Hollywood Dirt Page 24

  When he pulled down the drive, a light was on in the back of the house, the glow hitting a few rooms, and he sat in the truck for a minute, the engine off, and watched it. Was she in there? He hadn’t been thinking when he had said that—putting into words what he had wanted to do since the day she opened her front door.

  The minute I get off that plane I will drive there, pin you down on my bed, and worship your pussy. I won’t stop until my mouth is imprinted on your mind and your taste is my fucking middle name.”

  He winced at the memory. Maybe she didn’t hear it. Maybe she put up Cocky and was sitting at her own house, not even thinking about the possibility of a night full of fucking. He pushed on the front of his jeans, willing his cock to soften. Yeah, she was probably at home, doing her own thing, oblivious to the thoughts that Cole had been having all day.

  He opened the door and got out, grabbing his leather duffel from the backseat and walking up the front stairs. When he opened the front door, he knew instantly that she wasn’t there.

  CHAPTER 81

  I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t wait there and be his sex toy, no matter how much I’d enjoy it. Cole Masten was dangerous to my heart, to my self-worth, to my future self.

  I would film this movie with him.

  I would cash my check.

  And then I would get out of Quincy.

  CHAPTER 82

  The next morning, I studied my bagel with particular interest when Cole walked in. We were in one of the conference rooms, one of those random meetings scheduled for no clear purpose. I’d been dreading it since I woke up that morning, unsure how to interact with the man who I had just had phone sex with. I mean, I thought it was phone sex. I always thought phone sex would be more complex, detailed descriptions needed from both parties, more directions involved, the entire thing lasting longer than our quick encounter had been. But I came. And I thought he came. And we’d been on the phone. So… yeah. I was pretty sure that was what phone sex was all about.

  My bagel was wheat. I hated wheat. Unless it had blueberries. But Mary said they didn’t have blueberry, even though two seats down, one of the ADs was going to town on one, and I could see the blue dots on it. She smeared strawberry cream cheese on the top in an attempt to make up for it, but I didn’t like flavored cream cheese, a preference that, if I pointed it out now, would only make me look difficult. So I was stuck with this bastard of a breakfast creation, her beady eyes glued to me, just waiting for me to take a bite so that she could cross one neatly-written item off her list: Feed Summer. I took a small bite. Yep. Nasty.

  I could feel when he sat down in the seat next to mine, his long legs stretching out under the table, one bumping against me, and I shifted, pulling my feet under my chair, his shoulder coming into my peripheral vision as he leaned over. I ignored him, my study of the top of the bagel unwavering in its intensity.

  “Morning.” His voice was rough, like he’d recently woken up and hadn’t yet spoken.

  I smiled politely and took a bite of the bagel, my eyes moving to the left, away from Cole, looking for something, anything, to focus on. I hadn’t prepared for this, had hoped he would be as uninterested as I was in conversation. My eyes found Becky, one of the producers, the one who was leading this meeting, and willed her to begin. I shouldn’t have arrived early. I should have ducked in at the last minute, and would have, had Mary not been a freakin’ drill sergeant, her schedule worked down to the minute, any hope of my lagging disappearing with the first tap of her Timex.

  “How late were you at the house last night?” Oh my word. He wasn’t letting this go.

  “Shhh…” I hushed, glancing around, worried about who might hear. It was the wrong thing to do, him shuffling up in his seat and leaning closer, his head close to my ear.

  “It’s an innocent question. How late were you there?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure. You’re welcome, by the way. For watching Cocky.” I turned my head slightly to him, not too far to touch him, but enough that I saw the curve of his mouth when he grinned.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I took the last, painful bite of the bagel and pushed the rest aside. It was a calculated amount of nibbles. Enough not to offend, not too much for Mary to think I actually liked it.

  “I wish you’d stayed.”

  My heart lost a beat in those words. I tried to recover it, tried to breathe normally, to act normally. I wish you’d stayed. A simple grouping of four ordinary words. But they were like peanut butter cookies. Four simple ingredients: peanut butter, sugar, flour, and egg. Together, they created something most women loved.

  I hated peanut butter cookies. And I hated that sentence out of his mouth.

  Because no matter how much it would have complicated everything, no matter how much of a mistake it would have been—

  I wish I’d stayed too.

  Becky cleared her throat and began the meeting, and I, for a little longer, was saved.

  CHAPTER 83

  Summer was acting weird. Weird even for her. Jumpy. Skittish. Avoiding eye contact. Avoiding conversation at all costs. Cole stared at the wall in his trailer and tried to think of the last time they’d had a direct conversation with each other. In the conference room? Right after he’d returned from LA to an empty house. That had been it. And that hadn’t been much of a conversation at all. And that’d been a week ago.

  He’d tried pissing her off, and she hadn’t bitten. He’d tried being friendly and she’d cut him off. He was running out of options, other than dragging her into his trailer and forcing her to talk.

  “You there?”

  He flinched at the voice and turned to Justin, who sat opposite him, script pages spread out between them. “What?”

  “You zoned out. Did you hear anything I just said? About Tokyo?”

  “No.”

  “Rentho’s Tokyo premiere is next week. We need to shift your shooting schedule to accommodate it, so Don wants to know how many days you’ll be out.” He arched an eyebrow, pen in hand, twitching above a calendar. “Five?”

  “The Japan premiere is now? I thought we were waiting.”

  “They bumped it up, back in July.” Probably around the time of Justin’s accident.

  Cole nodded. “I’m not going.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re getting stuff done here; this is more important. When are we filming thirty-eight?” Thirty-eight. The sex scene between Royce and Ida.

  “We were going to push it ’til after the Japanese premiere. Don wants to give Summer some more time to—”

  “No,” Cole interrupted. “We can’t wait.” He couldn’t wait. Not an extra minute, much less a week. The sex scene had been another add-on, one he’d pushed the writers for. One that Summer had fought tooth and nail. “We’ll do it next week, and I’ll skip the premiere. Send Charlize instead, she loves those things.”

  “When are you just going to admit to yourself that you like her?” Justin put down the pen, and Cole looked away.

  “I do like her. That’s not an issue. I like you, too; though I hate admitting that even more.” He grinned, but Justin didn’t grin back.

  “Stop fucking around.”

  Cole’s grin dropped, and his gaze hardened. “I’m not fucking around. She’s hot; I’m hot. There’s a flirtation there. If I want to fuck her, I’ll fuck her. If I want to like her, I’ll like her. If I want to hate her, I’ll do that too. The movie is most important, and everything that I’ve been doing with her is for that end game. The Fortune Bottle is killing it in those cuts. You know, you’ve seen it.”

  “So that’s what this is? You’re playing the little Georgian’s heartstrings to get your movie a statuette?” Justin’s gaze never left Cole’s, the strength never left his shoulder, his voice didn’t back down, and Cole respected that. Even when he hated it.

  “Nobody’s playing that girl’s heart. She won’t give me the time of day.”

  Justin laughed, pushing away from th
e table, to standing, his hands resting on the glass top of it as he leaned forward. “She’s protecting herself, Cole. The best she can. Hell, if I had a snatch I’d put a steel trap on it before I stepped in the same room as you.”

  “She’s not protecting herself,” Cole said, his head tilting up to look at Justin, his hands tightening on the edge of the chair arms. That wasn’t what Summer’s frostiness was all about. It was because she didn’t like Cole, despite the attraction between them.

  But as he said the words, worked through the thought process, there was, in the back of his mind, doubt.

  CHAPTER 84

  SCENE 38: ROYCE AND IDA: LOVE SCENE AT ROYCE’S HOUSE

  When Mary banged on my door, I ignored it, my arms wrapped around my knees, my thumb pressing at buttons on the remote without thought. I used to wonder why they put a TV in my trailer; it wasn’t like I had time to lounge around and watch cable. But now I knew. It was for moments of panic, the last line of defense against skittish actresses whose toes were itching to leave. Mary banged again, her delicate little fists doing an impressive number on my locked door. The phone on the kitchenette rang, the third time that had happened in the last fifteen minutes.

  I had understood the scene, I had known the need for it, I had finally stopped my complaining and been a big girl about it but now time had run out. It was time for the scene. And every pep talk I’d given myself had run out of gas. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it. No.

  A new voice joined the chorus outside my door, and I tightened my grip on my knees. Him. I turned up the volume, Judge Judy giving it to some redneck who had promised to babysit a dog, then didn’t. I murmured support and almost missed the jiggle of my trailer’s handle, the door swinging open, the glare of incoming sunshine sliced by one muscular male form. My eyes dropped to the giant key ring now dangling from my lock. Figured. It was only a matter of time. I had hoped for Don. Or Eileen. Or anyone but him.

  “I’m not doing it,” I repeated, my eyes back on the TV, and there was still hope, in all of this madness, that I wouldn’t cry.

  “You have to do it. You signed a contract.” He spoke from the middle of the room, the door settling shut behind him, his legs slightly spread, hands hanging at his side. This was his first time in my trailer, and it was too small of a space for both of us.

  “The contract didn’t say anything about me being naked on camera.”

  “Correction. The contract didn’t say anything about you not being naked on camera. That is a very important distinction, and it’s not my fault your dimwit ex missed that.”

  There was a horrific moment of weakness when my bottom lip trembled, nerves inside of me breaking, one by one. “Please go away.” My voice cracked on the first word, and out of the edge of blurry eyes I saw him move closer, his knees hitting the floor beside the couch.

  “Summer.” His voice was quiet, softer, but I didn’t look over, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my weakness.

  “I’m not doing it. I haven’t…” I stared at the top of Judge Judy’s head and blinked quickly. “I haven’t been naked in front of anyone in a long time. Other than… you know.” Other than you. A stupid disclosure to have to add. I ran a backwards palm across my cheek, my pinky catching the moisture of a stack of unshed tears. “And I’m not doing it now, not in front of all of those people—” My words almost hiccupped, and I stopped. Pulled up my T-shirt, over my chin, and pressed the material into my wet eyes. Those lights. God, when he and I were being filmed, you could stand in Thomasville and see the details of our faces, we were lit so strongly. What would it be like to be naked under those lights?

  “You’re not really naked—” Cole started, and I snorted against my shirt. The outfit that Wardrobe had dropped off was a set of pasties—two nude ones for my breasts and then one long panty-liner looking one, which I was supposed to stick in between my legs. I had tried it, had peeled off the backing and gently, then more firmly, pressed the cold stickers against my flesh, my reflection in the mirror too much for me to look at. That was when you knew you were doing something wrong, when you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror to face it. Now, under my T-shirt, the pasties pulled a little on my skin when I shifted, a constant reminder of the disaster looming before me.

  “Summer…” His voice was calming and sweet, a plea for something, and it made me madder than a branded bull, my hands dropping from my face, the T-shirt falling, my head turning to him. He was still on his knees, and I caught him mid-motion, his hand moving back to his thighs. He’d been checking his watch. Any weakness in me vanished, and I gripped onto my anger and held it like a shield. He’d been checking his watch. Screw the concerned face, the friendly and caring position, Cole Masten, kneeling beside his injured costar, his voice tugging at her to behave. Screw my contract; if I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t have to do it. We’d filmed too many scenes, it’d be too expensive for them to start over with a new Ida.

  “Get off my floor.” My tone was a knife, solid and sharp, and Cole looked up in surprise. I swung my feet off the couch and stood, the sticker between my legs pulling painfully at little hairs, the entire ensemble covered by a pair of sweatpants.

  Cole didn’t move. Of course. The man couldn’t—wouldn’t—do what anyone told him. He just watched me, and I stopped before the front window of the trailer and peeked through the blinds. There was a group still out there. Don was there, as was Eileen, as were the requisite PAs and Mary, her pen moving furiously over a new Post-It, and I could imagine it stuck to her bathroom mirror at her hotel, her frantic message bright and red on the yellow. Find A New Job.

  I dropped my hand from the blinds, and they fell back into place. “The movie doesn’t need the sex scene.”

  “It’s the climax of the relationship arc. Of course it does.” Cole finally stood, easing up slowly, and he met my eyes when he spoke, the authority back in his voice, his coddling tone from earlier gone.

  “A body double.” The idea was sudden and brilliant, and I hated that I hadn’t thought of it before. It happened all the time, I remembered watching Pretty Woman after reading that Julia Roberts had used one. I’d stared at every single clip of their love scenes and could never see anything that gave it away. “There’s got to be some clause I can sign, and you can use a double. Easy!” My hand trembled against the top of my air conditioning unit, and I squeezed it into a fist to stop the shake. This would be fine; this could be fixed. I moved to the door, Cole stepping forward as if to stop me, and I yanked it open. “Don!” I called, the director turning from the crowd, his head tilting up at me. I waved him in, and Cole groaned, lifting his hands, his fingers finding each other, linking, and settling onto the top of his head. Don ducked in the trailer, the door shut, and now it was really crowded.

  “I want a body double.” I chirped out my new idea, standing close to Don, my arms crossed around my chest, and I watched closely as Don glanced at Cole.

  Cole shrugged his shoulders, his face impassive and stubborn. “Isn’t happening. We don’t have a five-foot-six blonde in your body type just lying around the set, waiting to strip off her clothes and get in front of the camera. And we don’t have time to go through casting. That could take a week, or longer, which we can’t afford.”

  I focused on Don. “Florida State is forty-five minutes away.” I gestured in the general direction of Tallahassee. “You have twenty thousand college girls there. Trust me, you’ll find someone who would be more than happy to strip naked and hop into bed with him.” I felt an odd burn of something dark, the image too clear in my mind, and I pushed it aside.

  “Glad to know that our Pecan Queen knows casting so well.”

  I glared at Cole. “I know that if we put up a tent on Landis Green you’ll have two hundred girls stripping naked for a casting camera within two hours. If you can’t find one who looks like me before dinner time, I’ll—”

  “What?” Cole cut in. “You’ll do the shoot?” He stepped forward, his hands dropping
from his head, a smile curving over his face. “Let’s make a bet, Country.” He glanced back at his watch as if he couldn’t remember the time. “It’s eight-thirty. Right now, let’s pack up some cameras and a team, and do it. Take your ridiculous suggestion and see. But if we don’t find a girl by six o’clock tonight, then you’re filming this, first thing tomorrow morning, and I don’t want to hear shit about it. No tears, no woe is me bullshit. You’re gonna man up, and be a professional about it.”

  I rolled my bottom lip against my teeth, and glanced at Don who looked back and forth between Cole and me like we were insane. “Okay.” I nodded. “But I’m coming, so are Don and Eileen. If three of the four of us agree that a girl will work, then I win, and I don’t have to do the scene at all.”

  Don stepped in, holding up a hand. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, but if this has any chance of working, I’d need you to do some close up stuff. Kissing, gasping, et cetera.”

  “But you could do that with a strapless bra on,” Cole interjected. “And shorts.” He stuck out his hand. “Deal?”

  I shook it without pausing to think, without pausing to examine the details or require more stipulations. I shook and felt an enormous wave of relief.

  The man, I was certain, had never been to Florida State. It was where God vomited all of his beauties. We wouldn’t need until six o’clock. We’d have a dozen options by lunch.

  CHAPTER 85

  “If you weren’t financing this movie, I’d have you fired. An impromptu public casting call? On a film day?” Don stood in the middle of activity, his arms waving in the air like an inflatable tube man, his face a dark shade of red, sweat streaking down his temples. Behind him, one of the set trailers was being packed up, a dozen people moving in concert—lights, rigs, cables, and signage flowing in one smooth sea of motion.