17. Awa
Chapter seventeen
Awa
Iam going to kill him! Him and his mini-me, who thinks he can walk in off the street or from whatever shopping mall they found him in and tell Tabitha how it's done.
Was she stepping on her scene partner's toes? Maybe, but it's not like he couldn't use the tips. He said it himself—he's never been in a production this size. à jeune chasseur, il faut un vieux chien; he should be thanking her for her expertise!
My twists fall in front of my eyes as I stomp my way to Tabitha's trailer. I angrily push them away.
Noah hasn't changed one bit since college.
Just like twenty years ago, he comes barging in, spouts his charismatic words, flashes his winning smile, and upsets a situation that was going perfectly well without him.
The firm almost didn't let me work from the set when Tabitha called, and now I'm relegated to the video village?
I've got to calm myself down. Less than a month into shooting, and this film feels like a runaway train. Sure, it's pissing me off that Noah once again has everyone fooled with his smooth operator bullshit, but Rory's right; my job right now is to keep a level head and help Tabitha do the same.
I take a deep breath and open the trailer door.
"Is this why I brought you here, Awa? To let me get chewed out by the producer in a role that could win me an Oscar?"
I close the door behind me and meet Tabitha's outraged green eyes with a look my mother perfected on me whenever I thought I was too mature to respect my parents. She looks immediately contrite.
"Sorry," she mutters. She turns back to fuss with her sandy blonde bangs; they're already perfect.
Everything about her is perfect, which is why she's been on one of the longest winning streaks in the business.
Studios love her because she's guaranteed to pack theaters full of men lusting after her model-worthy body.
Her female fans love her because she's approachable—coming early to events to sign autographs, staying late on her way home to take pictures, brushing off the tired questions from reporters about her workout and diet routine despite the aforementioned perfect body.
And I and the rest of her representatives love her because she's a cash cow, yet she's not as high-maintenance as clients making half what she does.
She's there to work, and she's damn good at it.
She doesn't let petty on-set drama get to her… most of the time.
"I don't know why I'm letting Yong-rae get under my skin," she pouts, swiveling in her chair to face me. I take a seat on the couch opposite her and open one of the Fiji waters.
"I was just thinking that," I say contemplatively. "You're usually so even-keeled, and yet Yong-rae has you flying off the handle. And I've never seen you correct another actor like you did today."
"I know," she mutters, ducking her head. "It's just…He just…" She rakes her hands through her hair, but, of course, it falls back down just as perfectly as before, not a hair out of place. "He just irks me. You know?"
I raise a quizzical eyebrow.
"Clearly not," I answer honestly. "I'm not sure I even know what 'irk' means."
I've picked up plenty of idioms since moving to the States, but there are still a lot of words and phrases that puzzle me. She sighs and looks at the ceiling for an example.
"It means…he annoys me in a really specific way. Like nails on a chalkboard."
"And?" I challenge, still confused. "Braden Jackson ate sardines before every kiss scene you two had, and you didn't react this way."
"He was such a dick," she says with a shudder.
"Michael Aldo called you the wrong name when you slept with him, and you showed up to work the next day like it never happened."
"Yeah, well, that whole mistake lasted about five minutes total, so…
" She trails off, and I press my lips together to keep from laughing.
Michael earned the nickname Minute Man that night and became the butt of countless inside jokes, especially when news broke about his upcoming film, "Racing Against Time".
"My point still stands," I continue after clearing my throat. "What is it about Yong-rae that has you acting so crazy? Your chemistry was amazing at the final call-backs."
She whispers something that I don't quite catch.
"What?"
"I said, that's the problem!" she nearly shouts. "Our chemistry is so good, sometimes I forget I'm acting. Like," she grasps for the right word, "when he's on, we lock in, and the scene suddenly feels too real. Too personal."
"I would think that would be a good thing," I reply carefully.
"You would think so," she says bitterly, "unless those feelings don't stop when the cameras do. I'm a fucking professional, dammit! I should be past an on-set crush."
She raises her hands to stop me from voicing my disapproval.
"I already know what you're going to say," she insists. "And I agree. It's a dumb move."
"A rookie move," I correct. "And he's the only one who should be making those."
"I'm not making any moves," she glares at me. "You wanted to know why he irks me? That's why. He's crazy talented, he's ridiculously hot, and it's making me feel things for a guy I know is going to be gone in a few months. OK?"
"Try a few weeks," I grumble under my breath, and her eyes snap to mine.
"What?!" she almost screeches. "Are you telling me Pinnacle is trying to get this movie done in a few weeks now?"
"No, no," I shake my head, but she's ignoring me now.
"My schedule is booked through July, but if this finishes early, maybe I can still do the guest spot on—"
I gently place my hands on her shoulders to stop her spiraling.
"Please forget what I said. I was talking about something else."
She tilts her head to the side, considering me. Her uncanny ability to read people is part of why she's such an amazing actor, but when her gaze sharpens, I know she's seen behind my carefully constructed veneer. Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut?
"Are you sure you weren't talking about someone else?" she says, her smile mischievous. I wave her off.
"I'm very sure."
Her smile gets even bigger.
"You know I'm not going to forget this, right? I'm going to keep asking until you give up and tell me what asshole was talented, hot, and then fucked up and left you after only a few weeks."
She may be a low-maintenance client, but she gossips as much as any other actor. I roll my eyes with a smile.
"Yes, I know. But you won't get it out of me today." Hopefully not ever.
"That's fine," she grins. "I can wait."
Before I can accidentally spill any more secrets, my phone rings.
Gehrig & Associates
I step outside to answer the call. Tabitha has already had the displeasure of overhearing Conrad Gehrig and Emmitt Wilson's harmless jokes about her, and I don't need another fiasco today.
"Awa Faye speaking," I answer, snapping into professional mode as soon as I unlock my phone.
"Awa," Conrad's gruff voice greets me. "What's this I hear about you being sent to the principal's office?"
Shit! He must have spies here if he's already heard about Rory's new demands.
Between Yong-rae's rocky start, Tabitha's baffling fixation on him, Noah's presence stirring things up, and now a spy reporting back to the firm, I should go ahead and refill my fluoxetine prescription.
I'm already too volatile if Tabitha can see right through me.
"You've been misinformed," I reply calmly. "Tabitha and Yong-rae had a disagreement, but we have everything under control."
"I wouldn't call having to manage your client from the parking lot under control, Awa." His condescending sneer raises my hackles more than usual today.
What have I done to deserve a spy looking over my shoulder, checking my work?
Don't I represent one of the firm's biggest clients?
Didn't I broker this entire deal from start to finish?
Aren't I the reason she stayed with Gehrig & Associates after "The Speakerphone Incident" three years ago?
She wanted nothing to do with these dinosaurs from the days of Harvey Weinstein, but I assured her I would represent her personally, without their input or interference.
"I will be watching everything that goes on via headset in the video village, not the parking lot," I correct through gritted teeth. "Once things calm down, I'm sure the producer will relax those rules."
"And what about Noah Park?" Emmitt booms back from somewhere away from the phone. "Is he there trying to slip in extra concessions for his client? I told you the partners should've had final review of the rider!"
An ambush call is hardly original, but it is effective. I force my jaw to relax.
"He's here for the same reason I am—to support his client. He will not be a problem," I answer truthfully.
"See that he isn't," Conrad barks. He hangs up before I can respond, but it's not necessary.
Everyone knows you don't get on Conrad's bad side if you want to keep working in the business.
Not even having the top-earning woman in the industry as your client will save you if he decides you need to go.
So some jerk I used to have a thing for is here. So what? It was ages ago and, just like Tabitha, I'm a goddamn professional.