Sophia
The door swings open and Blake looms across the threshold, his arms wrapping tight around his labouring chest like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Maybe he doesn’t want me to see the blood on his knuckles. Either way, he’s suspended on the doorstep his eyes burning with a simmering fire. "When did it start?" His question grinds as a gravelly rasp and my stomach twists and turns into a tight ball. Just come in. Don’t stand there with that look on your face.
I fall to the sofa, hiding my jittering fingers under my legs, but it doesn’t help, they itch with the need to reach for a reprieve, an escape. With jerky movements, I stretch for the packet of smokes on the table and shuffle one into my hand, lifting it to my lips and sparking with my lighter. The frown of repulsion across his face deepens. Ironic when he used to smoke all the time in the old days.
I drag in some cigarette fuelled breaths until I am strong enough to hold his gaze. "About four months after you left."
A slump of defeated surprise loosens his hold across his middle. "But that was five years ago."
I shrug and drag on my cigarette. It burns and pushes my lungs until they can’t expand one more millimetre.
"What happened that night?" His gaze darkens to a dangerous hue of hardened sapphire. "The night you went to rehab?"
His question is a sucker punch to my stomach and I gasp. It’s a low blow in conversational change of direction. "I’m not talking about it." I fold myself into a rounded ball. "And I will never talk about it."
"Fine."
He moves into the room and I watch every motion, every movement, every single shift of his lithe shape. It hurts. I need to switch off these feelings. He hadn’t wanted me then when I was young, clean and glowing with the vitality of life. The disgusted look smeared across his face right now tells me he wants me even less now. But I want him. I’ve never wanted anything more.
"Are you going to this lunch?" He pulls at the fridge door, his fingers straining on the handle more than needed and he eyes the contents inside.
I spark another cigarette, my first already drained and stubbed out with splintering intensity. "I don’t know."
His back straightens, his shoulders pull tight through the crisp white cotton of his shirt. "You should."
Something inside dies a little. He thinks I should get back out there, face the people who’d led me down the dark path of destruction, merrily holding my hand on the way.
He doesn’t care. Not at all. Not in the slightest. Stop fooling yourself Sophia.
"Fine." I jump from the couch, dropping my stub end into the ashtray. "I’ll get ready."
"Good."
I’m at the door when he calls me back. "I’ll come with you, though, right?"
Is that an undercurrent to his question I can hear? Am I making shit up now just to make myself feel better, to make myself believe this attraction isn’t one sided—again. My heart squeezes until I want to crumple. "Yes."
Turning I find his indigo gaze settling on my face. "Yes."
Without another word I walk to my closet and wonder what I’m supposed to wear when pretending I still give a shit about the career that has ruined my life.
* * *
Edward Stein assesses me with quick intent, eyes over the top of his champagne glass. Swallowing my craving, I imagine the bubbles as they hit the back of my throat, tingling my tongue on the way down, warming my blood with that gentle buzz. I sip at my club soda and smile. I kept my hair down. Not intentionally. I had it up, but before we’d walked out the door to Davies in the Town Car, Blake lifted his fingers to the clip keeping it tangled in a messy knot and pulled it out. "It’s softer." Was all he’d said and once he’d turned away I’d stared at the blonde strands expecting to see them alive with fire after his scorching touch.
In my head, I have his fingers in my hair on a repetitive loop and an irrepressible shiver of anticipation keeps rushing down my spine. It’s making it hard to concentrate on anything else around me.
Now Edward Stein's eyes are on my hair and it feels nothing like when Blake gazed at the strands. I know Stein is assessing the damage I’ve done to myself, whether the camera will still love me now I’m thinner, sharper boned, lined. "You looked good on GMA, Sophia. How did it feel?"
My lips tighten into the courteous smile I’m used to wearing all day every day, like some girls wear painful heels. My cheeks rebel at the sensation. "What do you mean, Ted?"
I sick a little in my mouth. Edward likes all the women to call him Ted. It’s his thing. He’s a dirty pervert; he’s never tried anything with me, but I’ve heard the rumours. Hollywood is as sinful as hell—didn’t I know. My skin crawls and I scan the restaurant desperately seeking the exit, shifting, ready to escape. I estimate thirty steps to the door, I count them in my head. If I can make it past the Maître D', past the celebrity fans who loiter outside the gilded doorway waiting to see anyone famous—they didn’t care who—I would be free.
A dark shape looms in my sight. Him. My gaze meets his as he stands to the side, loitering with the casual calm pose of a bodyguard he’s always made look so sexy. He lifts his hand to me in a silent gesture. A palm down, soothing motion, as one would tell a child to stay still. "Breathe," he mouths and somehow I force myself from frozen to action. One large lungful of air with the movement of his hand and I’m almost in control. Almost. My pulse is still marching in the base of my throat but I can handle that, can ignore it as I get through this hellish meeting. I swing back to Terrible Ted with my smile a little wider, a little warmer, a little more real.
"In front of the camera?" he explains, not that he needs to make clear his intention. "It’s been six months hasn’t it since the last set wrapped? I know Johnny has missed you."
I falter and my chest tightens at Johnny’s name.
How did our fantasy of a relationship get so out of control that now everyone believes it?
Ted smirks like he can read my thoughts. He doesn’t have a clue what I’m thinking. "You guys put yourselves through the ringer, but you know what, Sophia? I think the column inches will all be worth it when the next film comes out." He shifts back in his seat smugly. "I think it’s all going to spin nicely for you. We shall have to see what roles we can partner you together in next."
I gasp at his words, my smile etching into my cheeks until they burn. Apprehension waves through me.
This isn’t what lunch is supposed to be about. It’s about my career and how I can move it forward, what the studio can offer next. Not how I can spend longer suspended in this alternate fake reality. This isn’t spin. It’s my fucking life. I scrabble for a response, my palms tickling with sweat which I wipe under the table on the linen tablecloth.
Davies leans across the table, for once noticing the uncomfortable blush spreading along my throat. "We don’t need to linger on that. This is lunch after all." He claps his hands and gives me a beaming smile, in the recess of his gaze is a warning. Don’t fuck this up. "Didn’t she look beautiful guys? Sophia Jennings is a star like no other." There’s a muted murmur of agreement around the table and I clear my throat summoning some bravery from deep within.
"It’s been a while since I filmed, but it felt good at GMA," I lie. I straighten my back and drop my shoulders until I’m at my full seated height. This is my chance, I should try to make my own choices while Erica isn’t here. I don’t want to be a pawn discussed at luncheons anymore. I drag a deep breath for luck. "Actually, I think I’d like to go with something small next, maybe an Independent film I can submerge myself in."
Edward shakes his head, turning for his brother Charles, who’s been largely silent towards me, his attention focused on the starlet at his side. I’ve forgotten her name already, but I’d been startled by her young face when we were introduced. She’d been free from signs of wear and tear, no bitter regrets marked on her skin. I wanted to tell her to run away, to escape, before the town and its business ate her up and spat her out. But I didn’t. I nodded when we’d met and shook her hand, instantly forgetting her name. That’s what this town does. They forget if you don’t give them something to remember every few months.
I’ve given them enough to remember to last a lifetime.
The Stein Brothers made their fortune with college based slapstick gross-out humour before branching into young adult movies, dramatising hit novels. They’ve done well for two boys from Kentucky. A little too well, Edward has had more facial work done than your average fifty-year-old actress, nose, eyes and chin all tucked. His hair is an artful smattering of grey that belies his natural ginger. Both brothers still have the element of redneck about them. Rednecks with money. Charles drags his attention away from the nameless girl’s cleavage. "Sophia, darling," he drawls, and I try hard not to roll my eyes. "We have the perfect role for you. For when this franchise is finished. The Tide of Dawn. It’s perfect for you and your English charms." Oh, am I allowed to be English in this movie?
Charles doesn’t look much like he’s a fan of my charms, his eyes flitting back to the girl at his side. What will she be offering for a part in his movie?’
"What’s the Tide of Dawn?" I ask, twiddling with my spoon. I don’t want to sound dumb, but I have been in rehab and out of contact with the world for three months so I think I can be excused. Charles offers me a wan smile. "It’s going to be next year’s summer blockbuster, we have the studio’s quarterly profit riding on it."
I meet his words with a surly silence. Did he miss my Indie Film comment?
A blockbuster is the very last thing I need. And that’s not me being an ungrateful bitch, although I know some will read it like that. It’s the truth. The thought of being on the set of a large scale movie again makes me want to run to Mars and hide under a rock.
With a smile that’s once again forced with iciness I give a slow shake of my head. "I don’t think that sounds quite what I need right now."
Edward’s expression hardens as he lifts a forkful of crab salad into his mouth. My own orange and tomato soup remains untouched and cooling on the table. He chews, taking an agonising amount of time to swallow. "You have to understand, Sophia, this is the only option we have for you right now, we can’t guarantee when we will next have a role suitable. You are our biggest star, and we want that to always continue, but we need to give the public what they want."
I baulk at his words. Is he for real? I’ve made four blockbusters for the bastards in as many years, exhausting myself on their thin storylines and endless promotional bandwagons. I’ve lied to the public for four years. Lied to the people who’ve paid hard earned cash to come see me on the big screen. I’ve sold them a lie.
It’s a test.
Shattered with sudden exhaustion, I clatter my spoon into the bowl. Orange soup splatters the white cloth.
The lunch makes sense now and I begin to seethe with humiliation. They are finding out how far I’m willing to bend to their will. How mouldable I am now I’ve near on destroyed myself.
I’m willing to go out on a limb and say I’m bent as far as a brick fucking wall.
"There are other studios." The gauntlet is thrown as my voice lowers and I meet their amused gazes and Davies groans at my side.
"Now, now, Sophia, let's not rush to decisions. We really need Erica here." Davies tries to warm the frosty atmosphere but sweat is glistening along his brow. I bet he wants Erica here, that way everyone will get what they want apart from me. He continues despite the terse glare I send in his direction. "Edward, can you courier the script over for Sophia to read this afternoon and then we will call before filming tomorrow to let you know?" I want to scream at him to shut up. I bite down on the bubble of words. The air gets hotter. My top tightens around my neck until it’s strangling me.
Edward’s head swivels between Davies and I probably wondering who’s in charge and realising with glee it’s not me, but all I can focus on is the dark shape of Blake moving towards me until he’s stood behind the back of my chair. The Steins don’t notice, neither does Davies, why would they? Security personnel are all but invisible to these people, but I notice. Blake’s hand rests on the velvet of the high-backed dining chair. He isn’t touching me, nowhere even close, but it feels like he is. My skin charges with anticipation at his close presence.
I would peel my skin off if it would have stopped me noticing.
"I’ll read the script. What’s it about?" My irritation is obvious.
Edward levels me with a flat stare. "Drug addiction."
My fingers tangle in the tablecloth, pulling it, spilling yet more of the untouched soup onto the table.
Blake coughs and I try to focus on him but static buzzes in my ears, blood rushing through my veins. Davies gives a nervous chuckle. "Should make for interesting reading, right, Fee?"
I can’t speak, my throat tightens itself into fast knots. This must surely be a sick joke. Surely?
Leaning across the table Blake whispers into my ear with enough volume that the rest of the table can overhear. "Your car is waiting, Miss Jennings. It’s time for your next appointment."
I don’t bat an eyelid. Exuding a calmness which conceals the stuttering agitation bashing around my ribcage, I nod and thank him before turning to my lunch partners. "Please excuse me, Edward, Charles, and…" I still can’t remember the poor girls name. "Everyone," I offer wanly. "I’ve got an appointment across town."
Davies glares between myself and Blake, judging the space between us with a critical glance but he says nothing.
I lift my chin, relax my shoulders and offer them a gracious smile. "I shall look forward to receiving your script." And putting it in the bin.
I sweep from the restaurant with as much dignity as I can muster. With Blake one step behind.
"It’s a joke, right?" I throw myself into the back of the car, sliding across the leather, yanking my stupid skirt up my thighs so I can move properly. Blake slips in behind, his eyes grazing briefly across the skin of my legs.
"Okay, keep hold. Focus."
"For God’s sake, Blake, we aren’t at frickin yoga now." Oxygen rushes along my veins and my head spins until the interior of the car whirls. "It’s just never going to end. It’s going to carry on forever." I shut my eyes and rest my head against the back of the seat as the hire car pulls away from the curb. People are calling through the darkened windows but I don’t move. If I move, I’ll puke.
Firm fingers grip mine.
Blake Henderson is holding my hand.
"I know we’re not at yoga, Sophia. Open your eyes and look at me." It’s a soft command but I refuse, scrunching my eyes up like a child. "Open your bloody eyes, Sophia."
Slowly, I allow him into focus, his face a grim mask, his lips in a tight line as he analyses me from under dark brows. I give a pathetic half laugh. A laugh which isn’t any sound at all but at the same time is not silence. "You know, I’ve been here for ten years and I’ve never made a single choice for myself." I watch the dark features of his face, the curve of his lips, the dark hair that wants to sprout from his cheeks, the shape of his brow. "That whole lunch was a ruse, they didn’t want me, they wanted Erica. I’m just the puppet. Wheel her out and make her feel like a big girl." A bitter haze simmers under the surface of my skin—it teases me into remembering I can do something to make it all go away.
Blake’s fingers tilt my chin, his azure eyes still unreadable. "You’re a grown woman now, Sophia, you can walk your own path."
I do another little semi laugh out of my chest. "I think we know what happens when I walk my own path."
He shrugs and I so want the edges of his lips to curve into a smile. "That’s your choice."
"I don’t even feel like a grown woman. Is that even what you see when you look at me?" Does anyone see me like a grown woman?
Those deep eyes of his trace over my face, my lips, my eyes, my throat. His words are the lowest mumble when he speaks. Under them runs a dangerous current. "You don’t want to know what I see."
My eyes shutter and I lean back, my emotions hidden from view behind my closed eyelids.
I repulse him and it hurts.
Later though, as I lay in bed skimming over the scenes on the call sheet for the following day, ready to pick up the pieces of my tattered life, I wonder what my life would be like if I could do what he said. If I could harness the grown woman inside me. Trouble is, I have no idea where she is.