Accidental Action Star (8 page)

“Strikes to the Adam’s apple and temple can be deadly.”

I wiped sweat off my forehead. “Can we stop now?”

“Ten more.”

“Eww.”

“Ten more.”

“Creeper over there is staring at us.” I kicked the bag, spun with the momentum and kicked with my other foot. The move cost me my breath. “Can’t tell if he’s staring at you or me. But he’s been there at least half an hour.”

“He’s been here the whole time.”

Kick. Punch. Spin. “You know him?”

“He’s the scriptwriter.”

“Which movie?
Dragon Night? Time Kick?”

“Time Kick.”

“Oh.” I stopped punching the bag and stepped back. The pause in movement created a head rush, and I bent forward with my hands on my knees until I got my breath back.

“You’re not done,” Max said.

“I want to say
hi
.”

“He can wait.”

I smiled at him. “It’s cute that you think you can tell me what to do.”

“It’s cute that you think I couldn’t stop you.”

“Maybe I like it when you try.” I grinned over my shoulder and headed to the script writer. “I’m Hannah. The Snow Queen.” I’d decided against using a stage name.

“Tom.” Tom motioned to the workout area. “We’re doing some script adjustments, and Guy suggested I check out your martial arts training.”

“Well, I’m done in, but Max will keep it up for another hour.” I smiled. “He’s the one worth watching anyway.”

Cutter ran around the corner headed straight at us, his gaze glued to my hair. “OMG.”

I knew what he was looking at. “Yeah. My character got a haircut.”

“We’re shooting out of order! Didn’t you read your contract? No personal appearance changes without approval until shooting is done. None.”

“I—”

“None.”

Max joined us. “Lay off.”

Cutter ignored him. “Does Powder know about this?”

“Yeah.”

“Does the AD?” Cutter turned and yelled, “Guy! Guy! Have you seen this?”

The AD, who didn’t let me call him Guy, jogged over. When he saw me, he snorted in a sharp breath and rubbed his hand over his forehead. “We’ll work it in.”

Cutter crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ll have to re-shoot the bed scene with the short hair.”

“No.” The AD shook his head. “That footage looks good. We’ll get her a wig. He pointed at Cutter. “Contact Makeup.” He lifted his eyes as if thinking. “Next Snow Queen shoot is…tomorrow.” He ground his teeth. “No more changes without consulting the team.”

I nodded.

***

Wardrobe had me ready by eight-thirty and they sent me after Max. I tapped on his trailer door, watching as the crystals on my white satin dress made rainbows on the tin. Not an effect I could capture on canvas, but it would be cool to try.

“Come in,” Max said.

“The screenwriter’s adding a scene next week where I fight.” I punched the air lightly so I wouldn’t rip the seams. “Our training paid off.”

“Always does.” Max stood in the kitchen in his Rogue costume. Barbarian meets modern. His blender whirred off, and he poured an orange-veggie concoction into a tall, narrow glass. He offered me some of the carrot-smelling mixture. “Breakfast?”

Liquid orange mush. My mouth curled in disgust. “No thanks. I ate on campus.” I looked in his fridge. “You’ve got all this and you choose to drink that?”

“I can make you something else if you’re hungry?”

No guy had ever offered to cook for me before. Ever. The chill from the refrigerator gave me every excuse to turn around, but I needed a moment. The simple gesture hit me on a deep level, cracking my heart open a little. “I cook.”

“What can you cook?”

“I can cook anything.”

He tilted his head.

“Really. I don’t want to take over Mom’s show or own a restaurant but occasionally, I even like cooking.”

He grinned.

“Tell no one.”

He glanced between me and the stove.

I heard the unspoken request. “I’ll cook for you sometime. If you tell me something about yourself.”

He drank instead of answering, but his expression didn’t say
no
.

***

“The Snow Queen has broken through the veil between realms.” The AD guided us through blocking.

We’d been practicing the scene for thirty minutes. “I’ve got it. I glide over to where Max is stuck in the black tar pit. I put both hands in the boiling tar, frown, bite my lip and the tar will cool to a molasses-like substance in CGI.”

The AD nodded. “Then step into the vat. Walk straight to Max. And put your arms around him.”

“Got it.”

“Okay. Looks like we’re ready to shoot.”

Cutter wrung his hands. “We only made two of those dresses. Get this in one shoot or you’ll have to switch to an alternate outfit.”

My face must have said how much I didn’t care about his having to find me another dress because his expression grew more pointed. “Maybe even the cat suit.”

Molasses and lycra. I flinched. No.

“We’re not going with the cat suit,” the AD said. “Get this in one shoot and you’ll save a ton of time.” The AD looked at my hair. “Compensate for that haircut.”

I missed my hair. I started to rub my temple, but at the death-glare from Powder, who stood by with her makeup bin, I refrained from touching my face. I had no idea how often I touched my face until filming prohibited it. 

“Quit freaking her out.” Max took my elbows in his hands and rubbed his thumb over the inside of my arms. He drifted back to the tar pit while doing it.

The motion soothed and distracted me all at once. Max knew entirely too much about the human body. I’d have paid a million dollars to have him do that exact thing for another hour.

He grinned and let go. The crew set up a plank over the faux tar pit and Max walked across it until he reached the center of the vat. Then he stepped down into the goo. The crew removed the plank from view.

Half the cameras pointed at Max, the other half split between me and the surface of the pool. The tar, which was actually diluted molasses, covered the vat, six inches deep. Movie goers owed more thanks to the special effects teams than they realized.

I got into place and breathed out, shaking my hands like the acting coach had taught me. It took me out of my head and into the scene.

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.”

I knelt. Given the sticky nature of the scene, Wardrobe had simply clipped on a fake overlong ponytail high on my head. I tried not to think about how much I missed my own hair and concentrated on the positive. After it got dipped in tar, I could simply unclip it. Okay, scene. I stared at Max. He had his head thrown back in a convincing portrayal of agony.

Rogue had been tossed into a burning tar pit. Save him. Cool the tar. I stuck my hand into the goo. The mixture was a sensory shock from the tips of my fingers to my wrists, gummy, sticky, sucking. I hoped my look of shock worked for the camera so we wouldn’t have to re-shoot. I frowned and bit my lip, trying to concentrate on conveying the awesome power it would take to cool a boiling tar pit to room temperature. My hands being trapped gave me an almost claustrophobic feeling. I rose and used that in my expression.

And here we go.

I stepped into the molasses. The gummy substance pulled against my steps, forcing me to work my muscles hard. I wanted a shower. I reached Max and grabbed onto his sleeves with my sticky hands, imagining Cutter’s wince as I did so. “Rogue.”

“You’re here.”

“I’ll always be here for you.” That was my new line and I nailed it.

Max pulled me to him. In character, we stared into each other’s eyes and waited for the AD to yell
cut.

“Hannah, slump and sink to your knees as if weakening. Max, lower with her as you try to keep her in your realm. Protest her being taken from you.”

I bent my knees. Max grabbed me tighter to him. “No. Don’t leave me.” I sank into the goo. Max pretended to pull me while I sank further down, first to my knees, then seated, and then back on my elbows. The molasses seeped through the dress, syrupy from my shoes to the back of my hair.

“And cut!” the AD said. “Good take, guys. I think we got it.”

I used my new martial arts skills and kicked my leg over the back of Max’s knees, pressing with my upper body at the same time, propelling him back into the molasses. I crawled onto his defeated lap. “Got you.”

His eyes sparked up at me, and I suspected he’d let me capture him. Whatever, even fake victory was a thrill. I scooped up a handful of the syrupy substance and rubbed it on his chest. The slick stuff made clicking sounds.

Max braced his hands in the goo behind him and didn’t stop me or retaliate. “Go out with me. Saturday.”

My heart stopped and then sped up. Eagerness raced through me and I grinned. “Okay.”

The AD moved over to the side of the pool. “Max, get cleaned up for the next shoot.  Good job, Hannah. You’re done for today.”

Max lifted me out of the vat. “I’ll text you.”

Awesome. I texted my roommate who called me a liar and Powder who said she knew I could do it.

Saturday night. I’d parked on the right, closest to a Tudor-style building with nice landscaping. I bet Max and I were going there. And I bet it was a steak place. Fun. Starving.

I got out of my car and my lilac dress swished around my knees. Max was so used to seeing me in costumes and in sweats that I was thrilled to look like a normal girl with normal makeup and heels. He was where he said he’d be, sitting on a bench in the pedestrianized median of the small plaza.

I’d had my doubts about tonight when he’d texted me to meet him instead of offering to pick me up, but he was from Los Angeles. I’d never dated a guy who wasn’t a Texan. There were bound to be differences.

The dry California air wafted over my bare arms as I walked across the parking lot toward Max. He met me halfway.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” He didn’t offer to hold my hand. I didn’t mind, because mine were kind of sweaty.

He turned left.

I frowned and followed him, doing my best to keep up in the high heels. He reached the door to a coffee shop. I blinked but did my best not to show my surprise. Coffee?

We went straight to the counter. The barista caught sight of Max and the bean grinder whirred to an abrupt halt. She rushed over and elbowed her male co-worker toward the register. “I got this order.” She looked at Max under eyelashes coated with blue mascara. “What can I get you?”

Max motioned for me to go first.

I didn’t move. “I’m still deciding.”

“Tall coffee,” Max said. “Black.”

The barista wrote his order on the side of the cup. “Anything else?”

Max shook his head and the barista turned away to pour his coffee.

We weren’t even ordering food.

Her co-worker rang up the order. “Four thirty-seven.”

Max indicated that I should order too.

I felt shaky and a little odd. “I don’t know what I want yet.”

Max turned toward the restrooms. “I’ll be right back.” He left me there staring at the order board.

What is wrong with this guy? I got out my phone and texted Powder.
Max took me to a coffee shop and hit the toilet before I even ordered.

Guys always try to get out of the tab
, Powder texted.

Heat burned my face, and I dug out a ten so I could pay before Max returned.

Powder texted again.
If he comes back sniffing or rubbing his nose and acts all wired, he’s coking up in there. The last thing he needs is coffee, so text me and I’ll pick you up.

Geez.

If he comes back and a giggling guy exits behind him, there’s no swinging back the other direction. Text me and I’ll pick you up.

OMG. I have my car.

If it’s a giggling girl, you still got a shot. Buy a hot drink or a cold one. Whatever’s the opposite of what he’s drinking. Then kiss him. That’ll steal him back from her.

My face burned.
Maybe I’ll let her have him.

“What can I get you?” the guy asked. The female barista hovered over Max’s cup, clearly waiting for him to return so she could deliver it personally.

I sighed but wasn’t ready to write the date off yet. I ordered as Powder instructed. “One Iced Caramel Latte.”

“Whipped cream?”

“Extra. Thanks.” I had to break out a five to cover the tip and took my drink over to a corner booth.

Max returned mid-carry and I nodded toward the barista, whose claws still held his cup. Max took it from her and offered the guy at the register a twenty. The guy waved it off. “She already paid.”

Max joined me in the booth and sat beside me. He offered me the same twenty.

I waved him off too. “I’m good.” I took a sip of the icy caramel drink. “How’d you find this place? Is it one of your favorites?”

“Google.”

Oh.

Max took out his phone and started texting.

The barista had drawn a heart, her name, Laurie, and her phone number on his cup. My eyebrows arched along with my annoyance.

I got out my own phone and texted Powder.
He’s playing on his phone.

Powder texted back.
Red alert. He’s bored. Bet you get ditched. Text me later if you want to meet for dinner.

Max shifted his phone to his pocket “Sorry. Sax couldn’t find the place.” He half rose and waved at the entrance as the teenage rock sensation Sax Grayson came through the door. Sax had his arm around a girl with lush, wavy brunette hair. She was tracing designs on his cheek with her fingertips as they walked toward us. They slid into the booth opposite me and Max.

I was on a double date.

Sax glanced at our coffees. “Bro. You ordered already?” He pulled out a fifty and handed it to his date. “Why don’t you get us something?” He grinned at her. “See if you can surprise me.”

His date headed to the counter without complaint. I’d have liked to think I would complain about catering to my date, but really, who was I to judge when I’d bought my own drink.