Carter
MY CELL PINGS with the ringtone I’ve downloaded and assigned exclusively to Julian: the opening bars of the Mission Impossible theme song. He hates it, which is why I love it.
I reach over, grab the phone, and lean my back against the headboard. Beside me, Tori shifts, her arms winding their way around my waist. I use my free hand to brush back a few strands of her hair so I can fully see her sleeping face.
“What’s up, Julian?”
“Just wanted to let you know that Hollywood Observer published an early review of Hard Times.”
“No shit?”
“It’s not good, Carter.”
My heart pounds, and my stomach clenches. “They trashed my performance?”
“They trashed the entire movie, but yes, you’re a part of the trashing.”
Fuck. Hearing about a bad review hurts just as much as reading one. “Do I want to read it?”
Julian sighs into the phone. “Is not reading it even a realistic option for you?”
“No, you’re right. Let me take it all in, and then we’ll talk, okay?”
“Sure.”
Before I can disconnect the call, Julian stops me. “Carter,” he says with hesitation in his voice.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about this, man. But remember, it’s a single review, and another critic will love it.”
It’s then that I remember this can’t be easy on him, either. His reputation suffers when his clients bomb. “Thanks, J. And I’m sorry about this, too.”
He chuckles. “We’ll be fine, Carter. I’m not worried. And don’t beat yourself up about this. It’s a hiccup in the scheme of things.”
“Yeah. Later.”
After ending the call, I disentangle myself from Tori, who turns on her side with one eye open and asks if everything’s okay. “Yeah,” I tell her. “Go back to sleep. I just have to check something.”
She grumbles an unintelligible response and closes her eyes.
I slip on a pair of jeans and walk barefoot to the living room. A simple search produces the review in question.
Uninspiring. Emotionless. Don’t quit your day job. Holy shit, the reviewer didn’t hold back. At all.
I jump at the sound of Tori padding down the hall.
She approaches the living room, her steps tentative. One of her cheeks is lined with my comforter’s pattern. She’s wearing my white T-shirt, which ends just below the tops of her thighs, and she’s holding her own phone in her hand. Tori’s the bright spot in my dreadful morning.
“Hey, what’s going on?” she asks as she leans against the archway.
After dropping my phone on the couch, I stride across the room and pull her toward me. “It’s nothing.” I nuzzle her neck, but not long enough for my liking.
She pulls away and peers at me. “Carter, what happened?”
I take a long breath. “Hollywood Observer published an early review for Hard Times. Apparently, the movie and my performance did not impress the critic.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry. Is a review in Hollywood Observer a big deal?”
I nod. “It’s the equivalent of a book review in the New York Times.”
She winces. “Didn’t you just finish filming the movie like six weeks ago? How is it finished already?”
“The production was largely complete months ago. The only scenes left to edit were the ones after my weight loss.”
She nods and reaches for my hand. “Can I read the review?”
“Why?”
Her fingers intertwine with mine, and she squeezes. “It’s hard to console you when I don’t know the nature of the critique.”
I pull up the article on my iPhone and hand it to her. “I’ll warn you now. It’s painful.”
She drops on the couch, sets her own phone down, and pats the sofa cushion. “Come.” I’m too jumpy to sit, so I motion for her to start. It’s fucking annoying that this is how we’re spending our morning-after.
As she reads, I watch her face for signs of her reaction. The entire time, she alternates between furrowing her brows and pursing her lips, and when she’s done, her mouth drops open. “Wow. She’s a snide one. Ever get one like this before?”
“No. And I’m not used to being raked over the coals in the press like this. Have I been embarrassed at an audition? Passed over for a part? Received faint praise? Sure, plenty of times. But this is different. This is a professional review that’s nasty as hell, and hundreds of thousands of people will see it.”
“I’m sorry, Carter. I don’t know what to say. But it comes with the job, right?”
“Yeah. It does. But this one hurts more than any criticism directed at me in the past. Hard Times was an opportunity to demonstrate my range, to show that I’m capable of playing more than the handsome-neighbor love interest. I failed.”
She snaps her brows together. “It’s an opinion, Carter. One person’s opinion, which by definition, means it’s subjective.”
I scrub a hand down my face and grasp onto the back of my neck. She’s right. But what if there are others? What if this is one of many bad reviews to come? “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, but my head doesn’t know how to put this in its proper perspective.”
“Okay, let’s say this review isn’t a one-off. Suppose several reviewers trash the film. You’re not going to stop acting, are you? Of course not. Besides, every actor’s entitled to a Gigli.”
I shake my head at her, still distracted by the zingers in the review. “A what?”
“Oh, c’mon, Carter. A Gigli. Ben Affleck? Jennifer Lopez? Almost universally regarded as one of the worst films of the modern age.”
Understanding dawns then. She makes a good point. “Well, it’s technically not true that Gigli was a one-off. Affleck also starred in Jersey Girl and Daredevil.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “My point is that not every film is going to be a critical success, and even great actors get caught in the crossfire. Judi Dench in The Chronicles of Riddick. What the hell was she doing in a movie with Vin Diesel? Jon Voight in Anaconda.”
My mind whirs. “Matt Damon in The Brothers Grimm.”
She stares at me with a blank look on her face. “Never saw that one. Straight to DVD?”
“I think so.” I pace the room, snapping my fingers. “Bradley Cooper in that movie where he’s an author—”
“The Words,” she calls out, smiling.
“Denzel Washington—”
She raises a hand to stop me and pulls me down next to her. “He’s off-limits. My mother would have my head if I talked badly about him.”
She swivels to the side and wedges one of her legs in the space between my back and the sofa cushion. I turn and fall back against her so that we’re lying together, her hands sifting through my hair. This woman gets me in a way I never expected. If I were upset and had to flash a smile for the cameras, she’d know it wasn’t genuine. I’ve never put on a façade with her, even when she didn’t know I was Carter Stone. With her, I embrace my realness, whether good, bad, or embarrassing. Maybe it’s because she wants me for me, not for what I can give her.
I tilt my head up. “Thanks for listening.”
“I want to be there for you, Carter. That’s what . . . girlfriends do, right?”
Her voice halts midsentence, telling me this isn’t a casual observation. No, this is big for her. I reach behind me and caress her neck. She leans into my touch and runs a finger from my navel to my chest.
Her phone buzzes on the table, and she shifts our positions to grab it. After a few swipes and a bit of typing, she says, “Eva. Wanted to make sure I’m okay.”
“Did you tell her that I rocked your world last night?”
Her body shakes with laughter. “No, I told her I rocked yours.”
She continues to read her phone, and then she gasps.
I sit up. “What is it?”
She shakes her head, and I glance at her screen. She’s reading an email, and her lips curve into a slow smile, calming my rapidly beating heart. “It’s nothing. We can talk about it later.”
I sit up. “Tori, it’s something. I can tell by the look on your face. Don’t hold back on my account.”
She chews her bottom lip as she studies me. “It’s from an investor group I contacted a while ago. At first, they told me they weren’t taking applications. Now they’re saying one of their deals fell through, and they’d like to know if I’m interested in submitting a proposal. Look.”
I read the email as she bounces next to me. “Dreams Inferred LLC. Cool name.”
She grabs my forearms. “Do you know what this means? I might be able to get backing for my own studio.”
I drop the phone onto the couch and pull her into my arms. “That’s fantastic news, Tori.”
She scratches her bottom lip as she stares into space. “But they’re only giving me a week to submit, and they’d like to schedule the pitch meeting soon after that. That’s not a lot of time.”
“I have no doubt you’ll get it done with time to spare.”
The tension in her face eases. “Thanks.”
She stands, and I rise, too. She moves into my arms as though it’s the most natural response to being this close to each other. “I have to get to the gym.” Then she sighs.
Uh-oh. “What?” I ask.
“Your training. You can’t slack off completely. How about I give you some ideas for a more intense home training program . . . until you return to California?”
“That would be great. I’ll purchase a set of weights and have them delivered here. Julian and I usually work out together. I’ll hook up with him when I get back.”
She drops her gaze to the floor. “When will that be?”
“Two weeks or so. I have to return to LA to do the table read for Man on Third.”
She lifts her head and gives me a quizzical expression. “What’s a table read?”
“It’s when the cast sits around a conference table and reads the script aloud. We do it before the filming of the current season. I was supposed to do it sooner, but I asked for more time so I could work on getting a part in Swan Song. I’d love to take you on set. You could see what it’s like. Hang out with me at my place, maybe?”
I don’t tell her that I’m hoping she’ll love that. Best-case scenario: She doesn’t find the attention too much to handle.
She widens her eyes and gives me a hesitant smile. The look on her face guts me. Julian’s right. I’m whipped.
“I’d like that,” she says. But then she frowns. “But I’ll probably be meeting with the investment group that week.”
“Right. Another time, then.”
“For sure,” she says.
I don’t want to press—but then again, I do. “When?”
She tilts her head to the side. “When what?”
“When would be a good time for you to visit me?”
She sighs. “I’m not sure, Carter. This meeting with the investment group is all I can focus on right now. Let’s revisit when I know more, okay?”
“Sure, I understand,” I tell her.
And for the first time, I really do understand. She’ll never be thrilled about dating an actor, so an opportunity to come to LA and go on set isn’t going to entice her. This isn’t just about me and what I want. This is also about Tori and what she doesn’t want.
I remind myself to keep Ashley’s advice in mind: Baby steps, Carter. Baby steps.