CHAPTER 52
If Media Training was my first hint at what being an actress was all about, I was toast. Toast charred past the point of edibility, brittle and crumbly on a plate destined for the trash.
Brecken Nichols came down from Atlanta, her blue suit strolling through the humidity like she had all the time in the world though, by my watch, she was already fifteen minutes late. I waited, impatiently, next to Ben, watching her approach and summing up everything I needed to know about the woman.
She had one of those monogrammed bags slung over one arm – the big floppy kind, packed with enough items to keep me alive in the desert for weeks. Bright red lipstick, the kind Ben would have shot me dead over, her dark hair up in one of those poufed ponytails that Heidi Klum pulled off but I looked ridiculous wearing. Brecken didn’t look ridiculous. She looked pulled together. Perfect. Her brows, one which raised critically as she approached, were thick, her eyes sharp and well framed in makeup that must have taken her all morning to apply. This was not a woman who hit the snooze button and picked up after her pets. This was a woman who lunched in fancy restaurants, filtered suitors based on their bank balances, and who looked at women like me as snacks. I slid one hand in the back pocket of my new jeans, and felt, before she even opened her mouth, the scorn.
“God please tell me Wardrobe didn’t dress you in that.” The words huffed out of her as she stopped before me, her head slowly tilting down as her eyes trailed from my head to my shoes, a long moment passing as she scrutinized my sneakers. They were Nikes. Brand new. She didn’t seem impressed.
“I dressed myself.” I offered the obvious fact in a friendly tone, while my inner thoughts imagined an additional dozen cruder responses. “I’m Summer Jenkins.” I stuck out my hand, and she stared at it.
“Never introduce yourself,” she finally snapped, moving past my hand and tugging open one of the wide double doors. “They should know who you are, they will know who you are. Understand?” She didn’t wait around for a response, her heels clipping down the hall before us, and I grabbed Ben’s arm, squeezing it so tightly that he yelped.
“Be nice,” he whispered. “And come find me when it’s over.” He darted away, my grip on him lost in some twist of his arm, his skinny legs skittering across the parking lot without a backward glance.
I turned just in time to see Brenda dip into a room on the right. Letting out a breath, I stepped into the building and trudged after her. Never introduce yourself. Of all of the pompous, ridiculous behavior… I stepped into the room and watched Brecken flip on a row of switches, lights illuminating in quick succession, all shining down at one empty chair. Mine.
“Sit,” she said brightly and wheeled out a camera, lining it up into place, her hands quick and efficient. “Let’s begin.”
Media training was a fairly simple, if not painful, process. I sat on a chair, then a stool, then a couch, and answered questions that Brecken threw at me. Sometimes she sat across from me and had me face her. Other times she was behind the camera and had me look into it. She said ridiculous things and then scolded me when I giggled. She asked off the wall questions and then picked at my stumbles. She knocked over a lamp and then lectured me over flinching. And after every take, she’d pull me around and we’d watch the video and she’d pick out my mistakes.
From Brecken’s expressions and my own ears… I was bad. Really bad. And I didn’t even have a speech impediment to blame.
“Relaxxxx,” Brecken intoned. “You look like you, literally, have a stick up your ass.”
I rolled my shoulders, let out a deep breath.
“Nope,” she called out. “No change.”
“How can I relax when you pick apart every single thing I do?” I glared into the camera.
“I wouldn’t pick apart everything you do, dahling… if you actually did something right.” She drawled out the words in a ridiculous manner, clearly imitating me, my accent something she’d criticized for the last three hours.
“Did anyone ever teach you manners?” I stood up from the stool. “Or niceties?”
“Niceties will get you screwed in this business.” She came out from behind the camera and crossed her arms. Stared at me without flinching.
“Glad to know I’m not the only one she hates.”
Both of us turned at the voice, a low one, thick and masculine. Cole. Of course. The last thing this equation needed if Brecken wanted me to relax. He stepped into the room and pulled the door shut. Walked up to the monitor and looked at the still image. I did one of the Brecken UnAllowed Actions and chewed on my fingernail. She cleared her throat and he did what I hoped he wouldn’t do. Reached down and pressed a key on the board, my hesitant voice coming through the speakers and I winced as I stumbled through Brecken’s question, my response filled with enough Ums to drown a cat. He hit another button and the carnage stopped. “How long have you been working?”
“Three hours,” Brecken oh-so-helpfully supplied.
“Grab some lunch.” He nodded toward the door. Brecken didn’t move. “Go. I’ll work with her for a while.”
Oh no. No no no nonononono. I pushed off the stool and onto my feet. “I haven’t eaten either.”
“We’re making some progress,” Brecken jumped in. “You should have seen the first takes.” She didn’t move from her spot and I felt the immature desire to hide behind the woman I’d cursed all morning. Even she was better than him. His eyes laughing at me, a hundred opportunities for him to pick at me later.
“Not enough progress.” His voice had taken a hard turn, and she yielded, giving a tight nod and walking past the camera, her frame stooping as she reached for her purse. Then the door opened, she walked out, and it was just the two of us.
“Do you need a sandwich?” His eyes were level and steady on mine, his features quiet, giving no sign to the psyche underneath.
“No. I’m fine.” Despite my failed attempt to join Brecken for lunch, I couldn’t imagine eating, not right now, with the current state of my stomach—one rolling ball of knots.
He reached over and flicked off a panel of switches, and half the lights on me went dark. I was still standing, before my stool, and I stepped back a pace, my heel hitting the leg, and I pushed myself back onto the metal seat.
“I’m going to turn off the camera.” He reached up and pressed a handful of buttons, his hands sure, familiarity showing as he moved aside the cart and then grabbed an extra stool, sitting down in front of me, the front of his jeans tight as his knees spread, his posture relaxed, and his hands hung loose and clasped before him. “What have you guys worked on so far?”
“Just answering questions and then reviewing it on…” I pointed to the monitors and tried to think of how Brecken had referred to them. “The screen,” I finally said.
“Did she go over jargon, wordage and abstractions?” His voice was mild and I rubbed my hands on the front of my jeans. I should have washed them prior to wearing them. They were too stiff, too scratchy.
“Umm ... probably. It’s all starting to run together.”
“You don’t have to worry about jargon. You’re Southern, that’s okay. We don’t need you to sound like something you’re not.”
“She said I can’t say y’all.” One rule I could remember, only because I seemed to break it frequently.
He shrugged. “You can say y’all. Maybe not when you’re promoting a sci-fi thriller, but right now, that’s fine.”
“Okay.”
“Wordiness, though, for you, might be a problem.” He leaned forward. “Rambling. Don’t ramble.”
“Yeah.” I winced. “I do that.”
“That’s okay. We’ll work on it.”
“You don’t need to. I mean—you’re busy. I can work with Brecken on it.” I nodded enthusiastically, like she was my new best friend.
He ignored the comment. “Abstractions are another thing you don’t have to worry about right now. But the verbal fillers, the ‘you knows’ and ‘uhhs’—”
“I know. And the fidgeting and the touching of my hair and blinking too much—” I stopped talking before my voice showed the thin ledge of hysteria where I sat. I looked away, focusing on a sweater that hung off a lighting rig. It was cold in there, without the additional lights. Maybe I could borrow it. Another layer between Cole and I seemed like a good idea.
He stood up and reached between his legs, grabbing the stool and dragging it closer. When he sat back down, there were only a few feet between us. “Summer. Look at me.”
I did. It was hard not to, when he was that close. And God, he was gorgeous. So much so that it hurt, like staring at the sun, the pull of attraction so sharp and dangerous that it physically hurt my heart. It was staring at something you could never have but desperately wanted, despite any sense to the contrary, despite any danger that accompanied the attraction.
“Forget the rules and ask me a question.”
That distracted me from his beauty and I lifted my eyes off the perfect curve of his jaw and to his eyes. “A question from the list?” After three hours, I knew Brecken’s twenty questions by heart.
He shrugged. “Any question. Anything you want.”
“Are you in pain?” Any question. I had any question in the world and where that one came from, I had no idea. If I’d expected it, I might have looked away, might have given him a chance to react privately. But I wasn’t expecting the words to leave my lips and so I was there, staring at him, when the blow hit. There wasn’t much of an impact. His eyes dimmed a little, green irises going a little dark, his neck contracting as he swallowed. “From her leaving… I mean. I just…” I finally was able to look away. “You don’t seem that upset.”
“Don’t ramble. Be concise.” He touched the edge of my knee to catch my attention. “And don’t look away. That indicates shame.”
Shame. No joke. I was ashamed. It was way too personal of a question for me to ask.
“Nadia and I were together for a long time. Anytime you lose someone who has been a part of your life for that long, it hurts. But I think that this was for the best. She’s happier in her new relationship and that’s what I want. Her to be happy.” He gave a small smile, lifting one shoulder in a shrug of resignation. I felt a sudden urge to comfort him, was about to reach forward when he straightened, his posture changing. “That’s what I would say, if a reporter asked. It puts me on the high road and subtly turns everyone against her.”
“Is it true?” Another personal question. It was like I had to chase down this dog until it died.
“No.” Now he looked away. “I feel very… odd about Nadia.” His words came out slowly, as if he was weighing each word and recording its worth. “I feel… stupid. I feel taken advantage of. I feel very, very off balance.” His head lifted, and his eyes returned to me. “I don’t know if pain would be the word I would use.”
I swallowed. “I like that answer better.”
His mouth curved. “So would the press. The truth is always more interesting. It’s also much more dangerous.” He didn’t move, but I swear, from just the way he looked at me, that he’d gotten closer. “Did you feel like you are closer to me now? Knowing that?”
“Yes.”
“If the public knows you, Summer, they will destroy you. They can’t help themselves. They love our weaknesses so much, it causes them to latch on, to dig deeper, to feast and pillage on our exposures until the moment when we, as people—me as Cole, you as Summer—are gone. And the only thing left is what they want to see.”
It sounded terrible. I had been worried about looking stupid. Not losing myself. I swallowed, his next words pushing my anxiety even higher.
“My turn.” He rubbed his bottom lip, his other hand tucked under his elbow and looked at me. His turn. I’d been so personal with my question. What would he ask me? Probably how many men I’d slept with.
My bra size.
My favorite sexual position.
My—
“Who is your favorite actor?”
My mind stuttered. “My favorite actor?”
“Yes.”
“Like… to date? Or who I respect?”
He shrugged. “Both.”
Five months ago I’d have rattled off his name without hesitation. Not as the actor I respected the most, that honor would have to go to an older man. But as the actor I found the most attractive… Cole Masten had always held that spot in my mind. Always. He was everyone’s gold standard, the photo first in Google Results when you keyed in ‘heartthrob.’
“Ummm…” His eyes sharpened and I cleared my throat. “As far as actors I respect…” I swallowed. Brecken had told me, whenever I felt the urge to say a filler word, to swallow. Take a breath. Or a sip of water. “Jake Gyllenhaal. He was really strong in Nightcrawler. And Christoph Waltz. And… Tom Hanks.”
“Interesting list.” He nodded at me to go on.
“As far as actors I find attractive… maybe Chris Pratt?” I don’t know why I gave my answer in the form of a question.
Cole’s brow furrowed. “Chris Pratt?” he repeated.
“Yes. The guy from Parks and Recreation? He… he was really hot in Jurassic World.”
Cole’s mouth twitched. “Anyone else?”
I tried to think of someone, anyone who was as opposite from Cole as possible. “Jonah Hill,” I blurted out.
Cole tilted his head, my explanation rushing out before his question came. “He’s very talented. And smart. I like that in a man.”
“And he’s fat,” Cole said flatly. “You have all of Hollywood to choose from, and Jonah Hill is your choice.”
“He’s not… he’s cuddly.”
“And that’s what you want? A cuddly guy?”
I raised my chin. “I answered your question.”
“Yes, you did.” He got off the stool and walked back to the wall, flipping back on the lights. Halogen and hot, their glare unsettling. “With only one ‘umm.’ Let’s go through a few more with the lights, then we’ll turn the camera back on.”
“Don’t you have other stuff to do? This doesn’t exactly seem to be something you need to waste your time on.” I needed him out of there. He was too close, too casual. Just the two of us, now brightly lit by lights… it was too much.
“Is that your next question?” He settled down on the stool and kicked out a leg, resting the sole of his shoe on my stool and just like that, we were connected. I looked up from his leg.
“No.” I had another question, one waiting in the wings, one that had been pushing at my brain for three weeks and now, in this empty room, with his smart mouth quiet, his eyes on me… now was the only time I might ever be able to ask it. “I have a different question.”
“So ask it.” His voice had deepened, like he knew what was coming, all humor out of it, and I braced myself for his answer, my hands together, in between my thighs and gripping at the edge of the stool.
“Were you telling the truth? When you said I was a bad kisser?”