, okay?”
Behind a potted plant, huh?
My first day on the set of my own series I learned that craft services can do a lot with cucumbers and air.
That night I went to bed early. Being a TV star was hard work.
Did you really just say that out loud in your own head?
Totally. Danced around a bit too.
Before bed I walked through the house, closing blinds and double-checking the locks. I always did, but now I was extra careful. As I was sliding between the sheets, Jack called.
“Hey, sweet girl, how was your first day?”
“It was exhausting! But awesome. How was the mud run?”
“Also exhausting, but awesome. But really, how did it go?”
“What do you know about potted plants?”
“What?”
He laughed as I flipped out the light and snuggled down to recap my day with my Sweet Nuts. I talked shop, and he wisely let me fumble when trying to explain what a key grip was. As we were winding down, I heard someone in the background.
“Who’s that I hear? Another one of the grunts?” I yawned. He and the other guys in the cast called one another grunts. It was so hard for me to control my eye rolling.
I think you just did . . .
“Right. Adam and I are heading into town to this dive bar. Apparently lots of bikers hang out there!”
I heard Adam laugh. Jack was obsessed with American culture and dying to take a road trip.
“You and Adam, huh?” I asked, twisting the sheets in my hand.
“Sure, why?”
“Nothing. I was just hoping for a little phone action with my Brit tonight,” I whispered, my skin dancing with just the idea of it.
“Oh, you were, huh? What exactly did you have in mind, Grace? What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
“Fuck. You had to say knickers, didn’t you?” I moaned into the phone.
“I know it makes you crazy, Crazy. Wish I could get you sorted, but I’ve got company and—”
I could hear Adam laughing again. “I can’t hear this! Get off the phone and let’s go!”
Jack told him to shut up.
“No, it’s okay. You go,” I told him. “Get in a biker brawl. Just make sure you stay away from the assless chaps, okay?” I frowned slightly.
Calm down. He’s twenty-four. Of course he’s going out.
“Call you when I get home?”
“No, call me tomorrow. I’ve got an early call time, and I need to fit in a run before I head to the studio.”
“Listen to you, you’re like an old pro.”
“That’s five.”
“What’s five?” he asked.
“You called me old. Every time you say something about frown lines or being old in general, that’s five orgasms you owe me, got it?”
“Fucking hell, Grace,” he groaned.
“’Night, love,” I whispered, and hung up as he was protesting.
Well played . . .
I chuckled to myself as I rolled over in bed, letting one hand linger on his pillow. Out with Adam. Huh.
I sent him a text.
Be careful, George. Love you xoxo
And so it went. I was on set most days and even some nights, and loving every second of it. Shooting was going well, and the cast was settling in with one another. Leslie had signed on to reprise her role as my nemesis, and it was nice having someone else around from the original New York crew. She had pictures of Jack up in her trailer and made no bones about the fact that if I were ever done with him, she would absolutely swoop right in. I didn’t blame her one bit. But no one was getting ahold of my Brit.
A little more press was written about the series being in production, and I was starting to notice a trend. Whenever I was mentioned, Jack was mentioned. These were just trade magazines, Variety, Deadline, but still. I wasn’t fooling myself. I knew I was damn lucky to have this job. It was rare that producers would sign an unknown like myself for the lead in a series like this. In fact, it was almost unheard of. So I got it, but still.
“Don’t worry about it, asshead. It comes with the territory. People want to know who you are, why you got this part. It’s natural—in a town where nothing is,” Holly informed me one day. We rolled around on the bed in my trailer until we were dizzy, enjoying the spoils that came with a large production budget. She’d stopped by to inform me she was hiring me a stylist.
“What? You mean I can’t continue to run around in yoga pants every day?” I laughed, pulling myself off the bed and picking up a plate of cucumbers. My first sex scene was scheduled in a few days, and while the potted plant was no longer, I did seem to have a lot of scenes where I was holding a book. I’d be dropping the cucumbers soon and just sticking with the air. Big, yummy gulps of air.
“No, dear, you need a look. I’m sending someone over tomorrow. She’s bringing lots of great things. Let her dress you. You’ll love it. And make sure she picks out something for the party next week,” Holly instructed, leaning into the mirror and inspecting her face.
Looking at her, it was hard to tell she was on the business side of show business. She always looked flawless. But she’d brought studio heads to their knees when working out a deal—figuratively speaking, of course—and she loved her job. Part of her job was combining work with fun, and she was having one of her famous parties. Jack and I had met at her last one.
“Yeah, yeah, is Lane coming?” I asked, watching her face carefully. She was always vague about Lane, who’d played Jack’s assistant in the Time movie. Tall and impossibly good-looking, built like a god and capable of making her see God as well, the two had been engaging in a purely sexual relationship for months now. It was on; it was off. It was on; it was really on; it was off. Lane was great—sweet as can be—but I think they both knew it was just about getting an itch scratched.
Gross.
“I think so. Rebecca too. Nick’s going to try to make it. He’s supposed to be back from Oregon sometime next week,” she answered, her cheeks barely flushing.
Hmmm. Off again?
Wow, the whole gang. We knew Rebecca through Jack as well. She was a part of the Time cast. Nick was, well, Nick.
“Is he still working on that series?”
“Trying to. He wanted so badly to go legit, but he misses Hollywood too much.” She snorted as she stood up to leave. Nick was a screenwriter and had been working on a documentary for PBS. He was on location most of the time now. It would be good to see him. He texted me all the time, telling me how much he missed me, but I know secretly he just wanted to look at the pretty. He had a major crush on Jack, and he loved to make it as obvious as he could. Which was pretty obvious.
After Holly left, I looked at myself critically in the mirror. I could see a difference. I could definitely see more “cheekbone,” but did that mean I was ready to sex it up for the camera? I twisted this way and that, checking it out from all angles. I thought I looked pretty good, but that damn camera. They say it adds ten pounds, but I think that’s when you’re under thirty. Over thirty, I think it was a few more than that. David made sure I was watching the dailies and could see what I really looked like.
I texted Chip Chip the Devil Man and added an extra workout for tonight.
Air is good.
In the end, I tried like hell to give them the cheekbone they asked for. I barely ate for three days, ran my ass up and down the canyon like I was getting paid to, which I was, and worked out more than I had ever worked out in my life. I moved that scale two pounds. Two pounds! And don’t think I didn’t hear about it, everyone had their two cents to say about my two pounds. Diet tips, weight-loss books, fasting schedules, everyone had an opinion. But we also had a tight shooting schedule to stick to, so when SS Day (Sex Scene Day) came, I breathed deep and went for it.
We had blocked the scene earlier that morning, the actor who I had been working with on this particular story arc was great, supersweet and very good-looking. Relatively new to the industry, he was just as nervous as I was, so we psyched each other up.
It was strange, rolling around on a bed with another actor and trying to make it seem natural, when it was more choreographed than my high school pom-pom routines. Hand here, knee bent here, stick your butt out here, but keep it covered with the sheet, it was like a grown-up game of Twister. Mabel, my character, was having a one-night stand, and when I met the actor I could understand why.
“No way. I know how you like to puke on them.” He laughed as well as we looked at each other nervously. Years of history, months of rekindled friendship, and weeks of frenzied work had brought us to this moment. We were about to start shooting our TV series, and it was a little surreal.
“Can I tell you something?” I whispered as we walked toward the set.
“Sure,” he whispered back, nodding at PAs as they scurried by.
It was a hot set, and there was activity everywhere. I’d been there since early this morning, getting hair and makeup just so. This was the world I’d been dreaming of since I was little, and it was all here now, right in front of me. Since we’d shot the pilot and everyone finally figured out how green I was, I’d been sent to “acting for the camera” class. I finally knew how much work went into television production, after taking it for granted all those years as a viewer.
“I kind of can’t believe this!” I quietly squealed, resisting the urge to shout and scream. I was here! I was doing this! Holy Lord, I was doing this!
“I kind of can’t believe it either, but we’re cool. We’re cool. Nothing to see here, just two industry professionals.” He squeezed my hand even harder as we caught sight of a chair with my name on the back.
“Wow,” I said, dropping his hand to run my fingers along the back, tracing the letters in my name. “I have to take a picture of this. I don’t care how dorky it is.” I snapped a quick shot with my phone and immediately texted Jack.
Look look! They gave me my own chair!
“Did you send that to Jack?” Michael asked as I settled in my chair. My chair!
“I did. I wanted to document the beginning of the diva.” I laughed, posing as he took a picture as well.
“Oh, please. I think I have an actual Polaroid of that moment somewhere in my parents’ basement.” He snorted as he texted furiously. “How’s he doing, by the way? That accident with the photographers looked intense.”
“Who are you sending that to?”
“Holly. She has to see this too.”
“Of course. You know, he’s doing okay. We circled the wagons a bit. We had Bryan come to the house and check things out, increased the security system, that kind of thing.”
“He’s okay then?”
“He’s as well as can be expected. Normally when someone has a little car accident, it doesn’t end up on the nightly news.” I sighed, looking down as my phone chirped.
Looks great, Crazy! As long as you’re taking pictures, I need a new one of you. Sparkly boobies?
I smiled. He was pretty freaked out after everything that had happened, to say nothing of the accident I almost caused trying to get to him. When his phone went dead I had damn near come out of my skin. My mind went through the worst possibilities, calming only when Holly was able to get through to Bryan and find out where he was. Bryan was able to track him with his cell phone—how weird was this world? When your boyfriend’s bodyguard could find him just by tapping a few buttons on his phone?
As weird as a world where you have your name on a chair and people asking you if the right kind of bottled water is in your trailer.
Touché.
Jack had been glad to get out of town and to the desert for this new film. His mind was already in character, and he’d been working closely with the other guys in the cast. They had a week of boot camp before they started shooting, and he was really getting into it. Boys. They liked to run and jump in the mud. They just don’t always look so good doing it . . .
My own boot camp had consisted of cucumber and air, twice daily workouts, new hair extensions, a deeper shade of red, and a spray tan or two. I was down nine pounds, but luckily I had kept the girls. Jack would be grateful.
I may have also bought new boots for the boot camp.
“Hey, how’s the new house, by the way?” I asked Michael.
“It’s great. Moving in next week. That Holly, she really has this town on lockdown, doesn’t she? She found that house in one afternoon. Everything I wanted, she found it.”
“I’m glad she’s on our team. She is not someone I’d want to mess with.” I laughed, straightening in my chair as David, the director, approached. David Lancaster was known for being hard on newcomers. So far he’d been easygoing, nice . . . funny even. But I knew he’d had something to do with the notes the producers had given about my weight, and I hadn’t been able to get a good read on him yet.
“Grace, you ready to shoot?”
You got this; you got this; you got this. You. Got. This.
“Good to go, David,” I answered, my voice coming out in a squeak, which quickly turned into nervous giggles. “Might be a little nervous.”
“No problem. We’re going to start off slow today. We’re set up to start with the kitchen scene: your ex has papers for you to sign, and he brings along his new girlfriend. You got the rewrites last night, right?”
“Yep. They’re great,” I answered, winking at Michael.
“Okay, let’s get set up on your first mark. We changed the blocking a bit. We’re going to have you behind this potted plant to start with, okay?”
Behind a potted plant, huh?
My first day on the set of my own series I learned that craft services can do a lot with cucumbers and air.
That night I went to bed early. Being a TV star was hard work.
Did you really just say that out loud in your own head?
Totally. Danced around a bit too.
Before bed I walked through the house, closing blinds and double-checking the locks. I always did, but now I was extra careful. As I was sliding between the sheets, Jack called.
“Hey, sweet girl, how was your first day?”
“It was exhausting! But awesome. How was the mud run?”
“Also exhausting, but awesome. But really, how did it go?”
“What do you know about potted plants?”
“What?”
He laughed as I flipped out the light and snuggled down to recap my day with my Sweet Nuts. I talked shop, and he wisely let me fumble when trying to explain what a key grip was. As we were winding down, I heard someone in the background.
“Who’s that I hear? Another one of the grunts?” I yawned. He and the other guys in the cast called one another grunts. It was so hard for me to control my eye rolling.
I think you just did . . .
“Right. Adam and I are heading into town to this dive bar. Apparently lots of bikers hang out there!”
I heard Adam laugh. Jack was obsessed with American culture and dying to take a road trip.
“You and Adam, huh?” I asked, twisting the sheets in my hand.
“Sure, why?”
“Nothing. I was just hoping for a little phone action with my Brit tonight,” I whispered, my skin dancing with just the idea of it.
“Oh, you were, huh? What exactly did you have in mind, Grace? What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
“Fuck. You had to say knickers, didn’t you?” I moaned into the phone.
“I know it makes you crazy, Crazy. Wish I could get you sorted, but I’ve got company and—”
I could hear Adam laughing again. “I can’t hear this! Get off the phone and let’s go!”
Jack told him to shut up.
“No, it’s okay. You go,” I told him. “Get in a biker brawl. Just make sure you stay away from the assless chaps, okay?” I frowned slightly.
Calm down. He’s twenty-four. Of course he’s going out.
“Call you when I get home?”
“No, call me tomorrow. I’ve got an early call time, and I need to fit in a run before I head to the studio.”
“Listen to you, you’re like an old pro.”
“That’s five.”
“What’s five?” he asked.
“You called me old. Every time you say something about frown lines or being old in general, that’s five orgasms you owe me, got it?”
“Fucking hell, Grace,” he groaned.
“’Night, love,” I whispered, and hung up as he was protesting.
Well played . . .
I chuckled to myself as I rolled over in bed, letting one hand linger on his pillow. Out with Adam. Huh.
I sent him a text.
Be careful, George. Love you xoxo
And so it went. I was on set most days and even some nights, and loving every second of it. Shooting was going well, and the cast was settling in with one another. Leslie had signed on to reprise her role as my nemesis, and it was nice having someone else around from the original New York crew. She had pictures of Jack up in her trailer and made no bones about the fact that if I were ever done with him, she would absolutely swoop right in. I didn’t blame her one bit. But no one was getting ahold of my Brit.
A little more press was written about the series being in production, and I was starting to notice a trend. Whenever I was mentioned, Jack was mentioned. These were just trade magazines, Variety, Deadline, but still. I wasn’t fooling myself. I knew I was damn lucky to have this job. It was rare that producers would sign an unknown like myself for the lead in a series like this. In fact, it was almost unheard of. So I got it, but still.
“Don’t worry about it, asshead. It comes with the territory. People want to know who you are, why you got this part. It’s natural—in a town where nothing is,” Holly informed me one day. We rolled around on the bed in my trailer until we were dizzy, enjoying the spoils that came with a large production budget. She’d stopped by to inform me she was hiring me a stylist.
“What? You mean I can’t continue to run around in yoga pants every day?” I laughed, pulling myself off the bed and picking up a plate of cucumbers. My first sex scene was scheduled in a few days, and while the potted plant was no longer, I did seem to have a lot of scenes where I was holding a book. I’d be dropping the cucumbers soon and just sticking with the air. Big, yummy gulps of air.
“No, dear, you need a look. I’m sending someone over tomorrow. She’s bringing lots of great things. Let her dress you. You’ll love it. And make sure she picks out something for the party next week,” Holly instructed, leaning into the mirror and inspecting her face.
Looking at her, it was hard to tell she was on the business side of show business. She always looked flawless. But she’d brought studio heads to their knees when working out a deal—figuratively speaking, of course—and she loved her job. Part of her job was combining work with fun, and she was having one of her famous parties. Jack and I had met at her last one.
“Yeah, yeah, is Lane coming?” I asked, watching her face carefully. She was always vague about Lane, who’d played Jack’s assistant in the Time movie. Tall and impossibly good-looking, built like a god and capable of making her see God as well, the two had been engaging in a purely sexual relationship for months now. It was on; it was off. It was on; it was really on; it was off. Lane was great—sweet as can be—but I think they both knew it was just about getting an itch scratched.
Gross.
“I think so. Rebecca too. Nick’s going to try to make it. He’s supposed to be back from Oregon sometime next week,” she answered, her cheeks barely flushing.
Hmmm. Off again?
Wow, the whole gang. We knew Rebecca through Jack as well. She was a part of the Time cast. Nick was, well, Nick.
“Is he still working on that series?”
“Trying to. He wanted so badly to go legit, but he misses Hollywood too much.” She snorted as she stood up to leave. Nick was a screenwriter and had been working on a documentary for PBS. He was on location most of the time now. It would be good to see him. He texted me all the time, telling me how much he missed me, but I know secretly he just wanted to look at the pretty. He had a major crush on Jack, and he loved to make it as obvious as he could. Which was pretty obvious.
After Holly left, I looked at myself critically in the mirror. I could see a difference. I could definitely see more “cheekbone,” but did that mean I was ready to sex it up for the camera? I twisted this way and that, checking it out from all angles. I thought I looked pretty good, but that damn camera. They say it adds ten pounds, but I think that’s when you’re under thirty. Over thirty, I think it was a few more than that. David made sure I was watching the dailies and could see what I really looked like.
I texted Chip Chip the Devil Man and added an extra workout for tonight.
Air is good.
In the end, I tried like hell to give them the cheekbone they asked for. I barely ate for three days, ran my ass up and down the canyon like I was getting paid to, which I was, and worked out more than I had ever worked out in my life. I moved that scale two pounds. Two pounds! And don’t think I didn’t hear about it, everyone had their two cents to say about my two pounds. Diet tips, weight-loss books, fasting schedules, everyone had an opinion. But we also had a tight shooting schedule to stick to, so when SS Day (Sex Scene Day) came, I breathed deep and went for it.
We had blocked the scene earlier that morning, the actor who I had been working with on this particular story arc was great, supersweet and very good-looking. Relatively new to the industry, he was just as nervous as I was, so we psyched each other up.
It was strange, rolling around on a bed with another actor and trying to make it seem natural, when it was more choreographed than my high school pom-pom routines. Hand here, knee bent here, stick your butt out here, but keep it covered with the sheet, it was like a grown-up game of Twister. Mabel, my character, was having a one-night stand, and when I met the actor I could understand why.
