Текст книги "The Accidental Movie Star "

“What’s that?”

“The boom pole is a long pole that holds the microphone near the actors. I also hide other microphones around the set. And they think I can be replaced. What’s a movie without sound?”

“True,” Ashley said.

“Besides, look at my biceps. I’m standing in front of the directors all day showing off these bad boys. I’ll make the transition from crew to cast in no time.”

“Oh, you’re an actor?”

Boomer gave her a pitying look. “You’re in LA, babe, everyone’s an actor.”

The guy on her other side, a small, effeminate man with a tall tuft of brown hair, gave her a very attentive look. His flowery cologne followed his turn. “Yeah. So, who do you know? How’d you get chosen to be on set? You’re quite pretty. Are you an actress?”

A little blinded by his shiny shirt and unsure which question to answer first, Ashley said, “Um, no, a student, an assistant.”

“Oh.” The shiny shirt guy’s face twitched.

“What do you—” Ashley began.

He turned his shiny back to her and gave the person on his other side a deeply interested look.

Realizing her unimportance, Ashley turned with raised eyebrows back to Boomer. He was staring at his own biceps.

She rubbed her hands on her jean-covered thighs and rolled her shoulders. Get ready for a long LA summer.

Boomer spoke without looking away from his biceps. “He’s Cutter.”

“Cutter?”

Boomer flexed his biceps toward the shiny shirt. “You know. The costume tailor guy. As if he has a shot of getting on camera before me. Did you see my guns?”

“Uh, yeah.”

The bleachers swayed, going from a solid framework one moment to metal in motion the next.

“Earthquake!” someone shouted.

Chapter 3

Boomer jumped from the bleachers to the ground. Cutter scrambled down the bench like a monkey, sat, and edged off the bleachers. Petra held her hands in the air and two men lifted her down like a water ballerina. Other crew members did their own version of escape. The sound of collapsing metal coupled with feminine and masculine screams as her new co-workers exercised their flair for the dramatic.

Ashley took in the action from her spot on the swaying bench. Heart racing, but unable to move, she clung to the metal seat with rigid fingers. With a slow, but unrelenting move, the metal folded in on itself. Gravity forced Ashley to release her grip and slide down the bench. She landed on the concrete, cradled in the metal V of her former seat. The hard floor and awkward angle didn’t hurt as much as Caz’s weight. He’d fallen against her legs, trapping her in place, six-feet-something of heavy.

“Hiya,” Caz said. “Ashley, right?”

Ashley shoved at his shoulders. “Earthquake!”

Caz shifted his weight and pushed to his feet. “I don’t think so. Only the bleachers moved.” He offered her a hand up.

She gripped his large hand and stood on shaking legs. “Not an earthquake?”

“No earthquake.”

Olive, two stagehands dressed in black, and Cutter rushed over. Olive got there first. “Mr. Thaymore, are you okay? Please, please speak to us.”

The foursome grabbed his arms and pulled him clear of the wreckage. Hands dusted him off and straightened his collar.

“Fine, fine.” Caz brushed away the help.

Olive announced loudly, “Caspian is fine.”

Cutter said, “His clothes are okay, and he’s not wearing one of the costumes, so we’re good.”

Petra stood in a corner, re-enacting the event while someone used his cell phone to film her.

Ashley took a deep breath, trying to calm her thudding heart. Ignoring his helpers, Caz put a hand on one of the folded seats and offered the other to her.

***

Boomer said, “At least the wreck ended the meeting early. I was getting bored.”

Ashley stood behind him in line waiting for her turn at the infirmary. Hurt or not, everyone had to get checked out. The medics triaged important actors and staff to the front of the line. The line wound so far down the hall she couldn’t see any of the actors up ahead.

Ashley put her back to the wall and slid down, folding her arms around her knees. “Do they know what happened?”

“Nope.” Boomer fingered a slight tear on the edge of his sleeve. Grasping the loose fabric, he tore the sleeve short, exposing more of his bicep.

Olive reached their end of the line and handed Ashley two pieces of paper.

“Do you know what happened?”

“Of course. Those bleachers were designed to hold a few tourists, not a full film crew.”

“So a weak structure? Not an earthquake?”

Olive flicked her finger against the sheets in Ashley’s hand, and the paper made a crisp clicking sound. “That’s your call sheets. It’ll tell you where you need to be and when you need to be there.”

Ashley winced. “Six a.m.?”

Olive’s tone challenged as she said, “I’ll be here at five.” Her small frame moved down the line, handing out the rest of the forms. She didn’t have far to walk.

Ashley flipped her second form over. Release and Waiver of Liability.Three hours, one bandaged arm, one tetanus shot, and she was free to leave.

***

When her alarm rang the next morning at an ungodly hour, Ashley crawled out of her blue sheets and took a quick shower to start her day. The pulsing hot water helped work out the soreness in her muscles, but the heat didn’t do anything for the new bruises splotched across her skin. Thanks, metal bleachers. She threw a jacket over her T-shirt so Dad wouldn’t worry over the bruises.

Downstairs, a note stuck to the fridge. Went in to the studio. Keys to the Audi are on the hook by the door. Dad.

Traffic made the short commute seem long, and she had to make one embarrassing stop by a drugstore before reaching the studio.

***

All she wanted this summer was to spend some time with Dad and be able to list an interesting job on her college applications. She had never wanted to get involved in any work drama but she couldn’t overlook intentional harm to someone; hence, the drugstore purchase newly residing in her purple messenger bag.

Ashley shoved it into one of the cabinets under the makeup counter. Now she needed someone to ask her to run an errand to Caz’s trailer. She’d drop off the package, and her good deed would be complete. Ashley moved along the counter, past numbered, sectioned containers of powders, gels, oils, and creams. Scooping up a stray box of tissues, she popped it into a square cutout labeled Tissues.

The makeup artist, busy sorting through a wheeled cart that held even more potions, lifted her head to nod in approval. Her short bleached rock star haircut didn’t move, but her fuchsia mini dress swished around her thighs. “Call me Powder.” In the mirror’s reflection, Powder’s face, made up with slashes of solid color, looked even more dramatic beside Ashley’s pale, unmade face. Ashley’s attention left her own reflection at the sound of Petra’s voice.

Petra curled into one of the chairs facing the mirrors. Holding an entertainment magazine, she jabbed a red, jewel-decorated nail at the glossy cover. “I posed for so many shots. Why am I not on the cover?”

Powder rolled her eyes and added more cotton balls to a tray.

Ashley looked at Petra in surprise. Did she mean to sound so egotistical?

Olive massaged Petra’s shoulders while feeding her ego. “I know. You so deserve the cover. You are the lead.” Glancing at the crowd of additional suck-ups around the beautiful brunette, Ashley realized how Petra could remain oblivious—everyone smiled and nodded to her face. Not one of them called her on her ego. As Ashley moved closer, her eyes widened at the image on the magazine. The cover depicted Caz lying across a gray carpet with a hot-pink bra wrapped around a beer near his hand.

Petra read the caption. “Depraved young Hollywood. Caspian arrives in LA. Only here an hour, and he’s already partying like a Brit on Ibiza.”

The subject of the photo, Caz, sat silent at the other end of the makeup table with compressed lips and a light frown.

Petra raised her eyebrows at him. When he failed to respond, Petra continued to read. “Blah, blah, then something about an unknown blonde companion.” She held the cover to the light to get a better look at the picture.

Ashley winced. She stood near enough to recognize the back of her own head. While totally annoyed on Caz’s behalf, she felt grateful the article didn’t identify her. Having spent summers with her divorced dad, she grew up around movie people and knew lots of them didn’t want a private life. Dad attracted attention-seeing flakes. Actors were the worst. When Ashley was little, one of Dad’s girlfriends took her to the mall. After Ashley threw a tantrum over leaving the toy store, the actress walked out and left her.

A minor earthquake hit and Ashley hid in the back of the store. Knowing they were at the mall, Dad drove over to check on them, but he found the actress talking to the press rather than looking for his kid. Dad hadn’t dated an actress since. Good policy. Say no to egotistical actors.

Caz turned his chair away from Petra and looked out at the set. Powder didn’t let his antisocial mood put her off. She moved in front of him and clipped his hair back with a curler clippie. Next, she dabbed at his jaw line with a spongy makeup wedge. Others gave the star and his frown a wide berth, but Powder wasn’t intimidated. She waved a makeup stick at him. “This’ll look great,” Powder said. “Trust me.”

Caz made a disbelieving sound and tilted his head out of her reach.

Ashley, feeling sorry about the embarrassing photo, slipped around to the back of his chair and whispered in his ear, “Do you want me to say something? Explain what really happened?”

Caz turned his head toward her and spoke in a normal tone. “So you can get your name in the press?”

“No,” Ashley said, annoyed. “So you don’t come off as a man-whore who needs to be in rehab.”

His bright impossibly blue-green eyes widened, and he straightened. Powder followed him, continuing to jab the sponge at his face, and Caz snapped, “Can you give us a minute?”

Powder backed off, and Ashley gave her an apologetic look.

Olive snapped to attention and popped over to Caz’s other side. “I can get you whatever you need.”

Caz waved Olive away with a flick of his hand. Olive stomped back to Petra, but she kept her eyes on Ashley and Caz.

Quietly, Ashley said, “If I wanted to be in the paper, I wouldn’t be the ‘unidentified blonde.’”

“No one but you knew I was in that car. I was supposed to be in the Hummer.”

“Like I wanted to be stuck in your paparazzi traffic,” Ashley said. “You fancy foreign film guys.”

Caz grabbed her elbows and pulled her forward, close enough she could smell his cologne and feel his breath when he complained in her ear. “Fancy…”

Powder came back. “Sorry, but we’re going to be behind schedule if I don’t get your eyeliner finished.”

Ashley smirked and pulled back. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt your eye makeup.” She drawled out the last two words with her most put-upon Texas twang. Nothing mocked fancy better than a Texas drawl.

Caz released her arms, but his gaze didn’t leave hers, even when Powder stepped in with the promised eyeliner. Looking over Ashley, Caz sneered. “Late night with your boyfriend? He seemed a little old to keep you out past nine.”

“That was my dad in the garage, you perv.” Ashley stepped toward the counter. The confrontation with Caz reminded her of her purchase. Going to the end, she scooped out her purple messenger bag. “Um, Caz, what’s your trailer number? I need to drop off a package.”

Powder stepped back and unclipped his hair. The strands fell forward into his eyes. “You’re good to go.”

Caz threaded his hair back with one hand, nodded vaguely toward Powder, and focused on Ashley. “I locked the trailer. Give it to me now.” He eyed her hand atop the messenger bag and held out his own, palm up.

Eyes widening in horror, face heating, Ashley gazed at all the people working nearby. No way.

“Later is fine,” she said, and scurried away.

Shortly after, Ashley saw Caz act for the first time, not block, not line-read, but actually act. He was amazing, mesmerizing. Now she understood all the attention and the line of fans she’d seen at the gate this morning.

“He’s really good,” she said to Olive, who stood nearby, eager to jump up and kiss someone’s feet the moment the director yelled, “Cut.”

“I know that,” Olive said sharply and moved away.

It wasn’t until the end of the day that the issue of the package came up again. Caz walked straight over to Ashley and asked for it.

Her lips twisted. “What’s your trailer number?”

“I don’t let people in my trailer. It’s my home for now. Are you going to let people walk through your home?”

“I thought you actors had an open-door policy.”

Caz swung a script against his leg. “Some of us are discriminating. For instance, you’renot invited into my trailer. So give me the package.” He looked around for her bag, but she’d stashed it in the makeup area rather than carry it around all day.

“Fine. I’ll hang the delivery outside your trailer. What’s the number?”

Caz stretched his arms over his head, drawing her eyes to his biceps. Lean, hard, perfectly on view below the short sleeves of his T-shirt.

“Come on, I’m going there now.”

“So, I’m invited?”

Caz didn’t respond and headed toward the exit. Ashley followed him with slow steps and a small detour by the makeup table to grab her bag.

The security guard let Caz breeze through the exit. Ashley had to show him her identification card. He checked her name, her face, and his list again before he let her trail after Caz. She walked with reluctant, crunching steps, watching him unlock the door to trailer number three.

Caz didn’t stop there; he went in, leaving Ashley debating with herself. Drop the bag here, hang it on the door, or forget about this idiocy all together. The door swung open from the inside, and she took a step around him and into the trailer. The trailer’s interior was small, but nice: leather sofa, flat screen television, and a tiny kitchen. Furnished with a neutral décor, pleasant but lacking personality. Except the air; the air smelled like lemon soap. “Did you clean?”

Caz ignored the question, lifted his eyebrows, and gestured at the bag.

Ashley shifted on her feet. “Is this a trailer for your breaks or do you really live here?”

Caz half sat on the armrest of the couch and rolled his broad shoulders. The fabric of his shirt tightened against his muscles. “For now, I live here, but I plan to buy a place here in the States.”

“Hmm,” Ashley said, delaying the drop-off. This had seemed like such a good idea this morning; now the whole thing felt weird. Her stomach twisted, and she couldn’t tell if she was nervous or simply hungry. All they’d had for lunch were diet sandwiches and raw veggies. She decided to forget the package and get out. “Okay. I gotta go. I’m starving.” Maybe she’d make pasta tonight. Dad liked Italian, and Alfredo sauce was quick: cream, butter, parmesan. He wouldn’t have to wait long for her to prepare the meal. Or, the sauce would keep in the fridge if he couldn’t make it home in time for dinner.

“The package?”

“I think they put us on a diet because we broke the bleachers,” Ashley offered as a distraction and took a step back.

“No, it’s because we’re on film. Cameras add pounds.” Caz patted his flat stomach.

He had that lean, elegant look, but he’d been heavy against her legs. Her right calf had a sizeable bruise thanks to his poundage. He must weigh more than he looked. Her head tilted to the left as she assessed him. If he took his shirt off, she could really see.

Caz repeated, “The package?”

Ashley tossed him the drugstore bag, face on fire, and darted for the door. “It’s from the studio,” she lied.

Moving fast, Caz caught her arm in a tight grip. He held Ashley in place and upended the bag. The contents fell free.

Thump.

The square, plastic-wrapped box landed face up, centered on the coffee table. The label screamed, Deluxe Condoms.

Chapter 4

Ashley swallowed and rubbed her free hand across her warm face. Caz, wearing a struck expression, lifted the box of condoms. The plastic wrapping crinkled against his fingers and he gazed from the box to her. Clearly, she’d surprised him, and if he said anything about the size or type, she’d die. Ashley pulled against his grip, but he held her in place.

Staring at the gift in consideration, he said, “You fancy me?”

She tried to wriggle out of his hold. “What?”

“Are these an invitation?”

Ashley didn’t think it was possible to blush any harder, but the heat in her face almost burned. Clearly, he didn’t buy her story about the studio being behind the purchase.

Her voice rushed out. “No. I heard someone say something about sabotaging them. Yours. And I didn’t think that was fair, so those are sealed. Use those when you…um…when you, you know.”

“Because I’m an actor, I’m off sleeping with everyone?”

Ashley shrugged. “Probably. You movie stars aren’t exactly known for your restraint.”

Caz frowned. “What exactly did you hear?”

She couldn’t tell if he didn’t believe her or just wanted to know the whole story, but she wasn’t gossiping with an actor. Squirming against his hold, she said, “I may have gotten the story wrong, so I’m not repeating it.”

“I want to know what you heard,” his clipped British voice commanded.

“Contrary to what you think, you can’t always get what you want.” Ashley jerked free.

“You’re quoting song lyrics?”

“British ones,” she offered.

A smile edged the corner of his mouth and his grip loosened. “Tell me.” His voice took on a charming, persuasive tone.

Ashley wavered. The tone had the power to make her capitulate far more than his commands. Feeling herself weaken, she turned and escaped.

***

Ashley felt Caz’s eyes on her, but she avoided him. She didn’t want round two of yesterday’s embarrassing scene, so she wasn’t going near him today. Staying busy kept her away for the first hour.

As soon as Caz realized she was avoiding him, he took matters into his own hands. “PA.”

Despite having such short legs, Olive could move quickly. She beat all the other assistants to him. Winning the race didn’t score her the prize, though, because Caz waved her off with one word. “Ashley.”

Ashley couldn’t avoid a direct request; it was her job, so she joined them. “Yeah?”

“I need some assistance.”

“With?”

He raised his eyes as if thinking. “Olive, what do you usually assist with?”

Olive gave a little hop. “Anything you need, Mr. Thaymore. I can arrange for food, a change of clothes, cushions for your chair, foot massages.”

“PA,” the AD called.

Olive looked torn, her eyes darting from the assistant director to Caz, then back, as if trying to judge who was more important. Ashley took a step toward the director and Olive made a hissing sound and pushed past, leaving her with Caz.

Caz chuckled and rose from his chair. He actually had a chair with Thaymoreembroidered on the back above a shiny gold star. Petra had one too. The rest of the crew took their breaks leaning against the wall or sitting on a crate of equipment, feeling lucky if they were able to grab a crate before they were all occupied.

Caz stretched his arms over his head and leaned side to side. The hem of his shirt rose, showing an inch of his skin. “I probably could use a massage later.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “I have to roll some cable. Your distressed muscles will have to wait.”

This pattern continued for the rest of the morning. If another assistant responded to his calls, Caz sent them away, and because Caz was the star, everyone indulged him. If he wasn’t directly calling her over, he was staring. Ashley couldn’t interpret his looks. Either he wanted to find out more of what she’d overheard, or hook up with her, or maybe both.

During one of his breaks, Caz said, “What’s your phone number?”

Ashley sighed. “You don’t need my number. I’m always here.”

Caz flipped his phone open and examined the screen. “What if I need something after we wrap for the day?”

Ashley bit her lip at what she wanted to answer. Could he do nothing for himself? Man, these actors were spoiled.“Guess you’ll just have to, oh, oops, sorry, I need to go help Tom with that—” Surely, someone named Tom worked on set. With those words, she left. Olive glared at her as she trotted off, as if trying to determine her destination.

Ashley hadn’t gotten very far when she heard the director call, “Powder.” A quick glance showed Caz standing in the middle of the set ready for his close-up while stagehands adjusted equipment in the background.

“PA,” Caz said.

Ashley walked over to Powder. “I never knew guy actors wore so much makeup.”

Powder shrugged and handed over a pre-dusted puff. “No more than my last boyfriend.”

Ashley took the powder puff over to the stage area. Holding Caz’s hair back, she carefully adjusted his shine. “You need to carry a hair clip in your pocket.” His hair felt pretty silky for a guy’s and thicker than hers. Idly rubbing a strand between her fingers, she looked over his skin. She couldn’t really see the shine problem, but guessed that with high-definition images, it was better to be safe than shiny. On tiptoe, she dabbed at his forehead with the cotton ball. “There you go, shine all gone,” Ashley said somewhat condescendingly. Why couldn’t he lift the puff to take care of the problem himself?

“Tell me what you heard,” Caz said, as she shoved the puff into her pocket.

Okay. He just wanted to hear the reason she made the condom purchase. Instead of telling him again, she removed a Chapstick from her other pocket and swiped the balm over his lips. “You have a pretty-shaped mouth. Good thing you’re a big guy.”

Caz’s blue-green eyes brightened, and he leaned toward her. “So the box was just a present then?”

Ashley shook her head.

“Did everyone get one?” Caz looked around. “Shall I ask?”

Ashley stepped back. “Don’t make me regret helping you.”

“I saw you with a notebook. You’re always writing in it. What are you writing?”

“Nothing.” The notebook contained her drawings of buildings, and she kept them private; not even Dad had seen her work.

“Are you a writer? Let me guess. You have a script you think is right for me, and are dying to have me read it? Hand the pages over then.” Caz held out a raised palm.

“Absolutely, the hero’s this total ass who—” Ashley was cut off by the arrival of Petra and her cloud of sultry perfume.

Petra said, “I’ve got this new belly ring, and I’m not supposed to take the loop out yet, but the AD says gems don’t work for the part of the vixen. What do you say?” Petra lifted her shirt up mid-speech, showing the silver ring piercing her belly button.

Two star-shaped gemstones hung from a silver hoop. “I think I make the jewelry work.”

Powder kneeled for a closer look. “Is your skin infected? The last guy I went out with had a wicked infection in one of his piercings.” Powder shook her head. “And I don’t think we should cover bacteria with makeup.”

Petra made a cut-off squealing noise, and Ashley bit her lip.

Caz stepped back. “You should get that checked out.”

“I’ll take you to the infirmary,” Olive said. “I’m sure if they have to cut the ring out, they can replace the loop with gold. Jewelry looks so great on you. The star makes your stomach look so flat. I want to get a belly ring too.”

***

Ashley tried to play it cool, but it was hard to keep the grin off her face. They’d scheduled her to work with the set designer, a real architect.

Powder pointed him out, a tall thirty-something guy. “Why are you so eager? That job’s all dust and cutting.”

“I want to be an architect.”

Powder wrinkled her nose. “Really? I dated a construction worker once. I’m not sure you want to hang out with those guys.”

“Yes. See you later.” Ashley went over to the architect with her hand extended. “I’m Ashley, your assistant while you’re on set.”

“It’s usually the actors who are greeted with that kind of smile.”

“I don’t want to act.”

“Another rarity,” the architect said then got down to business. Moving across the set, he went over what he wanted to accomplish. After noting her genuine interest and learning she was from Texas, he spoke about dimensions and tensile strength. “Regional earthquakes mean you need strength, or structures will crumple as easily as your bleachers did.” He pointed to the beams overhead. “Could be dangerous.”

Ashley took copious notes and followed him on his inspection. The set around them buzzed with routine activity, but she didn’t let the noise distract her.

“PA?” someone called from the stage.

Ashley heard him, but ignored his call.

“PA,” Caz repeated.

Heaving a sigh, Ashley waved Caz off.

The architect smiled down at her. “Go ahead and take care of our star. I’ll be stage left when you’re done.”

Ashley smiled gratefully then trotted over to Caz. “What?” she asked impatiently, watching the architect while speaking.

Caz said, “Who’s that?”

“What do you need? I’m busy.”

“You’re my assistant.” Caz turned his bright gaze to her.

“Uh, no, I’m not.”

He waved a hand in the air. “How long is he going to be here?”

Ashley’s gaze left the architect and she raised her eyebrows. “Look, do you need something or not?”

“Yes.” Caz paused and looked upward as if thinking. “I need to run lines, and my microphone is off, and no one put snacks in my trailer, and—”

Ashley crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t let anyone in your trailer.” The architect moved some partitions and tapped on the walls, making Ashley wonder what he was checking.

“And I want—”

Turning back to the needy, Ashley said, “How about this. You leave me alone all morning to work with him, and I’ll make sure you have way better snacks in your trailer than the crap provided by the caterer.”

Caz flicked a gaze at the architect. “He’ll be gone this afternoon?”

She nodded.

“Good snacks?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll run lines with me?”

“Can’t you run them with your buddy?” His kilt-wearing friend, Garrett, had a supporting role that kept him on the set about once a week, and he was here today.

“He’s garbage at reading the girl parts.”

Ashley rolled her eyes.

Caz said, “And you have a nice voice, rich and sweet, but with a kick.”

She heaved a mental sigh. “Okay.”

***

Powder knelt at a cabinet and shoved large containers aside, digging for something.

When Ashley reached her, she handed up a large white jug. Ashley placed it on the counter.

Petra flounced into the makeup station and elbowed the jug aside to make room for her laptop. “You have got to see this.” The white jug teetered on the edge. “I knew this would happen. I’m always saying, you can’t always tell who your friends are. Like when I was vacationing in Madrid, and—”

“What?” Powder asked.

Petra’s painted lips grimaced and she poised her finger over the play button. “Check this out.”

A polished reporter came on the screen. “I’m Karla Quintos from Tween In, online and on the air.” She tucked her glossy black hair behind her ears and held a microphone closer to her dark lips. “I’m here to share my interview with screen actor Garrett Campbell. If we’re lucky, hopefully, he’ll tell us a little bit about what it’s like to work with his best friend, the notoriously private Caspian Thaymore.”

The scene changed, showing the reporter sitting on a barstool chatting with Garrett. “What’s Caspian like?”

“Great fun.” Garrett’s Scottish accent came through the speakers.

“Are you sure he’s not attached?”

Ashley felt someone behind her and looked back. Caz.

His gaze was on the screen.

Garrett said, “Oh no, and he could use some cheering up. A way to drown his tears.”

“I may have just the friend to provide the tissue.” The reporter touched him on the arm and leaned in. “Are you guys here with your parents?”