Chapter 1 #2
“You’re both giddy, like lovestruck teenagers engaging in something forbidden. Convey the emotion on your face, but I want your eyes to show that you haven’t lost sight of taking revenge on the Emerson family.”
My body jolts and then freezes when Alfonso places his hand on the middle of my back.
I have a sudden flashback to me at fourteen years old, being pushed down on a hotel bed.
A wave of nausea rises up my esophagus and my throat constricts.
He can’t hurt you now.
My mind replays the phrase over and over, trying to snap myself back to reality.
“Al?” Alfonso stands in front of me, his head tilted to one side. His brows furrow.
“Sorry. What were you saying?” I finally bring my attention back to the room and focus on Alfonso.
“You begin to dance with Brian here. The dancing carries on for twenty seconds before you lean in and kiss him. Make it symbolic, like a kiss of death.” Alfonso acts it out with an imaginary Brian while my gaze follows him across the ballroom floor.
“And the gun?” I wonder aloud.
Alfonso unclips the walkie talkie from his back pocket, radioing for one of the prop crew members to bring the gun to set.
“The gun will be strapped to your left calf. Brian will step on your lace, making you trip. We’ll have you bend down as if you’re tying your laces. Retrieve the gun from the holster, then rise up. Place the gun underneath his chin and say, This is for my father, Roland Chadwick. That all clear?”
“Crystal,” I say, wanting to get through the scene as quickly as possible. I know it will take several takes to get all the angles.
“Do you want me to strap this to you?” the prop guy asks when he reaches us. He adjusts his cap while holding out the black Beretta Vertec handgun and holster.
“Have we triple-checked the gun to make sure it’s not a real one?” I ask, digging my hands into my pockets. An Alec Baldwin situation is the last thing I need consuming my thoughts while filming this scene.
The prop guy aims the gun at the chandelier above us and pulls the trigger. Nothing comes out of the muzzle.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about.” He pulled the slide back to reveal the empty chamber. My eyes stay locked on the gun as Alfonso slings an arm round me.
“Don’t worry kid, we’ve got you. We’ll cut as you start to pull the trigger and then reset. The prosthetics will be added to the back of Brian’s head before we have you pull the trigger again.” He motions me back to the ballroom entrance.
“Okay,” I say, envisioning the scene playing out in front of me.
“You ready?” He rubs his hands together once we get to the door.
“Ready as I’ll ever be to kill someone,” I say, half-heartedly attempting a joke.
Thankfully Brian, standing there in his three-piece suit, doesn’t look anything like Christopher—something I made sure of when it came to casting for the film.
He’s got that Hollywood pretty bad boy look, reminiscent of a young Paul Walker or Ryan Philippe.
His blond hair, green eyes, and golden tan are something you’d be more likely to find on the beaches of Malibu than in a small town in middle America.
Yet it works for the film, fitting in with the rest of the Emerson family cast. They give off the air of that stereotypical all-American family that seems to have it all.
As we wait on the other side of the door, Brian turns to me, flicking a speck of dust off of my sweatshirt.
“The words mind blown are going to take on a whole new meaning for me after this shoot,” Brian laughs, looking toward the door.
“Right,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. I twiddle with my jeans pocket, waiting for our cue to go.
“Quiet on set.” Alfonso’s voice carries through the doors. “Cameras rolling, scene forty-five, take one, and action.”
I misjudge the force of my hand as I push open the door, barging through and tumbling to the ground. A shooting pain races up my arm toward my shoulder.
“And cut,” Alfonso calls out.
“Are you okay?” Brian reaches out to help me up.
I wince in pain when he pulls me upward.
His small act of kindness, alongside how attractive he is, makes it a lot easier to carry out this scene, and I can see why so many costars fall for each other on set.
But love is the furthest thing from my mind.
And in this case, it helps that he’s not only straight but is hooking up with his “sister” in the movie, Laura.
Thankfully, that also keeps her attention off of me.
“Yeah. The door’s a lot lighter than I expected.” I walk back to my marker, trying to shake off the pain in my arm. A few of the crew look at me disapprovingly.
“Everyone back to their original positions,” Alfonso announces on the megaphone.
I try to settle myself by taking long deep breaths, feeling like an impostor on this big budget film, especially next to the bigger-name actors we’ve been able to pull in.
I know I’m probably being too hard on myself, that it could happen to anyone, but moments like that do nothing to stop me from feeling like an absolute amateur.
Combine that with the resentment I feel from the crew whenever I’m on set—implying that I haven’t earned my stripes and have no right to be leading a Hollywood blockbuster film—makes my need to get everything right even more consuming.
“Camera’s rolling, scene forty-five, take two. And action,” Alfonso shouts once more.
This time, I burst through the doors with a little less force, pulling Brian through with me. The doors gently close behind him.
“Finally, I get you alone,” Brian says, pulling me in close.
I push him away slightly, working my way through the tables to get to the marker on the floor before looking back.
“Dance with me,” I say, my hands held out.
Brian momentarily hesitates, so convincingly that I begin to lose myself in the scene. Then he grabs my waist, pulling me in to rest my head on his shoulder. Our bodies slowly start to move round the dance floor.
The cameras, crew, and lighting all disappear as I soak it in. I lose myself in the memory of this very moment with Christopher, Hero by Enrique Iglesias playing in my head.
What I’d give to have this moment with him once more.
I lift my head off Brian’s shoulder, meeting his lips as he turns his head toward me. The minty freshness of his mouth collides with the bittersweet taste of mine. Our Hollywood kiss is void of any passion, making my heart pine for Christopher even more.
I count to four in my head before freeing myself and stumbling back slightly.
“Are you okay?” he asks. Both of us look down to see my left bootlace undone.
I bend down slowly, tying up my lace, and then reach for the gun strapped to my ankle.
My heart begins to beat rapidly as I pull it from the holster and thrust up, hitting Brian with such force that he gags when the muzzle of the gun meets the top of his throat.
He grabs his throat, choking, then drops to his knees.
“Cut! Cut!” Alfonso shouts.
“Medic to set,” I hear the first assistant director say.
My body is frozen stiff.
The gun falls out of my hand onto the floor.
What have I done?