Grantley
“Is this fucking rain ever gonna stop?” I asked Barney, my security guy.
We were in the hotel and all I could see through the damn floor to ceiling window was rain, rain, and more fucking rain.
“Any chance that fucker will break its banks?”
Barney chuckled his usual deep boom. “That fucker is the River Irwell, I believe.” He shook his head and smiled while he continued to tinkle the keys of the baby grand piano that was in my room.
“Whatever,” I grumbled. “The point is, if this weather keeps up are we likely to be flooded?”
“I checked the forecast, and the rain is due to stop around eight-thirty.”
“That fucking exact, hey? Well great, just another three hours of this shit.”
I heaved a sigh, missing the LA sunshine and pushed away from the window, making my way to the kitchen of my suite.
“You want coffee?” I asked.
“Nope, I’m good.”
Barney had been with me for almost three years, and as well as my security he was pretty much my only friend, seeing as most of my old friends had gotten sick of my miserable ass a long time ago. Sure, when I’d hit the big time a few crawled back out of the woodwork, but I’m smart enough to know when I’m being used – hence it usually being just me and the big guy.
I’d employed him after I’d seen him deal with a real stupid dude who tried to get into the LA club where Barney was doing security. The prick, having already been thrown out, thought he could rush Barney and get back in – needless to say the guy ended up out cold, on his back, on the sidewalk. I’d just got a part in a movie and knew it was gonna be big, which meant in turn so would I. Call me a big-headed prick if you want to, but I know how fucking good an actor I am. With fame comes Paparazzo, horny housewives who literally want a piece of you, and idiot douchebags who want to gain their own bit of fame by being the guy to put you on your ass – hence why I employed the 250 pounds of black muscle.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to take this place, if the weather is like this all the time,” I called back to Barney, scratching at the stubble on my chin.
“Maybe if you quit moaning like some pansy-ass-pussy, you’d stop worrying about it.”
“You do know I fucking pay you to take care of me, not insult me, don’t you?”
“Yep.”
That was followed by another deep laugh and a new tune on the piano. I smiled as I heard Beyonce’s, ‘Crazy in Love’ being played. Who’d have thought an ex-brawler like Barney could tickle the ivories to a pretty good standard.
“You called your mom?” I asked.
“Yep, you called yours?”
I paused putting the stupid little pod into the coffee machine. I mean come on, what the fuck is wrong with grounds, hot water, and a jug?
“Did you?” Barney’s deep voice growled.
“No, and I’m not going to.”
As I reached for a mug, the piano playing stopped and I knew Barney was on his way into the kitchen. We had the same argument at least three times a week – why hadn’t I called my loving mother? That would be because she’s a drunk bitch who couldn’t give two shits about me. She never had and never would. As long as I deposited money into her account every month she didn’t give a damn whether she ever saw me again.
“Grantley,” Barney said from behind me.
“Listen Barney, we’ve been over this. I give her money and that’s about the sum total of my devotion to that woman. You have no-”
“I have no idea what it was like growing up with her as my mother.” Barney placed a huge hand on my shoulder. “I know Grant, you’ve told me many times, but take it from someone who knows, don’t leave it until it’s too fucking late.”
I shrugged my shoulder from under his hand and turned away. I never let anyone see the hurt that I knew was in my eyes when talking about my mother. Barney had no idea what I’d gone through as a kid. All he knew was that he was at odds with his dad when the guy dropped dead of a heart attack and he would never forgive himself and thought I should take heed from his mistakes. Me, well I was a cold-hearted fucker who didn’t care whether I never spoke to my mom again. I only gave her money to stop her selling stories about me for cash. I could hand on heart say, if she died tomorrow there would not be one microscopic bit of guilt on my part. Fuck it, I might even throw a party with fairground rides and fire-eaters.
“I’m not discussing this with you, Barney. We’ll agree to disagree.”
Barney sighed and reached around me to snag an apple from the display of fruit that the hotel replaced every damn day – another total waste of money. A few grapes, a couple of bananas, and some berries in the refrigerator would be perfectly acceptable. That’s what you got for being a Hollywood movie star, I guess.
“Okay, but just think about it.”
“I have, not gonna do it again and I’ve decided she can go fuck herself. Okay?”
I looked at him with wide eyes and arched brows and waited, finally he nodded and turned to leave the kitchen.
After a few minutes, I followed him and found him standing by the couch, scrolling through his cell.
“You mind if I go out for a while?” he asked, without looking up at me. “Mr. Rodrigo said he’ll send someone around, if you’d feel safer. In fact, my friend, I think he told Marcia you were never to be left alone.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered. “I’m not a fucking baby, or more to the point, that dick- Ryan Rushton.”
Alexi Rodrigo was the producer/director and franchise holder of the Addison Yates movies and after what happened to my predecessor – he lost half his fucking nose through snorting too much blow -was paranoid about anything happening to me, so he was a little over protective. Marcia Silva was my agent and was one of the best in the business – mainly because she didn’t take shit from anyone- directors, producers, and certainly not her clients.
“I’d love to know what Marcia said about that,” I muttered, imagining her telling Alexi to go fuck himself at trying to tell her what to do with her client.
“Yep, I’m thinking the same,” Barney replied with a deep chuckle. “I think he’s pretty glad she’s stuck in Tahoe trying to get Jen out of that movie.”
Jennifer Barbuda was a stablemate of mine and her previous agent had signed her up for some shit, soft-porn movie without telling her. When it became apparent that Jen was going to have to do some pretty salacious scenes, without a body double, Marcia took the first flight out there to, in her words, ‘sort the fucking ass wipe’s clusterfuck out and rescue Jen’.
“I think I’ll be safe in the suite and I’m definitely not going out in this rain. I’ll do a final read-through for the scenes we’re going to be shooting tomorrow. Where you going anyway? Unless you don’t want to tell me of course.”
I grinned at Barney as his head lifted. I hated arguing with him, so I felt relieved when he flashed his teeth at me in a wide smile.
“Lady I know lives nearby.”
“How the fuck does a man from the Bronx know a woman who lives in Manchester, England?”
“She worked in New York for a while, a couple of years back. Used to come to the club most Friday nights and we got…shall we say, friendly.”
I rolled my eyes and flopped down onto the couch, grabbing my script with my spare hand. Lifting my coffee mug to my lips, I looked over at Barney, who was punching out a text.
“You coming back tonight?”
He looked up at me, his thumbs still flashing across the screen of his cell. “Yep, not sure what time, but I’ll be back in time to wake you, don’t worry.”
I nodded and let out a long exhale. I rarely slept well through the night, usually dropping into a real deep sleep just before dawn. It then became a huge struggle to wake. One time, Barney had to douse me with a vase full of water I was in such a deep sleep. In the past, I’d missed my studio car a couple of times and one time slept through my shoot time. That had nearly cost me the job and ultimately it would have been my reputation in the john, so since then Barney was always around to wake me.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” Barney asked as he came out of his bedroom, dressed to impress and smelling of my fucking cologne.
“I will if you stop stealing my stuff.” I complained, taking off my black-rimmed glasses. “Don’t I pay you enough to buy your own cologne?”
“Sure do, but I’m thinking my lady might like me smelling of the great Grantley James.”
“She’ll have no fucking clue what I smell like.” I shook my head and pointed at him. “Is that my fucking sweater, too?”
Barney shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Well I can’t fucking wear that again, can I?” I protested. “You’re as wide as a fucking tank, it’ll be stretched now.”
“Gee, sorry boss.”
The fucker winked at me and opened the door. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Just go you thieving bastard.” I waved a hand at him, dismissively. “And have a great time.”
“I will.”
When the door clicked behind him, I picked up my glasses and went back to my script. A script that I could recite backwards if I needed to. I was ready for the next day, in fact, I’d been ready for months. The script was engraved deep into my brain, my body was sculpted to perfection after hour upon hour in the gym, my mind was clear and I was hungry to start. So why the fuck did I feel as though something scary was about to happen?