Текст книги "The Accidental Movie Star "

Автор книги: Emily Evans

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

Chapter 16

Ashley kissed his mouth, a soft, fleeting touch. He pressed upwards and she pulled back, not letting him reach her. “This one’s all about being frustrated.”

She couldn’t clearly see him, but she could hear the grin in his words. “Ashley, that’s never the goal.”

She kissed the other corner of his grin then pressed her lips lightly to his bottom lip.

“Caz.” Next, she touched her tongue to his mouth and pulled back. “I like how you taste. Kind of foreign and exciting. It’s too dark out here to see, but sometimes when I kiss you your eyes darken and—”

Caz grabbed her and kissed her passionately on the mouth; he totally skipped step one, and she didn’t care. Nudging her mouth open with his, he took charge. Her mind went blank and her body tingled. Caz raised the sweater up and over her head.

Ashley wasn’t cold anymore. She moved closer, shoved his jacket off, and pressed against his hard chest. He put an arm to the floor and stood. Her boots thumped to the floor. He grabbed her and lifted her. Feeling weightless, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He moved a step forward, bracing her against the wall. For a second she felt the wall against her back, then the firmness of him, then a feeling of weightlessness.

Weightlessness, falling, bam. Her arm hit something hard and her body landed against Caz. Evidently, the three-sided walls weren’t connected. They’d fallen through a gap, off the platform and onto the ground. Ashley tried to suck in a breath, but it took a second. With a groan she lifted off of Caz. “You okay?”

He groaned. “No.”

“Want to go inside?”

“Yes.”

Standing, Ashley brushed at her clothes in order to brush off nature. Her fingertips felt tight from the cold. Dry, powdery snow dusted her arms. She couldn’t see her sweater or the jacket in the darkness; if they were still on the platform, she had no interest in climbing back up there to get them.

Ashley moved toward the lodge. Wind whipped through night, sticks crackled underneath her boots, and she clutched her arms to her chest. Every frozen step brought her closer to the porch and the light. First the path became visible, then the steps. Warmth was close. Ashley jogged the last few feet and slipped into the welcome warmth of the foyer, holding the door for Caz.

The light of the foyer shined, revealing his mussed hair, flushed face, and bits of nature clinging to him—dirt, leaves, snow. When nature attacked, nature won.

***

The wrap party was tomorrow night. While glad the film was finished, Ashley couldn’t believe Caz hadn’t said anything about them going together. He’d spent most of the day staring at his phone. Maybe she misread things and she was just a convenient work friend in his mind.

Garrett wasn’t as preoccupied as Caz. He still had time to talk to her. The supporting actor grinned, his Scottish accent as pronounced as ever. “Going to the wrap party? There’s going to be food. The darling in craft services said they’d be using an outside caterer.”

“Thank God. I won’t have to eat first.”

“I’ll still eat first.” Garrett patted his flat stomach. “Then go for a run, and eat there too. Save a dance for me.”

Someone didn’t mind making plans in advance.

***

The studio had rented a private room off the main dance floor in a country-western themed bar. The place smelled like spilled beer and hay overlaid with fog from the fog machine. The cast, crew, and their dates packed the place. The vibe of the room was excitement. Work had finished, and filming was done.

Everyone wore country-influenced clothes except Garrett. He wore his blue and green kilt. “Hey, Ashley. Dance?” Garrett pulled her onto the dance floor. He was too tall for her, but Garrett did a mean waltz, and he ended it with a dip so deep her head nearly touched the floor. When she lifted her eyes, her gaze met Caz’s glare.

Caz stood on the sidelines with Petra beside him, whispering in his ear.

So, Caz came. Ashley looked back to Garrett. “Thanks for the dance.”

“We’ll have to try it again, darling.” Garrett released her hands slowly. “Or we could grab a bite to eat? They have a snack area. It’s just miniatures, though, but I saw chocolate puffs.”

Ashley smiled noncommittally and took the time-honored easy way out. She scooted around him, off a side exit, and entered the women’s room.

Olive stood inside, dressed in denim, replacing the lid on a small pill bottle. “Headache.” Olive tightened the lid. “Because I work so much.” She stomped out.

Grateful she hadn’t asked for a temple rub, Ashley used the facilities, washed up, and went to the door. After she left the restroom, Garrett caught up to her again. “This is a great wrap party, reminds me of one Hogmanay in Edinburgh.”

“What’s that?”

Olive scooted around him and handed a drink to Ashley. “Here, Caz requested this. I’d take it but you know how he is.”

Ashley looked at the glass. Really? Work was over and she was still expected to carry his drinks? Garrett reached for the glass, but Ashley had her own agenda. She moved away, taking the drink over to Caz.

He said, “Thanks.”

Petra waved her hands in the air, demonstrating an audition she’d done. Diamonds sparkled on each of her fingers, and the fringe on her tight white suede cowgirl dress danced with each exaggerated gesture. The rhinestones on her matching white boots flashed with her accompanying stomps. “The part is a bikini-wearing ski instructor who is half mermaid, and she saves her students from Ukrainian bad guys.” Petra put her hands on her small waist and grinned. “I won the most coveted part in Hollywood. I start shooting next week.”

“The most coveted,” Olive said. “You’ll look great in an ocean film.”

“I know. And it’s shooting here in LA.” Petra squealed. “No out of town, out of touch for me. I’ll be here, where I can be around all the great shops and industry people.”

Caz said, “You don’t want a break?”

Petra widened her eyes and twisted her mouth. While shaking her head, she caught sight of the AD. “Yoo-hoo, have I told you—” Petra chased after him.

Caz looked at Ashley. “Dance with me.”

“No.”

Caz took a drink. “Please?”

“Maybe.”

“I want you to.” Caz downed the drink, then set the glass on a nearby table. He grabbed her hand and tugged her out onto the dance floor.

As they weaved through the couples, Ashley said, “How much have you had to drink?”

Caz peered at her through glassy eyes from beneath his untidy hair. “One.”

Once they were in the middle of the floor, Caz positioned Ashley in front of him, took a step toward her, ran two hands down the side of her hair, and stepped back. It was unlike any two-step she’d ever done. She couldn’t tell if he danced this way because he was European, or drunk, or both, but his movements were weird.

“That’s not how you two-step.”

Caz moved closer and danced to the left. “Why were you dancing with him?” He glared at Garrett.

She ignored the question, concentrating on his continued misinterpretation of the country and western dance. “I’ll show you how.” Ashley took his left hand with her right one and held it up.

Caz looked at the paired couples circling the dance floor around them. He placed his right hand against the back of her blue silk camisole and pulled her close. She put her left hand on his shoulder and pushed back a bit. Caz resisted her attempts to lead and they ended up in a type of junior-high clench, his arms around her waist, hers around his neck. Her boots saved her feet from his missed steps.

The position actually worked nicely as the song changed into the movie’s romantic theme, “Love’s Romantic Ruin.” The lights dimmed even darker and ceiling disco balls rotated, creating circles of light that highlighted their steps on the dance floor. “Our song,” Caz said.

Ashley relaxed in his arms.

He slid one hand against her jean-clad hips and one around her waist. He bent his head toward her. “I’m not having it,” his deep voice said into her ear. Then he jerked his head toward Garrett.

“It’s cute that you think you get an opinion,” Ashley said.

“You’re myassistant.”

“We’ve discussed this. No, I’m not.” She’d seen her fair share of party drunks back home. It wasn’t an attractive look as a rule.

Caz pulled her close to him and spoke intently in French as if she could understand. She could only catch one in four words, thanks to last year’s French Two. There was a big difference between slow and clear classroom French and actual conversational French. “You know I can’t understand you, right?”

Caz moved even closer and brushed a hand against her hair, then said something insistently. Ashley smiled and let him talk. He paused and looked at her expectantly.

“You know I can’t understand half of that.”

Caz tilted his head down and kissed her. Her eyes closed and she leaned into him. He pulled away and spoke into her ear. “Mine.”

Ashley melted.

“My assistant, not Garrett’s.”

Oh. “I’m not your assistant anymore.”

“You aren’t Garrett’s.”

“I was never Garrett’s.” Ashley spoke slowly with firm words. “I was never yours.”

“Garrett asked you out.”

“And?” Ashley didn’t bother to explain that Garrett had no interest in her. His weakness may be girls, but his interest in Ashley extended only as far as it would irritate Caz.

Caz frowned. He slid an arm from her waist, threaded a hand through her hair, and played idly with the strands. “What do you think of the song?”

“It’s beautiful.”

Looking into his eyes, she saw a glint of something. She closed her eyes against it and leaned into him.

His arms tightened around her. “Yeah.”

Ashley felt his body stiffen and looked up. His gaze was beside her.

Garrett stood a step away tapping on Caz’s shoulder. “May I cut in? Darling PA looks so sweet tonight, I really can’t resist.”

Did Garrett even know her name or did he call every girl darling?

Caz’s body stiffened further, and she could clearly read his expression then —pissed drunk.

Caz released her and turned toward Garrett.

Spitting something out in French, Caz took an aggressive step closer to his ex-best friend.

Chapter 17

Ashley couldn’t understand the words, but Garrett must’ve. He stiffened, his fists clenched, and he said, “Get over it already.” Then he shoved Caz in the shoulder.

Caz threw the first punch. Garrett barreled back into him, and they hit the dance floor.

“Stop it!” Ashley yelled.

Couples scurried out of their path, and a flash went off behind them.

The big men shoved against each other, elbows, fists, and knees flying. It was a good thing Caz had martial arts training because as big as he was, Garrett was bigger. Another flash lit across the fight.

Paparazzi. They were near and they had cameras. A drunken brawl was the last thing Caz needed.

Boomer grabbed Garrett and pulled him up. Garrett strained against his hold, but Boomer looped his arms through Garrett’s, immobilizing him. Garrett threw his head back and popped Boomer in the face with the back of his skull. Boomer’s arms dropped and his hand cupped his nose to stop the gushing red blood.

Garrett reached for Caz, still on the floor.

Caz lashed out, catching Garrett in the thigh with a vicious kick. Garrett stumbled back a step. The next flash lit up Garrett’s face. He stopped, blinked, and turned away from the camera. He mumbled something about “not here” and retreated.

Caz got to his feet, eyes tracking Garrett.

Ashley grabbed his elbow and shook it. He weaved a little.

“Caz.”

No response.

“Caz. Stop it.” She slid one hand over his jaw so she could tilt his head toward her. “Reporters. We need to get out.” She shook his arm again. Caz resisted, blinked, then looked down at her with an unfocused expression.

Ashley took his hand. “Reporters. Come with me.” Leading him through the other dancers, past the restrooms, toward the back exit she’d seen earlier, Ashley hurried down a narrow corridor. Boxes of liquor were stacked in crates along the wall and the smell of beer was even stronger here. More flashes hit them. Crossing her fingers that an alarm wouldn’t sound, Ashley shoved into the exit bar on the door and pulled Caz out behind her. The exit door slammed shut.

The back lot was dark, lit only by a streetlamp a few feet from the Dumpster. Ashley hesitated a moment, uncertain where the drivers were parked, and looked back to the bar. The exit door didn’t have a handle on this side, so no returning. She bit her lip in indecision.

The glow of a cigarette off to the right clued her in to the drivers taking a cigarette break. Next, she spotted the Jaguar. Ashley pointed, but Caz, slumped against the wall, didn’t look up from the screen on his cell phone.

“Wait here,” she said in a firm voice that couldn’t be misunderstood by the drunkest of partiers. She ran to the Jaguar. Her boots crunched against a broken beer bottle when she took her eyes off the ground to wave at the driver. She kicked against the glass and threw herself into the back of the limo.

The driver stomped out his cigarette, and by the time the Jaguar crawled onto the street and got near enough to Caz, the paparazzi had surrounded him. Ashley flung open the door, then ducked back against gray leather seat. Caz struggled through the reporters and to the limo, landing inside with a pinched expression. “They—”

Caz’s phone beeped. “It’s from my mum.” He read his text message out loud with a voice full of sarcasm and heavy with a British accent. “It’s going to be different this time. When your film wraps, I want you to have dinner with your father and me.”

“They’re together again?”

He glared down at his phone. “Sure.” The speaker rang under his stare and he swiped a clumsy finger at the answer key, and put the receiver to his ear.

Ashley heard only his part of the conversation. “No…When?...You’re wrong.” Caz hung up and grabbed her black evening purse from the seat. Before she could stop him, he unzipped it and dumped the contents on the seat.

A small prescription bottle fell out amid the rest of her stuff: wallet, keys, lipstick.

“Why are you in my purse? Give it.”

Caz tossed the small purse back to her and clutched the bottle in both hands, staring at it.

The pill bottle wasn’t hers, but she’d seen one like it in the women’s room earlier this evening—Olive’s headache pills. “How weird, what are those—”

“Why do you have these?” The beep on his phone distracted him. “It’s my agent,” he said then read aloud, “Online press have you slumped in alley behind club. Meet me about damage control.” The phone beeped again and Caz read the second text. “You lost the part in a Moliere because of your insistence on a vacation.” He flung it, and the phone clattered against the wall.

Ashley watched his loss of control with shock. This was not like him at all.

Caz jabbed a hand toward the window. “The press is out there.”

“Okay,” Ashley said, confused. He was all over the place.

“You told them.”

“Told them what?”

“That I’m here.”

“What?”

“You told the press where I’d be.”

“No. Why would you say that?”

“Make me understand,” Caz said. “You say you want to be an architect, but you’re interning on a movie.”

“I like movies. It doesn’t mean I want to do this for a living. I want a job on my college applications, an interesting one.

Marissa’s going to be a chef, and she works at the Fry Hut. It’s what we normal teenagers do. Get a summer job.”

“Yet somehow you’re actually on film.”

“The back of me, in a wig, and it’ll probably be cut. I’ve done background before. Scenes get cut.”

“You admit it. You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah. Once, when I was little, I sat on a bench as part of the background. Big deal.”

“Stop lying.” Caz leaned forward, his hands against the edge of the seat. “I’m in this business. I don’t care if you want to be famous. If you want a career, just be honest.”

Ashley’s mouth fell open and she stared at him. Shaking her head, she didn’t know what to say.

“You sought attention from the first day. You ended up in my car. You ended up on my set.”

“This movie began filming during my visit with my dad. Did I arrange that too? Ask them to hold shooting until it was time for my summer break?”

Caz ignored her words.

“Then you gave me that sexy gift,” Caz said. “You got my attention.”

“No. I was being nice. You knowwhat I heard.”

“I don’t know, you never told me. And you weren’t that nice. We never opened the box.”

She was a happy, nonviolent person who now wanted to throw something at his stupid head. “What is this about? Why are you so mad at me?”

“Petra told me.” Caz slurred her name. “She called me because she’s worried.” He jerked a hand toward his discarded phone.

“Told you what?”

He shook the pill bottle and glared. “What’s in this? This bottle?”

“Pills, they’re—”

He didn’t give her time to finish. Throwing the pill bottle onto the floor, he said, “Yours.”

“No. What did Petra tell you?”

“She saw you with the bottle.” Caz pointed at the small prescription bottle. “And I found ’em. You didn’t hide the bottle very well. It was in your bag.”

Ashley gasped. “Petra said she saw me with Olive’s headache pills?”

“You acted so innocent, like you were trying to help me. When you’re the one who used them on me, and she also saw you with Garrett. Everyone saw you with Garrett.” His words were a crazy mix of slurred paranoia and accusation.

Ashley shook her head. “Why would I give you one of Olive’s migraine pills?” She lifted the bottle from the floor and stared at a label that had no meaning to her. “What are these?”

“Those aren’t for headaches.” Caz bit the words out between clenched teeth. “Petra thinks you gave them to Lorene too, so you could take her part.”

Ashley gasped. “You think someone drugged Lorene when she came to set? I thought she was drunk.”

“She was, but maybe she was something more. Petra thinks so.”

“I didn’t do this, whatever it is you’re accusing me of. Why would you believe Petra over me?”

Caz slid away from her on the seat. “I’ve worked with Petra for years. She’s a pain, but she doesn’t use or lie.”

Ashley leaned closer. “I didn’t. I got you out of that party, away from the press.”

“The press was waiting for us. And why were you with Garrett?”

“I wasn’t. You’re not listening to me. You know me, why are you acting like this?”

“I thought I knew you. Of course, I thought I knew my best friend.”

“Wait.” Ashley put a hand on his arm, “I am not like Garrett; I’m not an actor.”

“You’re a liar like him, and I’m not my mother. I’m not going to keep taking you back no matter how bad the crap gets.”

“Take me back? Your mother? What are you talking about now?” Nothing he said made sense.

“Admit it.”

“You know what I admit?”

He stilled, and she looked directly in his face, her eyes burning. “I admit I knew better than to hang out with Hollywood types. You’re overdramatic. You create problems where they don’t exist. And I’m not having this fight while you’re drunk.”

“I had one drink, and then the one you gave me. Petra said you put something in it.” He repeated the accusation and his accent got heavier and his words slurred the more he talked.

Ashley waved a hand toward the window. “I’d never drug anyone. You must like all the attention. You’re the actor. You probably called the press.”

Caz glared in response.

Ashley shook her head at him. “I’ll make it easy. You’re right. Believe Petra.”

The car drew to a stop in front of her dad’s gate. Ashley unlocked the handle before stepping out. “And by the way, no one’s perfect. You should forgive Garrett. If no one can make a mistake around you, you’re going to be pretty lonely.” Ashley slammed her way out of the limo, shutting off the spew of French.

***

By the next day, she’d calmed down. Ashley awakened thinking about Caz, knowing she should have explained better, and made sure he was okay. She rolled out of bed, went for her purse, and dumped it out. The phone rolled onto the beige carport beside her bare feet.

No messages.

Holding tight to the phone, she dialed Caz. He didn’t pick up and she hung up on his outgoing voice message. Ashley stared at the screen a moment then crawled back into the warm sheets. Hugging a pillow to her chest, she went over everything they’d said. With each replay, she thought of how to explain better and what she should have said. Surely, he’d find out the truth and call. She set the phone on her nightstand, trying to compose the perfect message in her mind before dialing again.

A picture of her parents rested on the bedside table. They looked young, scared, and happy in that photo. She reached for her phone again, but grabbed the silver picture frame instead. The love on Mom’s face was painful. Her parents loved each other, but couldn’t stay married. Mom was like her: normal, happy. Dad was drama. He worked in it and thrived on upheaval. They divorced soon after she was born. Sharing a child was an incredible reason to try to stay together, but they knew better. They weren’t compatible.

On set, the process was interesting and exciting, but she really didn’t get it. She had no desire to share her private thoughts with everyone. Film people made exciting friends, but you didn’t date them.

She should never have tried with Caz. She knew better. Caz didn’t trust her and had created this whole fight out of nothing. This was his life. For heaven’s sake, he was an actor.

Ashley sat up. What was she thinking? Being with Caz would never work. She put the frame down and scrambled out of bed, her heart racing, her mind clear. He didn’t need another explanation. She just needed to finish her postproduction work, get this job on her college applications, and in three weeks, go home to the real world.

***

Twenty people sat in the conference room. The only people she recognized were the actors and the assistants. The rest of the postproduction team was new to her.

She and Olive sat in chairs against the wall, and the key players sat at a conference table. The AD went over scheduling and the postproduction plans. Caz wouldn’t meet her gaze. Olive threw speculative looks between them, but Ashley didn’t volunteer any information.

The director gave his welcome and then turned the meeting back over to the AD When the director slipped from the room in the middle of the AD’s speech, Caz got up and followed him. On his way past her chair, he pointed for Ashley to follow.

Great, so this was how it’s going to be? He didn’t even call her PA. He was going to point from now on?

When she reached the corridor, Caz was speaking in a low, intense voice to the director. His arms were crossed over his chest, his feet braced apart. The director held his hands out, palms up.

She reached them in time to hear the last bit of Caz’s sentence.

“It’s either her or me.”

Ashley’s face flooded with heat and her stomach churned.

“Caz, she’s one of the interns who goes back to school in a few weeks. We’ll assign her to another department.”

“I work with all the departments, but I won’t if she’s there.”

Ashley backed up a step. Her mouth opened then closed without words, and she swallowed against her knotting stomach.

The director sighed and looked at her. “You’ve done a good job, but we can’t replace Caz. We’ll put you on another production for the rest of your time.”

Ashley backed up another step and her voice came out high. “No need, I’m going home. Eyes burning, she turned away from them. She wanted to walk out with her head held high, walking slow and proud, but her pace quickened with each step.

Caz got her fired. Now she couldn’t put this job on her college applications. She’d have to tell her mom she got fired, and she’d have to tell Marissa, then she’d have to get a job at the Fry Hut. By the time she reached Dad’s building, she was running. She took the elevator up, rushed straight past his secretary, and reached for his doorknob.

“Ashley, sorry, dear,” his secretary said, “Your dad won’t be back from Zurich until Friday. He’s already left for the airport.”

Ashley stared at the dark wood of the door for several seconds. Dad hadn’t said he was going out of town. He’d left the country and hadn’t bothered to tell her.

“Are you all right, dear?”

Choked up, she couldn’t speak, so she waved off his secretary’s concern and left for the ladies’ room. She ran her hands under the cool water in the faucet, trying to calm down. Her eyes stared back at her in the mirror red, her cheeks red. The cold water didn’t help.

Ashley gave up trying to go unnoticed and ran out. It was time to go home.