Accidental Action Star (12 page)

Max appeared. He wore black sweats and a black sleeveless tank, and most importantly, he carried the package from the Art Department along with his towel and bottled water. He didn’t talk. He dumped his stuff on the bench and moved to the center of the mat. There, he started a series of stretches without acknowledging me. That wasn’t unusual for Max. He took his workouts seriously.

I lined up with him and copied his moves. Then I switched to yoga. Max didn’t care how I stretched out, as long as I stretched out thoroughly before we took on any stunts. I leaned my body forward with my arms straight out. I raised my back leg and pointed behind me. My body formed a T-shape. The Balancing Stick yoga pose. I wobbled. The thick mat and sneakers didn’t help.

Max reached out but stopped midway and dropped his hand to his side. “Tighten your core.”

I did and the pose held, even on the squishy mat that was too soft for balance poses. Squishy mat. Wobbly mat. I shook.

“You two got a second?” The AD spoke from over at the bench.

I lost concentration and toppled, landing on the soft mat.

Max helped me up, and we went over to the AD. It was unusual for people to interrupt Max’s routines so he had my curiosity.

Max wiped his face on a towel. “What’s up?”

The AD’s face scrunched, and he held up a pair of tickets. “The studio thinks it would be good publicity for you two to go together, like a date, to the
Haven Hills
movie premiere. That’s Garrett Campbell’s new opening.”

Max shifted his weight on his feet. “I’m already going.” He glanced at the tickets and then the exit door. “Garrett gave me passes.”

“Right. And, we thought you could take Hannah. Introduce her to the press. Mention
Time Kick.
You can even throw out something about
Dragon Night
. Hannah works for the Art Department on that, right?”

I nodded confirmation.

Max snorted. “Art Department.”

The AD’s face loosened in sympathy. “More crappy drawings?”

“Same crap. New day.”

My skin tingled in a sick way and my gut twisted. My gaze fell to the delivery package. Max thought my drawings were crap. Why? What was wrong with them? My face felt on fire and my palms flashed sweaty.

“Well, don’t talk about
Dragon Night
then; you don’t want to tell that to the press. Just mention
Time Kick
and
introduce Hannah.”

“I’ll mention
Time Kick
.” Max didn’t look at me. “Hannah’s a big girl. If she decides to go, she can introduce herself.”

What? Max was rejecting the idea of a date with me? He was refusing to take me to the premiere? Why? What had I done? Why was he pulling way? I frowned. He wouldn’t look at me. My face flushed hotter.

The AD backed off, giving up as anyone else did when faced with Max’s stubborn streak. “Okay. Okay.” He turned to me and held out two tickets. “Here you go. You can bring a date.”

I took the tickets.

The AD motioned toward Wardrobe. “See Cutter about a dress.” He turned and left us.

See Cutter for a dress? A dress for my non-date. That coupled with this workout made up the top two things I did not want to do today.

Max must have read something in my face because his own expression blanked. He looked at the tickets in my hand. “You know I don’t date girls more than twice.” His voice came out firm. “And the premiere would be more than twice.”

Commitment-phobe. Max’s issue had become my issue. His rejection hurt. It bounced off the shell that was already hardening around me at his dismissal of my artwork. A trembling began inside my stomach.

I refused to think of the romantic brush-off and focused on the professional putdown. I thought my drawings were really good. Not as polished as Justin’s, sure, but I got the characters. I believed in
Dragon Night,
and I’d added some really cool elements to the characters beyond cleaning up their pervy cheesiness. I’d given Garret’s character a hidden knife in the jeweled clasp on his kilt. I’d changed the kilt’s colors to green and blue—Campbell colors.

For Max’s character, I’d added ten different weapons, all originating in martial arts and all epic. For the female, I’d added poison, a classic knife in the garter and made her a fighter. My stuff worked. I knew it did.

I breathed out. Didn’t it?

I wanted to finish the workout with a blank face. I didn’t want Max to know how badly he’d gotten to me. I returned to the center of the mat. Max carried on with his Tai Chi as if nothing had happened. The sick nervousness spread under my skin, growing worse.

I couldn’t do it. I needed to make an excuse for why I couldn’t finish the routine. If I opened my mouth, I’d puke. I pulled a Max and walked off without saying anything.

“Hannah?” Max called after me.

I didn’t stop. He could chase me down for once. I made it to the exit.

He didn’t come after me.

I left.

***

I met Mom in her
Scoop Out
office. “They’re down to the final contestants and decisions had to be made about next season. Hannah, I know it’s not your first choice. But despite putting in all these hours at the Art Department for all these weeks, you don’t have a job offer.”

Of course I didn’t have a job offer. Max thought my drawings were crap. Had it been the colors? The quality? The concept? Did Max just hate art? Why had he picked a script that had live action and animé? That was probably the problem. His ego wanted more screen time.

“Are you listening to me?”

I looked up. “Yeah.”

“So sometimes, even when you give it your all, if nothing works, you have to be practical.”

For a brief, horrible second, I considered it. Me working at
Scoop Out
, talking about food preparation for eight hours a day. Me, determining whether pork had reached the right temperature, whether a pie crust had browned sufficiently, whether fish really went with a starchy potato side dish.  I shook the images. “As wonderful as the opportunity is and as proud as I am of you, it’s not for me.” My voice came out hoarse and a bit scratchy. “I’m so lucky to know what I want, and cooking’s not it.”

Mom opened her mouth and shook her head.

“I get my determination from you, I think.”

She stared at me.

“Is there anything that would keep you from cooking? If the reality show got cancelled and your restaurants went under?”

Pink colored her face.

I raised my shoulders. “See. You get how I feel about art. Whether the Art Department offers me a job or not, I have to draw just for me, even if no one else ever likes it.” My throat closed up at the thought.

Mom rose and hugged me. “Okay.” She kissed the top of my head. “I get it.”

“And Mom. We both know who’d be really good at the job.” I didn’t say ‘Marissa’ because it was always better to let the other person come up with the answer. That way, they’d think it was their own idea. “Someone who social media is buzzing about. Someone who loves cooking almost as much as you.”

Mom nodded. She moved to the door. “I’ll go talk to the producers about Marissa.”

A ton of pressure eased off me. Relief mixed with gratitude, love for Mom and excitement about my future flipped through me. To be able to choose my own career and have Mom’s support was a huge gift.

***

“Mists of Time fight scene. Take one.” The AD clapped his hands. “Places.” He motioned to the crew. “Picture is up. Roll camera. Speed.”

“Marker.” The clapper man clicked the clapperboard shut.

“Action.”

The voluminous chiffon skirt of my misty blue dress floated out from my waist and tapered back into a three-foot long train. The dress was strapless, and I wore arm cuffs that went from my wrists to my elbows in a darker blue. Cutter had patterned them with decorative topazes. The cuffs matched a design on the corset that topped my dress. In character, I strode forward.  The Snow Queen was desperate to find Rogue.

I kicked at the prop that popped up in front of me. CGI would replace the prop with a creature in editing. The fog machine sprayed puffs of smoke that made the warehouse smell like Halloween. I dropped and rolled. This part I liked because there was more oxygen down low and I knew that the swirling dress would make an incredible effect on film. Cutter was going to be so gleeful when he saw the footage.

I went on tiptoe and flitted from mark to mark. A graceful searching that was more of a dance than a sprint. Max appeared in front of me.

I didn’t have to pretend to be startled like the acting coach had taught me. I was startled. Startled by the rush of feelings. Startled by the impact he had on me. Startled by the urge to get to him as much as he got to me.

I grabbed his arms, hard and strong.

Max spun me into position for the waltz. Classical music piped across the set, in distinctive three-quarter rhythm. I stepped back a long step. Our feet slid together and then we took a short step. We glided through the mists. Max brought us to a halt. I searched his gaze. His golden eyes glowed in the hazy blue-gray atmosphere. In character, he lowered his mouth to mine.

I tensed. I had no idea how to play this. Fake stage kiss? Go for it?

It was the last time I’d get to kiss Max.

I went for it.

My lips touched his. I used my tongue to press. Lightly. An electric touch. His mouth opened. He pulled me closer.

His character was supposed to withdraw at this point and fade into the mists, sucked through time by forces keeping him apart from the Snow Queen.

Max pulled me to him, his body solid and unyielding against mine. The insubstantial chiffon crushed between us. I raked my nails into his hair and pressed into him even harder.

Max deepened the kiss. He moved his hands to my hips and shifted me up.

“Okay, pull back.” The AD clapped. “Back away.”

Max dropped his arms and I backed up, melting into the mist.

I breathed in the fog to knock Max out of my system and turned to the director.

“Okay. Well. Unexpected.” The AD clapped again and grinned. “The improvisation works.” He grinned bigger. “Russ will love it.” He straightened his shoulders. “Who says male action directors can’t deliver romance?”

I retreated further away. More shaken than I wanted to be, I turned to go off set.

Max took my arm.

I looked up.

His hand tightened.

Then he let me go.

I’d thought about Max all night and was exhausted and distracted when I got to the Art Department the next morning.

Archie was chowing on a cinnamon roll. The pastry rested in his bare hand, no napkin. “How’s the pixie project going?”

“Almost done. Come see.” I shook off my tiredness and moved to the back of the room to show him. I’d worked hard on the computer animé images, adding details and shading and sparkles—exactly what the wee forest fairies needed.

I opened five of the original images at the top of my screen and then five of the altered pictures underneath. The changes I’d made had taken hours of work. Way more time than my class required, but the final outcome was worth it.

I scanned them with a smile, awaiting Archie’s judgment. The longer I looked, the more off they appeared. The mushrooms in the forest emitted odd mists. The characters emitted odd mists. The clouds were shaped into rude gestures.

I stiffened. “What?”

Archie pointed to a gaseous flower. “Not really appropriate for a kid’s show.”

My head spun, my blood pressure shot up. I clicked on the file, checking the date stamps. “Someone changed these. They’ve been altered since my last shift.” Anxiety sounded in my voice.

The artists snickered.

Tension filled my body. I turned on stiff legs, away from Archie’s smirking rude eyes to the guys in the back. “Who did this? Which of you pervs tainted my work?”

No one answered.

Did they think I was a moron? Did they think my computer classes didn’t teach us about audit trails? I searched the computer. Justin had made the changes. I spun toward him. “Justin?”

Justin crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s the big drama?”

“The big drama is that you’re a big creeper.” Frustration over the week I’d had and his unrepentant expression erupted out of me.

Justin stared at my
Scoop Out
T-shirt. “Why don’t you go scoop us up some lunch?”

I went to the stacks of quarter-gallon paint cans. I snatched up jazzed electric eggplant and pried off the lid. I stormed over to his desk, not caring that the paint dripped over the top and spilled onto my fingers as I walked.

Justin eyed me and then the paint. “Girls can’t take jokes.”

I held the can over his desk. The portfolio on top no doubt represented everything he’d done this week because even though the primary work was done on computers, adjustments were often made by hand before we input them.

“Wait.” Justin rolled his mouse and made several clicks. The drawings I’d created appeared on his monitor. “No need to be in here quacking like a hen over her chicks. Your fairies are right there.”

Archie lowered his arms up and down. “There, now, all settled. Put the can down.”

Relief hit me. I frowned harder at Justin to screw with him and pretended to tilt the can. He deserved a scare.

Justin’s eyes grew big, and he bared his teeth. “Lighten up.”

A rush of power went through me.

Whoosh.

A heavy weight knocked into me from behind. “I got her,” Archie yelled.

Wet stickiness and the smell of paint saturated the air as the can emptied on the drawings, on Justin, and me. I didn’t concern myself with the mess. Someone had grabbed me from behind. My martial arts training kicked in. I jammed my elbow back.

Archie made a strangulated sound. “Umph.” His arms fell away. I stepped back into his instep. “Ouch.” He hopped a retreat.

I smiled and looked at the vivid purple paint dripping from Justin’s face. “That paint’s a gift from me to Justin.” I purposefully echoed my words from the interview to get at him. “I know you’ll adore it.”