And Playing the Role of Herself... (2 page)

Double shit.
"Liz," I said sharply, and risked Jules' ire by turning my head and meeting Liz's blue gaze. "I told you it's nothing, okay? Now, did you come in here for a reason?"
She pouted prettily, but dropped the subject with a nod, knowing from experience that I could be less than forthcoming when I was pissed off. "Actually, there was. You know that Q & A session I was supposed to do tomorrow at the Four Seasons?"
I nodded.
"Well, I was supposed to go with Josiah…I assume you heard Josiah's gone?"
I nodded again and asked, "Has anyone heard how his father is?"
She blinked, and frowned as though the question had never occurred to her, but she knew it should have.
For Liz, one of the residual effects of being in the spotlight since the age of seven was that unless she forced herself to, she rarely thought of others. It wasn't selfishness, really, just a lack of ever having to hear about, or deal with, other people's problems. She really was a genuinely nice person; she just hadn't been trained to show it.
"George said that Josiah called from the plane, but he hadn't heard anything else," Drew broke in, saving Liz any embarrassment.
She smiled at him, and turned her attention back to me. "Yes, so anyway, they asked Danny to do it with me, but he has a pretty heavy schedule tomorrow, and so does Henry, and you know how Micah is…"
I smiled slightly, picturing Micah - who hated the press and wasn't at all shy about saying so - at a Q & A session with a bunch of reporters firing questions at him.
"So that leaves me." At her nod, I continued, "I've got an 8:30 call tomorrow…"
"Already taken care of. They're rearranging the schedules, and we don't need to be in until late afternoon."
Which meant a nice, long evening of work for me, after what promised to be a nerve-wracking morning with the press. Wonderful.
"So basically," I said as Jules turned my face back to the front impatiently, "you're not here to ask me, you're here to tell me that I'm doing this."
"Well, basically, yes. They thought you'd be nicer to me if I told you…you know, Charming Liz."
I sighed, accepting my fate. "What time?"
Liz smiled - the brilliant smile that had graced countless magazine covers and had made her famous. "Meet me here at eight; they'll have a car for us."
I nodded and after a few more minutes of chatting, Liz left me to my primping. Two more fluffs of my hair and a critical look later, I was deemed presentable and made my way to set seven to find a quiet spot to look over the scene and my lines.
No scenes were shooting when I got to the set, although there was a lot of activity. I found a semi-lit corner in the back and looked around for a seat, smiling when I spotted a neon green beanbag up against the wall. I kicked it under the light, dropped myself down, and settled in comfortably.
I looked through the sheets once, then again. I didn't know whether to be elated or terrified. The scene was between my character, Rita, and Robyn's character, Judith Torrington; a slightly smarmy but hot-enough-to-get-away-with-it defense attorney from a prestigious law firm. In this episode, Judith was defending the pedophile son of a state senator accused of raping and murdering a young boy. My character, although gruff and cynical, had a big soft spot for kids, and the scene called for me to lose my temper and push Robyn/Judith physically up against a wall.
The thought of pushing Robyn up against a wall sent shivers up my spine.
A very, very good kind of shiver.
I closed my eyes and steadied my suddenly ragged breathing.
Whoa. That was new. Apparently in the last few hours I'd move from adolescent crush to full-on adult lust, complete with NC-17 rated video.
"I don't know whether to feel sorry for whoever you're thinking about, or to be insanely jealous."
I snapped my eyes open in panic at the low, raspy voice. Robyn stood in front of me, gazing down with a thoughtful look.
The video played again, and I looked away. "What do you mean?" I mumbled.
"You looked…" She paused for a long moment, and I risked a glance at her face. She was staring at me intently. "…hungry."
I coughed. "Must have been because I missed lunch." I smiled sickly, and scrambled to my feet before my brain added the picture of her length towering above me to the new video collection.
She looked at me for a second longer, and then glanced down at the beanbag. "Nice chair."
"Pretty comfortable, actually." I gestured at the busy set. "I wanted to get away from the noise a little."
"I've heard very nice things about that chair. In fact, I heard that Chad and Liz…"
"Oh god," I groaned, and began wiping desperately at my pants. "Ew-ew-ew-gross-gross-gross…"
Robyn's loud, delighted laugh stopped my movements, as well as the movements of every one else within hearing range.
Robyn had a fantastic laugh.
"Gotcha," she said, winking as she walked past me towards the set, a definite swagger to her step.
Oh, honey. You have no idea.
I smiled to myself, and followed her.
##
"Cut!" Kreizeck yelled again, and I gritted my teeth, stepping back from Robyn and turning towards the director.
I didn't know how much more of this I could take. This was the sixth take of the scene between Robyn and me. Six times of pushing her up against a wall, feeling her shoulders under my hands, looking into her eyes from a distance of less than a foot…I was going to explode. Explode or kiss her - both of which were probably career-ending moves.
"Adam," Robyn began, but he cut her off with an imperious wave from the safety of his directing chair, where he had decided to stay after both Robyn and I had gotten into his space one too many times. Not on purpose, of course.
"No, Miss Ward, you're doing fine. Although a little more smugness, perhaps. You're a slimy defense lawyer defending a rapist and murderer of children. The audience doesn't want to sympathize with you, no matter how good you look."
I looked at her quickly, startled that Adam was once again right. From the look on her face, and the grudging nod, I could tell that she was, too.
"But you, Miss Harris. I saw more emotion from you this morning when you were sneering at me than I've seen in all six takes. You're supposed to be angry! Seething! This is a slimy defense attorney defending a rapist and murderer of children! You are a female police detective; disgusted that anyone - especially another woman - could defend such a scumbag! Let's see some fury, some emotion, some chemistry! And stop being so timid. You're touching her like a china doll. You're angry, damnit, act like it!"
Damn.
I knew he was right. I'd been so conscious of being near Robyn that I'd forgotten what the scene was about; just saying my lines and praying it would be over soon.
Shit.
And if Adam didn't watch it, I might even come to the conclusion that he was a halfway-decent director. Still and asshole, but and asshole that could direct.
"Let's take it from 'if you hadn't mishandled evidence,'" he yelled, and snapped several times. "Okay, people - places."
I glanced at Robyn, who shrugged, and moved back to her mark. I did the same, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to come up with a way to act around what I was feeling.
Then it dawned on me that I shouldn't. I shouldn't act around it, I should use it. And if all went well, I'd only have to do it once.
"Action!"
A look of smug conceit fell across Robyn's face as though someone had flipped a switch. She crossed her arms and sneered at me, the tone of her voice mocking, "If you hadn't mishandled evidence,
detective
, my client wouldn't be walking around free. I guess I should thank you."
Ok…I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
I looked at Robyn, letting every lustful thought, every fantasy, every desperate wish come to the surface and then, hoping people would mistake lust for anger, I lunged at her. I used my entire body this time, not just my hands, and pinned her against the wall with my arm across her chest and my stomach pressed up against hers.
"You defended a man who brutally raped and killed an eight year old boy, and now he's out walking around, looking for his next victim," I whispered harshly, ignoring the close-up camera that was moving in. "The evidence was clean - you brought up the doubt, and most likely destroyed a good detective's career in the process. That IS your fault."
At this point in the scene, Robyn was supposed to struggle and break away, yelling that I had made my point.
She didn't move.
She stood there, staring at me with wide eyes, her breath coming in quick gasps, her body molded to mine. I could feel her breath on my lips, feel the hard muscles of her abdomen tense and stretch against me.
After what seemed like an endless stretch of time, she finally whispered softly, barely audible. "Take your hands off me, detective. You've made your point."
Going on instinct, I stayed where I was, not releasing her. More endless moments went by as we stood locked in that embrace, breathing in each other's air, staring unblinkingly at each other.
Someone yell cut, goddamnit!
I felt like screaming,
Jesus, yell cut before I kiss her…
"And…Cut! Nice job, ladies."
The normal set noise was slow in starting, and mostly consisted of low whispers.
Adam's annoyed voice cut across the murmur of conversation. "Let's go, people! That's a wrap. You can stand around and chat later, let's get set up for scene '7D…"
Voices swelled around us, but Robyn and I still stood chest to chest. I blinked and stepped back.
"Robyn, I'm sorry…" I started.
"Shhh." She placed two thin, elegant fingers against my lips. "Caidence, it was great.
You
were great."
I nodded dumbly, feeling drained and just wanting to go home, but enjoying the pressure of her fingers.
She smiled at me, not her amused, smirky smile, but a genuine, honest smile laced with respect. "Now I need to get to wardrobe before the next take. I'll see you later."
She took her fingers from my lips, trailed them down my arm and squeezed my hand before turning and walking off the set.

I tapped on the door to Liz's trailer with the toe of my boot the next morning at 7:55, sipping from a large paper coffee cup in one hand and dangling a cardboard carrier containing two more steaming cups from the other.
The door opened and Liz's assistant, Paula, motioned me in. I grunted in greeting and entered the trailer, holding up the carrier and gesturing with my chin at the one closest to Paula.
"White mocha something-or-other. With soy."
She took the indicated cup out of the carrier, murmuring, "You're a doll. Thank you." As I moved past her, she touched my arm. "And I don't believe a word of it."
I frowned. "A word of what?"
"What they're saying. About you and that extra and the goat."
Goat, monkey…not much difference when you're supposedly fucking them.
I smiled politely. "Thank you Paula, I'm flattered you think so highly of me." She frowned, not quite believing the sincerity of my words. Before she could say anything more about my rumored love of goats, I continued on. "How's Liz this morning?"
Liz wasn't a morning person, and it was always good to know where her mood was before conversing with her.
"Well, she's…"
The door to the trailer's tiny bathroom swung open and Liz stomped out, glaring at Paula and me.
"Liz is an adult and doesn't like it when people talk as though she's not present." She flopped down on the couch, still glaring. "And for god sakes, Paula, I told you that thing about the goat was just a stupid rumor. Honestly, I don't know how that crap gets started."
"Amazing, isn't it?" I commented dryly, and held the carrier up as a peace offering. "The most caffeinated, sugary thing they had."
Her eyes softened a little and she reached out her hands. "Ohhhh. Gimme."
I set the carrier down and handed her the cup. She sniffed at it and took a sip, closing her eyes and groaning in a way that should have made me blush, considering my recently acknowledged sexual orientation, but didn't. Liz, despite her undeniable attractiveness, had never affected me in a sexual way. That put me in a very minuscule percentage of people on this planet, and was most likely the reason why Liz liked me.
Someone pounded on the trailer door. "Car here for Stokley and Harris!"
I reached out a hand and hauled Liz to her feet. "Let's get this over with," I said, with obvious trepidation.
"It's not that bad, Caid," Liz cooed, and patted my cheek. "You need to work on your people skills, anyway."
I scowled and she laughed, leading us out of the trailer and stopping on the top step with a little squeak of dismay when the bright sunshine hit her face. She turned to Paula, who was already handing her a pair of sunglasses that were designed with more thought to style than function. She took them without a word.
I shook my head, pulling my own sunglasses from on top of my head and slid them into place before following Liz and Paula down the stairs and into the gray limo where two people from the network's PR department were already waiting.
Liz absolutely hated sharing limos with people she didn't know, and sat in sullen silence during the ride to the hotel, shooting daggers at the car's two extra passengers. The two looked uncomfortable, but I didn't have enough sympathy to start a conversation that might have eased the tension. Liz's preference for riding by herself was well known, and these two should have known better. Instead I sat back and sipped on my cooling coffee, letting the caffeine do its work while Paula typed furiously on a thin laptop and occasionally talked on her cell phone.
At the hotel, we were escorted to a small conference room and offered croissants, muffins and more coffee. A few minutes later, 45 reporters from various national and international media outlets were herded in, took their seats, and started a barrage of questions.
I was nervous at first, still not used to the growing celebrity that
9th Precinct
had brought me and unsure of myself with the press. The majority of questions, though, were aimed at Liz, and soon I relaxed, enjoying the show that was Elizabeth Ann Stokley. The woman was truly a master at handling the press; deflecting questions with a charm that left the reporters smiling, serious one moment and flirting the next, controlling the room without letting them know they were being controlled.
Finally, after and hour and a half, the moderator called for last questions.
"This question is for both Ms. Stokley and Ms. Harris," A short, stocky woman in the back said. "Are you aware that over the past two years there has been an explosion of on-line stories depicting the two of you in homosexual relationships, with each other and various other
9th Precinct
cast members? Has this affected your working relationship at all, and what do you think of the chances of such a relationship story line ever making it into prime-time?"
I heard Liz's shocked intake of breath beside me, but kept my eyes on the reporter and what I hoped was a casual smile on my face, even though my heart was pounding so loud it was a wonder the mics didn't pick it up.
Taking a calming breath, I glanced over at Liz, noting that she was as rattled as I'd ever seen her. I felt a flash of annoyance. Was the thought of being a lesbian, or being thought of as a lesbian, so appalling?
I immediately pushed the annoyance aside; my own initial reaction to the question hadn't been much better, and I
was
a lesbian. At least in theory.
Amazing how society has trained us.
"I guess I'll take that one, if you don't mind, Liz?" I said, giving her a reassuring smile.
She seemed to regain some of her composure, and even managed to smile back. "Go right ahead."
I directed my attention back to the reporter, noticing that the other reporters were awfully damn quiet.
I thought for a moment.
Okay, Caid, let's go easy with this
. I had barely come out to myself, and certainly wasn't ready to come out to the world.
"Yes, I'm aware that there are websites that contain stories about our characters on
9th Precinct
, and that some of the stories are lesbian in nature."
I surprised at how natural it sounded to use the word.
Lesbian.
I was a lesbian.
I hadn't actually said it to myself yet; it was much easier than I expected.
I paused at my internal revelation, and the reporter who asked the question opened her mouth to speak. I cut her off before she could expand on her question.
"How do these stories affect my relationship, working or personal, with Liz?" I shrugged. "They don't. Liz and I are good friends, and have a very comfortable working relationship, contrary to what occasional newspapers and magazines might report. None of you, of course," I smiled my most charming smile, taking a lesson from Liz, and was gratified to hear a several chuckles. "I don't see either of those relationships changing because people are writing stories about the characters we play on a TV show."
"As to whether I think a homosexual storyline will ever make it into prime time…I thought it already had. There have been several gay characters in primetime television. Granted, maybe we've got a ways to go before it's an established, popular character on a drama like
9th Precinct
, and their sexuality is handled with the same casualness as it is for heterosexual characters, but we're getting there." I smiled at the woman. "So, to answer your question, I'd say the chances of that kind of storyline showing up on primetime are good, but I'm not going to guess at a timeline."
Several reporters raised their hands after I was done, but one of the PR people - Nick, I think his name was - announced that we had engagements elsewhere, and the session politely, if reluctantly, broke up.
We signed some autographs for a group of people waiting in the lobby and then climbed back into the limo, the two men from PR wisely electing to take a cab.
As soon as the car door had closed, Liz turned to me and gripped my arm. "What the fuck was all of that about? People think I'm a lesbian, and they're writing about it on the internet? That's illegal! Can I sue them or something? Shit, I need to call Woody and see if I can sue. Paula, get me Woody."
I sighed.
Thank you for being concerned about my career, too, Liz.
"Liz…calm down. Jesus." I pulled my arm away and sat back, running a hand through my hair in annoyance. "They're not stories about you, for fuck sakes; they're stories about Jen Hastings. A fictional character."
This seemed to calm her a little, but she still took the phone when Paula handed it to her.
"Woody? Of course it's Liz. I'm having a crappy day, thank you very much. Did you know about these internet people who think I'm a lesbian?"
I rolled my eyes. "Liz…"
"Here, Woody, let me give you to Caid. She knows all about it."
The phone was thrust into my hand, and I resignedly put it to my ear.
"Woody? It's Caid."
"Caid, what the hell is she talking about?" Woody Stein's harried, nasal voice came over the line.
I put my fingers to the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. "Listen, let me call you back, okay?"
"Caid…"
"I'll call you back." I snapped the phone shut, knowing that would piss Woody off, but also knowing that Liz would smooth it over for me.
"What are you doing?" Liz asked angrily, "You need to…"
"Liz."
"…tell Woody about this…"
"Liz."
"I'll sue them…"
"Liz, shut up!"
Liz blinked, and Paula looked at me in shock, but the car was finally quiet.
"Thank you. Now just listen to me for a second, okay? These stories - they're called Fan Fiction. People write stories about the characters on TV shows, and then put them out on these internet sites for other people to read. They aren't about you. You can't sue anyone, because they aren't about you. They're about the characters in the show."
"I can't?"
"No, you can't."
She was quiet for a moment, then frowned. "How did you know about this stuff? And why didn't you tell me?"
I scratched absently at my neck. "I was doing some…ah…research on the Internet one night, and I came across a site that had some stuff about the show. I was curious, so I read some of it." I didn't think she needed to know exactly what my 'research' was about. "I didn't tell you, because I didn't think it was important. They're just stories, Liz. It's not about you. No one is accusing you of being a lesbian."
She was still frowning, her brows furrowed in thought. "I want to see some," she said abruptly.
I shrugged. "Fine, I'll send you some URLs."
"Some what?"
Liz was hopeless with computers. I looked over at Paula, who nodded.
"Paula knows what I mean, and she'll show you."
"Show me now. Use Paula's computer. It's a half-hour trip back to the studio."
Sometimes her attitude really ticked me off.
"Say please."
Liz blinked. "What?"
"Say please. I'm not your goddamn assistant, Liz - no offense, Paula," I glanced over at the assistant apologetically. She smiled slightly and shook her head. "I'm your friend and coworker. Say please."
We stared at each other for a long moment, and finally she sighed. "I'm sorry, Caid." Her voice was subdued. "Please."
I let out my own sigh, and turned to Paula. "Paula, can we borrow your laptop for a bit please? This car has wireless, doesn't it?"
"Of course, Caid." The woman nodded, clicking a few times to get out of what she was doing, and handed the laptop over to me.
I opened up a browser window, Googled a few keywords I knew would get me what I was looking for and browsed through the results, finally selecting one, glancing at it quickly, and placing the computer in Liz's lap.
"Here's one. Press this button when you want to go down more."
"Thank you," she murmured politely, and started reading.
I divided my attention between watching the cars around us who were also caught in lunch-time traffic, and watching Liz's expression go from curious and slightly bored to intent and involved. I smiled slightly at her absorbed expression. I actually hadn't read a lot of
9P
fan fiction - it seemed slightly egomaniacal - but I had enjoyed this one very much.
Liz was still reading when the limo pulled up in the lot outside the studio, looking up reluctantly when Paula announced they had arrived.
"But…I'm not done. Can I save it somehow?" she asked sheepishly.
Paula assured her they could and took the laptop from her, bookmarking the site and looking over at me with a wink.
I smiled back and followed Liz out of the limo and through the lot, curious about the thoughtful expression on her face.
When we reached her trailer she turned, the thoughtful expression now turned slightly calculating. "So there are a lot of these stories?"
I nodded. "Hundreds…thousands even, I suppose."
That surprised her. "All about Jen and Rita?"
"Oh…no, no. They put all sorts of characters together." That seemed to disappoint her, and I frowned. "Why?"
She ignored my question and asked her own. "How many are lesbian stories? A lot?"
"A lot." I nodded.
That satisfied her, and she climbed the stairs to her trailer, throwing a vague, "See you later," over her shoulder.
I stared at the closed door to her trailer for a while, wondering what was going through her head, and thinking that whatever it was, I probably wasn't going to like it.
Finally I shrugged, and headed for my own trailer, wondering if Robyn was on the set today.