Chapter Seventeen Evie
Chapter Seventeen
Evie
Getting into work went off without a hitch, and I even texted Chase to let him know I was safe and sound.
Because that’s what good girlfriends do. God, that’s still so weird.
Even though I still haven’t told my sister. So it’s not totally official.
Chase and I actually decided not to because we thought it would be fun to surprise them. Because we’re terrible people who love to shock the shit out of those we love.
Plus, we deserve a grand introduction, since Goldie’s been working on this union for like ever. So when they show up at the restaurant opening, we’re going to act casual, and I’ll be mean until he leans down and kisses me.
We’ve actually got a bet going as to who says No fucking way first.
I chuckle to myself, faintly hearing my name called before it finally catches up to me, forcing my face over my shoulder to see the director waving me over. He’s standing with the vampire lead next to a tree.
Deep breaths. Every conversation with this guy is more annoying than the one before. I make my way over, mindful to keep a smile on my face.
“Hi. What can I do for you today?” Since you literally ask me ten thousand stupid fucking questions every day.
“Well,” he huffs. “You could start with making the blood realistic.” He points to a streak of red on the vampire’s shirt and then to the vampire’s nose.
My brows furrow.
The vampire, whose name is Paul—not in the movie but in real life—shrugs. “Yeah, that’s my bad, Evie. I accidentally ran into the tree and gave myself a bloody nose.”
I look at his white ruffled shirt that looks more like what Prince wore in “Purple Rain” than anything Lestat would dare to don, knowing damn well we never applied any blood to his shirt. So that is, in fact, his real blood.
And it’s ten for ten in the dumbass-questions department, but good luck to me to try and tell this director that.
I open my mouth, but the backup director for a Tums commercial speaks first.
“I need the blood on his shirt to look like the blood on his face. It doesn’t look like that . . . Do you see it . . . Do you see it?”
He’s obnoxiously pointing. It’s making my eye twitch.
“Your finger’s in the way,” I level, ignoring Paul’s chuckle, especially as I add, “No. I don’t see it.”
I mean . . . I could’ve said . . . I should’ve said yes. But, fuck this dude.
He’s already out of breath, the rant readied as he throws his arms in the air.
“Does anyone understand how important this movie is? Does anyone understand what we’re doing here? This will be a significant moment in vampirical culture.”
“He made that word up, right?” Paul whispers, looking at me.
I nod, then roll my eyes. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go make some fresh fake blood to apply on you for the first time.”
Paul gives me a sympathetic smile as the director keeps raging, but I turn around, uncaring, and walk off set. I pull my phone out of my back pocket, grinning because I know we’re going to break soon as I hear, “Get me the werewolf. He understands.”
I’m not looking up as I text Chase to come by and slap a burger out of that jackass’s hands, too, making myself chuckle as I picture it.
Me: Failberg really lost it today.
Chuckles the clown: What happened . . . did he find his Were canoodling with someone else?
Me: I swear they’re dating. Nobody can convince me otherwise.
I look up at the sky, noticing the sun setting. It’s pretty.
Chuckles the clown: Are you looking at the sunset . . . because I’m looking at it.
Jinx. God, he’s so romantic sometimes. I start to respond, but another text comes in.
Chuckles the clown: Wanna meet at sunrise and fuck in the pool?
I take it all back.
Me: Yes.
I smile, putting my phone back in my pocket as I walk. Too much pep in my step. If I’m not careful, my meticulously created badass-girl image will be ruined because I’ll be skipping all over the place.
The good thing is my work trailer is the furthest away from set, so nobody will see me.
Although, I simultaneously hate and love it. It’s inconvenient when we’re bringing shit to set, but it’s nice to have the separation so I can work quietly.
Not that it’s ever quiet with . . . speaking of . . . I look around.
“Where the hell are the Double D’s?” I say under my breath.
As I say it, three extras walk out of the makeup trailer, giggling. Their faces are red as Devin follows them out. Well, I’ve discovered where my puppies went.
I smile to myself, not bothering to whip them into shape. Oh, I really am getting soft. Whatever. I finish my walk, taking the steps to my trailer quickly, before tugging the metal door open, but as I walk inside, the room is pitch black.
My heart kicks up a notch, the way it always does when I’m faced with the dark. But I meant it when I said today I wanted to move on, so I exhale a really deep breath and walk inside, letting the damn door close behind me.
I’m standing there, acclimating, letting myself just breathe. It’s literally just a dark room. And plenty of fun shit happens in the dark all the time. I can’t help the smile that forms on my face as I think of last night with Chase.
Really, really fun shit happened last night.
I reach up to the wall and begin feeling around for the switch before it transforms into a nervous giggle because I know I’m fine, but Rome wasn’t built in a day.
At least I’m not having a panic attack . . . I’m just a normal amount of scared. Well, maybe a little bit more than normal, but I know it’s irrational.
I frown, patting the wall down . . . actually not irrational. I almost got murdered in the dark. Then again, those orgasms last night also felt like I might die.
I’m pretty sure this isn’t what anyone meant by the term “sexual healing.” But whatever works.
I’m definitely not sharing this on Reddit, though.
As I find the switch and flick it up, I suddenly feel flesh—a hand.
I gasp, my shoulders hitting my ears before I start laughing hysterically, knowing exactly what I’m feeling.
The smile on my face is wide as I stare at my Thing hand. The one I made years ago and hang next to a light switch because the jump scare never gets old.
I just never have my lights off. So the scare doesn’t get me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it because there’s a rap at my door. I turn, opening it.
The head of security’s standing in the door, a guy in his mid-sixties who went gray a long time ago and refers to old movie stars like we should all know who he’s talking about.
“Hey, Rick, is there a problem?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m just keeping an eye on all the trailers.
The young guys are patrolling. What with all the Jenny nonsense, we have to keep our eyes peeled.
” He leans in and whispers like he’s telling me a secret, so I do the same.
“Between us, sweetheart, it’s a setup. She’s trying to get herself on some TMZ thing. You know, to make her famous.”
My mouth falls open, and my eyes spring wide. “God, I love a good goss sesh. No. Way.”
He nods, then snaps his fingers. “By the way, I found some footage of an extra taking your fish.”
I stick out my bottom lip because I miss Ruth Bader.
“Yeah, the Double D’s told me.”
He laughs at the nickname. “Yeah, but I found some more. It’s a better shot of his face. I’ll be around all night if you wanna take a look.”
I pat his arm. “Heck yeah, Rick. I’ll come by later. I have to make new blood first.”
Maybe Scooby ganging it isn’t such a bad idea.
He turns around, waving at me as he opens my trailer door. “Oh yeah, ’cause this movie’s getting an Oscar.”
I laugh as the door bangs shut, leaving me alone to create fresh blood because, apparently, realism has left the building. But humor still reigns supreme.