The Accidental Movie Star (14 page)

Ashley laughed, relaxing, and resisted when he pushed her toward the water. “These are my only clothes.”

Caz lifted off his shirt and her laughter stopped. He had such a nice chest. How would his skin look covered in raindrops? She lifted a hand in his direction and her fingers trembled when she reached the skin of his abdomen. Flattening her palm against him, she stepped forward and raised her gaze to his mouth. She needed to feel his lips on hers. The nerves in her hand tingled as she rubbed against his skin.

He reached for the hem of her shirt and she let him lift it, helping him pull the material free from her head and arms. It dropped to the floor. She slid her left arm around his neck and her right around the warm skin at his waist. Arching, she leaned against his hardness, pressing into him—the feel of skin on skin amazing, wonderful. Ashley lifted her mouth toward his. “Mmm.”

His hands ran from her shoulders to her waist, sending sensations shooting throughout her body to her toes. Her knee raised and she hooked it around his leg to draw him closer. His head tilted and his mouth met hers with a moan. The kiss was magic, open and deep. All control lost.

Tap, tap, tap.

From the other side of the shower door, she heard a male voice, the AD.

“Caz, you in there?”

Ashley blinked. The interruption pulled her from the glow of sensation too fast, from bliss to bewildered in one second flat.

Trying to convince her body to cooperate, she stepped back, shaking. Caz resisted for a moment. Then he let her go and muttered a curse. Ashley bent down to grab her shirt from the floor and pulled it on.

Tap, tap, tap.
“Caz? Can you hear me?” the AD asked louder.

Glowering at the door, Caz stepped backward and shut the water off. “I should have locked the trailer,” he said quietly to her.

“We’ve got some new script pages for you that’ll fix that scene with Petra,” the AD said. His voice was louder and clearer without the water running.

Caz reached around her to open his bathroom door.

The AD glanced between them curiously and said, “Hi,” like he found them together in bathroom stalls every day. Next, he handed Caz some pages. “Here are the new sheets. You’ll lead the vixen to the bedroom and strip off your shirt. Then when she thinks she has you where she wants you, you’ll stop.”

Ashley stepped around Caz and into the hallway. Her mouth felt swollen. Her face felt hot.

“It’s a real power move. Your character fully realizing that the vixen is a part of the conspiracy. It’s great.” The AD looked carefully at Ashley. “You’d better leave so he can learn the new lines.”

“Okay.” Ashley went to the living room to gather the DVDs.

The AD followed her and settled into a spot on the couch. He lifted a page of the script and stared at Caz expectantly.

Caz frowned as she left, but he didn’t stop her.

***

Ashley tugged the emerald green sheet over the corner of the mattress and one of the other corners popped off. She’d short-sheeted the bed. A sigh huffed out of her mouth. She flipped the sheet around and redid all the corners. Last night, she’d kissed Caz, really kissed him, and today she had to put sheets on the bed where he’d roll around with another woman. Hollywood. Once the director had found out that Lorene would be here today, he’d rearranged the whole schedule to accommodate her. Today they’d shoot the second love scene, the one with Caz’s character and his true love Aurora.

Which kiss would Caz choose? Ashley knew she had no right to feel put out, but she hated the thought of watching him with someone else. That would be her punishment for getting carried away last night. He was an actor, not her boyfriend; what had she been thinking? Ashley threw the flat sheet over the top and grabbed the fluffy comforter.

“Hurry up.” Cutter paced near the entrance to the costume area. “I need your help with the wedding gown.” He paced some more, muttering while she spread the satin comforter over the sheets. “The gown is priceless. I can’t believe we’re changing the schedule. I need to fit her.”

All the costumes were prepared in advance of filming, but Cutter performed adjustments and repairs on set. He wrung his hands. “This gown will be in a ton of flashback sequences. Every line has to fit perfectly.”

Boomer and a stagehand wheeled a squeaky mobile clothing rack past them into the dressing area.

Cutter said, “Be careful with those,” and scurried over to right a blue dress that was inches from falling off its hanger.

“PA,” the AD called.

Ashley released the pillow she’d cased and headed his way. The AD was talking to Cutter at the rack, and whatever he said made Cutter stiffen and charge into the main characters’ dressing room.

Ashley followed them into the dressing room, which was filled with mobile closets, labeled clothes, privacy screens, and long mirrors. “What’s going on?”

Before the AD could answer, Cutter scooped up a measuring tape and a pair of scissors, a panicked expression on his face. “PA.”

“What do you need?” Olive wore new running shoes and she’d attached some black binder clips to a string around her waist.

“I need—”

The AD held up his hand to Cutter. “Wait. PA, I need you to run these pages up to the executives’ office.”

“I’ll do it,” Ashley said, thinking she could say hi to her dad.

“You’re assigned to Cutter today.” Olive snagged the papers from the AD’s hand.

Ashley reached over to take the papers from Olive, but she backed away fast and trotted toward the door. Short of chasing her, the errand belonged to Olive. Ashley eyed her short legs and small feet. She could catch her.

The AD chuckled and Ashley swung back to him, but her gaze was caught by an actress stumbling from behind a privacy screen. She had perfect skin, red hair long enough to swing around her waist, and was barely dressed. Lorene.

Lorene’s amber eyes stabbed a hole in Cutter, and she slurred her words. “I’m not an eight, I’m a six.” The actress stepped forward and almost fell. She stayed upright by grabbing the side of the dressing screen and using it to steady her legs.

“You were a four when we fit the dress,” Cutter said to her. He used his hands to demonstrate the differences in those two sizes, stretching the two out as far as he could reach. From the green hue covering her perfect skin, Lorene didn’t appreciate his exaggeration.

The AD said, “Lorene’s here. Place her in the hoop so we can get the blocking done. Recut the dress later.”

Cutter gasped as if the director had proposed mass murder. “It’s a Harlon Ramonannini wedding dress. The silk cannot be recut. It can only be revered.”

The AD suggested, “Add elastic.”

Cutter paled and let out a whimper.

Adding to the sounds of misery in the room, Lorene groaned and wiped a hand over her sweaty forehead. “Where’s the makeup lady? I need makeup.” She followed that request with a retching belch.

Ashley backed up a step, and someone brushed by her from behind. Petra.

Petra swaggered into the dressing area without a word of greeting and went straight to a mobile closet rack. She flipped through the costumes. After finding what she was looking for, she waved a red outfit at Cutter. “You don’t mind, do you?” Without waiting for his response, she stripped off her shirt. “I’ll need to switch out my jewelry too.”

Ashley quickly looked away because she knew that Petra would keep stripping. Her nudity had lost its shock value because Petra walked around without clothes no matter who was there. Even so, Ashley had no interest in seeing more. She wished there was a way to un-see what she’d already seen. Her gaze returned to Lorene.

Evidently, Lorene and Petra knew each other. The redhead weaved toward the disrobing brunette and latched a hand onto Petra’s mobile closet. Her weight jolted the rack and the hangers swung outward, threatening to dump the clothes. A few of the empty hangers clattered to the floor. Those working in the room paused and turned at the sound.

Petra slid off her gray skirt with supreme indifference and slipped on a new cranberry-colored one. “I’ll need rubies or garnets.”

“If I’d a known you’d be on set today,” Lorene said, “I’d have had a drink.”

“Yeah, that’s what you need, another drink.” Petra turned to Cutter. “I’m borrowing a costume.” She tucked her blouse in and smoothed her hands over her hips. “
I
have an interview with the press.
I
show up for work.”

“What a shock,” Lorene said. “There’s a camera and there you are.”

“She actually helps the movie by doing press,” Cutter said in Petra’s defense. He picked up a fallen hanger and returned it to the rack.

Lorene snorted.

“God,” Petra said, staring the actress up and down. “Cutter’s right. How large are you? I’d help with the blocking, but I’m only a size zero. I’m always a size zero or a double zero. You can ask anyone. They all know I’m a size zero.”

“Zero brain. And the leading men always go for me, and you go home alone.” Lorene stepped closer to Petra. The wheels on the mobile closet slid sideways. Cutter jumped clear, keeping an anxious eye on the swinging costumes.

Olive was going to be so pissed she missed the drama, Ashley thought, and wondered how the AD would break up the argument.

Petra wiggled to adjust the fit on the skirt. “Leading men maybe, but the leading part? Those always go to me.”

Lorene gurgled.

“I don’t have any scenes with you, thank God.” Petra eyed Lorene’s frame. “I’m smaller framed than you, but I could carry off more weight. I could go up several sizes. More than you, and the weight would work on me because of how I’m built.” She sniffed and turned to Cutter. “This is perfect. The color is so me. Cranberry is the new garnet. I’m going to—”

“I’m the—” Lorene bent toward Petra and heaved the contents of her stomach.

Ew.
Ashley pulled the neck of her T-shirt over her nose so she wouldn’t have to smell the spew.

Lorene fell to her knees and retched. Cutter threw himself in front of the clothes to protect them. Petra began a piercing shriek, which made Lorene clutch at her head and glare upwards. “Shut up,” Lorene said between gags.

“Lush,” Petra said.

Ashley, suddenly worried she’d have to perform some type of nursing or janitorial duty, took quick steps back and out of the dressing room. She kept her nose covered until she cleared the area.

It didn’t seem as if she’d like Lorene any more than she liked Petra. How unfortunate. Poor Lorene, though; Ashley hated getting sick. Powder would have to double up on her makeup to conceal the green in her complexion. Ashley smiled a little and was no longer jealous at the thought of Caz’s kissing scene—good luck to him. She curled up on a counter in the makeup station and took out her notebook, intending to sketch until the drama died down. Using the edge of her pencil, she added shading and hadn’t done more than half the page before she heard them again.

“It’s worse than that.” Cutter’s voice rose dramatically with each word. “She’s a balloon. She was already a jumbo-sized four.” He came into view and Ashley watched as he held out his arms around his body in a balloon shape and wobbled from one leg to the other like a two-week-overdue pregnant lady. “Now she’s a gargantuan size eight.” Cutter tipped sideways as if he’d fall to the ground, kicking one foot out, shaking it like a dog.

“Stop it,” Ashley said. “Eight’s not big.”

“Fine,” Cutter said. “Then you squeeze my size four Harlon Ramonannini wedding dress on her. Oh wait. You can’t. Lorene’s in the toilet, vomiting.” He wrinkled his nose and ran his eyes from the top of her head to her tennis shoes. “No wonder you’re defending her, you’re another jumbo. What size are you?”

“Shut up.”

The AD said, “No, answer him. What size are you?”

Ashley glared at him too. Hollywood. “Three.”

The AD shoved his hand through his hair. “Thank God. Problem solved. Put the hoop skirt on the PA, and she can do the blocking. We’ll work with Lorene when she sobers up.” The AD looked around the makeup area and called, “Powder.”

Ashley tucked her notebook into her bag and whipped out her cell phone. She shot off a text to Marissa. “Preparing to wear a hoop skirt. Dignity in jeopardy. How is Fry Hut?”

Marissa’s reply was immediate. “Dignity long lost. Restoration hopes limited.”

“Hurry up,” Cutter said. “You’re ruining the schedule.”

Today, Powder wore a green micro mini, a purple sweater, and messy hair. She showed up and raised a pierced eyebrow.

The AD said, “Lorene’s sick. Put Ashley in her makeup until we can get Lorene ready.”

Ashley put her phone back in her bag and moved closer to Powder. “Like the purple highlights.”

“Thanks.” Powder tossed her some face cream. Ashley slathered the lotion on her face and neck while Powder loaded a tray marked
Lorene
onto a wheeled cart. “Glad the reporter wasn’t here today. That’s a real trinity of stars, ego, drunk, and Caz.”

“Hair,” the AD called. Another lady, one Ashley didn’t know very well, went to work pulling her hair back tight while Powder prepped her face. Powder kept up a running chatter about her date last night.

“Did he wear a button-down shirt?”

“Sweater vest, it was just as bad,” Powder said. “But man, was he hot when the argyles hit the floor.”

Cutter stood in the makeup area the whole time, pacing and muttering.

The makeup artist and hair stylist were pros, so they ignored him. A few pokes, pulls, and jabs later, and Ashley was transformed into Aurora—Lorene’s character.

“Thanks.”

“Break a leg,” Powder said.

Ashley joined Cutter. “I’m ready.”

Cutter wasn’t his usual pristine self, with mussed hair and an untucked shirt. “This is a disaster. A catastrophe. Are you really a three? Because you don’t look like a three. I can squeeze you in, if you’re close.”

“Yes. It’ll be fine.” Ashley followed Cutter over to the dressing area. She went slowly, hesitant to see what disaster was left behind.

Instead, there was only beauty. Caz stood with a few of the other male actors dressing in tuxedos. She didn’t know if he looked good because he could kiss or if he just looked good in a tuxedo, but the scene was a way better view than earlier. She hesitated in the doorway.