Dazzled (18 page)

He shook his head. “But this… today… it’ll be like showing everyone something… private, you know?”

Not really, no.

“And if I do get a hard-on – it’ll be so fucking humiliating. But what Mildred said…”

“She’s a shriveled old hag, don’t worry about her. She’s just jealous.”
Like me.
“I tell you what, when you’re on top of Lilia,”
ugh, ugh, ugh,
“just imagine that you’re screwing Mildred. That should reduce your testicles to the size of acorns.”

He looked like he was going to vomit.

“You think?”

“Ha! It’s working already, isn’t it?”

“Bloody hell,” he mumbled. “Thanks, Clare.”

One of the PAs that I didn’t know very well knocked on the door.

“You’re wanted in the costume trailer.”

“Oh shit,” whispered Miles.

I was confused. “What costume?”

Miles closed his eyes. “It’s for the merkin.”

“The what?”

“Like an athletic cup… You know, to cover up the meat and two veg.”

Oh?

Oh!

Ouch.

“I’ll, um, I’ll wander over with you,” I said, trying to sound casual, although it wasn’t easy, not with the thought of someone getting up close and personal with Miles’ equipment – someone who wasn’t me. Again.

He shuffled his feet into a pair of flip flops, reluctance oozing from every pore. Most days, it was evident that he loved what he did, the whole acting thing. Today wasn’t one of those days.

We walked solemnly to the costume trailer, and I couldn’t stand the silence. So it ended up with me talking non-stop about some of the things we planned to do once we got back to LA, and our hopes to get in a quick visit to
San Francisco when he had a day free. I was trying to take his mind off things, but I don’t think it helped.

I left him at the door, but he stopped and grabbed my hand, desperation in his voice.

“Don’t leave me, Clare!”

“Miles, I love you loads, but I truly don’t want to watch you getting your tackle taped up.”

He almost smiled. “Me neither! I’m not asking you to. You could look the other way or… just stay, please?”

I couldn’t say no to him. Sigh.

The merkin man was a guy called Leon. He’d handled todgers for a number of movie stars. Maybe it was his specialty. I couldn’t help wondering what he put on his business cards:
Chunk your Junk – Jewel Handler to the Stars
?

I sat at his table, examining the weird-looking thing. It was halfway between a single bra cup and a jockstrap – except there were no ties or elastic.

Leon picked up the merkin from my sweaty hands, and I turned my back while the business was concluded.

“First time, Miles?” the guy asked.

I didn’t hear a reply. Perhaps Miles nodded. Perhaps he’d lost the power of speech – or maybe just the will to live.

“Okay, relax, man. It’ll feel a bit weird when the glue goes on…”

“Glue?!” My voice had gone up a couple of octaves.

Leon
chuckled. “Yeah, it works better if the area has been, um, shaved. This’ll hurt like hell when you take it off.”

“Great,” muttered Miles, sounding even more miserable.

Maybe thinking about the pain would take his mind off the arising situation.

“Wow, weird,” said Miles after a few moments of rustling.

“Yeah, it’s the GI Joe doll look,” agreed Leon. “Just one thing: the glue tends to loosen up if you get hot or if you get a stiffy. Get one of the PAs to give me a call and I’ll come fix you up.”

I heard Miles take a deep breath.

“Got it,” he said.

As we made our way to the set, Miles threw me a panicked look.

“Well, um, break a leg,” I said, cheerfully.
Preferably hers.

“Aren’t you coming in?”

“Can’t. Closed set.”

At that moment Jo-Anne breezed past us, a clipboard shoved under her good arm.

“Where the hell’s Polly?” she snapped.

“Working with the second unit,” somebody answered.

“Ah hell, I forgot that. Clare, you busy? No? Good. Come with me.”

I didn’t have time to say a single word before she thrust the clipboard at me, and I was ushered inside.

Boy, it was hot, and they hadn’t even got the lights on yet. The studio was tiny, crammed with bodies and… The Bed.

The Bed was large and white – very comfortable looking, except for all the cables and spotlights that surrounded it. All a bit BDSM for a PG13 film, I thought.

Despite the fact it was supposed to be a closed set, there were a surprising number of people squeezing their way into the crowded space. As well as Jo-Anne, there was the gaffer – that’s the electrician; the woman holding the boom mike; two cameramen; another sound guy; the script supervisor, who was in charge of continuity; and a prop woman – ready with her pre-prepared, spray on sweat, made from rosewater and glycerin.

Oh, and me, acting as Jo-Anne’s gofer and note taker, because her writing hand was still in a sling.

Looking like a condemned man, Miles dragged himself toward the bed.

“Yeah, just drop the robe and make yourself comfortable,” said Jo-Anne, sounding calm and relaxed.

Her easy-going attitude was going to make this a lot more bearable for everyone. I couldn’t imagine the levels of ghastliness if that slimeball Paulini was still involved.

Miles shrugged out of his robe, and dropped it by his side of the bed. Most people averted their eyes to give him some privacy. Most. What can I say? If no one wanted me to see, they should have given me blinkers, you know, like on a carthorse’s bridle.

My eyes watered just looking at that delicious V-shape, those rippling abs and, well, just, yum. But jeez, that jerkin, I mean merkin, was weird. But kind of hard to take your eyes off it, too.

Lilia swanned in a minute later, looking cool.
Yeah, you could probably freeze helium on her pointy arse.

“Ready for a bit of horizontal Fred and Ginger?” said Jo-Anne, and everyone laughed quietly. “Yeah, it’ll be about as sexy as a game of Twister – probably less so,” she smiled.

She sat on the bed with Miles and Lilia, talking quietly. I could see them listening intently, nodding from time to time, a small frown of concentration on Miles’ lovely face.

And then they got into position.

Miles was lying on his back and Lilia was straddling him, her bony carcass on display. Hell, I could have played
Bohemian Rhapsody
on her spine.

Then the cameras whirred.

Lilia ran her fingers down Miles’ bare arm – I wanted to snap them off.

She let her long hair sweep across his fine, fine chest – I wanted to yank it out by the roots.

And when she kissed him, it was all I could do not to leap out of my chair, grab her by the windpipe and choke the ever living crap out of her.

But I didn’t.

Jo-Anne called a temporary halt while the camera positions were adjusted, and I took a much needed gulp of water. Vodka would have been better. Miles threw me an anxious look, and I returned a tight smile, but then the she-devil whispered something in his ear and I wanted to wipe that look off her face with a cold kipper wrapped around my fist.

How could he stand it?
When she puckered her lips she looked like a fish on the end of a hook.
Trout-faced trollop.

Once the cameras angles were altered, I endured an unendurable ten minutes watching Miles run his hand down Lilia’s arm. It was a sweet, sensual, loving movement. So tender, it hurt.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Jo-Anne had them switch positions, and there was another horrendous ten minutes while his body was on top of her, and she ran her hand down his chest to his waist. I nearly vomited on my brand new Vans.

But it got worse, because for the next 25 minutes, and what seemed like a thousand takes, Miles pretended to thrust, with her leg hitched over his hip – I thought I was going to have a meltdown. I was definitely having a hot flush. I mean,
25 minutes
of thrusting!

There was only so much a girl could take.

But when there were quite a few mutterings from the cameraman about a problem with ‘shadowing’, we had a 20 minute break while the lights were adjusted.

Miles and Lilia sat back against the headboard, the sheet covering her non-existent tits. They looked so post-coital, I couldn’t even look Miles in the face.

Then they started again, Miles thrusting, Lilia moaning, and his tight arse pistoning up and down like a pumpjack at an oil well.
Oh God, for a different image.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to put my foot through the camera’s lens, and dance on the shattered glass. I wanted to claw Lilia’s rolling eyes out of her lollipop head and laugh like a hyena while I did it.

But damn it, Miles looked so unbelievably perfect.

I could see all the muscles in his back as he braced himself above her, holding his weight on his arms, staring into her eyes. And I wished it was me. So badly. In what universe was it fair that she got to have him? Just because she was beautiful and talented? Was I so awful? So hideous that he would never choose me? What if I wore a paper bag? What was wrong with
me?

They changed the camera angles, and there was more thrusting, more moaning. Then a lot more stroking and long, meaningful looks.

Suddenly, Miles swore.

“Problem?” said Jo-Anne.

“The fuckin’ merkin’s dropped off,” he said, cursing freely.

“As long as that’s the only thing that’s dropped off,” said Jo-Anne, with a smile.

Everyone chuckled, and it relieved some of the mounting tension.

“Clare, can you go get
Leon, please?” said Jo-Anne.

I was more than happy to leave that sweaty studio and find the merkin man. I knocked on his trailer and listened to a lot of scuffling and some swearing before the door jerked open.

Yeah, and Mildred was standing behind him, looking sort of, well, sunburned. I couldn’t help smirkin’ at the merkin man.

“Jo-Anne wants you,” I said, pretending nonchalance. “There’s been a merkin emergency – Code Red.”

He mumbled something to Mildred, who couldn’t look me in the eye as she scuttled back to her own trailer. Then Leon picked up his merkin First Aid kit (glue, string, something that looked like an old sock), and we headed back to the studio.

Lilia had slipped back into her robe, and Miles was sitting on the edge of the bed, a sheet draped strategically. He leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes as
Leon fiddled about, his head somewhere near Miles’ knees.

Oh.

My.

God.

I really can’t repeat the images that were pulsing through my brain at that moment, although I fully intended to write them all in my diary later.

After a lot of swearing (from
Leon), and a pained expression and several sharp intakes of breath (from Miles), the merkin misadventure was resolved and we were good to go again.

Thrusting, moaning, eye-rolling, heavy breathing, yadda yadda yadda. The sex scene was finished.

Or so we thought.

For the first time, Miles refused to watch the rushes that evening, but a couple of guys in snazzy suits were sitting next to Jo-Anne, watching the images roll over the small screen.

“Don’t worry about the sound,” she said. “We’ll dub in the effects later.”

Oh, really?
Well, I suppose that there wasn’t exactly a convenient place to mike up Miles and Lilia – although I had a thought about where Lilia’s microphone could have been hidden.

One of the suits shook his head.

“You’re going to have to tone that down, Ms Moody. The MPAA will never pass that. We
need
PG13.”

“It hasn’t been edited yet,” she said, between gritted teeth. “We can fix it in post-production.”

Suit number two shook his head. “We’ll need some more footage – less… explicit. We can definitely see some of his ass-crack, and there was nipple action in one section.”

“It can be fixed,” Jo-Anne insisted.

But the suits weren’t listening.

I guess Miles’ thrusting was too convincing.

The end result was that a second day of watching sex between Miles and the minging floozy was scheduled for the following day. Believe me,
no one
was happy about that scenario.

Once the suits had left, Jo-Anne was free to vent.

“What the hell do they want?” she fumed. “Do they want to choreograph every thrust themselves?”

I shrugged. “Probably. Or maybe they just want to have a go with Lilia. You know, throw some moves, get in a quick grope.”

Jo-Anne laughed. “Oh, hell, yeah! I can really see Lilia going for that – she’d beat the crap out of anyone who tried.”