Payback (2 page)

“Your
book was great.  I knew right away I wanted the part of Parker, no matter what I had to do to get it.”

I beamed.  “Really?  Really? When I heard you were going to play him, I couldn’t breathe!  It was a dream come true. I didn’t write the book with you
in mind, but when they mentioned your name, I knew you should be Parker.”              

“Your book jacket said that you were born and raised in Philadelphia.”

“Yeah. What about you?”

“I was born in Houston, Texas but moved to Virginia when I was seven.”

“Did you stay in Virginia?”

He shook his head. “My parents divorced when I was fourteen
, and then I moved to Topanga Canyon with my mother.  She died a few years ago.  I still live in our old house.”  Topanga Canyon is an enclave near Malibu. It boasts a few horse ranches and numerous members of the Hollywood elite.

“Topanga Canyon? So your parents were rich?”

He smiled as if I was naïve. “Yes, they were rich. My dad came from oil stock.  My mother was from the country club society of Virginia. She missed being around horses, so my father bought her a horse farm in Virginia and we moved there from Houston.”

“Was Topanga Canyon a horse ranch too?”

He nodded. “Twenty acres.”

“In Topanga Canyon?”
  I was impressed.  Topanga Canyon was very expensive with its views of the Pacific Ocean and hills covered with typical Southern California chaparral. Acreage ran in the millions. “How many acres did your family own in Virginia?”

“Three hundred and sixty.”

“Wow! What was it like growing up with all that room?”

He laughed.  “I don’t get that question a lot.  It was great.
I love living on a horse farm. Someday I’m going to own a ranch in Wyoming or Montana. I’ll raise cattle and ride horses all day.”

“That sounds like hard work.”

“I don’t mind hard work.”

Over the next few months
, Caden proved he was a hard worker.  He stayed late without complaining, remained in makeup even if they weren’t sure they were going to reshoot him, and rehearsed his lines ad nauseam off camera.  My infatuation and admiration grew exponentially with each day. Unfortunately, he sometimes brought one of the girls he was dating to the set, and I’d sit in the back with my laptop scowling into the air, daydreaming about popping their implants and watching as they buzzed around in the air like a balloon that had been pierced with a pin.

When he woke up, he tried to remember the name of the redhead lying next to him in his oversized California King bed. Turning his left palm over, he sighed with relief; in dark blue ink was the name, “Rita.” He’d learned this trick from a friend.  “As soon as you can, write the woman’s name in your palm so you don’t forget it in the morning.”  This wise sage had saved Caden from embarrassment more times than he could count. He made his excuses to Rita and quickly showered before driving to the lot and taking a seat in the makeup trailer.

The idea that he’d have so many women rolling on his 1000
-thread-count sheets that he’d resort to inking his palm was absurd to him just a few years ago. But now he had women, hot women, falling over themselves to screw him. It had been enjoyable for a while. As a teenager, hell even up to a year ago, he’d never thought that banging a new woman every night would get old, but it did—so old that he’d slowed down to one a week, and even then it did nothing for him except provide a much-needed physical release.

There’d been a few relationships with actresses, but the profession tended to attract narcissists, neurotics
, and the occasional borderline personality disorder.  He’d had more drama with the relationships with actresses than with the one-night stands. However, there had been one of the “one-night stands” that had turned into a stalker.  That stalker ended up scaring the hell out of him when he found her in his bathtub one night, naked and offering up “whatever he needed.”
Lucinda the Stalker,
as he and Jeremiah referred to her, was now in a private mental facility rather than jail simply because her father was a Los Angeles councilman with a lot of influence when it came to handing out filming permits in the city.

Caden’s makeup was done
, so he strolled out to the set even though he wasn’t on call for another hour.  As he entered the back of the sound stage, he saw the young woman again, the one that had written the book and the screenplay.  She looked like a wide-eyed teenager with short, honey blonde hair, petite features, freckles, and great shapely legs (even though they were white.)  While she wasn’t as beautiful as the models and actresses he dated, there was something besides her girl-next-door looks that made her extraordinarily attractive.  Her eyes had a strange, but alluring, combination of intelligence and innocence. Caden sighed; he knew full well that in a year that innocence would be buried under the politics, the deals, the sex, the drugs, and the artificial sense of importance that Hollywood oozed.  Still, he was a sucker for a pretty woman with an IQ higher than her weight.  It was hard to find them in this neck of the woods.

But
in a way, she intimidated him.  According to her book jacket, she had a degree in organic chemistry from Temple University.  In addition to writing a best-selling novel and a phenomenal screenplay, she was a scientist, which meant she was firing on both sides of her brain. He decided to leave her alone. Why would someone as intelligent and talented as her want to be with him? Once the allure of celebrity wore off, why would she be interested?  Sure, he had a degree from USC in Theater Arts, but no matter how hard they tried to sell it to the entertainment industry as being the toughest dramatic arts program in the world, he thought it was a walk in the park. He had graduated in three years with honors. Still, he was no biochemist with a bestselling novel. 

“Caden?”

He turned and saw her staring up at him from her chair. “Yes?”  He walked over, noticing that her forehead was furrowed and mouth pursed.

“Could you read these lines and tell me if they sound real?  Would you say them if you were Parker?”

He bent down to read them off her computer screen.  Within seconds, he knew the changes were brilliant, that she had managed to bridge the awkward scene between Parker and Lara that sounded great in the book but wasn’t playing well on the screen. “I like it, except I don’t know if he’d use the word ‘exacerbate.’ I’d go with ‘aggravate.’”

“Yes!  That’s perfect!  Thank you so much.” She typed a little before asking, “So you really think it works?”

Caden looked into her gray eyes, so full of enthusiasm and gratitude that he almost laughed at her.  How could anyone this pure survive in Hollywood? “Yes, and you shouldn’t doubt yourself.  You’re brilliant…this screenplay is brilliant.”

Marie’s cheeks flushed the color of his brick red shirt. To avoid his eyes, she turned her face towards the keyboard.  With humility in her voice, she quietly said, “Thanks.”

“I have to go.”

“Yes, of course.  Thanks
again for helping me.”

He shook his head to let her know it was nothing and then continued towards his chair next to Jenkin
s’s. But he couldn’t resist looking over his shoulder at her just once. She wasn’t there.  He looked around, but she was gone. For some reason, he was terribly disappointed.  The scene coming up was his favorite. It was the climax of the story, and he’d worked all night to make sure he did her words justice and now she was going to miss it.  It suddenly hit him that he had been practicing all night for her, to impress her.  Why? 
She’s just a brainiac from Philadelphia
.

H
e did a run-through of the scene with the director and cameraman and then they took their places for the shoot. When he turned to ask Jenkins something, he saw her walking toward them with papers in her hands. Dressed in blue-cropped pants and an eyelet shirt, he thought she looked fresh and pretty.

Marie handed the papers to the assistant director and then stepped back to watch the scene. 
He acted his ass off and was pleased when the director yelled “cut.”  Turning, he caught Marie wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, and then she scurried off.  There was clapping and lots of backslapping. The director announced that he didn’t think he could get a better take, but he did a second one anyway.

That evening
, Caden had locked up his cottage on the lot and was walking to his car when he noticed Marie walking swiftly through the parking lot.  His parking spot proudly displayed a sign, “Parking for C. Kelly.” Marie was carrying a large backpack and several files and looked frazzled.  He thought about saying something to her, asking her out for a drink, but she didn’t look like she wanted company.

Turning towards his car, he saw his personal assistant, Matt Latshaw, rushing towards him with something in his hand. “Caden!  Don’t forget your cell phone!”

Caden immediately patted his pocket and realized that he must have left the phone on the makeup table.  Out of breath, Matt handed him the cell phone with a smile.

“You have a sitting with the studio photographer for the
movie poster tomorrow at ten, Building 4.”

“Oh, I forgot.  Thanks.”

“Excuse me?” the female voice behind them sounded shy and upset. 

Caden turned and immediately broke into a smile. “Marie. Hi. Do you need something?”

“My car won’t start.  I left my lights on this morning and my battery is dead. I could call Triple A, but I think I just need someone to give me a jump.”

Caden thought of
a juicy response to jumping her but decided to bite his tongue. “Sure, not a problem.”

Matt, the alwa
ys helpful assistant, chirped up. “You can go, Caden. I’ve got this. I have cables in my car.”

Even though Marie looked relieved that Matt was going to help, Caden saw this as his chance to spend time with Marie, but good
-intentioned Matt was making a mess of it.

“Oh, that’s so nice, Matt!
I really appreciate your help.” She turned to Caden, “I didn’t want to bother you. I know how busy and tired you must be.”

Caden was trying to gesture to Matt that he wanted to do it, but Matt was smilin
g at Marie.  Then it hit Caden—Matt had a crush on Marie and he was thinking the same thing—this was a way to score points with her.

Caden stepped between them.
“No, I can’t let you, Matt. You’ve been here every day, twelve hours a day. I have cables, I’m here, and I
insist
on doing this.”

Marie clearly looked mortified.  “I’m sorry
, Matt. I didn’t think about how tired you two must both be. Please, both of you go home.  I’ll call Triple A.  That’s what I bought it for.”

Matt and Caden both blurted out at the same time, “It’s not a problem!”

Caden looked at Matt with a look that told him to get lost. Matt finally got the hint. “Well, if you think you have this, Caden, I’ve got to run.  Good night, Marie. ‘Night, Caden.”

“Good night, Matt.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”  Caden turned back to Marie.  “Get in and I’ll drive over to your car.”

Marie walked to the passenger side of his Escalade and climbed inside. She pointed to the other side of the now-empty parking lot.  “That Porsche is mine.”

“
Porsche?”
he exclaimed. “You own that Porsche?  It can’t be more than a year-old!”

“I bought it with my money from the screenplay.”

“Wow!”

“It’s just a Cayman S, but it’s my Cayman S.”

“Nice-looking car. I like the blue.”

“Thanks.”

Caden maneuvered the Escalade in front of the Porsche and set up the cables to charge the battery, but he soon discovered it wasn’t the battery but the alternator. “Sorry, cables aren’t going to work. Your alternator is shot, but it should be under warranty.  You’ll have to have it towed to the dealer.”

Disappointment wa
s written all over her face. Marie’s entire body was drooping. Shoulders rounded, her head was tilting slightly forward.  “Crap,” she muttered.

“Look, I’ll stay with you and wait for the tow.”

“Oh, good God, no! I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You aren’t asking, I insist. Now give Triple A call
, and I’ll call the front gate to let them know a tow truck is on its way.”

They sat and talked in his Escalade while waiting for the tow truck to arrive. There were some discussions about her going with the tow tr
uck driver to the dealer, but the driver assured her that he would drop it at the dealer’s and there was no need to go with him.  After making the arrangements, she watched as her baby was hooked up and carted away. Turning to Caden, she gave him a shrug of surrender.

“Well, I guess that’s that.  Thanks for waiting with me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Whoa!  How are you going to get home?”

“Taxi?  Maybe I’ll call a friend.
Go home. You’ve done your duty.”

“I’m going to drive you home. Come on, get back in and let’s get going.”

She was going to protest, but he had already jumped into the SUV and was leaning across to open the passenger door for her. Climbing in, she sat as close to the door as she could get.  Marie didn’t want him to know that just sitting next to him was sending her heart into overdrive.

“So, where do you live?”

“South Hollywood Hills.  Do you know how to get to Paramount Circle?”

He nodded, “My high school friend lived there—a few streets east of Sycamore.”

She pulled her head back and then scoffed.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“A rich kid in Topanga Canyon has a friend from the poor end of the Hills?”

He rolled his eyes. “We went to the same equestrian camp each year. South Hollywood Hills is not the ghetto.”

“It’s not Topanga Canyon.”

“Do you own your home?”

“Yeah, but it’s not a mansion in Topanga Canyon, and I have a sizeable mortgage.”

“I thought your book did well. Why do you have a mortgage?”

“After I paid taxes, I paid off my student loans, bought a house for my parents, splurged on my Porsche, and paid off my dad’s medical bills from his bout of leukemia. I had enough left over to put a hefty down payment on my house, but I still have a big mortgage. I’ve been offered an advance to write another novel, but I’ve been so busy with the screenplay that I haven’t had any ideas of what to write.”

He nodded. “So you’ve bl
own through a lot of your money?”

She shrugged. “Yeah
and since I don’t have the time or any creative thoughts left at the end of the day to start on the next novel, I’m going to have to find a job when I’m through with this screenplay.”

They talked all the way to her house about working in Hollywood and the toll it took on a person.
Each told stories illustrating that in Hollywood, one day you were the darling of the studios, the next you could lose everything.  In Hollywood, egos were whipped around like a rag doll on a steel roller.

“This is my house.”

He pulled up to the gray, ranch-style, semi-custom house with the stucco and rock exterior.  The house appeared to be a mid-century home with a wide driveway and jungle of ivy in the front yard. Sensing that she might not have the courage to ask him in, he quickly asked, “Would it be too much to ask if I could use your restroom?”

Her face flickered with surprise at the request.  “You want to come in?”