6
JACK
IT’S EARLY ON A SUNDAY MORNING and I’m doing my press-ups on the kitchen floor, getting psyched up for a run, when the phone interrupts my fitness regime and my favorite Wall Street securities’ investment podcast.
Shit. Felix must have lost.
I groan and rise to take the call but it’s just Rita.
“Rita!” .
“Sorry to disturb, Jack. Janet’s sick. Some kind of food poisoning. Can’t travel.”
“What? No. Jesus. Anyone else affected?” It costs an extra $10 grand to replace a sick member of the extras cast. I need to check my file for the exact figure.
“No one else, nope. Not that I’ve heard. Scarlett’s fine. So are Darina and Hannah.”
“Tell Janet to sleep on it. She needs to be fit for tomorrow.”
“That’s the thing. She won’t make it.”
“She’s a professional. Tell her to take some water and Dramamine and sleep on it.”
“No can do, Jack. She’s seriously dehydrated; she looks a mess and the doctor explicitly said no travel for at least a week. Making her do this could kill her.”
OK, contingency plan. Everyone in the cast is replaceable, except for Scarlett.
“Who’s our backup for Sola?” I ask, though I have a sneaking suspicion.
Rita clears her throat. “Mia.”
“Is she cleared for travel?
“Yes.”
“Well, get her into wardrobe for measurement. This morning. Tell Helen she gets double pay if she comes in.” Helen has never let me down.
“Very well.” Rita’s voice is full of it. It’s a score for nepotism.
Chances are, Rita’s been working behind the scenes and already got her niece in for measuring. It’s not like I can prevent this, because Mia was next in line for the part after Janet, fair and square. I just didn’t think we’d ever be in this situation. What if that audition was a fluke and I now have a talentless actor on board who’s going to need any number of retakes? She shares many scenes with Scarlett, who won’t be too impressed if she has to stand around in the blazing heat waiting for a newb to get the lines right.
“See you there,” Rita says, hanging up.
I switch to the poker tournament site. Will it be more bad news?
But Felix did OK. He didn’t win the tournament, but he managed to extract himself without getting slaughtered. My wayward twin gets to live another day.
Hurrah for him. Dad would be proud.
I can’t hang around here now. My new plan is to shower and get down to the studio to convince myself there’s no food poisoning epidemic among the staff. I also want to see my lead actress with my own two eyes, because if there’s any chance Scarlett’s going to get sick en route to the Caribbean, we can call the whole thing off right now. This movie does not get produced without her. The insurance stipulates as much. Half of the distributors won’t even accept the movie unless she’s in it, because they know it won’t sell.
Fuck it. I’m calling an emergency staff meeting. In Hollywood, there’s no such thing as Sundays off.
***
I’VE GOT TO HAND it to Scarlett—most divas wouldn’t let another staff member inside their private trailers, let alone suggest holding an impromptu meeting there with the entire crew. I’m starting to respect her more.
Our starlet has decorated the interior with all manner of knick-knacks from her world travels: African wooden sculptures, Middle Eastern decorative lamps, Tibetan bunting and large hippie drapes she probably picked up in Austin, Texas, where she’s from.
“I like to feel at home,” Scarlett explains as she follows my gaze from knickknack to knickknack.
“Nice,” I say. My own apartment looks empty and soulless. It could do with a splash of color.
Sitting in the very back, behind Tom, the burly cameraman, is Rita’s niece in a dark hoodie, not exactly cowering, but neither is she looking as breezily confident as she did when auditioning. See? It was all a mirage. That archetypal lucky first audition.
Depending on how this gamble of Rita’s goes, we may ask the scriptwriters to effectively write Mia out of the story. More delays and more money down the drain. Having said that, I have no objections to having Mia visible on screen in any scene. With that body, she’s sure to capture the imaginations of the sci-fi nerds, so much so that they’ll forgive any inconsistency in the plot. And that face, too. God, those green eyes burning with passion as she stares back at me. Wait. Am I staring?
Are we staring at each other?
“Jack?” Rita’s saying.
“Huh?” I turn to her.
My heart’s thumping. Really hammering. And I pride myself on my low heart rate.
This is crazy.
“The agenda? For tomorrow?” Rita prompts.
All eyes are latched on to me now. Not just, well, hers.
I massage the back of my neck, which is hot despite the full-on air con. “Right. We meet at the Starbucks Terminal 2, at 6 a.m. sharp. Anyone missing is left behind and deals with the consequences yet to be determined.”
There’s a muted laugh at this. But I’m very serious.
“We arrive Oranjestad, Aruba, at noon. We have one overnight stay there, and then a propeller plane will take us onward to Islas Las Aves. It flies on to six other islands in the region. It doubles as a postal service and will return forty-eight hours later to bring us back to Oranjestad. Anyone not on the plane has to wait for the next cycle two days later.”
The crew is exchanging scornful as if glances. But I do have to lay down the law like this.
“We’ve one day rest in Aruba—beautiful beaches, folks, kitesurfing—whatever you fancy on your own budgets—before flying back to LAX. Be mindful that we won’t have a bunch of line managers out there nagging you along, so it’s everyone for themselves. Read the small print on your insurance policies. Get your alarm clocks and solar-powered battery chargers in gear. Seriously, people, I’m not saying this for the good of my health.”
They nod. Message received loud and clear.
“Are you saying this propeller plane is the only public transport in and out of the island?” Cara breaks the hushed silence.
“Yes. My location agent, Carlos Monero, in Caracas was quite clear. It’s not a tourist location. It’s all but deserted.”
“So why do they need a postal service on the island?” Cara presses.
“There’s a caretaker who looks after the place seasonally and caters for special projects like this. He’s there at the moment. He depends on food supplies the postal plane brings.”
Cara nods. “Thank you.”
“Any other questions, ask your director.” I indicate Rita. “As you know, my main concern will be making sure nobody is costing us more money than they should.”
Shifty looks and nods all round. My experienced core team is afraid to expense an unauthorized bottle of water, and if they’re smart, the new people will learn that quickly enough. The only reason I’m lugging myself all the way to this dumb island kept afloat by a dictatorship’s petty cash is because it’s cheaper than other deserted islands.
One by one, they shuffle reluctantly out of the trailer. I exchange a few words of thanks with Scarlett for hosting the meeting here and then leave her to enjoy what’s left of her Sunday.
Outside, the air is crisp compared to the stuffiness inside. I grab a lungful. Trailing at the back of the group is Mia on her own. I run to catch up. Newbies always need extra pep talks.
When she turns around, her eyes widen in surprise. She tugs her hoodie sleeves over her wrists in a gesture that painfully reminds me that she’s in her early twenties.
And then I forget what I was going to say.
She regards me with a sulky expression. “Thanks for...” She shrugs. “You know.”
“Oh, it wasn’t my doing. Rita vouched for you.”
“So did Cara,” she says with a flash of those eyes.
“Yeah, she did too. But look, just because you got a free ride doesn’t mean you made it. It’s going to be rough and very tiring. But still I expect top performance and dedication, OK?”
“OK.” Her cute nose scrunches up just for a millisecond, as if in pain. Then she clears her face like it didn’t happen.
Her eyes continue to drink me in with that weird, innocent intensity that only someone who hasn’t been fully tested in life can possess. Or someone who has been tested but hasn’t let it get to them. Which is it? I want to know. What can a twenty-one-year-old have experienced?
Something about this girl makes me itch with the feeling that there’s more. It’s unsettling. And plain weird that I should think twice about this inexperienced actress who came out of nowhere. Even weirder that I should want to get to know her better.
No, get a grip. She’s not dating material. I need someone with a similar lifestyle. Similar tastes. Similar damn age. If her résumé is truthful, I’m fourteen years older than her.
A strand of hair flutters in the breeze across her cheek, and I yearn to brush it off her face and curl it around her ear. She’s so vulnerable standing here, and yet so full of herself and her recent victory, I don’t know whether I want to protect her or crush her dreams.
“I want this to work out just as much as you do, but you gotta admit, your work experience doesn’t exactly blow me away,” I say.
“No?” Her voice is low and sullen. “What would blow you away?”
Now she’s smirking and, God help me, I can’t help my gaze fixating on her pouty lips, plump with luscious promise. The rest of the world falls away as I picture that heavenly mouth wrapped around the part of me that’s sprung to life. My cock knows what it wants even if I tell it no. And it’s letting us both know, loud and clear, protruding against thin linen pants I shouldn’t have worn today.
This does not look good.
Her gaze drops. She’s hunching her shoulders in a way that makes my stomach flop through my feet. What a terrible, awful, unforgiveable mistake this is.
She shakes her head rapidly. “No, no, no, fuck, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry.” She’s shrieking now. “I’ll just go!”
Mia makes a run for it. The rest of the crew are a good hundred yards ahead of us.
“Wait! No!” I call, but she doesn’t turn around.
“It’s not your fault!” My voice is swallowed by the wind.
She doesn’t stop running until she catches up with the others. Then, at a safe distance, she turns.
My heart’s hammering. That was close, way too close. What the hell is wrong with me? Mia’s a member of my staff, with a daily expenditure figure on her head, and that’s the sum total of my interest in her. If I can’t control myself around her, I’ll just have to avoid her, but on a tiny tropical island there won’t be many places to hide. I’ll have to behave like a fucking saint.
***
I CALL FELIX when I get home and he comes over within half an hour. I told him I was cooking New Orleans gumbo, his favorite.
“This even beats the last one,” Felix says, settling back against my sofa and patting his stomach. “I think roasting the red peppers first was the clinching factor.”
“Thanks. It was a wild improvisation.”
“So, Islas Las Aves, huh? I had to Google Maps it.”
“Yeah, quite off the beaten path. Cheapest I could find.”
“What is it? The playground of a Venezuelan dictator? Smugglers’ paradise?”
“It’s legit.” I shrug. “If I can trust my location director.”
“Can you?”
“No,” I say with a laugh. “But I’m on a strict budget so I can’t turn over every stone.”
“I hear you. So, taking anyone special to your paradise hideout?”
“Nope.”
I must have said it too quickly because he grins. “That almost sounded like you’re in denial.”
I stir my coffee with more focus than required. Anything I say will incriminate me further.
When I look up again, Felix is still grinning. “Aha. Not ready to talk yet. I can wait.”
I silently regard his sprawled form, trying to remember the last time I spent a quality evening with him, or indeed anyone. My nocturnal socializing of late has been limited to quick fucking to forget the trials of the day. If I’m feeling particularly magnanimous, dinner beforehand. But never breakfast after. “You haven’t been here in ages. God, when did it all get so complicated?”
Felix stretches his arms behind his head. “For you? Oh, I’d say about the time we got the call from Paul telling us we have three million dollars sitting in a Bitcoin wallet.”
“That didn’t complicate my life. It simplified it.”
“You gave up everything that meant something to you.”
I shake my head. “My business means a heck of a lot to me.”
“Not nearly as much as acting did. Remember back a few years when you were a human?”
“Maybe I’m good at business. Maybe I want to serve the industry. Maybe achieving something worthwhile gives me satisfaction.”
Felix shakes his head. “Depends on your definition of worthwhile. Where this dumb work ethic comes from, I do not know.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem to have infiltrated your genes.”
“And thank God for that.”
It annoys me that he’s lounging there, feeling superior. “People rely on me, Felix—one of whom, I’d like to remind you, is you.”
“I always pay you back.”
“Yeah, till the day you can’t.”
He sighs. “Here we go.”
“See, this movie will be proof that I’ve arrived in Hollywood. I’ll be finally profitable by my own hands, not just some useless ass punk actor who got lucky with Bitcoin.”
“But, Jacky, nobody sees you that way.”
“I do.”
I grapple for something else to talk about, but Felix is only into his poker and nightlife. For all his charm and polished manners in outside company, he’s got a seedy lifestyle that’s not exactly cocktail party conversation fodder. His relationships with women are as fleeting as mine.
“Your turn to cook next,” I say. “Pick up any decent recipes on your travels?”
“Sure, I got a great sushi recipe I want to nail. Let me see, I’ve got to be in Oklahoma next weekend, but after that my calendar’s open.”
“What’s in Oklahoma?”
“A game.”
“In Oklahoma?”
“It’s kind of underground.”
“Illegal, you mean?”
“Hmm, would I call it illegal?” he muses, tapping a finger against his chin.
“Felix, just…be careful.”
“But aren’t I always?” he says with that trademark smile. “Sounds like you’re the one who needs to be careful.”