Everyone looked shocked. Miles had been nothing but quietly spoken and polite on the set, despite extreme provocation by the dickless wonder who was currently calling himself director.
“Oh, just great,” snarled Paulini. “Now the fucking fag actor has his panties in a bunch about his lesbo girlfriend.”
Excuse me, what?
I suppose everyone has their breaking point, and Miles had just reached his. Because that’s when he hit him.
Suddenly, Paulini was on his arse in the dust and I heard an ironic cheer go up from the crew. They didn’t like him either.
Paulini’s face went purple, and I thought he was going to spontaneously combust. I’d seen a TV program about that once and wondered if it was really possible. Not in this case, unfortunately.
Paulini pulled out his phone and stabbed the keypad three times in quick succession.
“You’re history, buddy!” he mumbled, through a lip that was swelling faster than a porn star in a brothel.
Miles ignored him and walked over to me.
“You alright?” he asked, his voice quiet and calm.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, slightly shocked that Miles had come over all macho. And defending my honour, too. It made me want to hump his leg, or something. You know, 90 degrees – bitch in heat.
Miles just handed me my water bottle – I hadn’t even realized I’d dropped it – then he put his arm around my shoulders and led me toward his trailer.
God, it was so romantic! I mean, in front of everyone, too. Maybe if I pretended to trip, he’d carry me in his arms, just like Richard Gere in An Officer and a Gentleman.
But we were back at his trailer before I had time to hunt for a gopher hole.
And then the police arrived.
The dipshit dickhead director had actually called the cops! Un-fucking-believable!
But then again… oh, shit.
Miles didn’t even complain when the cops cuffed him. I could tell they were embarrassed but it wasn’t like Miles could deny hitting the ugly wanker. Paulini was still looking like an extra from a horror movie, and Miles had a cut across the knuckles of his left hand. Plus, you know, at least 50 witnesses.
He just gave me a small smile and said, “I think you’d better call Rhonda.”
And out of all that chaos, all those people yelling into their cell phones and snapping photos of Miles being taken away, Lilia just stood there, as if she was watching an interesting science demonstration. Her look of calculation was chilling. I didn’t like it, and I didn’t trust the sleazy sow.
But by then I was feeling a bit panicky and tearful, too. I called Rhonda.
Of course, I got her snotty PA.
“Ms Weitz is in a meeting,” she sniffed.
“Yeah, well, this is an emergency,” I yelled, “so put her on the bloody phone.”
“Who did you say you are?”
“Clare Milt… Miles Stephens’ personal assistant. So shuffle your bony backside and get Rhonda!”
“Ma’am, there’s no need to be offensive. I would be within my rights to terminate this call.”
I’ll terminate you in a minute, you titless braindead bint!
I took a deep breath, knowing that losing my cool (or whatever hold on my temper I had left) would definitely not help Miles.
“Then perhaps you would be so kind as to inform Ms Weitz,” I said, sweetly, “that her star client has just been arrested, and if she doesn’t do something about it, the whole film production is going to be stuffed up quicker than a tutu at a bishop’s picnic!”
I mean, come on! How much more plainly could I put it?
There was a pause. A really long pause. What was she doing? Polishing her fangs?
“I’ll get Ms Weitz.”
“Good idea, luv,” I replied, not at all sarcastically. For me.
I thought I’d perforated an eardrum when Rhonda’s gazillion decibel shriek pierced the airwaves.
“Who is this? Is this a freakin’ joke?”
“Bloody hell, Rhonda! It’s not a flaming joke. And this is Clare. Miles has been arrested for thumping Paulini.”
“Are you shittin’ me?”
Charming.
“I’m serious. That Paulini bloke has been a right bastard since he got here. It’s about time somebody pasted one on him – it just happened to be Miles. The dickless wonder called the cops and I’m calling you.”
I had to hold the phone away from my ear for several seconds but eventually Rhonda got a grip.
“Listen, sweetheart,” she snapped, “this is what you do. Get down to the precinct and try and get a message to Miles. Tell him not to talk to anyone, you hear me, anyone. The studio’s lawyers will catch the next flight out and be there… in about three hours.”
I could tell she was about to end the call.
“Um, Rhonda, there’s something else.”
“What now?”
“Er, well, people on set were taking photos of Miles on their cell phones. Um, you know, with the police and with, er, handcuffs on.”
“What the fuck were security doing? There aren’t supposed to be any cell phones on the set.”
Huh. That was news to me.
“Well, there were. So…”
She didn’t need me to finish the sentence – the news would be all over the internet by now.
We were screwed.
Cool Hand Puke
Miles
Just in case it happens to you – and you’re a bloke – try not to get arrested while you’re wearing makeup. Seriously. It just makes things a lot tougher.
The policemen who’d carted me off from the film set were pretty nice, considering. Watching Paulini ranting and frothing at the mouth, one of them had muttered that he felt like clobbering him, too. Okay, he may not have said ‘clobbering’ – he actually said something like, ‘I’m going to hit that fat fucker onto his candy ass if he tells me how to do my job again’.
They told me that the cuffs were routine and I didn’t feel like arguing. I wasn’t sorry I’d hit the bald git – bastard totally deserved the fat lip I’d given him, but the repercussions of what I’d done were beginning to sink in. I’d blown it. And it was only a matter of time before I got fired. I wouldn’t blame them either.
When we got to the police station, I had my fingerprints and mugshot taken, and was stuffed into a cell with a couple of really fucking enormous biker guys with more ink than a tattooed lady. And I was there in skinny jeans, a white silk shirt, foundation, lipstick, eyeliner and mascara.
And they were stumbling around drunk.
Fun times.
“What the fuck are you?”
I tried ignoring them.
“He sure is purty, huh, Floyd?”
And they laughed like it was the funniest thing ever. I hoped they didn’t try a career in stand-up or they’d starve.
“Yeah, I think he’s been playing with his mommy’s makeup. Come on pretty boy, kissy kiss kiss.”
Bastard had breath like the bottom of a parrot’s cage. I stood up straight and looked him in the eye but didn’t reply.
“I’m talking to you, mother fucker!” he slurred.
I really should have kept my mouth shut.
But I didn’t.
“Yeah, I think I remember your mum.”
His eyes widened for a moment and then he charged. Damn – 250 pounds of mean bastard getting ready to spread my internal organs all over the cell until it looked like a Pollock original.
I dodged out of his way, and the stupid arse ran head first into the wall. It was like watching one of those cartoon characters, and I expected someone to yell out ‘Timberrrr!’ as he fell.
Then his friend swung a punch and when I blocked it, I thought it was going to snap my arm in half. That shit hurt! But I wasn’t going to risk breaking my hand on a jaw that looked like it had been set in concrete, so I went for his bulging gut instead. I got in two quick punches, where my fists sank in up to my wrist. He gasped… and then he puked.
I got caught in the splatter pattern even though I’d jumped back. It was like the scene from Cool Hand Luke where Paul Newman had eaten all the boiled eggs. Bloody hell, it even smelled like eggs – rotten ones.
I felt my stomach dry heave just looking at the mess.
I backed away from both of them and kept an eye open in case they looked like they were capable of having another go at me. Then I heard feet pounding down the corridor outside, and a couple of cops yanked open the cell door.
“Um, I don’t think they were feeling well,” I said, hoping to hell I wouldn’t be done for assault twice in one day.
The older cop tried to hide a smile. “We may not be the big city here, son, but we’ve got CCTV.”
He pointed up to the corner, and I saw the leery red eye of a camera winking at me.
“Oh.” Yeah, not a lot I could say to that.
“You’ve got some nice moves,” he said, “for a movie actor.”
“Um, thanks?”
He smiled and shook his head.
“We’ll move you to a quieter holding cell that’s just been vacated, son. And we’ve had a call – your people are on their way.”
He was good to his word. They moved me to an empty cell that didn’t smell of vomit. Although I did, thanks to Dumb and Dumber down the corridor.
I rinsed off my shoes in the tiny sink, and rubbed at the bottom of my jeans with a paper towel. It helped a bit.
I couldn’t help thinking about what the cop had said: my ‘people’ were on their way. That had to mean the studio. Oh well, it had been fun. I just hoped they wouldn’t make me give back what I’d been paid so far. Because I didn’t have it. I mean, I had some of it, but I’d had to cough up for the apartment, and I’d given a load to mum. I couldn’t ask for that back.
Four hours later I was bored out of my brain, hungry, and wondering if I’d made it into the Guinness record books for the shortest film career in history.
I heard the cell door clang open and looked up to see Rhonda staring down at me. Honestly, she scared me more than the two biker guys, although there was a resemblance.
“Well, this is a fucked up situation,” she said.
Her voice was surprisingly calm, and I eyed her warily. I was really glad that the cell had CCTV, because I was afraid she was going to castrate me with her bare hands.
“Chill out, Miles,” she said. “You’re free to go.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. Paulini’s dropped the charges.”
It was hard work getting that concept to connect with my mouth.
“But why? I mean, that’s great… but why? That effing bastard hates me.”
“That is true, but one of the cameramen emailed footage of the asshat in action. The studio fat cats won’t stand for that abusive shit… the backers don’t like controversy. Plus, Lilia threatened to walk if she had to work with him. Basically, Miles, the crew – and Lilia – saved your ass. Guess they like you.”
“Blimey.”
“You said it. Now let’s get you back to your hotel. You look like shit and smell worse.”
“But… I mean, that’s brilliant, but I did hit him.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen the footage. Nice left hook, by the way.” She sighed. “Basically, he was paid to drop the charges. It wasn’t a lot, bearing in mind how much he’d pissed off Lilia…”
“Am I in trouble with the studio? Am I going to get fired, as well?”
For a moment she pinned me with her fierce gaze, and then she smiled. That was pretty frightening, too.
“No, you’re not. The whole section of footage – Paulini yelling at Clare, you punching him – it got accidentally released to the press. Turns out the public really like a guy who’ll stand up for a damsel in distress. The publicity people are pissing themselves with pleasure.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
And that was that.
Clare
When Miles was taken away, I was in a complete panic. The only time something like that had happened before was when he’d passed out in his mum’s garden, drunk on cheap cider after my 16 birthday. He’d lost his key, didn’t want to wake his mum, so planned on sleeping it off in the garden.
In December.
Twit.
The police had found him and taken him away to keep him safe. He got a rap on the knuckles but nothing more serious.
But this business with Paulini, that was very bloody serious.
Then Merv the Perv wandered over and gave me a one-armed hug. His nickname was just because he was the lead cameraman and spent the whole day looking down a long lens – he was actually a really nice guy.
“Don’t stress it, Clare, honey,” he said. “Paulini is history – we’re gonna fix his wagon-butt good.”
Or he may have said, “We’re going to fix his wagon, but good.”
I wasn’t sure – but he told me not to worry. Of course I was worrying!
“Seriously, honey, Paulini can’t pull this shit. A certain someone,” and here he tapped his nose, “has sent the footage of him flipping out at you to the pap websites. No one likes a bully – your guy will be fine. Promise.”
I got a ride to the police station with Polly, one of the PAs that I’d become friendly with, but once we got there I still wasn’t allowed to see Miles. I didn’t even know if he’d been told I was in the building. And I couldn’t give him Rhonda’s message. I just hoped he’d be sensible. Oh God, this was Miles I was talking about.
It was a real relief when Rhonda turned up, breathing smoke and farting fire. She paraded in some suits that I guessed were lawyers from the studio, and 30 minutes later Miles was released.
He was grinning like a crazy person when I walked up and smacked his arm, hard.
“Don’t you ever get arrested on me again, you dope! I’m too young to get white hairs!”
He pulled me into a hug, and damn if his hard chest didn’t feel good against me.
“Yeah, but it was worth it,” he said, smiling broadly
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered against my cheek.
But he let go too soon. He always let go too soon.
Before we got a chance to really talk, Rhonda swept him off in her limo, and I rode back with Polly.
“You’re quiet, Clare. Are you okay?”
I nodded and clapped a hand over my mouth as I yawned.
“Yeah, long day.”
She smiled. “Yup, it sure was. But I think someone’s got more than a li’l crush on our leading man.”
My head snapped up. “Who? Who’s got a crush on him?”
She laughed out loud. “You, honey! It’s written all over your face. Can’t say I blame you. Does he know?”
I was flummoxed. In all the years I’d known Miles no one had ever called me on being totally and utterly in love with him.
I glanced over at Polly, but her smile was sympathetic, and I felt my whole body sag.
“No. He has absolutely no clue. We’ve been friends since we were kids. That’s all he sees me as – a friend. It’s so frustrating.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I get that. But it’s also obvious that he cares about you. I mean, wow! If some guy punched out an asshat for me, I wouldn’t be holding back anything. I think you should tell him how you feel.”
“But that’ll just make everything weird. I don’t want to lose my best friend. And anyway, he’s… well… gorgeous, and I’m just… me.”
She didn’t argue so I knew she agreed with me.
“Tough one,” she said, and shrugged.
Too right.
But I couldn’t help thinking… maybe, just maybe she was right. Miles had risked everything with that punch, just because some tosser with a bald bonce had yelled at me.
I decided that maybe I should tell Miles how I felt. I was just afraid of what I had to lose.
I needed a drink. Maybe several. Not enough to make me pass out, just enough to
give me the courage I was sorely lacking. And if things went horribly wrong, I’d just laugh it off and say it was the whiskey talking.
Brave, Milton. Brave.
There was a party atmosphere when we drove up to the private hotel where we were staying.
Since the working day had ended early, the crew were sitting on the back lawn, beers in hand, enjoying the stunning view into the valley, and the peace that came with having slain the wicked whacko of the west.
Miles was nowhere to be seen and neither was Rhonda. I assumed they were talking business and I wondered if I should be there with him. But Merv shoved a beer into my hand and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“We’re celebrating, little lady,” he said. “Your boy done good.”
Just then a cheer went up, and I couldn’t help smiling as Jo-Anne limped toward us. She had a sling supporting her right arm, a brace around her neck, and the biggest smile I’d seen outside of a toothpaste advert.
“Yo, Jo!” shouted Merv. “Where you been, honey!”
“Oh, chilln’, you know!” she laughed. “Sounds like I’ve missed the real action.”
“Yeah, but I got it on slo-mo,” snorted Merv. “You’ll love this shit!”
He flipped open his laptop and we all crowded around, watching Paulini bite the dust in close-up. I was a bit annoyed that the picture had caught me with my mouth hanging open like a sad cod, but it was cool seeing Miles in action again. And again. And again.
A shiver went through me. Yes, he did that for me. I had to tell him how I felt.
As soon as he got here, I’d tell him and…
He walked out, blinking at the brightness of the sun, his hair glinting gold. And that flaming fleabag floozie Lilia was hanging onto his arm.
I could tell by the glazed expression on his face that I was too damn late. The bitch-face had staked a claim.
I had no chance.
“Hey, slugger!” yelled Jo-Anne. “I never knew you missed me so much! Ya didn’t have to break Paulini’s face – all you had to do was ask nicely and I’d have come back anyways!”
Everyone laughed. Everyone who wasn’t currently me.
“Next time we’ll try to choreograph the fight scene!”