Chapter 6
It’s still dark when I cross the road from the lodge to the dance hall.
Filming on location is freeing, especially in rural Texas.
I’d never be able to walk to work in LA.
There was a small showing of paparazzi in Houston, but here?
Nothing. Fingers crossed, it stays that way, but with Gabi on set, it probably won’t.
Using the key Artie gave me, I let myself in through the front door and head backstage, only to find him hunched over his laptop in the dimly lit dressing room.
“Jesus, man, what the hell are you doing here?”
He takes off his reading glasses and sets them on the coffee table.
“Jean’s damn Peekapoo went off at four this morning, so I figured I’d come get some work done.
What was I thinking, getting her that stupid dog?
I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since Christmas.
” He glances at his watch. “Why are you here so early?”
I slide my backpack off my shoulder and pull out my script. “Thought I’d run through the rewrites before Ms. Calhoun gets here.”
Artie shoots me a sly grin. “Ms. Calhoun, huh? You don’t sound very eager to see her again.”
“We might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot yesterday.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” He juts his chin at the empty chair across from him. “Sit. Take a load off.”
I do as he says, letting my backpack fall to the floor.
Artie settles back on the sofa. “I’ve known you since you were in diapers, kid. You don’t think I can tell when something’s bothering you? What’s going on?”
“Dad’s using Hannah to lock me into his new movie. If I don’t comply, I don’t get her this summer.”
“Hawaii?”
I nod.
“That son of a bitch,” he mutters. “What are you going to do?”
“What can I do? It’s Hannah. He knows damn well I’d move mountains for that kid.” I toss my script on the table. “I’ve been after Cara to get her shit together and fight for sole custody, but for whatever reason, she won’t.”
Artie’s eyes soften. “Is she clean?”
“She’s not using, but…” I blow out a breath. “I’m pretty sure she’s still drinking. Occasionally.”
“Which wouldn’t be a big deal if she wasn’t an addict.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But son, even without Reinhold’s power—even without Cara’s addiction—she still wouldn’t stand a chance. No judge is going to grant her sole custody because she thinks your dad’s an asshole.”
“He is an asshole,” I say, but that barely scratches the surface, and we both know it. There are parts of my father’s life I’ve learned not to look at too closely. Maybe it’s time I did.
Artie exhales slowly, eyes dropping to his mug before he stands and carries it to the coffee pot. “Want some?”
“No thanks. I’m already three cups in.”
“You sleeping okay?” he asks. “At the lodge? I’ve been worried about you over there. You know you’re welcome to stay with me and Jean, but you’d have to put up with that godforsaken mutt.”
“Thanks. Gabi offered too, but I’m fine. It’s just loud.”
“If it gets to be too much, have Amar find you a rental—wait. Where is your PA, anyway?”
“I sent him home after Houston. He had some family stuff to deal with, and anything I need can be done remotely.” I grab a water bottle from the mini fridge. “He looked into it, though, and my best option is nearly an hour away. I’d rather make this work. And Gabi gave me earplugs.”
Artie smirks. “How convenient.”
“Earplugs?”
“Amar leaving. You hate having people wait on you.” He slips a hand in his pocket, keys jingling. “Poor guy. Gabi was bossing him around in Houston just to give him something to do.”
I shrug. “What can I say? I like my independence. And my privacy.”
“Well, if you give in to your father, you can kiss both of those things goodbye.” Artie’s tone shifts, and even though I’ve got a foot on him, I suddenly feel smaller.
“You won’t be able to step outside your front door without a bodyguard.
And lucky Amar will be shadowing your every move, as will his assistant. You ready for that?”
“Artie, it’s Hannah.”
“I know, son. But you can’t upheave your whole life just so you can take your little sister on vacation.”
“Come on. You know it’s more than that.”
“Exactly. And what do you think will happen if you go along with this? You think he’ll be satisfied that you did this one movie and let you live happily ever after? Have you met your father? It’ll never end.”
“I know, I know.” I rub my tired eyes. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I love acting, and I’m fully aware the only reason I get to do it every day is because of my dad. So, yeah, I feel indebted to him. But where do I draw the line? I’m his son, but it’s my fucking life.”
“That’s right. It’s your life, and you can’t live it for anyone but you. Not your dad and not Hannah.” He pats my shoulder as he passes me for the couch. “What time is Maggie getting here?”
“Seven thirty.”
The room goes quiet as Artie returns to his laptop, and I pace with my script, too wired to focus, my caffeinated brain refusing to shut off.
I read the same lines over and over but retain none of it, finally giving up and tossing it back on the table.
When I check my phone again, it’s a quarter to eight.
“She’s late,” I say.
“Maybe the poor girl came to her senses.”
“I wouldn’t blame her.” I perch on the windowsill and rest my head against the glass. “I was kind of an ass.”
“Kind of?” Artie laughs. “What the hell did you say to her to get her so riled up? You do realize she’s your best and only shot at actually dancing in this film.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Well,” he says, “if she comes back, perhaps you can apologize.”
“Perhaps.”
“She held her own, though.” Amusement flickers across his face. “Didn’t look the least bit intimidated by you.”
I suppress a grin. “Definitely not.”
“She’s pretty too.”
“I guess.”
“Just remember, son, her pay is shit. The only reason she’s doing this is to meet that asshole, Barrett. And I think we both know how that’s going to go. Standing up to you is one thing…”
“Oh, I know. As soon as she mentioned him, I got a bad feeling.” I down the rest of my water and squash the empty bottle in my fist. “That guy’s a prick, and if he so much as raises his voice…”
“I’ll be damned,” Artie says, brows arching high on his forehead. “For someone who got off on the wrong foot yesterday, you sure are quick to defend her today.”
“It’s not her. It’s him. I’d have done the same for Helga.”
A laugh bursts out of him, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Whatever the reason, I won’t try to stop you. It’s true what they say. Never meet your heroes.”
Especially when your hero is Graham Fucking Barrett.
I check the time. Nearly eight. Dammit. “Artie, man, I don’t think she’s coming.”
“I wouldn’t count her out just yet,” he says. “She doesn’t seem like the type to flake.”
“Well, for her sake, I kind of hope she does. If she only signed on to meet Barrett”—I toss my crumpled-up bottle in the sink—“then I hope Maggie Calhoun never comes back.”