Accidental Action Star (6 page)

He wound his hands into my long hair, holding me still. He toyed with the blonde strands. He toyed with me. His lips glanced over my skin, but never met mine. My lips tingled in anticipation. Ready.

I arched against him.

Zero give. His body was hard. The hardest, strongest guy I’d ever been near. Max pinned me into the comforter.

I liked that. A lot. “Mmm.”

He kissed near the corner of my mouth. Sparks lit through me. The sensation. Wonderful. Dazzling. But not enough. I threaded my fingers into his hair. Thick. Rough. Silky. Different from mine. I turned his head to line up with mine. My breathing went shallow.

His mouth hovered above mine.

Close.

My lips parted.

I felt his minty breath. My lips throbbed. One inch closer. Please.

“Cut.”

Max sprang up. I lay back, staring at him, and didn’t move until he offered me a hand.

“Very good, you two.” The AD grinned, his posture relaxed. “Perfect near kiss. Exactly where I was going with this.”

Lorene shook her head and tapped her long red fingernail to her teeth. “What are you talking about? She touched him. She was all over him.”

The AD rolled back on his heels. “It worked. Great job, Max. Why don’t you schedule rehearsal with Hannah and go over her other two scenes.”

I shuddered.

Max nodded. He looked down at me. “Leave your number with the PA.” His voice deepened. “I’ll text you.”

He strode off.

I was done for the day.

***

Scoop Out’s
director checked the clock and sighed. “Any word on Sara’s whereabouts?”

Nope. I wished Mom would show up and do her job and stop trying to manipulate me into taking additional responsibilities. But that wasn’t going to happen. So I was going to have to work around her. I crossed my arms over my waist and glanced at the door, hoping my backup plan would show soon. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Fine. I’ll give the intro and cut Sara in during the edit.” The director motioned to the contestants. “Meet your new final four contestants: Cajun Cal, Grandma Gert, Willful Will, and Star Stalker Marissa.”

We’d lost Kate last week so now I was rooting solely for Marissa, and not just to win.
Scoop Out
was looking for a co-host because Mom had said it was the only way she’d agree to an extended season. Mom wanted me for the job. And I wanted Mom to give up on me. Marissa was the perfect answer. I scanned my phone and checked the door again. “Wait. I have a backup plan.” My plan would so boost Marissa’s airtime.

The door opened, and Garrett pushed through. “I hear I have a fan in the
Scoop Out
kitchen?” The camera swung to him.

I relaxed, and Marissa gaped. I motioned to the camera operator. He wheeled forward to get a good shot of Marissa’s open mouth.

Garrett winked.

Marissa blushed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m your guest host.” Garrett held out his palm. “I require the tasting spoon,” he demanded in a serious tone.

The director handed it to the Scottish movie star. Mouth agape, she turned to me.

I gave her a thumbs’ up, hoping she wouldn’t protest the surprise. She usually rolled with things. And this was a positive thing. A big movie star on a TV show. Ratings would soar.

The director grinned and returned my thumbs up with both hands. She motioned for the cameras to move in tight.

Good. She was a go then.

Garrett gushed over Marissa’s dish and then went to Cal, Will, and Gert’s stations. He insulted them to high hell.  He went so far, Marissa had to step in. Her hosting kicked butt. I couldn’t wait for Mom to catch this. Her answer for a co-host was right here, if only she’d give up on me.

Sharp claps from the doorway interrupted the taping. Mom had arrived. She looked at me long and hard.

I smiled.

The director’s mouth twisted. “Places, people.” She gestured to the wall. “Marissa, Garrett, clean aprons, please. Garrett, you can join Marissa at her table.”

Expressionless, Mom went around the room performing the tastings. “I have made my decision.” Mom proceeded to the main camera and took out one of her doggy bags. “Garrett, as guest host, will you join me?”

Garrett squeezed Marissa’s arm and then moved to the front.

Mom turned to face the camera. She framed the cowering dog with her hand. “Grandma Gert. You’ve been scooped out. Enjoy this at home because you can’t eat it here.”

Gert gasped. Garrett smiled and gave Marissa a thumbs up.

“Grandma Gert, please come to the front of the room and accept the doggy bag,” Mom said.

The director stirred the air with her hand, cueing the remaining contestants to bark.

Gert didn’t move.

The director’s mouth tightened. “Hannah, help her out.” She waved her hand, and contestants continued barking. “Keep going, guys.”

Enough already. I moved over to Grandma Gert’s table. “Sorry, Gert. Final four is incredible and should get you a book deal or have some cache with your agent. But you’ve been scooped out, so you have to go now.”

Gert shook her head. She grabbed the end of my ponytail hard, pulling me up short. She raised her butcher knife. “You have Sara’s hair.”

What the hell?

Everyone froze. The barking stopped and the room fell silent. The cameraman zoomed in on me.

Gert smiled at the camera, her attention more on the potential media coverage than on the knife she held above me.

These nuts on
Scoop Out
had gotten worse than the pranksters at the Art Department. And their greed for airtime rivaled Lorene’s.

“Let go of my daughter,” Mom said, her voice tight.

We didn’t advertise our connection and several contestants and crew looked surprised.

Grandma Gert yanked hard, and my scalp burned. Enough with the drama. “Grandma Gert!” I turned to relieve the pressure but her hand tightened, holding me still.

“Just going out with a bang, deary.” Gert’s breath was ashy from her cigarette break.

Marissa eased toward us, palms out. “Not funny, Gert. Let her go.”

Gert bared her teeth at the camera. “I’ll hang Sara’s hair from my apron like a raccoon tail. A prize.”

Marissa waved her hands. “That’s not Sara’s hair. It’s Hannah’s. Let her go now.”

Gert flapped her elbows and centered her body to the camera. With the motion, her feet slid and she stumbled sideways. A sharp sting bit my neck and then I was free.

But, my hair wasn’t.

My long pale blonde hair dangled from Grandma Gert’s grasp. All of it.

“Oh.” Gert’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open.

I stood there frozen like an idiot while shock spun through me.

Marissa dove, slamming into Gert’s bony knees and knocking her back. They fell against the floor and the blade clanked on the ground, the handle still tight in Gert’s grip. Marissa rolled onto her legs. Then Garrett was there, prying the knife away. Cal and Will each grabbed one of Gert’s arms and hauled her up.

I watched everything, silent, shaky, my hand over the back of my stinging neck. The stinging grew as the shock wore off.

“Take her out to Security.” Excitement lit the director’s voice.

Still, I stood there.

Cal and Will guided an unresisting Gert to the door.

Mom hurried over to me, her languid grace replaced with an unusual clumsiness.

Marissa came over too. “You okay?”

“I’m okay.” My voice trembled. I covered my mouth with my free hand.

“You don’t go near someone with a knife,” Mom said in a Mom voice. “What were you thinking, Hannah?”

I knew she wasn’t blaming me. She was upset, not thinking. “I’m fine.” Heat filled my face, and I wanted out of there. “I’ll just… Uh…I…umm.” She glanced toward the exit. “I have to go.”

“I’ll get the cleanup,” Marissa said. “Or, do you want me to go with you?” She stared at the jagged ends of my hair and winced. “We can get it evened up.”

I backed toward the door with my hand over my nape. “No, thanks.”

Mom hurried after me. “Hannah, wait.”

“I’m fine, Mom.” I went into the break room and dug through my locker, looking for my hoodie. The soft fabric crushed under my fingers, and I pulled it on with shaking hands.

“We have to talk about what happened. There are safety precautions you have to take when working in a kitchen. You know that.”

Concern colored Mom’s lecture but I couldn’t deal with it. I didn’t want to smell the smelly
Scoop Out
kitchen or talk to the crazy contestants or hear about my mistakes. I knew I’d made a mistake. “I’ll call you later.” I ran outside, into the bright sunshine. I could go home. I could go to the Art Department. I wanted to see Max.

I went to Warehouse 47, back to the workout area. There, I sank against the wall and pulled my sketchpad from my pocket. My hands trembled so I didn’t sketch. I didn’t put the pad back either, wanting the normalcy of the paper’s texture underneath my fingertips.

Crew moved around, carrying out their duties. Max took over the mat with his trainer. They practiced martial arts throws—rough moves and countermoves that made a mockery of my just standing there while Gert chopped my hair off.

I don’t know how long I sat there before Max kneeled beside me. “Garrett texted me what happened.”

It took a while to look up, as I couldn’t shake off my inner wuss. He didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything.

He offered me his hand and pulled me up, leading me out the back entrance, past the security guard who tried to check my ID badge and over to his star trailer.

The trailer’s interior was made up like a miniature RV: living room and kitchenette with two barstools. He sat me on one, poured me a glass of orange juice and stood there while I drank the citrusy, pulpy drink.

“Talk to me.”

That was rich, coming from the least talkative guy I’d ever met. I placed the cold glass on the bar and traced a pattern with the condensation. I told him what happened. “Gert’s triple my age, and I just stood there, letting her use me to get ratings.”

Max leaned forward, bracing his weight on folded elbows. His biceps bulged, and he waited for me to continue.

“I mean, I knew the grandmotherly bit was a put on. I knew she had incredible knife skills. But I had no idea she’d take things so far. And, when she did, I had no idea how to get out of the situation.”

Max grew stiller.

“Marissa tackled her, but not before she whacked all my hair off.”

Max reached for my hoodie, lowering it. The newly cut strands brushed my cheeks, jaw and shoulders in a light-weight, choppy mess. I couldn’t imagine how bad it looked. And I was too scared to check the mirror. I raised my eyes to Max’s.

His face was still, and he probably thought it was stoic, but I saw the expression in his eyes. Pissed. He threaded one of his large hands into my hair and walked behind me. Cool air touched the back of my neck where it stung.

Max hissed out a breath.

“Yeah. She got me a little. I really don’t think she meant to though.”

Max took out his phone and called someone. “My trailer. Bring your hair stuff. Scissors.” He left the room and returned, holding a first aid kit. He washed his hands.

I held my hair up and dropped my head forward. Disinfectant bit the air, but it didn’t sting as he dabbed the cleanser on with a cotton ball. He followed with a topical antibiotic and a bandage.

A tap sounded on the trailer. “It’s me. Powder.”

The makeup artist came in but she didn’t laugh. She whistled low through her teeth and pulled out her scissors. “I can work with that.”

I didn’t want another haircut. I hadn’t even seen this one. Nerves fought against the residual adrenalin inside me. Powder had short hair. Really short. Shaved sides short. I did not want my hair to look like hers. “I don’t know.”

“Trust me. You have enough left to make a long, choppy bob.” Powder drew out a comb and a cape. “You know, one of those cuts that looks choppy on purpose.”

Something about a pending haircut severed my ability to make decisions. I agreed by dropping my hands into my lap and nodding.

Powder moved forward. “Give us thirty, okay, Max?”

Max shook his head and sank onto the couch.

Powder stopped. “Men don’t belong in salons. I can’t tell her how to work this haircut with you sitting there glaring.”

“Hannah?”

I half wished he’d stay. “I’m fine.” My voice only squeaked a little.

Max took me at my shaky words and left.

Powder moved me over to the sink, and I complied like a child resigned to taking her medicine. I rested on the edge, and she adjusted the water to warm so she could soak my hair. “We’ll change your bandage again when we’re done, because I can’t keep it dry.” She used apple-scented shampoo and rinsed with cold water. Next, she put me back on the stool, cut the ends, applied product, and then blew it dry. “Ready to see?”

“Not really.”

“Come on.” She led me to the mirror in Max’s bathroom. The bathroom smelled like his cologne. Sporty. Manly. Distracting. I didn’t recognize my reflection.

“See.” Powder moved in behind me and twisted the ends in the front. “Like those animé drawings. Right? Choppy on purpose.”

Relieved pleasure hit me. I liked it. I would never have cut off my hair, but I really liked it. “Thanks, Powder.”

She patted my shoulder. “Remember, hair grows.” She left me alone a minute and returned with a clean bandage and dressing. “Let me tape you back up.”

“What’s your real name?” I asked as she worked. It seemed like I should know it at this point.

“Lady, I’ll really never tell.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse. Now make sure you twist the ends with product. The ones in the front accent your cheekbones and pixie chin. Now with your old hair, all you had to do was let it down to drop men to their knees. The new hair’s still gorgeous, but will take more work.” She returned to the living room to pack up her tools.

“Like what?”

Powder twirled her hair. “Wind it around your fingers. So your guy can imagine winding his hands in it.”