“Are we doing a montage?” I asked, seeing that we were filming in more than one location. We were moving from the bedroom set to Ronny’s office, Riley’s desk, the stockroom at the grocery store, a tree. There were almost a dozen places they wanted us to film. Why?
“Yep, and no, I haven’t spoken to her. I’m going to tell her the same thing. Figure out your shit and get to set. I want to see you in an hour.”
He left my trailer in a huff, and reluctantly I followed him out, heading to hair and makeup.
I made it to set right on time, where a scowling Dante greeted me.
“Smartass.” He shook his head as he looked at his wristwatch. “It doesn’t really matter if you’re here. Evie’s throwing a bigger fit than you for once.”
I’d be lying if I said his words didn’t hurt my ego. I looked up at the ceiling and squinted.
“Is she coming at all?” I asked, careful with my words. “I’m not going to sit here with my pants down waiting for her.”
“She’ll show.”
Suddenly, Arthur Englund strode out from the shadows behind a set piece, hands in his suit pockets.
Dante groaned. You knew things were bad when the studio executives came out of their offices to hang around your set. Before more could be said, Evie strolled up, looking absolutely pissed.
“You’re late,” Arthur said. “Every minute costs us money.”
“Sorry, the makeup artist was struggling with how to cover this up.” Evie lifted her shirt, revealing the bright-red wound, still healing. It had barely been a week since Arthur had stabbed her at the charity event. The wound looked inflamed and painful.
Almost as if she’d been sewn together with a dull paperclip and fishing line.
“What the hell? How did that happen? Who stabbed you?” Dante leaped off his seat and hurried to examine the scar.
Evie’s eyes went right to Arthur as she answered our director. “Some pussy too coked out to finish the job.” She pushed her shirt back down and straightened. “So, apologies for my tardiness. We decided the gash was too fresh to put makeup on.”
“Are you okay? Did you go to the hospital?” Dante fired question after question, but Evie ignored them.
Arthur interjected. “She seems perfectly fine. Let’s get this shoot underway. Time is money.” He waved as if swatting a fly out of his face.
“Right. Of course. Why don’t you and I talk while everyone gets in place, Arthur?” Dante gave us a knowing look as he went to the executive, put his hand on his back, and urged him off set. “I still don’t understand why we’re doing all this new stuff.”
Evie and I didn’t speak as we prepared for the scene. She spoke only to the assistants and crew, taking direction from them, rather than discussing it with me. We hadn’t talked since she’d dropped her necklace in my hand and walked out of my house. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that we weren’t on good terms. I’d never felt so...embarrassed.
Dante returned looking haggard and called us together.
“Okay, today will be a lot of changing sets and costumes. Let’s just leave our personal feelings here, get our work done, and go home. You are actors. This is what you’re paid for—pretending you like each other. Got it?”
We both muttered various forms of agreement and walked to our places. The first set was Ronny’s office. Evie hopped onto the desk, and I stepped between her legs. With the energy she was giving off, it felt like any other non-explicit scene. There was no passion like there’d been in past shoots. Dante called, “Action!” and we came to life, kissing, pulling clothes off. It was all mechanical, and when we weren’t giving him the fire we’d had before, he called cut, lectured us, and when we started back up, he began to yell directions. He told us where to put our hands, move our heads, and what to do with our mouths. Finally, he got something that could work, and we moved to the next set.
It was a long morning of costume changes and dry, cold make-out sessions with Evie. We made it through three scenes and then cut for lunch. The moment the bell rang, Evie left set without a word, which was the last straw for me. I stormed back to my trailer to eat and shower. Despite wanting to strangle her, my dick was hard. It was nothing more than a biological reaction, I tried to tell myself, but I knew it wasn’t true. Throwing my next costume change on, I stomped out of my trailer and over to hers. I pounded on her door and got nothing. Instead, her assistant walked by.
“She’s already on set. I was told not to let you into her trailer.” She shrank as she confessed her orders.
“Fuck this,” I snarled and took a cart to set, gripping the wheel tight, growing more and more pissed the closer I got. She was angry because I wanted to keep her alive. How ridiculous. I parked, and when I saw her standing next to Dante, my lips curled upward.
Perfect.
They’d dressed her in a skirt.
I sauntered over, shoving my hands into my pockets like Arthur had done this morning.
“Sebastian, good, you’re here. I was just running Evie through this scene. You’re gonna bend her over a tree and whisper in her ear as you pretend to fuck her. I don’t care what you’re saying to her. Music will be put over the montage. This is going to be a longer scene, as this is when Riley sees you two and starts to plot Lucy’s murder, but that’ll be shot a different day. You ready?”
“Always,” I said and offered Evie my hand, to which she promptly stuck up her nose and walked the other way.
