“I’m sorry if I’ve pissed you off or done something wrong. I didn’t mean to.”
He looks up at me then, a flash of surprise in his sapphire eyes. I much prefer the way he looks at me when we are filming. There is hostility then, yes, but also heaps of yearning and a distinct ‘come to bed, I’m all yours’. The way Cain looks at me ignites fireworks in my brain. Cain’s gaze challenges me. It blazes with intelligence and passion.
Now his gaze is cold, empty, dismissive. As if I’m no one important. I don’t like it at all. But this is Mackenzie I remind myself. He is not Cain. It’s just a little thing called acting. I shouldn’t be confused by it.
“It’s not you,” says Mackenzie slowly, as if he is concerned about my intelligence. “I’m just not very friendly.”
“Right, fine. I’ll leave you alone then,” I say and I turn to go.
“Thank you,” he says and it sounds truly genuine.
Mackenzie Jones, my co-star, really truly wants me to stay the hell away from him. He wants nothing to do with me. It hurts far more than I like. I shouldn’t care about the jumped-up little prick’s opinion of me. But I do.
I throw myself into my chair that’s on the other side of the studio from him. I’m seething but I need to pull it together. None of the remaining scenes scheduled for today require that emotion. Time to chill the fuck out and not take everything so personally. Everyone knows former child stars become messed up adults. It quite likely has nothing at all to do with me. Mackenzie is probably just missing his cocaine and hookers, or groupies. Or whatever the hell he gets up to that amuses his neurotic damaged mind when he’s not working.
Memories of the way he had looked at the knife in our first ever shoot, play in my head. I shiver. He is definitely messed up. No one in their right mind looks at a dagger like that. As if they want it to sink into them and make everything stop.
Tendrils of guilt and concern start to twist through me. Maybe I should tell someone? Maybe he needs help? But who would I tell? I can imagine the reaction I would get if I went up to the Welfare Officer and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Jones, is so good at acting that I think it’s actually real and he wants to top himself.”
I’m being ridiculous. Besides, if I’m going to be convinced that his death wish wasn’t acting, it would imply I believed all his lust-filled, sultry looks were true too.
I glance over at Mackenzie who is still sitting in his chair. I haven’t heard that he is gay or bi. Come to think of it, I’ve never heard anything about his sex life at all. I guess that means he keeps that shit private. I don’t blame him.
I examine him as he sits there, scrolling on his phone, ignoring everyone. Does he fancy me? It’s not a ludicrous idea. I’m a good-looking guy, I wouldn’t have gotten this far in the industry if I wasn’t. I’ve got the tall, dark and handsome thing down pat. With muscles that my personal trainer assures me are just the right amount.
But Mackenzie has been surrounded by beautiful people all his life. What are the chances that I have caught his eye? I sigh and conclude that the chances are slim to none. He would flirt with me if that were true, not behave as if I had murdered his family, like the backstory between our characters.
He just doesn’t like me and that’s fine. We don’t need to be friends to work together, he is right in that regard. I can be professional too. Do our scenes and ignore him otherwise. It will be fine. It’s Hollywood, there are plenty of other people to be friends with.
Chapter three
Thereflectioninthemirror doesn’t look like me at all. I turn from side to side trying to take it all in. A good-looking young man in a well fitting tux looks back at me. His dark brown hair is styled in an expensive cut. His shirt is so white it gleams. The cut of the suit displays his firm and muscular frame. It’s only the brown eyes that remain of the scrawny kid from a London council flat.
I’ve come a long way from those days and I’m proud. As well as a little taken aback. It’s taken years of hard work to get here, and while I feel the drag of time, it also feels like a blink of an eye. Like some part of my soul can’t keep up with all the changes.
It’s not too surprising, I guess. I’m standing here, about to go to a red carpet event as one of the stars. A few years ago, I used to stand in front of mirrors and pretend the very same thing. It’s bound to take a little getting used to.
Butterflies send my guts twisting again. Tonight is going to be amazing. Bright lights, limos, champagne. Press taking my photo. I need to pinch myself. Seeing the show in its finished glory is going to be great too. Seeing Mackenzie is going to be… Why am I even thinking about that jerk?
The six weeks and four days since we finished filming have been brilliant. I haven’t had to tolerate watching him prowl around set with his feline grace. I haven’t had to listen to his delicious accent pour over me like honey. No more gazing into his sapphire eyes while he looks at me as if I’m the only light in his life, the only thing he craves and needs. Only for the director to yell ‘cut’ and that precious look vanish, to be replaced with nothing but a haughty disdain. If he even looked at me at all.
The whole time we were filming he never talked to me. Not even a hello. He never stayed to watch my scenes with Alice. He was often late. He would have been a complete ass to work with, had he not been so bloody brilliant when the cameras were rolling. His acting was extraordinary, but more than that, were the performances he pulled out of me. I don’t know how he did it, but I was giving the best work of my life. My scenes with Alice and other characters were flat in comparison.
Now, after six long weeks I am going to be seeing him again. My butterflies surge. I try to untangle how I feel about it, but it’s hopeless. I guess my feelings are complicated. I’ll have to leave it at that.
“Time to go!” Liliah calls from downstairs.
Taking one last look at myself, I turn and leave. Liliah is waiting by the front door for me. She looks stunning in a form hugging red sparkling cocktail dress. Her brunette hair is in long loose waves down her back. I give her a quick kiss, mindful of her makeup.
“You look amazing,” I tell her.
“You too!” she says.
The sleek black limo is waiting outside. I take Liliah’s hand and we walk out of our house. Last time we went to a red carpet event, she was the star, and I was the supportive partner. It probably makes me an asshole, but I can’t help noticing how much I prefer it this way round.
It’s a short drive to the venue and as we pull up, I can’t stop grinning like an idiot. There, laid before me is an actual red carpet. Red ropes on either side hold back a fair few members of the press. I’m impressed at how many have turned up. It’s just the first showing of the first season of a television show. Nobody knows how well it is going to do, but Mackenzie’s involvement is certainly helping to draw attention to it.
Walking down the carpet with Liliah on my arm, is a literal dream come true. It’s a struggle to stop my grin from looking deranged. I hold my head at the precise angle that I have practiced with photographers a thousand times, while giving the smile I have perfected. Being photogenic is not all about genetic luck. You’ve got to know what makes you look good.
