21. Awa
Chapter twenty-one
Awa
"Ihope your resolution was to get more sleep, or to drink more water, ma cherie, because you've never looked more tired."
I'm about to roll my eyes when I remember I'm on a video call. I settle for gritting my teeth.
"Yes, Maman. I have a break planned once the movie wraps, and I'll be sure to sleep in, drink plenty of water, and come back rested and refreshed."
She hums approvingly, but her lips are still pursed.
"If you'd come home for Christmas like you said you might, you'd already be rested."
This time, I have to close my eyes to keep from rolling them. How does my mother always know when I'm close to breaking? When I'm hanging on by a thread and one more unkind word could send me over the edge?
Today, her call came after a tense meeting with Conrad and Emmitt.
Shooting has calmed down, but Tabitha insists I stay with her on set to keep things that way.
I suspect that, like my mother, she's noticed I'm nearing burnout and running on fumes.
She hasn't said anything, but I've caught her worried expressions when I take a call while still texting a casting director, or when I can't hide a yawn after filming runs late.
I appreciate her concern, even if I'll never admit the nonstop work is getting to me.
Luckily, it's just as easy to take calls and review contracts from here on set as it is from my office at Gehrig I'm just damn good at my job and actually care about the art my clients are making.
I care about their careers and reputations, not just my percentage.
"I'm sorry, Maman," I offer, doing my best to hide my irritation. "It would've been cutting it too close, and I would've been on the phone the whole time."
That earns me a lecture about working too hard, a foreign concept to my mother before today. This same woman didn't speak to me for a week when she found out I took a solo trip to New Orleans instead of studying straight through my first Spring Break of law school. Maybe I really do look tired...
By the time my driver pulls up to the lot, I've promised to rest, drink water, and call her friend's daughter, who's visiting New York in two weeks. I could squeeze it in before my meeting with the Branton team, but I have to end it right at twelve to make my lunch at Nobu.
I push back my twists and pinch the bridge of my nose.
Six days into the new year, and I'm already getting déjà vu of last year's unrelenting pace. Can I honestly keep going like this? Do I even have a choice?
"Is everything OK?" Noah questions when I slump into the chair next to him, making the heavy plastic creak. I must make a face because he holds his hands up in surrender.
"Not that you don't look lovely, as always," he amends. "It's just that you're frowning at your phone like it called you a name, and I can feel the annoyance radiating off you like that space heater over there."
It's official. His smirk—his entire face—is irresistible. Why else would I retract my claws when I would normally go in for the kill over the mere suggestion I'm not OK? OK isn't required to do the job; results are.
"Sorry," I mutter, and yank my laptop, then my cord out of my bag, slamming them both onto the table. I don't have it in me to hide my frustration. Not right now.
"Tough meeting, followed by some 'helpful' comments from my mom." I make air quotes. "I'll try not to take my bad mood out on you."
"Well, this should help," he says, taking a steaming travel cup and something wrapped in wax paper from behind his back. "The coffee shop got my order wrong, so I have an extra latte. They threw in a slice of coffee cake for my trouble."
My mouth is already watering as I take the peace offering from his hands.
"You are a godsend!" I gush after the first sip. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," he replies, "though calling me a god is a bit much."
I flick his shoulder with the hand not clutching the warm cup, and he laughs.
"Godsend," I correct. "And what exactly is wrong with this latte? It tastes perfectly fine to me."
"They used soy milk instead of oat. I don't like the gritty texture."
I take another sip, tasting for grit and finding nothing. I shrug.
"Well, feel free to give me your soy lattes now and in the future. I don't care what kind of milk they have in them as long as there's caffeine."
He toasts me with his own cup and goes back to his laptop.
"So, are you ready for today?" he asks. I look up from my own screen.
"What do you mean?"
Noah stops typing and turns to face me.
"The first intimacy scene?" He checks the clipboard with the printout of today's schedule. "Unless I got it wrong…Nope!" He points to the clearly labeled scene next to the name of an intimacy coordinator Tabitha's worked with in the past.
"They're shooting it right before lunch. I think Yong-rae's in his trailer breathing into a paper bag," he adds with a chuckle.
They're shooting an intimacy scene the first day back from the holiday break, and I'm just now finding out? How did I miss this? I feel a bead of sweat slide down the back of my spine and try not to show the shock on my face.
"Oh right. The intimacy scene. Tabitha's such a pro at these, it must've slipped my mind," I fib. "I'm going to stop by her trailer and see if she needs anything before they get started."
Noah gives me an understanding smile.
"Of course. And tell her to go easy on Yong-rae. It's his first time."
I force a smile when he winks and break into a jog once I'm out of sight. Thank goodness I'm wearing boots instead of my stilettos, or they'd be ruined.
"Tell me you knew about the intimate scene on the docket today?" I ask after bursting into Tabitha's trailer. The single bead of sweat has graduated to a flood seeping through my foundational garments, and I may need to stop by wardrobe before the day is done.
The consummate professional, she merely grins at me from her reflection in the mirror.
"When I received the call sheet with the details but not your usual prep email, I figured you didn't realize." She swivels to face me, faint worry lines marking her brow. "Is everything OK?"
I sigh and sink onto the tiny couch.
"Everyone's been asking me that today."
"It's because we can see that you're burning the candle at both ends, babe," she says gently. She reaches out to pat my knee. "I thought having you here would ease the pressure a bit, but—"
I gasp and swat her hand away.
"I knew you were faking about needing me here!" I answer, affronted. Tabitha turns back around, but not so fast that I don't see her smirk.
"I may have fudged how much you're needed around here," she says, pulling the pins from her curls, "but you need to slow down. I'm easy; you know that—"
I level her with a look that makes her stop short.
"Well, easier, anyway," she pouts. "I paid all my dues before I was ever a pain in your ass. That's more than most of your clients can say."
I nod, a small smile peeking through.
"So, be honest," I start, back in business mode, "how are you doing? Are you sure you don't want to save this for when you and Yong-rae have had more time to build a rapport?"
Tabitha shakes her head, sending a few curls cascading down.
"No. Definitely not. These scenes are awkward regardless. I'd rather just get it out of the way."
The first time an actor told me she was dreading a nude scene, I was shocked.
Unlike me, with my plentiful stretch marks, round belly, and boobs that require heavy boning to stay upright, she had the body of a Victoria's Secret model and regularly posted thirst traps all over Instagram.
So many men were sending her inappropriate DMs, she had to get a PA to handle them.
So why would she be nervous about baring a little skin in front of yet another camera?
I was just a baby lawyer then, and hadn't experienced firsthand the horror stories of steamy scenes gone wrong.
How the glaring lights, loud equipment, and poking and prodding by a small army of film crew could deflate even the strongest ego.
How some productions thought an intimacy coordinator—or even a small modesty cloth—was an impediment to "true art".
How studios and directors would fight tooth and nail to keep an edit that included more skin than agreed upon in the contract, or threaten to fire an actor if they requested a body double.
Thank God those days are largely in the past. All those protections are now commonplace and built into every Tabitha Styles contract.
"If you're good…?" I push, and relax when she readily agrees. "OK. In that case, Yong-rae's agent asked that you please take it easy on him today. This is his first ever nude scene."
The mischievous glint in Tabitha's eye tells me she'll do nothing of the sort, and I almost feel bad for him. Acting opposite Tabitha can be intimidating in any setting, but when it's skin to skin? I have a feeling she won't be the only person with a crush by the end of the day.
"So, how does this usually work?" Lucy asks, sitting on the other double bed to face Dean.
"Do you invite them to your room to see your paintings? Show them how 'deep' you are? A true tortured soul."
Lucy scoots closer to Dean, who stays silent, his jaw clenched. His hands fist the bedding.
"I bet you ask to draw them next. First, a portrait to show you're watching. That you're the first person to truly see them. Maybe the only person." Lucy's words are filled with disdain, even as she yanks off her sweatshirt to reveal a paper-thin camisole that doesn't hide her lack of a bra.
"And then you push for more. Maybe a sketch of me topless. Something tasteful, like a real-life Jack and Rose."
Lucy laughs, and we can see the anger burning in Dean's eyes.
"No one said you had to come," he growls. "If that's what you think of me, you could've just said no."
Still laughing, Lucy shakes her head. She's toeing off her sneakers and unbuttoning her jeans. Dean is a statue.
"That's where you're wrong, Dean. We're stuck together for three months. Three months with no one but a skeleton crew around and hours of the day to fill once we're done with our tasks.
"We don't have to like each other—I clocked your 'starving artist' routine a mile away—but I definitely have to cum."
She stands up now, shimmying her jeans down her hips to reveal the scantest pink panties.
"So let's cut the bullshit and give each other what we both want."
With that, Lucy pounces. She presses her lips against Dean's and rakes her hands through his hair.
It's an angry kiss, and he flounders a moment before his hands finally come to rest on her hips. It starts as a bare caress, but the hungrier the kiss gets, the tighter his fingers grip her full ass.
"And cut!" Edward yells.
Lucy and Dean disappear, replaced by Tabitha and Yong-rae. They're a pile of tangled limbs, and Yong-rae quickly pulls himself from under Tabitha, blushing profusely. I can see his hands shaking on the monitor.
"Your client is doing well," I murmur. Noah jumps, as if my voice startled him from a trance. I snort.
"Noah Park, did you just get lost in a scene? I'll let Tabitha know you're a fan."
He chuckles, but something in his expression gives me pause. He looks…agitated?
"Uh…" he stammers, "Yeah. She's doing a great job. And thank goodness Yong-rae doesn't have many lines."
Noah stands abruptly, nearly stumbling over the legs of his chair.
"I'm going to check on him, actually. Make sure he doesn't need a cup or something."
He practically sprints away, holding the front of his jacket closed.
He shouldn't feel embarrassed; few men could get through an intimate scene with Tabitha without at least some reaction.
And I shouldn't feel that twinge of irritation that Noah, too, succumbed to her charms. She's not only beautiful; she's one hell of an actor.
Our connection—no matter how intense it felt, no matter how long the memory has lingered—is obviously better left in the past.