Dazzled

  I felt so incredibly stupid. And out of my depth.

  “Okay, sure.”

  When Lilia took my hand, I followed.

  “This way.”

  Back at the pool, a photographer with an impressive paunch was snapping shots of the partygoers. Even I could tell that the level of excitement had gone up a notch. But his eyes brightened when he saw Lilia. The money shot. Right.

  “Hey, Louis,” said Lilia. “Where do you want me?”

  The guy licked his lips, and I felt an urge to punch him.

  “Sitting by the pool, honey. Tell the guy to take his shirt off.”

  “I’ve got a bloody name,” I muttered, so only Lilia could hear me.

  She patted my arm. “It’s just business, Miles. Don’t take it personally.”

  Whatever.

  Feeling even more self-conscious, I pulled off my t-shirt and threw it on a chair. Lilia smiled.

  “You’ve been working out. Looking good, Miles.”

  I felt my face flush, although whether it was more with pleasure or embarrassment, I couldn’t say. I felt so uncomfortable posing with Lilia that I had to pull my sunglasses out of my pocket. I told myself it made it easier.

  After 17 excruciating minutes, we were done. God knows what I’d look like in the pictures. Lilia had been cute and flirty: touching my arm, resting her head on my shoulder – completely relaxed and smiling. Yeah, she was an actress, alright.

  I headed for the open bar, planning on getting wasted. Colt was there, sitting on some guy’s knee. He had his hand on her thigh, like really high up on her thigh.

  I started feeling nauseous. All I could think about was going home, but I wasn’t ready to face Clare.

  The Last Picture Show

  Clare

  Stupid bloody dress! It had a zip up the back. How the hell was I supposed to undo that by myself, not being a contortionist? Shit, I knew I should have tried yoga lessons.

  I was so furious when I got back to Miles’ apartment. I couldn’t believe he’d dumped me at that stupid party. Or had I walked out? I wasn’t sure. Either way I was hurt and angry and not entirely sober. I needed chocolate. I didn’t care about that whole ‘moment on the lips, lifetime on the hips’ thing. Everyone knows that if you break the chocolate first, the calories fall out. Right?

  I changed into my jeans and then thought better of it. That bloody Brazilian. Never again. I was limited on leisurewear, so I marched into Miles’ bedroom, ignoring his sheets that smelled faintly of spice, and rifled through his closet. After a moment, I pulled out a pair of sweatpants – I really hoped they were his favorites because I had plans for them.

  I found scissors in a kitchen drawer and hacked off the legs, which went some way to venting the violent impulses I was having. Then I stomped out to find a shop that sold chocolate. Candy. Whatever. I needed sugar, fat, and cocoa beans – or any combination of the above.

  Half an hour later, I had fifty bucks worth of sugary delight and a $2.99 DVD of Dirty Dancing. Perfect.

  When I found a bottle of vodka in the freezer drawer of Miles’ refrigerator, my evening was officially 100% improved.

  I’d just got to that iconic passage where Johnny says, “Nobody puts Baby in the corner,” when I heard the apartment door open.

  I tried reeeeally hard not to look, but I couldn’t help glancing up.

  Miles was standing there, so damn cute and sort of rumpled. He seemed sober, too, which surprised me.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  I waited for a moment to see if I felt like accepting his apology. His gray eyes were so serious and sad, that I couldn’t hold out a second longer. Pathetic, I know.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  He slumped down next to me and stretched out his legs.

  “What are you watching?”

  “Quiet.”

  “Oh, God, not Dirty Dancing again. I must have really pissed you off.”

  “Ssh.”

  He spotted the vodka and took a swig, pulling a face as he swallowed.

  I wanted to lick that Adam’s apple as it bobbed in his throat. I sighed. Never gonna happen.

  “Are we okay?” he said, quietly.

  “Yeah. You’re a dickhead, but we’re fine.”

  He gave a small smile. “I know. Must be genetic. Sorry.”

  “So, how was the party?”

  I knew I was pushing it, but I couldn’t help asking.

  He scowled. “Crap. You were right about that. It turned out that it was just a fucking photo op. Lilia told me that the studio paid for the party. Can you believe that? Hell, for all I know, everyone else was paid to be there. Nothing in this city is real.”

  “Why did you stay?”

  He sighed. “I didn’t. I did the shoot and left.”

  “But you’ve been gone ages?”

  “Yeah, well, I was going to tell you about that…”

  I turned to look at him. He looked slightly happier – shifty – but definitely happier.

  “What did you do?”

  He leaned forward and dragged out a long, black case from the side of the couch. I hadn’t noticed it when he’d walked in – I was too busy looking at him.

  His fingers stroked the silk as he opened it.

  “Blimey! You bought a sax!”

  I watched as his fingers traced the delicate filigree engraving, some sort of trailing flower, winding its way up the body of the instrument.

  “Yeah, she was so fucking gorgeous, I couldn’t resist.”

  Yep, I was jealous of a piece of bloody silver painted brass. I wanted his fingers tracing over me like that. I wanted his eyes to be filled with lust when he looked at me. Bloody, bloody hell.

  “Selmer soloist mouthpiece,” he drooled. “Hemke 3 reeds, and she sounds sooo sweet – perfect.”

  “Where did you go to get her, I mean, it?”

  “After you left,” his eyes flicked to me, a guilty expression on his face, “after the photo shit, I called Earl. He knew this cool music shop and… I couldn’t resist. If I’m staying here, I need my music and…”

  “Hang on, you called Earl on his day off just to give you a ride? He probably works all hours as it is! Why didn’t you call a taxi?”

  “Ah, crap. I didn’t think.”

  Huh, typical.

  “I think I just wanted to talk to someone, you know.”

  “And you couldn’t talk to me?”

  “You’d gone.”

  “Did I mention that you’re a dickhead?”

  “Yeah. It’s a recurring theme. Reminds me of home.”

  I elbowed him in the ribs and he pretended to be hurt. Oh well, at least he hadn’t spent anymore time than he had to with that skeazy actress. I really liked that word – skeaze, it was almost onomatopoeic.

  He rested his hand on my knee and I looked up in surprise, but his eyes were focused on the cut up sweatpants, a quizzical look on his face.

  “Do you want to work on your script?” I said, changing the subject before he could start it.

  He shook his head, smiling, because he knew exactly what I was doing. “Nah, I want to get drunk and pass out on the couch.”

  “That brings back memories.”

  He smiled at me and reached for the vodka.

  “Okay, you can have tonight off, but only because it’s been a shit awful day. Tomorrow, we work on your lines.”

  “Yes, boss,” he said.

  “That’s right! And don’t you forget who’s on top!”

  As I said the words, my face flushed and Miles smirked.

  “Do you like being on top, Clare? I never knew that. Figures, though.”

  “Shut up!” was my genius reply.

  “I don’t think so, because I have this image in my head now. Are you into whips and chains and all that kinky shit, too? Do you handcuff your guys?”

  I knew he was teasing me but suddenly the thought of having him tied up at my mercy was very appealing.

  “Why?” I said. “Are you offe
ring?” Please say yes. Please say yes.

  He laughed. “Nah, you’re too scary.”

  And that was the end of that conversation.

  Shit.

  “Hey, Miles! You made Perez Hilton’s page!”

  He looked up from the script, and momentarily paused, his fingers still twisting restlessly in his short hair.

  “Who?”

  “He does this big celeb gossip website. He’s published the photos from Lilia’s party.” And you look so fuck-me hot, I’m drooling enough to need a bib.

  Miles frowned.

  “Oh,” he said, and buried his face back in the script.

  I felt sorry for him. It was such a struggle for him to learn lines. I’d Googled some stuff on dyslexia and decided that he suffered from ‘stress spirals’ – you know, when you do okay at something some of the time, but getting stressed means your confidence plummets and you give up in anger and frustration. That was definitely Miles.

  It helped that the script was set out in short chunks of narrow text across a whole page, but at school they used to clip a sheet of yellow cellophane over the top of his textbooks to sort of calm down all the white paper. I’d found an art shop in the neighborhood, and bought some of that cellophane for Miles. It helped. Mostly it helped if we read the lines together over and over, but it got pretty boring and I knew the damn speeches better than he did.

  But he was loads more patient than me and he didn’t complain. What with that, his gym time with the fitness fascist, costume fittings and publicity stuff, he barely had time to breathe.

  I’d taken on various aspects of his life, like a real PA. I even reminded him to call his mum on her birthday, bought a card, wrote the address on the envelope, put the pen in his hand to sign the card, and stuck it in the mail. I was good at that shit – being organized had never been a problem for me. Mind you, I would have let him lick the stamp because – whoa, lookin’ hot – but sad to say, the stamp was just peel-and-stick. Sigh.

  I printed out a schedule for him and taped it to the fridge so he knew what he was doing each week, but today was the last day I’d have to do that – tomorrow we were moving to the film’s location.

  I was excited. Miles was panicking quietly.

  We were heading north to the small town of Petaluma, in Sonoma county. It was standing in for the fictional town of Flatrock, and we were staying on some private estate to make security easier. It was about 50 miles from the wineries of the Napa Valley, and 50 from San Francisco.

  It was a bit freaky to think that professional bodyguards would be needed. Although I couldn’t stand the skank bitch, I felt sorry for Lilia for needing them. Mind you, if she caused Miles any problems, she’d need a bodyguard to protect her from me. And that was a gold-plated, um, solid gold promise.

  She’d texted him a couple of times over the past week, but they hadn’t seen each other. Not that I knew of. I was dying to see what he’d put in his replies to her. I nearly checked his phone while he was in the shower, but I didn’t want to start acting like a bunny boiler. I had tried to justify it on the grounds that I was his personal assistant and therefore ought to know, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. Miles was my friend, and you don’t do that to your friends. Instead, I printed out my summer reading list that the university had sent me, and downloaded everything onto my new Kindle, a really great gift from the newly minted and gratefully well off Miles, bless him.

  I toggled back through the photos from the pool party for the ninth or tenth time. Miles still looked hot – yeah, like a real film star. She looked like a skinny skank. Note: smiley face to self.

  She really pissed me off.

  And then Miles and I had started the script read-through. I nearly freaked when I realized that he and Lilia had a couple of sex scenes, but Miles’ face drained of color when he saw what he was going to have to do in front of an audience. He was so obviously unhappy at the idea, that it helped me man up, so to speak. And I couldn’t help imagining my own sex scenes with Miles – it was going to kill me seeing him get naked with the bony hag.

  Ugh.

  At least he wasn’t looking forward to it either.

  They would have three days of rehearsals on location before the 40 days of ‘principal photography’ started. It didn’t seem like much to me, not compared with the preparation time for a stage play, but what did I know. I supposed the difference was that if anybody messed up, it could just be reshot.

  “Holy, fuck! What time is it?”

  Suddenly, Miles leapt to his feet, nearly giving me a heart attack.

  “Seven, you dill! Bloody hell, my ears are ringing.”

  “I’m supposed to be at the gym with sodding Hilda!” he yelped.

  Oh. Yeah, the PA should have been on that. I’d have to have a word with her.

  Miles dropped the script on the couch and ran to his bedroom. I followed at a more leisurely pace, not being particularly bothered that he was going to be a few minutes late. I mean, it was his last session with her, so it hardly mattered.

  I opened my mouth to expound on that theory, when the words dried in my throat. He had his back to me, and was naked except for a pair of tight fitting boxer briefs with the word Wicked printed across the backside. Thank you, Ellen. God, I wanted to pinch that pert arse, run my hands up the hard lines of his back, and massage his defined shoulder muscles. Then lick them. Maybe nibble a little. Or a lot.

  “She’s going to kill me,” he muttered to himself.

  Oh, you’d better believe it, baby! I’d ride you till you passed out from exhaustion, feed you a bacon sandwich, hose you down and start again.

  Oh… he was probably talking about Hilda, not me. Bloody hell. I really needed to get my head in the game. I was here to help him, not ogle mindlessly, although…

  “I’ll come with you,” I said.

  He jumped slightly, not realizing I was standing in the doorway, then frowned.

  “It’ll just be sweaty and boring,” he replied.

  Yeah, hate that… Miles, all sweaty. Mmm. Get a bloody grip. No! Not like that!

  “And, um, I jog to the gym.”

  “Bugger that!”

  He grinned. “I thought that’s what you’d say.”

  I watched as he pulled on another pair of sweatpants that hadn’t felt the wrath of my scissors, an Al Stewart t-shirt with cover artwork from Russians and Americans, and his running shoes. He winked and ran out of the door.

  Miles

  I thought Hilda would take it easy on our last day. Yeah, I was wrong about 180 degrees.

  “Come on!” she yelled. “Move your ass! Faster!”

  Fuck, I was really glad I’d brushed off every offer she’d made for us to get together. I mean, hell, I could just imagine her shouting stuff like that during sex – it would really put a man off his stride. But whatever I thought about her personally (and not much of it was good), she was one helluva fitness trainer. Although, maybe wanting to do the work just to get away from her was not the kind of motivation most trainers used. I hoped.

  One hundred and fifty excruciating minutes later, we were done. I was definitely done. I wasn’t even sure how I was managing to live without a life support system, or oxygen at the very least.

  I was nearly on my hands and knees as I hobbled toward the men’s locker room. My t-shirt and sweatpants were ringing with sweat and I probably smelled like a skunk.

  I set the shower to lukewarm and let it pour over my head… until I heard Hilda’s voice a few feet away.

  “So, Miles. Last day an’ all. How about that veggie juice?”

  What the fuck?

  “Jeez, Hilda, I’m naked in here!”

  “Oh, get over yourself, Miles. I’ve seen it all before, baby. I used to physio for the Oregon Ducks.”

  Who? What?

  “When you’ve seen one dick, you’ve seen them all.”

  Did she say ‘dick’ or ‘duck’?

  “Um, right.”

  “But I prefer
one-on-one these days.”

  Holy crap!

  She paused. “So, get your pale ass out of the shower and we can head on out.”

  “Actually, Hilda…”

  “Don’t even think about blowing me off!”

  Shit. “Okay, sure, but just for half an hour. I have a shed load of things to sort out before tomorrow.” I waited, but she didn’t reply. Perhaps she’d gone?

  I turned off the water and peered around the shower stall. I nearly jumped out of my skin when Hilda handed me a towel, a scary-ass smile on her face.

  “Bloody hell, Hilda! Give a guy some privacy!”

  “You Brits are so adorable,” she laughed. “I love all that shy guy stuff – it’s cute.”

  “Yeah, whatever, just… go, will you?!”

  She was really getting on my nerves.

  But when I left the locker room, Hilda’s eyes had narrowed to slits and she was giving a death stare to someone on the other side of the room. I turned around and saw…

  “Clare! Hiya! I didn’t know you were coming here,” but thank God you did.

  I was pretty certain she’d saved me from a fate worse than death. I was such a wuss.

  “Yeah, well, you ran out this morning before I’d finished my breakfast,” she said, pointedly.

  Hilda scowled, and for once I was quite happy to let another woman believe that I was dating Clare.

  “Think I’ll take a raincheck on our date, Miles,” said Hilda. “I’ll look you up when you get back to LA.”

  I half expected to see Clare disappear in a cloud of dust particles from the way Hilda was glaring at her.

  “Um, right,” I offered vaguely, and Hilda’s lip curled.

  She reminded me of an Alsatian that had lived next door to my mum when I was a kid. I actually took a step back in case she decided to bite. Hilda freaked me out.

  She stalked out of the room, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Tell you what, Clare, you have great timing,” I said.

  She shook her head in disbelief.

  “Miles! When are you going to toughen up? She would have had you for breakfast and spat out a bunch of bones at the end!”

  “I know,” I said, hanging my head. “I’m pathetic. I just, you know, I hate being rude to people.”