Fallen star, p.9
Fallen Star, page 9
Scott got his way, and ended up sprinting the length of the square at least thirty times before they were through getting all the shots they needed.
“Having any regrets yet?” Grace asked while Scott was chugging water between takes.
He wiped his mouth and grinned like a kid who’d won a prize goldfish at the school carnival. “I could do this all day.”
They finished their last shot a half hour before they lost the light. The musicians must have played “When the Saints Go Marching In” a hundred times that day, and Grace was pretty sure she was going to have that stupid song stuck in her head until she died.
Scott took the seat next to her in the transpo van and blatantly read over her shoulder while she checked her Twitter feed. She didn’t bother chastising him this time, and ten minutes later he was fast asleep with his head resting on her shoulder. He looked so peaceful, she let him stay there the rest of the ride.
Wednesday they were shooting outside again, on the south shore of Lake Pontchartrain, and once again the call time was at the asscrack of OMG it’s still dark outside o’clock.
The lake was immense: so big it was apparently impossible to see the opposite shore even on a clear day—and today the sky was about as clear as the sludge-filled Mississippi River. The predawn sky was heavy with clouds, and a sharp, steady wind was blowing off the water. Between that and the spray kicked up by the choppy waves beating against the sea wall, Grace was shivering inside her North Face windbreaker.
“Cold?” Scott asked as she stomped her feet to keep warm.
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine once the sun comes up.”
He pulled off his knit cap and put it on her head. “Here,” he said, tugging it down over her ears.
“You don’t have to give me your hat,” she protested. Although it was soft and warm, and it smelled like him and whatever excellent-smelling hair products he used. It made Grace want to pull it down over her face and breathe in a lungful of the sensual Scott-scent, but she managed to strangle the impulse—barely.
He shrugged. “I’m heading to hair and makeup. I won’t be able to wear it anyway.”
“Thank you,” she said, already starting to feel warmer.
“Take good care of it,” he called out as he trudged off to the makeup trailer. “That’s my lucky hat.”
At 6:56 the sun came up, and at 7:15 it started to drizzle.
Grace huddled inside the tent set up for the monitors, while PAs followed the talent around with umbrellas. Until the cameras started rolling, and then the actors were stuck out in the elements, trying to deliver their lines without looking like they were getting a face full of rain. Carmen and Tamika had their hands full keeping the actors looking dry, and Ed Dudley was so busy worrying about how the rain was affecting his shots that he didn’t even have time to complain about it.
When they broke for lunch, Scott showed solidarity with the crew by eating his unsalted chicken breast and raw kale in the damp, drafty catering tent instead of warm and dry in his trailer.
“How many more setups do we have left to get through?” Tamika asked wearily.
“Twelve,” Dominic said. He was sitting next to Carmen, Grace couldn’t help noticing, even though Carmen kept insisting there was nothing going on between them. Of course, Grace was sitting next to Scott, and it wasn’t like that meant anything at all.
“Hey!” she protested when Scott sneaked a Swedish meatball off her plate. “You’ll endanger the six-pack.”
“Yeah,” Dex said, pointing his fork at Scott. “Some of us have residuals riding on those abs.”
“You’re making me regret not staying in my trailer,” Scott grumbled genially.
Dex leaned over to Grace conspiratorially. “You’re doing god’s work. Keep it up.”
The rain slowed everything down, but they just barely managed to get all their shots in before they lost the last of the day’s light. Grace had never been so glad to climb into the transpo van at the end of a location day.
“You want your hat back?” she asked Scott when he slid into the seat next to hers.
“You keep it,” he said, smiling at her in a way that made her stomach flip. “It looks better on you anyway.”
She was certain he’d been kidding earlier about it being his lucky hat. He probably had a million knit hats just like it.
That was what Grace told herself, anyway.
“I love my job,” Tamika sighed as she watched Scott and Nate rehearse.
“Me too,” Grace agreed.
It was Thursday, and they were shooting at a boxing gym in Metairie. It was…not a nice location, although Grace was sure the rustic brick walls and vintage light fixtures would look lovely on camera. But otherwise, the building was dank and grubby, and it smelled like old rubber and stale testosterone, a fragrance that was not at all improved by yesterday’s rain.
However, they were shooting a scene where Scott and Nate sparred in the ring, all shirtless and sweaty. So the view went a long way toward making up for the stench.
In addition to foreshadowing the big conflict between Scott and Nate later in the film, this boxing scene was meant to be Sunset Limited’s version of the Top Gun beach volleyball scene. It wasn’t quite Val Kilmer in the sand, but Grace would definitely buy a ticket to it, if she wasn’t already getting to watch for free.
Sometimes her job could be pretty great.
Even though it was ostensibly just a friendly sparring match, it was supposed to highlight the increasing tension between the two characters, and the fight choreography was elaborate. Every motion had to be carefully planned and executed so the actors and stuntmen didn’t get injured by a stray punch or elbow. Both Scott and Nate had wanted to do as much of the fight as they could themselves, so they were doing a last-minute run-through with Stephen and their stunt doubles to make sure they had it down before the camera started rolling.
Dex wandered over to where Tamika and Grace were sitting, twisting the cap off a bottle of coconut water. “What are you guys”—he followed their gazes and stopped—“doing,” he finished distractedly.
“Talking about how much we love our jobs,” Tamika said with another sigh.
“Mmmm, I heard that.” Dex sank down next to Grace, his attention riveted by the action in the ring. “Who do y’all think is hotter—Scott or Nate?”
“Scott,” Tamika said without hesitation.
Grace swiveled to look at her, eyebrows raised, and Tamika shrugged.
“What about you?” Dex asked, elbowing Grace.
“They’re both nice to look at,” she said noncommittally.
“Hmmm,” Dex said, twisting his mouth to one side. “After a thorough scientific analysis and much consideration, I think I’m going to have to go with Nate.”
“Really?” Grace said. “Nate?”
Dex arched a speculative eyebrow at her. “I thought they were both nice to look at.”
“Scott smells really good,” Tamika interjected, her gaze still locked on the men in the ring. “Have you noticed that?”
Grace definitely had, but she chose not to comment.
“True,” Dex agreed with enthusiasm—apparently everyone had been going around sniffing Scott. “But Nate’s taller, which is important when you’re my height. And Scott’s got that tiny bootie.”
Grace tilted her head as she watched Scott dodge one of Nate’s punches. “You think it’s tiny?”
She wouldn’t call Scott’s ass small—it filled out the boxing shorts he was wearing quite nicely—but she supposed it was smaller than Nate’s, which looked like two bowling balls in a hammock. Scott was leaner than Nate overall, but Grace preferred that. Nate was so muscular he was verging into bodybuilder territory, which had never been much to her taste.
Not much about Nate was to her taste, to be honest. He was objectively gorgeous and perfectly nice, but whenever she was talking to him she couldn’t help wishing she was talking to someone else.
Dex shrugged. “I’m an ass man, what can I say?”
“I like Scott’s scruff,” Tamika said. Her eyes shifted to the side of the ring where Scott’s stunt double was watching the action, and her smile got wider. “I like it on Ben too.”
“Scruff’s good,” Grace agreed.
“All that friction,” Tamika said. “Totally adds to the sensation.”
Dex swung his head around, eyes widening. “Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”
“What?” Tamika said innocently.
“Y’all are nasty!” Dex cackled. “I love it.”
There was a cry of pain from the ring where the actors were rehearsing, and Grace’s head snapped around.
Scott was on the floor, curled up on his side. When he rolled onto his back, there was blood all over his face.
“Fuck,” Scott groaned as he rolled onto his back. “Ow. Dammit.” He reached up to touch his nose experimentally. It didn’t seem to be broken, but his fingers came away covered with blood.
It was Scott’s own damn fault he’d gotten hurt. He’d made the fatal mistake of letting himself get distracted—well, not fatal, just excruciatingly painful.
He’d known Grace was watching him rehearse and he’d wanted to impress her, like some kind of fucking schoolboy showing off at recess. Instead of paying attention to what he was doing, he’d been paying attention to how he looked while he was doing it.
And that was how you got a stray fist in the nose.
“Aww, jeez. I’m so sorry, man.” Nate stared down at Scott in horror as Stephen and Joe rushed up.
“I’m okay,” Scott assured them before they could say anything. “It was just a love tap.”
“We’ll let the set medic be the judge of that.” Joe’s gruff tone meant his budget was probably flashing before his eyes.
They helped Scott sit up, and the medic came over to examine Scott.
“I’m fine,” Scott grumbled while she checked him for signs of a concussion. “He didn’t hit me that hard.” His pride had taken the brunt of the injury. Here he’d been trying to look cool for Grace, and he’d ended up looking like an idiot instead.
Schoolboy pretty perfectly summed up how Grace made him feel. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her—and when she wasn’t around he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Even now, with blood running down his face and his nose throbbing with pain, he was keenly aware of her watching him from the edge of the crowd that had formed around the ring.
“Hard enough to make you bleed like a stuck pig,” the medic said as she felt along the ridge of his nose.
Scott was pretty sure her name was Janel, and he winced when she hit a tender spot. “I’m a bleeder. It’ll stop on its own in a few minutes.” He tried to hold still as maybe-Janel stuffed cotton in his nose to absorb the blood, and cleaned up his face with an alcohol wipe.
When she was done, she handed him a cold pack and announced that nothing was broken and he’d be fine.
“Thank god for small favors,” Joe said, and he and Stephen helped Scott out of the ring. “Let’s get a wheelchair over here to get him back to his trailer,” he ordered Cal, who was hovering nearby.
“No need,” Scott mumbled from underneath his cold pack. “Just give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to get back in the ring.”
“Don’t be a hero,” Joe said. “Ben can stand in for you today and we’ll make up the close-ups another day.”
“We don’t have the location another day.” Scott knew what a delay like that would cost the production, and he’d be damned if he’d be the cause of it.
“That’s my problem,” Joe said.
Scott shook his head. “I’m telling you I’m fine, and I’m going to do this scene myself. Today. Just let me sit here for a minute until my damn nose stops bleeding, and I’ll be good to go.”
“You are one stubborn motherfucker,” Joe grumbled, but he was grinning when he said it.
Scott sank down on one of the folding chairs set up outside the ring and leaned his head back to help stanch the bleeding.
“Everybody disperse and give the man some peace,” Joe told the nervous crowd that had gathered around. He clapped Scott on the shoulder. “I’ll check back with you in ten,” he said before dragging the location manager off to confer about the possibility of getting the gym for a little longer.
Almost everyone managed to find somewhere else to be except Nate, who hovered over Scott, wringing his hands and apologizing profusely.
“It’s fine, man,” Scott told him, letting his eyes fall closed as he held the ice pack in place. “It happens. It wasn’t even your fault, it was mine.”
Nate continued to hang around, monologuing about the nervous nosebleeds he used to get as a kid, and Scott was about five seconds from snapping at him to get lost—because he did not have the patience for Nate’s yammering right this moment—when he heard Grace’s voice like an angel swooping in to save him.
“Hey Nate, I think Dominic was looking for you.”
Her nearness caused the strangest sort of ache in Scott’s chest. It was simultaneously too full and too tight. Half hopeful but also half painful, because what did he have to be hopeful about?
Grace felt a little bad for throwing Dominic under the bus, but it was for a good cause. Desperate times, etcetera.
“You sure you’re all right?” Nate asked Scott, obviously reluctant to leave him.
“It’s fine. Go,” Scott told him, barely biting back a growl.
“Last I saw, he was out by the trailers in the parking lot,” Grace offered helpfully. She was fairly sure Dominic was actually in the locker room they were using as a holding area for the extras, so that should keep Nate busy for at least five minutes.
Nate wandered off, and Scott opened one eye to peer up at her. “Thank you for that.”
“Are you okay?”
His eye closed again. “I’ll live. Believe it or not, this is not the first time I’ve been punched in the face.”
“Shocking.”
He smiled faintly. “You weren’t worried about me, were you?”
“No.”
Scott opened both eyes this time.
“Maybe a little,” Grace admitted.
His smile got wider and he closed his eyes again. A bead of perspiration dripped off his chin and traveled down the valley between his pecs. Grace was close enough to him that she could smell the musky tang of his sweat, mingled with the woodsy scent of his cologne and the sharper, coppery odor of blood.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
One of Scott’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Not as much as some things.”
Grace wondered what he meant by that, what could have hurt him more than being punched in the nose, but she didn’t dare ask. “Can I get you anything?” she asked instead.
“I’m good, thanks.”
She started to move away, but Scott lifted his head and caught her by the wrist. “Keep me company?”
“Okay.” She sat down beside him. “Put your head back.”
He did, and closed his eyes again. He was bare-chested and his abs were on display in all their magnificent water-cut glory, but Grace couldn’t take her eyes off his hand—the one that had been wrapped around her wrist a few seconds ago. It was resting on his thigh, in easy reach, and she thought about how it would feel to hold it in hers. He was injured, and he’d asked her to sit with him. She wondered if it would be okay to hold his hand under the circumstances.
She thought she might like to. A little too much, maybe.
“Hey, man,” Cal said, coming up behind her with Scott’s gray hoodie. “Figured you might want your hoodie.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Scott sat up and let Cal help him into it.
“Your phone’s in the pocket,” Cal said. “You need anything else?”
“No, I’m all set.” Scott zipped the hoodie up and settled back with his ice pack again.
“Give a shout if you change your mind.” Cal gave Grace a nod before shuffling off.
“Take a picture of me,” Scott said, slipping his phone out of his pocket and nudging Grace with it.
“What?”
“I want to post a picture of my busted face.”
Grace couldn’t imagine why, but she took the phone from him.
His lock screen was a picture of him with his arm around a beautiful young woman in a crop top. It looked like maybe they were in a bar or a nightclub, but it was hard to tell.
“The passcode’s 1234,” Scott told her.
Grace shook her head as she keyed in the numbers. “I can’t believe you. You know how stupid that is, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m too lazy to memorize anything else.”
When the phone unlocked, it opened to a thread of text messages with someone named Robbie. She assumed it was Robbie Scarborough, and exited out of the messaging app before she could accidentally read any of them.
Scott’s wallpaper was set to the same photo as his lock screen.
“Who’s the girl?” Grace asked, trying to sound casual as she searched for his camera among all the apps.
“My sister, Paige.”
“Ah.” Grace hated herself for being so relieved to hear that.
“She’s at NYU film school. I told her not to get into the business, but…” He shrugged. “She never listens to me.”
“That’s little sisters for you, I guess. Or so I’ve heard. I wouldn’t know myself, being an only child.” Grace held up the phone, focusing on Scott’s face. “Ready?”
He sat up and lowered the ice pack. His nose was bright red and there was a bloody cotton ball hanging out of one of his nostrils. It looked like his right eye might be starting to bruise too. “Get in nice and tight,” he told her.
“If you say so.” Grace snapped the picture and held it up for his approval.
Scott grinned in delight. “Awesome. Instagram it for me?”
She navigated to his Instagram app and opened up the photo. “Filter preference?”
“No filter.”
“Caption?”
Scott chewed on his lower lip while he thought about it. “There’s no good way to get punched in the face.”
