“They can make anything.” She gripped a silver pen over her always-present notebook, and waited.
“Umm… I guess an omelet? Ham, peppers, and cheese. With grits and bacon. Please.”
Her pen didn’t move, and I waited. Finally, she looked away from me and down at the page. “Okay. A ham, cheese, and pepper omelet with grits and bacon. What would you like to drink?”
“Milk. Whole if they have it.”
Another scribble on the page, then she looked up, passing me a folder. “I’ve put the Sides and the updated Call Sheet in here. If there are any Day-Out-Of-Days I’ll bring them to you as needed.”
“Sides?” I asked.
“Those are the scripts for today’s scenes only. There are some new scenes, so you’ll want to review those before your call times.” New scenes. New scripts. My cheery outlook took a sharp turn toward PanicVille.
“What are days out of whatever?”
Her smile became less patient. “Day-Out-Of-Days. We typically call it DOOD. It’s a general schedule for all of the crew. Just don’t worry about that; I’ll make sure you are where you need to be.”
I sat down at the table and opened the folder, pulling out the new call sheet and reviewing it. My newly manicured nail ran down the shooting schedule, over a list of familiar scenes, before stopping at SCENE #14: ROYCE AND IDA: OFFICE KISS. My breath stopped, and my fingers scrambled for the accompanying script, Mary’s post-it clearly marking #14 in neat, bright orange fashion. It was a long scene, and I flipped through it, my stomach twisting as I skimmed the lines, my feet moving before I reached the end, Mary’s placement of my breakfast order interrupted by the slam of the trailer door on my departure.
I think I might have bulldozed someone on my storm through the coffee line.
CHAPTER 67
When the door to the production trailer burst open, it brought with it a wave of heat and beauty. Cole looked up from the storyboards and locked eyes with Summer, who blew across the room like a tornado on tilt.
“There’s no love story between Ida and Marcus,” Summer snapped, throwing down the script, pages fluttering between them. In the small trailer, conversations stalled, and he could feel the attention turn their way. “I’ve read the book. Three times!”
It was good to know someone had read the damn book. Cole glanced down at her temper tantrum of a mess and back up, raising his eyebrows mildly. “It’s a movie,” he said, turning back to the storyboards. “The writers are adding some excitement. It’s normal. You’d know that if you were in this business.” The dig was unnecessary, but he couldn’t help it. This woman turned him into the devil.
“I read the first script. The one you sent over with my contract. Ida and Royce hated each other. Why would Royce…” she snatched up a page from the ground and read a line. “pushes Ida against the file cabinet and kisses her passionately.” She balled up the page and threw it down to the ground, and he could see, in her eyes, the panic. Panic. An unexpected reaction.
“We’ll use that here.” Don made the dangerous move of stepping in, putting a soft hand on her shoulder. “You don’t understand. The passion from their hatred will make it hotter.”
“No,” Summer said, her face hard, her eyes on Cole. “It doesn’t make it hotter. It makes it stupid.”
“Aww… come on, Summer,” Cole chided, moving closer, his hand reaching out to pull at her wrist. She fought him, yanking it back, the meeting of their bodies not happening. He leaned down and whispered, right against her ear, the smell of her apple-scented lotion enough to make him want to empty out the production trailer right that moment. “Sure it does.”
She jerked back and twisted away. “If he kisses me on camera, I’m going to lose it,” she shot at Don, pointing an accusatory finger in Cole’s direction.
“I know you will,” Cole laughed, crossing his arms to restrain them. “You’ll fall apart under my mouth, baby.”
Summer screamed in response, her hands thrown up in frustration, and spun to leave, her script left behind, the slam of the door loud in the full production trailer.
“That went well,” Cole mused. He linked his hands and rested them on his head, rolling his shoulders back. Panic. She’d had panic in her eyes. Fuck.
“What do you expect?” Don said. “You threw this on her without warning. I told you we should have met with her this morning, gone over the changes to prepare her. But no, you just wanted to dump it on her via call sheets and sides.”
“Dump it on her? I was People’s Sexiest Man last year. She’s not mentally adjusting to a war camp for God’s sake. How hard is it to kiss me?”
“It’s actually three kisses,” a dark-haired PA to his left pointed out. “And a grope.”
He gave her a hard look, and she withered a little.
“I’ll go talk to her,” Don said. “Eileen, you shoot number four, and I’ll talk to Summer. I want to try to get fourteen shot at eleven, so let’s get our asses in gear and get this done.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Cole stepped in. “You shoot four, and I’ll talk to her.”
“No,” Don snapped. “With my luck, you two would make up and any authenticity to the scene would disappear. Just stay away from her, and be ready at eleven.”
Cole chewed on his cheek, then nodded. “Fine.” Don was right. He should stay away from her. Because right now, the only thing he could picture was the panic on her face. And that look, that vulnerability? It made him want to comfort her, to protect her. And those urges were dangerous, they turned things between them a different way. A way that made him more vulnerable too.
CHAPTER 68
SCENE 14: ROYCE AND IDA: OFFICE KISS
“I want blue. Something cool and refreshing.” Cole pushed the ad copy toward me, and I fidgeted, scratching the back of my stocking with the toe of the vintage Mary Jane heels.
“The focus groups liked red better.” I avoided his eyes when I spoke, running my finger over the edge of a stack of cards, lining them up against each other. I was supposed to be hesitant in this scene, uncomfortable. It was an easy role to play. I felt so lost. On the set, in the role of actress, in the lust/hate relationship that Cole and I seemed to have.
“Red means stop.” Cole’s voice was tired, one hand rubbing at his eyes, the other pulling at his tie. I wish we didn’t have to do this scene today. I had asked Don, begged Don, when he had come to my trailer—begged him to push this scene—for us to do it in a few weeks, once I had the acting thing down, my kinks worked out. What I didn’t say to Don was that I needed more separation from my sex with Cole to this kissing scene. Twelve days. That was all it had been so far. Twelve days, which still seemed like only twelve hours. When would I forget how his fingers felt on my skin? The tone of his voice as he had gasped my name? When would I forget how he felt inside of me? When would I forget the incredible sensation that had shaken my body? Part of me wanted that answer to be never. Another part of me just wished it had never happened. You can’t miss something that you didn’t know existed.
“You don’t use a color that means stop when you want someone to buy something.” His voice hardened. “It’s common sense, Ida. Use your brain.”