Accidental Action Star (5 page)

A production assistant pointed to the Makeup and Wardrobe area. “Cutter’s ready for you.”

“Thanks.” Costumes. That thought brought up some unfortunate memories. When I was five, Mom decided that dressing us up in nostalgic 50s dresses would make a great cover for her newest cookbook. She hadn’t given a thought to how I’d feel thirteen years later in my fifth reprint. Over one million sold. A million households in America had a picture of me on their kitchen shelf. Me chowing down on a big spoon wearing a poufy dress and a dopy, sugared-up expression. A look that said
, oh the heights of feminine power I could achieve if only I learned to bake a soufflé like Mom
.

That was the last time I’d let anyone pick out my clothes. Until today.

“Hannah,” Cutter yelled. “Get over here—that sequined cat suit isn’t going to wear itself.”

Cat suit? No. I trudged over.

Cutter poked my waist. “You are a size two, right?”

“No.”

“They told me you were a size two.” He turned to his assistant. “Garvin, get the lycra from the third drawer.” He assessed me from beneath lowered brows. “Get the full body suit. And a push-up bra.” To me, he said, “You’d better pee now—it’s going to be a long, eight-hour shoot.”

My desire to reject lycra warred with my need for a paycheck—a battle that had probably been fought by others before me, a battle they too had lost. I squared my shoulders, shoved my pride low. So low that if my pride were a state, it would be Florida. With that thought, I turned away to find the toilet.

***

I wore a lace tunic over the shiny, sky-blue cat suit—a most unfortunate look. Cutter slapped my hands as I picked at the plastic icicles attached to the lace. He guided me to the set for the morning shoot.

I tried to stir up some excitement about the acting gig, but the lycra restrained more than my figure. The elasticized fabric stifled my mood, curbed my ability to breathe, and jeopardized my dignity. Add to that, a thousand twinkle lights lit the set to show me off.

Lorene stood by the AD on the edge of the set wearing street clothes, which consisted of a stretchy knit jumper in pine green. The color set off her hair and made her presence inescapable.

It took all my professionalism to keep my feet moving forward. I faked a smile. “Hi.”

Lorene smirked her greeting while the AD nodded his and checked an item off on his computer tablet. A staged set stood behind them. The set held a double bed, dressed with a white satin comforter, ice-blue throw pillows and Max Stone. Max was in costume: black pants and a loose white shirt. On a random guy, the shirt would appear sloppy, but on him, with his shoulders—it looked perfect.

I found my excitement.

The AD motioned for me to join Max. “Up there, Hannah.”

Lorene grabbed my arm. Her cold fingers stopped me from reaching my destiny. “Be careful not to snag the satin sheets with
my
, I mean
your
icicle dress. By the fourth take, those icicles will tear up those satin sheets. I should know. Max and I really went at it.”

B-yotch. Fourth take? My energy levels ramped higher. This was Day One of my six days scheduled to be on set. “Isn’t today for test shots?”

The AD shook his head. “The crew got some shots of Max carrying you off that first day. Russ viewed the footage. He knows what he wants.”

So we were filming then. I wrapped my arms around my waist, ignoring the pokes of the hard plastic icicles, and wondered how to confess the next bit. “To be honest, I didn’t receive a
Time Kick
script.” Heat entered my face. “I mean, maybe, I was supposed to pick it up or something, but no one told me about it.” I should have asked, but I’d kind of thought that was what today was for.

“Script?” The AD frowned. “You have three lines.”

My palms grew sweaty. “I’d still like a script.”

“Yeah. We’ll get you a script, but I’m not holding up shooting so you can memorize a few words.”

“How many words?”

Lorene wore a superior expression. She obviously knew the script. She wiggled her index and her middle finger, making a rabid peace sign. “Maybe two.”

Oh. “Two words?”

“And it’s the same word.” Lorene clasped her hands to her chest and said Max’s character’s name, “Rogue.” Her voice came out husky and sexy and she said it again, “Rogue.”

I could never make that sound. I could remember my lines, but I couldn’t make that sound, not unless my voice deepened an octave and I took up smoking.

Lorene misread my expression as discontent. She hooked her fingers into double air quotes. “‘There are no small parts, only small actors.’” She made air quotes a second time. “Constantin Stanislavski.”

The AD clapped, and his hands crushed the imaginary air quotes. “Russ usually directs first scenes, to make sure we’re on track with his vision, but he’s letting me handle this one. So we’ve got to get it right.”

Great. Pressure. I scratched at the icicle poking my neck and tried to be grateful for the tunic overlay. Without it, I’d only be wearing the cat suit.

The AD tilted his head and frowned. “That cat suit doesn’t quite work.”

No. Really?

Cutter crossed his arms over his skinny chest. “It worked on Lorene.”

Lorene grinned big and ran her hands over hips. “Yeah, it did.”

The AD looked at my figure and then at Lorene’s. “She’s not Lorene.”

Lorene grinned bigger. “No, she isn’t.”

The AD gestured toward wardrobe. “Get her a delicate outfit. Something fragile. And take her hair out of those chopsticks.”

Some of my tension eased.

Cutter huffed out a breath and hurried me back to the costume area. “Powder, I need help. Hannah can’t carry off this look.” I’d like to say he muttered that, but his voice spread loud and wide.

I didn’t care. Well, I cared a little, but I was so happy to shed the cat suit I smiled. Something Cutter found extremely suspicious.

I returned to set fifteen minutes later wearing three layers. A white silk shift covered my lingerie. A violet-blue, tissue-thin dress came next and a short-sleeved white lace tunic embossed with pearls made up the third layer. My hair floated down my back. Iridescent shimmer highlighted my arms, cheekbones and eyelids. “Ready.”

Lorene’s mouth twisted when she saw me, so I knew the costume worked. She turned back to Garrett, who’d joined the group, and started in on him about taking her light in their scene together. Garrett explained how his size blocked the spotlight from a wee thing such as herself. That appeased her, because Lorene fell to the more curvy side of lean and because it was probably true.

The AD checked my appearance and nodded. “Pretty.” He pursed his lips and frowned. “Where’s the zipper?” He arched his eyebrows at Cutter. “I’m thinking I’ll have Max remove the dress.”

“Excuse me?”

“Excuse me?” Cutter echoed me and eyed my dress with affection. “That’ll look a darn sight better than him peeling you out of lycra.” He curled his lip. “Cat suit. Cat suits are so 2012.”

I held up my hands. “No one’s peeling her out of anything. No one’s unzipping her out of anything.” I turned to the AD. “I need a script.”

Lorene spun away from Garrett. “She’s such a diva.” She pursed her lips. “I’m going to say that in interviews.”

“No. You’re not,” the AD and I said together.

Garrett nodded. “Hannah has a point. Snow Queen is a mystical being, not a Friday night date in Max’s backseat.” He pointed at Max. “And Max...” He paused and switched to Max’s character name, lengthening the vowels with his Scottish accent. “Rogue is a warrior. A man who defies rules and realms.”

“God, Garrett,” Lorene said. “I can’t understand you half the time. And, I’m saying that in the interview too.”

Garrett pointed at Max, but spoke with a credible American twang. “He don’t need no stinkin’ zipper.”

Max added another pillow behind his head and patted the satin sheets. “Let’s go.”

Garrett made a tearing motion. “Rip it off her.”

Shock hit me. Whoa. That’s not happening.

Cutter jumped in front of me, his arms straight out by his sides. “No! Not rip. Not with that dress. I can find her another one.”

I held my palms up like they were kids trying to cross the street too soon—way too soon. “No.”

Cutter backed me up another step. “That dress is one of a kind.”

“My clothes are staying on.”

Lorene shook her head. “She can’t carry that off.” She pointed to herself. “If anyone’s dress comes off, it should be mine.”

Garrett rolled his shoulders. “When’s lunch?”

Everyone talked at once, adding their issues, only half of which concerned the scene. The scene I hadn’t read.

“Can I get a script?” I repeated.

The head director Russ joined our dysfunctional artistic circle.

Everyone shut up.

“I just wanted to see how it’s going,” Russ said.

The shifting of our shoes against the concrete floor answered him.

The AD broke first. He breathed out. “It’s going great.” A false tone layered his voice. “We’re just making some final costume changes.”

Cutter’s eyes grew big, and he shook his head. “The costumes are fine.
The costumes
aren’t holding up production. It’s
how we’re going to remove the costumes
that’s holding up production. So, essentially, blocking is holding up production.”

Russ held up his hands. “Okay. Well. Then, I’ll let you guys work this out.” He walked off.

I didn’t care what the contract I hadn’t read said. My clothes were staying on. “Even my shoes are staying on.”

Max slid off the bed, and his warm fingers closed over my forearm. He maneuvered me away from the group. “The movie’s PG-13.”

My tension eased, but I wasn’t going to be stupid about this. “I’ve seen some pretty risqué PG-13.” The icy blue stiletto boots did pinch.  “I guess I can ditch the shoes.” I raised my chin and spoke louder, to the whole group. “I can ditch the shoes.”

Max waved at one of the assistants. “Get me a script, please.”

A script appeared right away.

Hello. Finally.

Max flipped through it and dog-eared three pages. “We’re shooting out of order. Today’s the last scene.”

He handed me the script.

I read the last scene first. The Snow Queen reached through the realm’s veil and touched Rogue’s hunched shoulder. Rogue grabbed her hand, refusing to let her go, forcing her to pull him through the mists of time and into her crystal lair. My tension eased. This wasn’t bad. I glanced up at Max. “I have a crystal lair? I always wanted a crystal lair.”

His lips quirked. “Keep reading.”

I read. Rogue tumbled her worshipfully to the bed. “Rogue, it’s you forever.” Their lips touched. Their souls united. The icicle lamp glowed white hot and then shimmered blue. Fade to black. Aww. I read the other two scenes. “No clothing gets removed. There are clothes in all the Snow Queen’s scenes.” I tapped the bottom line, my mood totally elevated. “And, I get an icicle lamp.”

The AD waved his tablet. “The script needs more romance.” He spoke as if that were enough explanation, like the word
romance
didn’t span the spectrum from hugs to kisses to closed bedroom doors.

Was this a hearts and kisses movie or an open bedroom door with snowy foreplay? “What’s…” I made air quotes. “
‘Romance’
mean?”

Max arched one dark eyebrow and gave me a hot quizzical look.

“Break it down for me.”

Max gestured to the bed. “Snow Queen in a slip. A roll on the sheets. A vow. A kiss. Two minutes tops.”

“The Snow Queen gets a whole two minutes of romance?” I pitied the Snow Queen. “The Snow Queen saves Rogue’s life countless times. Just skimming those three scenes, I saw her save him from drowning, a tar pit, and a dragon.” I shook my head. “And this is all the thanks she gets? A two-minute kiss?”

Max raised his eyebrows again in a male expression that said,
what?

“A guy so wrote this.”

He didn’t counter my assumption, but he gave me a partial grin. “The whole scene is two minutes. The kiss is probably two seconds.” He waved to indicate our onlookers. “In front of about thirty cast and crew.”

“So special. Hmm. We have three scenes together. Three. Looks like Rogue doesn’t have a two-date rule.” I couldn’t resist the jab at Max’s dating philosophy now that my concerns had been alleviated. I moved to the side of the bed. I assumed the pale blue tapes on the concrete marked the spot for the Snow Queen. Icy color. Seemed logical. I reached for Max, tingling at the thought of touching him. “Bring it, Rogue.”

The AD held up his hands. “We want to try this where the Snow Queen can’t touch Rogue.” He moved over to the main camera, seeming pleased that production was back in motion.

Confused ignorance swamped me. Everyone knew more about my character than me. I so needed my own script and time to study it. “Why? Is he poison to my character?”

“The Snow Queen can freeze things with her hands. So she’s concerned she’ll burn Rogue with her icy touch. So keep your arms away and only use your lips.”

“Okay.”

The AD clapped his hands. “Let Max kiss you and roll on to the bed. It’s that simple.”

Ooh.

“Places.” He motioned to the crew. “Picture is up. Roll camera. Speed.”

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

“Action.”

And we were a go. Nerves struck. Max cupped my face and looked deeply into my eyes. My toes curled, but I kept my head in the scene. I held my arms out by my sides so the Snow Queen’s icy hands wouldn’t burn him. Max gripped my waist, his hands strong and steady. He pushed me back a step and then lifted me. Effortlessly.

Hot.

My world shifted, taking me into the realm of his fictional universe. It was real to me. I raised my hands to grab his shoulders, holding on until he released me onto the soft comforter.  I touched him from his shoulders down to his unyielding biceps. Warmth.

Oops. I wasn’t supposed to touch him.

I resisted the urge to explore and let my hands fall back to the bed. Cool satin welcomed my heated skin. Max kissed my neck. I drew in a breath and shifted closer to give him better access. He trailed kisses down my skin to my collarbone where the dress cut away and then back up my jaw. He kissed as strategically as he fought. His lips aimed for maximum impact, pressing, brushing, sucking, performing a devastating attack on my senses.