Grantley
I was in my trailer and I finally felt warm. It was our second day on location and we were filming at an old warehouse out in the boonies and it was fucking cold enough to freeze off my nuts. Production and the set designers had done a great job, making the warehouse look like some sort of fortified drug factory, but you’d have thought they’d have put some damn heating in because the industrial hot air blowers just weren’t cutting it.
Wrapping my hands around a mug of coffee, I looked down at the shooting schedule on the table in front of me and sighed. Our next location, in two days, was a moat house just south of Manchester. It was only the lead actors and some secondary actors going there, and I was fucking pissed because we were going to be staying there for three days.
You’d think I’d have been grateful for three days away – Sue-Ann was arriving the day we left, so our mother/son reunion would be delayed, thank fuck, but I couldn’t help but think that it was three days away from the set. Three days away from Phoebe and three days that Declan, the prick, would be around her, staring at her fucking rack.
Yeah, it kind of worried me that I felt that way if I was being honest. I guess it was because apart from Barney and Penny, she was the only person I spoke to at any length. I chatted with the rest of the cast, but I’d never been one to get too involved with my fellow actors. I’d never had an off-screen relationship with a co-star during filming. I didn’t party with the gang on down days. I pretty much kept to myself and I liked it that way. I couldn’t think of anything more torturous than having to put effort into trying to be nice to people after a long, exhausting day. Plus, actors are a delicate bunch, especially if our egos aren’t stroked regularly, so me being a miserable fucker to the woman I’m supposed to have a sex scene with the next day, wouldn’t bode well. I did not want to be the victim of a booby-trapped modesty pouch just because I didn’t romance the leading lady enough the night before.
Which led me back to Phoebe. She took me for who I was. She didn’t give a shit that I was the lead actor or a movie star. She called me out. She gave me shit. She made me fucking smile and there weren’t many people who could say they’d managed that and I was going to damn well miss her.
The last couple of days on location, we’d started eating lunch together. It wasn’t such a huge thing because Alexi encouraged that the whole cast mix in, but I always made sure I got a seat next to her; usually at the end of one of the long tables where we all ate. She talked a lot about the boys and Beth, a little about her parents, who sounded as fucked up as mine, and she told me funny stories of her time as an extra. I listened intently to every word that came out of her mouth and found her totally captivating. The fact that she was damn nice to look at was becoming an added bonus rather than the main factor of why I wanted to be around her.
Three days at the moat house meant I’d have to interact with other people, something I was not looking forward to. I knew that Francesca, who played my love interest, would use her time wisely to try and entice me into her bed. I could see it in her eyes – the idea that bedding the famous Grantley James would get her the publicity that she craved. Well, it would not be happening.
I drank the rest of my coffee, took my glasses off and put them on the table, then got up to take the mug to the sink. The trailer I had was pretty cool; with a big ass white leather couch, a stainless-steel kitchen, and a huge TV. At one end there was even a day bed with more fucking pillows on it than they probably stocked at Bed, Bath & Beyond. It was ridiculously plush considering I probably spent a sum total of two hours a day in it. No doubt that would change when we did some night shoots once we got back from the moat house. Night shoots could be ridiculously long – you didn’t rely on the light, so directors tended to keep going for hours.
I wasn’t due back on set for another hour, so after washing my mug, I flicked on the TV and scrolled through the channels. The UK channels didn’t have much to interest me, but I found one that was showing reruns of Malcolm in the Middle, an old favorite of mine – I always dreamed of having a family like Malcolm’s. No matter how dysfunctional they were, they were definitely better than mine. I was just settling down to watch the Halloween episode - where Lois gets arrested for kidnapping when she picks up the wrong kid- when I heard a loud knock at the door.
I considered ignoring it, but the second hard knock was followed by an ‘Oow, shit that hurt’, in a voice that I recognized as Phoebe’s. I quickly pushed up from the couch and rushed to the door and opened it.
“Hey,” I said, not able to stop the huge ass grin from seeing her dressed in a pair of white coveralls and blue hair net on her head. “Get inside you must be frozen.”
I ushered her in and quickly closed the door, shutting out the cold air.
“It’s not that cold,” she remarked, looking me up and down, no doubt taking in the thick sweater, fingerless gloves, and wool scarf wrapped around my neck.
“It fucking is.”
“You Americans are such wimps.” Phoebe’s giggle danced around the space, and suddenly I felt a whole lot warmer.
“Just us SoCal dudes,” I mocked, finishing with a surfer drawl.
“Aren’t you from Iowa, according to Wikipedia? Don’t they have cold winters there?”
She paused and leaning over the couch, regarded the shelf above it and tilting her head, looked at the few books that were stacked on it.
“I haven’t lived in Iowa for almost nine years,” I replied, watching as she picked up my worn copy of The Grapes of Wrath.
“I prefer Neville Shute’s A Town like Alice, from that period,” she said, flicking through the pages. “I always found Steinbeck to be a little miserable, if I’m honest.” Phoebe put the book back and turned to me with a huge grin. “So, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you like him.”
She sucked on her bottom lip to stop the smile, but her eyes were glistening and I damn well liked it.
“I’m not miserable, and I’ll have you know neither is Steinbeck. Have you ever read it?” I nodded toward the book.
“No, I read Of Mice and Men, which was enough to put me off him.”
“Well maybe you should. It’s a fantastic example of people striving to remain dignified during times of hardship.”
“Are you saying I’m undignified?” Phoebe asked narrowing her eyes, but with a little smirk on her lips.
“Couldn’t be further from the truth,” I replied, smiling right back at her. “I just think you might enjoy it if you gave it a go.”
“Maybe I will, if I ever find myself stranded on a desert island with just Steinbeck’s back catalogue for company.”
“You’re a damn philistine.” I laughed and shook my head. “I got a similar response from Sue-Ann when I suggested she read it. Her, I get it – she has the attention span of a Kardashian in Target - but you, I expected better.”
Phoebe’s mouth gaped. “You’re not dissing the Kardashians are you? How dare you?”
“Please don’t tell me you buy into all that crap. My estimation of you has dropped even further – not only do you hate Steinbeck, but you like the fucking evil enemy that is trying to take over the world.”
Phoebe grinned and flopped down onto the couch. “I don’t really. I’ve never watched the show. The only opinion I have is that arse is ridiculous – sorry, I’m not sure even which one it belongs to. In fact,” she said crinkling her brow, “maybe the arse should have its own show.”
“Hey, come on now, Kanye is probably far too busy.”
Phoebe burst out laughing, rocking back in her seat and lifting her legs in the air. As she did, the legs of her coveralls lifted to reveal a pair of slim ankles, which weirdly I found damn sexy. Who knew ankles could be a turn on?
“Why the hell are you dressed like that, anyway?” I asked, joining her on the couch.
“I’m in the factory scene. I’m one of the people packing the drugs.”
“Oh okay.” I nodded and looked down her body. “Do people who work in factories wear that shit?”
Phoebe shrugged. “No idea, maybe if they’re packing cocaine into toy dolls they do.”
“Actually I’m not sure they would. People who work in factories packing drugs would probably be doing it in their underwear.”
“Really?” she asked, screwing up her cute little nose.
“Yeah. No place to stash the drugs in case they think it might be a good idea to take a sample.”
“Well I’m glad we’re not being too realistic. There’s no way I’d want to sit next to Declan in my bra and knickers.”
“But you wouldn’t mind being on film in your underwear?” I asked, grinning at thoughts of her in a skimpy bra and panties.
“What can I say, I’m a martyr to my art,” she replied, nonchalantly looking at her nails.
I laughed and poked her leg with my foot.
“Anyway,” I said, leaning my head back on the couch and turning to look at her. “What did you come over for?”
A little blush pinked her cheeks, as she averted her gaze from me.
“Was bored, so I thought I’d pop over and check on you.”
“How can you be bored? Aren’t you supposed to be packing drugs into baby dolls?”
“There was an incident.”
Phoebe started to mess with one of the buttons on her coveralls, unfastening and then refastening it.
“What sort of incident?” I asked tentatively.
“It wasn’t my fault really.”
“What wasn’t?”
Shit, what the hell had she done? If it was something major, Alexi might throw her off the set. Funny, seeing as I’d been the one to threaten it a couple of times, yet now I was desperate for her to stay.
“I punched Declan,” she finally replied on a sigh.
I shifted on the couch, pushing myself up straighter. “Why the fuck did you feel the need to punch that prick?” I asked, feeling my teeth start to clench. “What did he do?”
“He got a little close to me when we were packing the cocaine. He kept moving his stool closer to mine, until his knee was touching mine. So I asked him to move.”
“And he didn’t,” I stated.
Phoebe shook her head slowly. “I moved and then he moved, and I just got a little mad.”
“So you punched him?”
My emotions were mixed – I fucking loved that she’d kicked the little prick’s ass, but I fucking hated that she’d felt that she needed to. I knew that little fucker was…well, a fucker.
“Kind of. I pulled my arm back to push him away, but my stool kind of propelled forward and the flat of my hand hit him smack on the nose.”
I felt like high-fiving her, but knew I should retain some semblance of professionalism.
“Okay, so did you break his nose?”
“No, but it did bleed all over his costume. In fact,” she said, looking a little perplexed, “he bled an awful lot.”
“So they had to stop filming?”
Phoebe nodded and sighed. “Yep. He screamed, too. Anyone would think I’d stabbed him with the noise he was making. He ruined the dialogue, you know.”
“Are you in trouble?” I put my hands on the couch, readying myself to get up and go fight her corner.
“God no,” she exclaimed. “Rosie who was next to me, told Alexi that I’d head butted Declan by accident.” She giggled. “Apparently she caught Declan looking at her boobs the other day, so she was pretty pleased with what happened.”
I let out a long breath, thankful that she wasn’t in trouble, but when I looked at her face I could see that behind the smile there was worry.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Alexi didn’t say anything did he?”
“No, honestly. He was lovely about it, even though we’re going to have to break for a while so they can clean Declan and the cocaine up.”
“Clean the cocaine?”
“Hmm, when he bled, it also spurted over some of the cocaine and the conveyor belt. It needs to be cleaned and disinfected for health and safety reasons.”
“Who said that?” I asked, wondering how bad a mood Alexi would be in after being delayed over some ridiculous, bureaucratic ruling made by some inflexible, little idiot.
“Oh I did,” she replied with a beautiful smile. “I’m the Health and Safety rep.”