The crew breaks into thunderous applause.
“Fabulous, Barry! I mean, just fucking fabulous! First take, man, and you nailed it!” he yells. “I see big things coming your way.” He walks over and claps me on the back. “The studio can get behind your backstory, too, when we start the press tour. The guy who finally, finally got the break he deserved after all these years.”
Mitch turns to the crew.
“Back in five!” he yells. “I want to get some takes of Billy reacting to the scene at the bar.”
“Helluva job,” Ida Red says, studying me curiously. “Damn shame you gotta die.”
I laugh. She doesn’t like anyone getting more attention than her.
“Already dead,” I say to her with a wink. “So it doesn’t hurt as much.”
She stares at me as I head out of the bar.
Kyle walks over to me.
“I knew I was right about you,” he says. Kyle leans into my ear and whispers, “You are so hot right now.”
I laugh as if he’s told me the funniest joke in the world and head to my trailer.
“I was watching,” Ainsley says when I enter. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. It was a rush.”
I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and chug it, finally realizing how dry my mouth is, not just from the desert dust but from my nerves.
I take a seat in the chair, and Ainsley touches up my makeup for my next scene.
The trailer door pops open, and Kyle sticks his head in.
“Mr. Moses,” Ainsley exclaims nervously.
“Can you excuse us for a moment?” he asks.
“Of course,” she says as she exits.
As soon as she is gone, Kyle locks the door, grabs me and kisses me with too much force.
“I made you,” he says, grabbing my face, hard. “I made you! Now I want my scene with you.” His fingers are pressed into my neck. “You got me so worked up out there. I deserve a reward, cowboy.”
Kyle forces me onto the couch.
“I have another scene,” I say. “Don’t mess up my makeup or clothes.”
I am strong, but he is younger, stronger. His hand wraps around my throat. My windpipe constricts. I gasp. We fall to the floor.
“You were so hot today,” he whispers. A thread of saliva trickles from the corner of his mouth. “But don’t overshadow me or Loretta. I can still fire you. Billy Bob is waiting.”
I look up at him. Kyle is no longer present. His face is flushed, his eyes narrowed, his dimples making him look like a sweet man who has lost his mind.
I search his eyes as I gasp for air.
Does he even remember the sweet, innocent kid he was when he first moved to Hollywood?
“You like this, don’t you?” he asks, his body, excited, pressed against mine.
This, I realize, is my payback. It is the price I must pay for success. The toll I now owe for taking advantage of so many other men without a single concern for their well-being is finally being exacted.
