Just Physical (5 page)

Crash blocked it, grabbed the branch, and pulled.

Their bodies collided, with both of them holding on to the branch. “He tries to take the makeshift weapon from you, but you refuse to let go.” She tugged on the branch, pulling Jill even closer. The ruffles of Jill's chemise brushed Crash's chest, and she caught a whiff of Jill's perfume, nearly making her lose her grip on the branch.

“Like this?”

“Yes, exactly,” Crash said, annoyed with herself for sounding so breathless. “He slowly pushes you toward the tent post until you can't back up anymore.” She did it.

Jill's back hit the tent post, but she hardly even noticed; she was too busy staring into Crash's ice-blue eyes, which looked fierce and wild in the spotlights filtering in through the tent walls.

“And then?” she asked. Why was her voice so hoarse?
Get yourself together, or Ben will think you either have the hots for Crash or aren't fit enough to do this simple scene.

“And then,” Crash said, “he grabs the branch with both hands and presses it to your throat.” With Jill still holding on to the middle of the branch, Crash grabbed it at both ends, brought it up horizontally, and laid it against Jill's throat, exerting only the slightest pressure.

They stared at each other, their hands touching on the branch, their faces only inches apart.

Crash licked her lips as if her mouth had suddenly gone dry, and Jill mirrored the gesture.

Are you crazy?
She tried to shake herself out of it. She had no business lusting after anyone, least of all a woman who was so physically active and full of energy. A woman who most likely had no idea that Jill had MS and that she would end up a burden, not an equal partner.

For Christ's sake, she'd just fallen asleep in her car when all she'd wanted to do was get her jacket. Until someone found a cure for MS or at least the goddamn fatigue, she would never be able to keep up with someone like Crash.

She let go of the branch and slid out from between Crash and the tent pole. Distance. She needed some distance so she could think clearly.

“You okay?” Crash asked but didn't try to follow her. Her voice sounded a bit husky too.

“Fine,” Jill croaked. “So, that's when one of the nurses comes in and hits the guy over the head, right?”

“Uh, yes, exactly. All you need to do is stand there and look surprised as he goes down.”

Jill gave a decisive nod. She glanced at Ben, who stood at the tent's entrance. “Okay. I'm ready.”

Four days later, Jill had just settled on the couch with the script when a knock sounded on her trailer door.

Jill groaned. “Not yet,” she muttered, aware that she sounded like a whining teenager who had been ordered to go to bed. She was supposed to have one more hour before they needed her back on set—and she needed that hour to go over her lines for tomorrow's scenes.

By the time she got home that night, she knew she'd be exhausted and any attempt to memorize lines would feel like wading through molasses, so she'd rather do it now.

When she opened the door and peeked out, it wasn't a PA sent to summon her back to the set. Instead, Crash stood on the top step, still in the Lucy Sharpe costume, but without the wig. Her short, black hair looked strangely out of place in the turn-of-the-century garb. With a broad grin, she presented a shiny apple. “I didn't see you at the craft services table, so I thought I'd bring you a snack.”

Jill took the apple, careful not to touch Crash's fingers in the process. “Thanks.”

They stood facing each other in silence for several moments.

“Um, do you want to come in?” Jill asked and opened the trailer door wider.

“Sure.” Crash followed her in. Her vibrancy filled the trailer, immediately making it seem much smaller. She looked around and let out a whistle. “Nice digs.”

After a week of shooting, Jill was already so used to her home away from home that she didn't notice the details anymore. She took in the tiny kitchenette at one end of the trailer, the comfortable couch along one wall, and the small table with two chairs in the other corner, trying to see them through Crash's eyes. “You think so?”

“Yeah. I think it's even nicer than Nikki's and Shawn's trailers.”

Crash had been in their co-stars' trailers? She shoved away the thought, firmly telling herself it didn't matter to her one way or the other. Instead, she focused on the apple and took a big bite out of it.

“I'm not even sure theirs have air-conditioning,” Crash said.

Jill nearly choked on her bite of apple.
Dammit.
Lauren must have found out from Grace what effect heat had on Jill, so she had pulled some strings to get her the nicest trailer with the best air-conditioning on set. She didn't know whether to be grateful or angry with her friend and former publicist.

“Careful.” Crash stepped closer and softly patted her on the back. “Women and apples don't have the best of history.”

Finally, Jill managed to stop coughing and took a deep breath. Crash's scent filled her nose—an irresistible mix of shampoo, fresh sweat, and horses from one of the stunts earlier that day. She took a step back and focused on the conversation. “That's what people think, but actually, the Bible doesn't say that the fruit was an apple.”

Another grin flashed across Crash's face. “I wouldn't know one way or another. I was talking about Snow White.”

Jill flopped down on one end of the couch, inviting Crash with a nod of her head to take the other. She grinned at her. “I didn't take you for a fan of fairy tales.”

“What can I say? I'm a sucker for happy endings.” Crash sat and stretched out her legs, getting comfortable despite the corset she was wearing. “So, how do you know so much about the Bible?”

“Are you saying I don't look like the typical devout Irish Catholic girl to you?”

“Um…”

Jill laughed and took pity on her. “I'm not religious. I've always preferred to rely on myself rather than some higher power. But my brother is big on religion. He quoted from the scripture whenever he had me over for dinner.”

“Had?” Crash repeated.

Damn.
She was too perceptive for her own good. Jill resolved to be more careful about what she said around Crash in the future. While she didn't mind sharing funny anecdotes about past movies and TV shows she had filmed, she preferred not to share too much about her private life with her colleagues. “Well, I'm here in LA, and the rest of my family lives in Ohio, so we don't get the chance to have dinner together anymore,” she said. It was the truth—but not the real reason why she no longer had dinner with her brother. She hadn't talked to him since the day she'd told him about the MS. Instead of telling her he was sorry or offering help, he had suggested it was her punishment for defying God by doing unnatural things with other women.

Crash looked at her. Something in her blue eyes told Jill that she sensed there was more to it, but Crash finally nodded and accepted that no further explanation would be forthcoming. She reached for the script that lay on the middle cushion between them. “I hope I didn't interrupt you memorizing your lines.”

“That's okay. It wasn't going too well anyway.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

Jill shrugged. “I'm not sure.” It could be the MS messing with her focus or her memory, or maybe it was the fact that some aspects of her character's behavior didn't ring true to her and that was why the lines were giving her such trouble.

“Would it help if I ran lines with you for a while?” Crash asked.

“Are you sure you've got the time?”

“Oh yeah. I'm bored to death out there, waiting for them to need me for another gag.”

“Gag?”

“Stunt,” Crash said. She looked at Jill, her head tilted to the side like an overeager puppy begging for a treat.

Jill had to smile. “Sure, why not.” Running lines with Crash might be fun, and maybe it would help her memorize her lines. “I'm granting you asylum in my air-conditioned domicile, as long as you don't mind being threatened by a scalpel.”

“Uh, excuse me?”

Jill chuckled. “You'll see.”

Crash reached across the middle cushion and picked up the stapled script pages.

“The highlighted lines are mine, so just read the rest,” Jill said.

Crash took a minute to skim the first page before giving Jill a nod to show that she was ready. Instead of staying on the couch, she stood and moved around the room, as Jill had done in the past when learning her lines, before she'd learned to conserve her energy. She looked so powerful and energetic that Jill couldn't help envying her.

“You need to get out of here, ma'am,” Crash said. She wasn't just reading the text, but acting it out, lowering her voice to sound like the soldier who'd just rushed into the makeshift hospital.

Jill stood as well and bent over the coffee table, pretending to be busy with a patient. “Doctor,” she said without looking up. “And we
are
getting out—but not without our patients. I need to stabilize her first.”

“There's no time! If the fire reaches the park, the tents will go up in flames within seconds!”

Jill didn't answer. She remained bent over her imaginary patient.

Crash crossed the trailer in two long steps, marching like a soldier on a mission. She cursed under her breath, grabbed Jill by the shoulders, and dragged her toward the door.

“What are you doing? If you—”

Shaking her head, Crash let go of her. “The script says, ‘What do you think you are doing, Corporal?'”

Jill stepped closer and half turned so she could look at the script pages Crash was holding.
Damn.
She was right. Jill closed her eyes for a moment and repeated the line three times to herself, hoping it would finally stick in her memory. “Okay, let's try this again,” she said when she opened her eyes.

They ran through the lines again from the beginning. Jill attempted to get into the scene, trying out different gestures and inflections. But something was still off, making her stumble over her lines at times.

Finally, she plopped down on the couch and shook her head. “See what I mean? This isn't working, and I'm still not sure why.”

Crash sat next to her. “Well, I'm not an acting coach, and far be it from me to tell a seasoned actress like you how to do her job…”

“But?” Jill prompted.

“I think the scene needs more…fire.”

“More fire? That's what they're running from.”

Crash threw the script down on the coffee table. “No, I mean more fire from you. More anger.”

“Um, excuse me. I'm butting heads with an armed soldier, refusing to leave. I'd think that's enough anger, isn't it?”

“Yeah, but…I just don't feel it.”

Groaning, Jill let her head fall back against the couch. “Damn. I think you're right. I just don't get why Lauren wrote the scene this way.”

“Lauren?”

“Oh. She's the screenwriter who wrote
Shaken to the Core
. And she's a friend of mine,” Jill added after a moment's hesitation. “I mean, Lucy is a trained doctor. Shouldn't she be calm and level-headed in the face of this crisis? Shouldn't she trust the soldier to do his job, just the way she's doing hers? Why get so angry with him?”

Crash seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking her head. “I think she's angry at much more than him.”

“What do you mean?” When Jill turned on the couch to face her more fully, their skirts brushed and she sensed the warmth of Crash's knee against hers. Quickly, she moved back a bit.

“You have to view this scene in context and consider Lucy's background. I only read bits and pieces of the script while I was waiting for a stunt yesterday, but didn't she grow up on a ranch?”

Jill nodded. “She did. Her mother was the first female veterinarian in the US.”