Even Villains Go To The Movies (3 page)

“I’m done with makeup, there aren’t any lines, and all you need is a shot of me rolling down the alley with a blonde hanging on. Why don’t we shoot this and call the scene done?”

Angela tried to remember if she’d ever heard of an actor named Tyler. It didn’t ring any bells.

“Glee said she wanted to do this,” Swendon argued.

“Glee’s still in her trailer trying to memorize her lines for the next scene.” Tyler gave Angela a look usually reserved for cockroaches right before they became a smear of entrails on the kitchen floor.

Angela shrugged it off. The big, muscled types were all the same: lots of bulk and no brains. He’d probably played football in high school, and she knew enough football players to gag at the thought of ever spending another night watching men run around in tights.

“Fine,” Swendon said. “We’ll get the lights in place. Roll down the main drag with the body double. Somebody go find Glee! Tell her she has five minutes!”

Tyler scowled down at her. “Well? Are you going to ask for an autograph?”

Several snippy rejoinders came to mind, but instead Angela smiled. “Naturally, as soon as I see an actor I like.”

He blinked.

Angela stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “Where am I supposed to be?”

He got on his bike and looked at her over his shoulder. “Hop on.”

She climbed on behind him, carefully avoiding the name of the position she was in. There might not have been the Fear of God in her house growing up, despite being in the Bible Belt, but there was certainly the Fear of Grandmother Meredith. As in, “What would your grandmother say?!?” or “Your Grandmother Meredith must be rolling in her grave!” Although Mom had stopped using that when Dad had snapped back, “All seven of them.”

Dad had never thought highly of Grandma Meredith, and she’d died before Angela had ever met her, but the specter of the proper southern woman lived on. Southern Ladies did not say Certain Words.

Angela settled in, flipped her hair, and held the bike seat on either side of her thighs. It was that, or wrap her arms around tall, dark, and stupid.

“You’re supposed to hold on,” Tyler said.

“It’s a test shot.” She didn’t move to grab him.

He revved the motorcycle and drove faster than they needed to, weaving between barely visible marks on the floor that Luiz assured her would vanish in post-production. On his mark, Tyler pivoted the bike with precision control, and she had to grab his waist to keep from falling off.

“Told you so.” He smirked.

Angela growled and flipped her hair again, making sure to aim for his eyes. Tyler dodged. She slid off the bike and walked over to the camera crew. “Was that good enough? I’d rather drive myself.”

The woman behind the camera nodded. “It’s good. All we need is Glee and we can do the actual take.” The woman gave her a conspiratorial grin. “What did you think of Tyler Running Fox? Does he smell good?”

“Tyler...Running Fox?” Angela looked over her shoulder at the biker who’d tried to hurl her to her death. “He’s the one who ruined
Hamlet
? I didn’t recognize him without the goatee.”

The camerawoman choked on a laugh. “You didn’t like his Hamlet? He won an Academy Award for that!”

“The screenwriters butchered Shakespeare’s play. They didn’t even get the ‘To be or not to be’ soliloquy right. It was painfully bad,” she said as she became aware of someone looming over her shoulder.

Tyler Running Fox—Hollywood hero, Academy darling, the highest-grossing and most popular Native American actor ever—glared down at her.

“I don’t like the way you drive, either,” she said before she flounced back to her bike, well aware she wasn’t going to act in Hollywood ever again.

Chapter Four

Dear Mom,

Tell Gideon I’m proud of him for getting into MIT. My alma mater won’t know what hit it! I’ve already sent an email to my advisor warning her that my baby brother is on his way. She said she’d consider taking early retirement if he wants a math degree. On the other hand, she said that if he goes for an engineering degree like Dad she’ll stick around just to watch the havoc. Apparently, Dr. Trenbel in engineering gave her a hard time while I was there and she would like, and I quote, “To let him try and handle a Smith!” I’m sure she means it with love.

I had a job for about eight hours, but I don’t think I’ll have a second shift. I’m trying to get worked up about it, but it wasn’t anything more than riding a motorcycle. I miss teaching.

Have you heard anything about Travys? I tried to find out what happened while I was at the library, but I can’t find a mention of him in the system. Could The Company bury a trial like that?

Love,

Angela

“Okay, that’s where you’re wrong,” Angela said as she leaned over Mia’s shoulder to scrutinize her homework. “A squared plus B squared is C squared, and you forgot to take the square root of the total.” She reached over and put a little square root sign over the number sixteen. “See?”

“I can’t do math!” Mia flopped forward like a marionette with her strings cut. “When will I ever use this? Tell me when I will ever need to calculate the lengths of the side of a triangle.”

“When you’re a famous architect designing the next great skyscraper?” Angela suggested. “Or when you’re an artist working on proportions. Everything involves math. Here”—she scribbled the Pythagorean Theorem on Mia’s paper—”this is fun. It’s super easy, plug-and-play math.”

“Math is not fun,” Mia grumbled.

“It can be.”

“It really can’t.”

“What if I add one chocolate chip to the cookie dough for every answer you get right?”

Mia eyed her homework. “Make it three, or we’re still going to have chipless chocolate chip cookies.”

Angela nodded. “Three per correct answer. I’ll take one away for every one I have to help on.” She stretched her legs out and basked in the California sunshine. The AC was wheezing inside, but outside a nice ocean breeze cooled the city streets. A nice something breeze, at any rate. The fog had lifted, the city buzzed around them, and Angela felt safe dipping into the public mood for a minute to check how her neighborhood was doing.

It was a little like gardening. She didn’t need to pay attention to everything that was going on all the time. Like checking the flowers and pulling the occasional weed, she checked on the general mood of the area every few days to ensure everything was running smoothly.

Today the area was happy. Spring sunshine and a clear sky were enough to perk up anyone’s mood. There were a few hints of anger, and one of deep despair, but they were close enough that she could touch them at a distance and alter them, turning anger to patience and despair to humor. Later, she decided, she’d go for a run and check on Despair. It felt like a severe case of postpartum, but she couldn’t remember seeing any new mothers in the area.

Not that this was a friendly neighborhood. Nothing like the little town in Texas she’d spent most of her time in. On the lakes of LBJ there was a quiet retirement community, a few young families, and typical Southern nosiness. Between her father’s charm, the novelty of being a quad, and her own forceful personality, she’d known everything about everyone.

LA had tabloids and gossip, but it all centered around the same few people, as if the only measure of worth was money.

She leaned her head back, soaking up sunshine and the blissfully carefree life of the unemployed who had money for rent and groceries. Tomorrow, she’d be worried again. For today, she would patiently coax Mia into appreciating math and maybe go hit the cupcake place to celebrate her payday.

Splurging on cupcakes meant a ten-mile run, but what was the point of running if not to eat cupcakes every now and then?

Luiz bounced down the apartment steps. “AJ, what are you doing? We need to leave.”

“What?”

“We have a night shoot, remember? We need to be there by five to start blocking out the fight scenes.” Luiz was already wearing her riding gear—tight black faux leather pants, a tight yellow shirt, and a faux leather jacket cropped short, her helmet dangling from her hand. “You signed the contract.”

“I insulted the ‘talent’ last night too,” Angela said, miming the air quotes. “I don’t think they want me back.”

“Did someone call you and tell you not to show up tonight?”

Angela raised her eyebrows. “No phone, remember? I’m broke.”

“Then get your gear on and get unbroke by getting your lazy self to work. You’re worse than my brother.”

“Oooo.” Mia pretended to bite her nails in mock fear and then smiled. “You better go. She’s serious.”

Angela ran upstairs, stuffed her leathers in a backpack, and grabbed her helmet. She pulled the jacket on over her off-white T-shirt that read ‘Fight Like A Girl – Zephyr Girl.’

Luiz was waiting on her bike.

“I really need to buy my own transport,” Angela muttered. “I hate holding on to people.”

“Yeah, but holding on to Tyler can’t be that much of a chore. I’ve seen his body. If he didn’t look so much like my ex I’d make a play for that.” Luiz revved the engine and sped into traffic before Angela could respond that the last thing she wanted to do was make a play for Tyler Running Fox.

They left black skid marks in the parking lot, but made it inside on time.

“We’re doing the setup, not shooting,” Raina said when Angela asked for a place to change. “You don’t need to be in costume for that.”

Their set was outside, a miniature city skyline with a scaled-down helo pad. Luiz started them out on some wrestling pads, working on stunt throws. “Have you ever danced, done karate, anything like that?”

“I had a blue belt in karate, but all I remember are the basic self-defense moves.” Having her mom kidnapped when Angela was four by people who had wanted to murder them all had put her family on the defensive. Her sisters had done better with martial arts, Delilah going so far as to pick up a couple of extra disciplines, but Angela hadn’t ever needed it. People didn’t attack her. Anyone coming towards her got hit with a heavy dose of regret that sent them straight to their knees.

Luiz frowned. “Have Raina do a practice throw with you.” She tugged at her black braid. “I wish my brother was here. He’s always been the one up-front for stunt fights. Dyfed! Come ‘ere.”

“It’s easy,” Raina said. “Stand like this and pretend you’re holding my arm while I flip.”

Angela rested a hand on her and Raina somersaulted in the air, landing flat on her back. “Are you okay?”

“AJ, it’s a stunt, I’m supposed to land like this.”

“Right.”

Raina stood. “Let’s try throwing you. When I touch your back, I want you to fall forward like I pushed you hard. Ready? One, two, three...”

Angela felt the light tap of Raina’s fingers on her back and flung herself at the mat. “Oww.”

“A little less enthusiastic next time.”

Luiz whistled. “Everybody take ten minutes and get water, stretch out. I’m going to block out the fight scene with the director.”

“I thought it was blocked,” Raina said. “Didn’t we go over this last week?”

“There’s been a change.”

Angela wandered over to the sideboard full of food. As she shrugged on her leather jacket someone said, “Nice shirt. I like Zephyr Girl.”

She turned. A handsome, dark-skinned man faced her, giving her elevator eyes. Her shirt must have riveted him, because his gaze never got above her neck.

“I’m a fan of hers,” Angela said as she pulled her jacket all the way on and zipped the front. It was too hot for a leather jacket, but she didn’t like his stare. A little standoffish body language was in order.

Luiz swore loudly in Spanish and stalked over. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I am ten seconds from quitting this contract and calling it a day. This is not the only studio in Hollywood, it’s just the most–” She stopped and scowled at the newcomer. “What are you doing here?”

The guy picked up a donut. “I heard you had the good food.”

“I thought principal shooting was done for you guys.”

He shrugged. “We had an emergency meeting to discuss issues.” He gave Luiz a wicked grin. “Want to hear some good gossip?”

Luiz grabbed a flimsy plate and piled it high with potato chips. “Lay it on me.”

“The TV show
Fractured
? It’s getting canceled.”

“What?”

He held his hands up in a shrug of surrender. “You heard it here first. Carla didn’t show up for her promo scenes yesterday. This afternoon she called to say she’s buying herself out of her contract. No Carla, no Pacifica, no
Fractured
.”

Angela watched the exchange with morbid fascination. It was like discovering a new continent. All the words were ones she should understand, but the dialect was foreign.

Luiz must have seen her befuddled expression because she laughed. “AJ, this is Jacob Kapsimolis. He’s a superhero.”

She took an involuntary step backward. “Really?” A Company employee in Hollywood was not what she needed.

“I’m the Red Death on
Fractured
,” Jacob said. He flung his arms forward. “I’ll have my revenge!”

Angela’s heart skipped a beat, and then she realized he was acting. “Oh. That was...was good. I’ve seen the show a few times. I like it,” she added lamely. She’d seen half an episode in the airport and it hadn’t been horrible.

Jacob looked pleased, then shrugged. “Except, as of tomorrow, I’ll officially be another unemployed actor begging for coffee money. Who are you?”

“She’s the new stunt double,” Luiz said.

“I heard about you.” A grin lit up his face. “The one who hates
Hamlet
, right? Sweet! I can’t stand Shakespeare.”

“AJ David, stuntperson.” She held out her hand. “And I do like Shakespeare, but not the way Ty—”

Jacob bulldozed over her introduction. “Speaking of stuntpeople, where’s your brother, Luiz? I was hoping he could help me drown my woes.”

“He got a DUI while on probation,” Luiz snapped. “I ain’t paying the bail, so he’s rotting in the clink.” She took a drink from her water bottle. “Do you ever feel like this studio is a breath away from collapsing in on its own stupidity? Studio Sluts will be the death of us all.”