The Accidental Movie Star (6 page)

The photographer, who was adjusting lenses on set, yelled, “Cover his torso with oil.”

Caz didn’t move. In fact, he looked like he was one minute from walking out.

The agent patted her jacket for another cigarette. “Come on, Caz, this is important to the film. Besides, you have photo approval. Just do it.” The agent stared at Caz for a moment. Her gaze flickered between him and the door then landed on Ashley. She smirked. “His assistant will massage him. Give her the baby oil.”

The tattooed masseuse looked disappointed, but she gestured toward the table with an open palm, clearly used to the vagaries of stars. “Coat him waist up.” She dropped the bottle of baby oil on the table and followed after Caz’s agent. “You know, I’m not just a masseuse, I act too.”

Moving over to the table, Ashley lifted the transparent bottle and shook it. The clear gel slid within the container. Caz, who still looked ready to run, nonetheless pulled off his shirt, climbed up to the table, and lay face down.

Emily Evans

Ashley took a good look. He was so lean; she hadn’t thought he’d be this muscular without his shirt. The director should work in some shirtless scenes to help sell tickets.

His fingers gripped the side of the table and every muscle in his back and arms looked tense.

Ashley opened the lid of the baby oil.
Click
. She sniffed the contents. “You’re going to smell like a new diaper.” She squirted a blob of oil onto the middle of his back and gave his skin a few tentative slaps, resisting the urge to tap out the jungle beat playing overhead. “My best friend back home’s working fast food. So she hasn’t been giving me too much sympathy about my summer job.” He wasn’t tan at all, but his complexion was nice. She smacked a little harder across his shoulders. They felt as hard as a rock. “Marissa’s always complaining about the grease from the fry vat.”

Sliding an oily hand down his spine, Ashley said, “This is like basting a giant turkey. She’s totally going to have some sympathy for me now.” Under her hand, he stiffened even more. Ashley spread some of the oil down to his waist. “I’m thirsty. Don’t go anywhere, and I’ll try to find some water.”

Caz said nothing.

Ashley smeared her hand against the side of his arm to lose some of the oil then scooted around the table and out of the screened section. Spotting the agent right away, Ashley asked about drinks.

Motioning toward the set’s assistant, the agent said, “We need water and a coffee.”

It was fun to see someone else scurry for a change, Ashley thought.

The agent blew out a breath and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m so glad I got him to sign this contract while he was distracted, or he’d have never agreed to this shoot.” She shot Ashley a conspiratorial look. “Sometimes they need a little push in the right direction. You don’t tell them all the details.”

That was so not right, Ashley thought. The agent was supposed to have his back, not trick him.

The assistant rushed back with some water, saving her the need to reply. Ashley held out her hand, but the assistant hurried past her and around the screen. “It’s for Mr. Thaymore. The assistant hovered near Caz and set the bottles on the table. “Let me know if you need anything else, Mr. Thaymore. Anything.”

Caz nodded.

Ashley snatched up a bottle. After swallowing, she set both bottles on the floor. This time she rubbed in the oil with a smooth, pressing motion. She felt the muscles loosen after a few strokes. It was kind of neat. Caz had nice skin, warm, smooth. She flexed her fingers then pushed at his arm. “Over.”

Caz flipped and kept his eyes shut.

She paused with the bottle of oil above his chest. He had really defined muscles. The only chest she’d ever touched before had been her last boyfriend, and he wasn’t six-pack material, and there hadn’t been this much touching. Ashley put some of the oil on her palms and rubbed them together to warm the liquid. She laid her fingers against his abdomen.

His eyes flew open. Her fingers stilled. They tingled where they met his skin, and Ashley met his gaze, feeling her face heat. Her mouth opened then shut again. All of a sudden, this felt intimate. She no longer heard the music or the technicians. It was only her cocooned in this small area with Caz, caught in his gaze.

The agent came around the privacy screen. “How’s the prep going?”

Withdrawing her hands quickly, Ashley swung them behind her back.

Caz shrugged at the agent and didn’t say anything. He sat up and spread the rest of the oil over his torso and arms.

“They’re ready for you.” The agent rolled her eyes at his silence and went back to the set.

Ashley put a hand against his jean-clad knee and handed him a water. “My friend Marissa works at the Fry Hut, and sometimes she has to wear the French fry costume. She does this minimum wage job to afford things like movies and magazines. So the least you can do is go out there in your baby oil costume and give her a sexy look.” She tugged at the seam that ran along the side of his jeans. “It’s not like you have to remove your jeans. I’d have your back if they tried to make you strip.”

Caz didn’t smile, but his mouth twitched a little, and he hopped down from the table. A hairstylist and makeup artist took a few minutes to touch him up, then he was ready to go.

Ashley stayed in the background and watched her first live photo shoot. At first, Caz just stood and stared toward the camera, a shiny image of gorgeous.

Clicking away, the photographer shouted out, “Great, now pout for us. Excellent. Now show us hot.” His voice escalated. “Hotter, hotter, make my lens steam. Yes, that’s the expression. Now on the bed, drop against the pillows.”

Ashley figured the photographer was lucky that Caz’s angry looks made him appear sexy; otherwise, it would have been a waste of good film. She kind of got it now, how actors could get reputations for being difficult. Caz got blindsided and then was told to smile. Life didn’t work that way and Caz handled the situation better than she would have.

“Okay, now turn around and shoot us a smoldering look over your shoulder. You’re a cave beast. A great man creature. Show us.”

Ashley drew in a breath and bit her lip, having to turn away. She couldn’t watch with a straight face and doubted the photographer would appreciate her urge to slash her hands through the air with her fingers curled into claws. She felt her hand lift and couldn’t resist. She turned to Caz and made a small slash.

A smile eased across his lips.

“Great,” the photographer said. “I think we got it.”

Caz shook the photographer’s hand, grabbed his shirt, and headed straight for the front exit.

Ashley had to jog to catch up. “Slow up, man beast.”

Caz reached back and grabbed her arm so she’d move faster. Ashley growled. She could see through the glass that the evening had gotten dark outside, and she wondered how he’d take a nocturnal animal joke.

When they went through the door, she was surprised at how quickly the temperature had dropped since they’d arrived. California had such crazy, nice weather. At home, thermostats still read triple digits at ten p.m. Caz shrugged on his shirt one-handed while they walked and only let go of her to get his arm through the sleeve.

Without warning, a bright light flashed, and she stumbled, momentarily blinded. Paparazzi cameras flashed from the sidewalk up ahead. Caz reached back and dragged her forward.

Chapter 6

The paparazzi stood between them and the parking lot. She should have had Caz wait inside while she drove the car around. She’d know next time.

“Let’s go,” Caz said. Heads down, they ran all-out to the car. Holding up the keyless entry, Ashley chirped open the locks as soon as they were in range.

After speeding out of the lot, she said, “Maybe it’s good you have a driver. Photographers are crazy.” She slowed to make the turn and said, “What am I thinking? You’re an actor. Do you want me to circle back around so they can get more shots?”

“No.”

Caz checked his phone and frowned.

“What?”

He didn’t answer.

Shut into the tiny car with him, she could really smell the baby oil. She decided to give him a break. “I wish my friend Marissa didn’t have to work all summer and could come up. You bringing anyone over?”

Silence. Then he said in a gravelly voice, “Didn’t you see the news?”

Oops, of course she had. His friend Garrett spilled the news about his parents’ split on air. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

He shook his head.

Ashley said, “At least Garrett’s here, when you decide to forgive him, that is.”

Caz frowned and shifted in his seat. “Never happen.”

Ashley sucked in a breath. “A lifelong friendship and you’re giving up after one mistake?”

“Fool me once.”

Okay, one shot and you’re out; that sounded like Hollywood. She didn’t think she could keep a friend who wouldn’t allow her to make a mistake. Everyone made mistakes. Actors made lots of them. Ashley braked for the red light.

They rode in silence for a few blocks and then Ashley tried for a new topic. “Marissa sent me a new recipe, but I can’t get it to taste as good as takeout. I’ll have to call her when I get home and see what ingredient is missing.” She chatted about Marissa’s creative recipes for the rest of the trip.

Caz looked kind of expectant right up to the point where she parked near his trailer. Putting one hand on the door handle, he raised his eyebrows at her. “Did you want to get dinner?”

Please, twelve hours on set were enough. She really hadn’t been hitting on him with the condoms. He needed to let that go. “Too busy, but you have a good night.”

“Good night.”

***

The assistant director caught her as Ashley walked into the warehouse the next morning. “They need you in the filing room, warehouse twelve.”

Olive stood in the background, nodding. She held a tray of coffee cups with one empty slot. A matching cup rested in the AD’s hand.

Olive said, “I’ve got this set covered. You go ahead.”

“No problem.” Ashley turned back to the door.

Olive’s hurried stomps caught up to her. “Coffee?” she asked loudly. Ashley shook her head. Olive knew she didn’t like coffee.

Olive leaned close and whispered, “Sleeping with someone may have gotten you the job, but I guess whoring won’t save you from filing.”

“What? That wasn’t part of your interview too?”

Olive’s hazel eyes glowered. “I’ll go do my job now. You have no idea how much I have to do around here.”

“Who do you think I slept with?”

“We all know.” Olive scooted back and pounded her way to the coffee cart.

Ashley detoured by the makeup station. While walking, she shot off a text to Marissa. “Hollywood gossip says I slept with someone to get this job.”

Marissa texted, “It’s an unpaid internship. You must not be very good at it.”

Ashley smiled and felt some of her tension ease. “What do I do?”

The reply returned immediately. “Fry vat overflowed. Irina suggested I still serve the floor fries. Tell gossiper what I told her.”

Ashley texted, “What did you stick in the oil?”

“Whole potatoes, cored and stuffed with special seasoning. Customers rated ’em an eight.”

***

Ashley left the drama behind her in search of warehouse twelve. It stood near the stucco main office buildings. Ashley jogged past and headed to Dad’s office. She took the elevator to the top floor. Tap, tap, tap.
“Dad in?” she asked his secretary.

“Sorry, dear, he’s got meetings all day.”

Ashley swallowed and backtracked to warehouse twelve. Just inside, a gray-haired woman sat at a long counter with row upon row of floor-to-ceiling racks behind her. Fluorescent bulbs hummed overhead, and the smell of dusty paper overwhelmed the space.

“I’m Ashley Herrington, here to assist for the day.”

The woman slowly raised her eyes from the papers in front of her and gestured behind her. Ashley moved around the counter. Boxes of papers were stacked under the counter and on the floor all around her chair. The lady lifted a piece of paper, stared at the words, then wrote a number in the top right corner. Then she put the coded piece of paper in an outbox to her left. She nudged the outbox toward Ashley. “File these. The shelves and folders are numbered.”

Ashley lifted the papers and headed into the world of filing. Minutes in the world of filing crawled by like the Dallas Cowboys in the fourth quarter—slow. She really needed to thank Dad for getting her the job on the set instead of in an office because this was painful. Ashley checked the clock on the wall. It had to be almost noon. The clock read nine forty-five
.
She swallowed and trekked back to the front. “Are there any vending machines near here?”

The gray head shook. “They didn’t want to risk anything getting wet. Or people taking too many breaks.”

“So no restroom either?”

“You have to go two buildings over for that.”

Ashley went back to row 844 to continue filing and played tunes on her mobile phone until the battery ran down. She filed everything she could, and the only things left in her pile were ones labeled with a number and the letter
B.
Ashley jogged back to the front. “I can’t find row 72B.”

The gray-haired lady let her hand drape off the counter and she pointed downwards. “Below this floor. Sub-basement filing.”

Noon.

Thank you, God.
Ashley
climbed from the basement storage and dropped off the empty outbox with the filing lady. Filing lady didn’t say thanks.

Ashley waved anyway and ran for the exit. She threw her arms out in the California air, blinked against the sunlight, and sucked in a breath free of the smell of paper.

Odd how just being in a filing room could make you so thirsty. She thought maybe it was California’s dry air; or maybe it was the knowledge that the building didn’t have a drink machine. She couldn’t have a drink, so she wanted a drink—the lure of the forbidden. Raising her arms over her head, Ashley stretched as she walked toward her set.

In addition to boredom and thirst, the repetitive task of filing in the cold basement level of the warehouse had made her stiff. Here she was, living in the land of yoga, and she could barely move. Stretching on tiptoe to work out her muscles, she spotted a new coffee kiosk and went to see if they had hot chocolate.