Between the Lines (Between the Lines #1)

Between the Lines (Between the Lines #1) Page 6

We finish our first day of filming around five. Some days will be much longer, and some will require night filming, so we should enjoy this reprieve; but we lost two hours between California and Texas, which made eight a.m. feel like six a.m. Exhausted, Meredith and I climb into one of the cars that will transport us back to the hotel, and Brooke collapses onto the seat next to me. She’s basically a life-sized Barbie doll: perfect build (thin, but curvy where it counts, long dancer’s legs), perfect bone structure, clear blue eyes, blonde hair. Everything is pretty and flawless. Ninety-five percent of what people notice or talk about is her appearance, despite her acting skill. “Are you guys hungry? Because I’m star-ving.”

My stomach, activated by the thought of food, reminds me that I skipped lunch. Craft services served gourmet pizzas and salads, but I had first-day jitters and couldn’t eat.

“Yes,” Meredith and I chorus.

Thanks to celery stick lunches, no-bread dinners and lots of cardio, Meredith and I are both slim, with physical features unlikely to inspire either resentment or adoration, but I’ll take a favorable acting review over someone gushing about the shape of my ass any day. My hair color (and Meredith’s) would be termed pecan or tweed according to Chloe, fake hair color expert, who’s been trying to get me to highlight my hair for years by declaring things like, “It’s so freaking dull,” for motivation.

Brooke gives the driver directions to a corner bar and grill a few blocks from the hotel, where we sit by the window and watch as people leave their downtown offices. I ask if she’s been to Austin before, and she says, “I grew up here,” smiling as a group of college boys stroll by, all three slowing when they spot her, one waving with a shy grin. Laughing, she crosses her arms over her chest loosely, sighing, “I would chew him up and spit him out.” The boy who’d waved glances back twice, disappointed and earning a punch in the arm from one of his friends.

How does Brooke find the time for enough life experience to cause this level of sexual ennui when I don’t have time to go to a regular school or on a regular date? My moments of free time are erratic; granted, I’m more likely to spend them with Emily than with a boy. Boyfriends have been rare—only three. Two were fellow actors and the other was a friend of Emily’s. We broke up because I literally never saw him.

Brooke scans the place after we’ve eaten, her eyes settling on two young professionals sitting at the bar. “I want an older guy,” she says. As if she’s called his name, one of them glances at Brooke, right in the middle of a sentence, his mouth slightly ajar. She smiles, holding the eye contact for a beat too long to be mistaken for anything but interest. His friend, noting his reaction, looks over as well.

If either of them watched Life’s a Beach, the teen series Brooke spent the last two years doing, she’d look familiar. Doubtful, at their ages. I watched the show with Emily a few times. Brooke seems shockingly similar to her boy-crazed beach-girl character. Is this an act, or was her character so convincing because she was essentially playing herself?

She turns back to us, silky hair tossed over her shoulders, and the guy at the bar can’t tear his eyes away from the back of her head. “It’s been a while since I was in Texas. Maybe it’s time to find out if everything is bigger here.”

“Ohmigod,” Meredith says. “You are so bad.”

“I try.” Brooke laughs and flashes a quick smile over her shoulder to the guy who’s debating whether or not to walk over. “Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter 8

REID

I spot Emma the moment I get to the set, watch her glancing around—looking for me, I think. When our gazes connect, she smiles shyly. I return her smile and then shift my attention back to Tadd, who’s got a running commentary going about the disappointing lack of boots and cowboy hats he’s seen since landing in Austin.

“I get the whole ‘keep Austin weird’ and ‘we’re an artsy, freethinking town,’ but you’d think they could at least nod towards the conventional Marlboro man look enough to give the place an authentic Texas feel.” He huffs a sigh and twitches his head, his hair lifting and falling right back where it was.

Occasionally someone in the media or the public sees my blond hair and blue eyes, adds ‘lives in California,’ and concludes surfer dude. Standing next to Tadd, though, I could be from Canada. His platinum blond hair, straight as a razor, has two options: feathered straight down around his face, as it is now, or spiked straight up. That, coupled with clear blue eyes, a perpetual tan and his propensity to actually say things like dude, edge me out.

“You do realize Brokeback was set in Wyoming, not Texas, right?”

He peers at me through his bangs before pushing them back. “And your point is?”

“Maybe you should go look for your personal Marlboro man there.”

“Unfortunately, we’re filming just over a thousand miles south of Wyoming right now,” he retorts.

“How do you know that?” I ask. Tadd has a memory bank full of trivia, apparently including an innate knowledge of US geography.

“That is not the point!” He pretends exasperation, and I laugh as conversations fade and eyes widen near us. “The point is where the hell are the cowboys?”

“Dallas?”

“Har-de-har,” he deadpans.

That’s when I spot Brooke coming onto the set. I haven’t seen her, in person anyway, in years. She’s even more beautiful than she was at sixteen. Staggeringly so. A morbid curiosity settles over me concerning how this is going to proceed. She’s talking to Meredith Reynolds when she sees me. My role in School Pride has been well publicized—it can’t be a surprise that I’m here. Even still, she appears taken aback. I stare at her with just a hint of a smile. I don’t want her to know that her face still has the power to take my breath away. Her eyes narrow for the length of one heartbeat, and then her face goes passive. She never wavers in her conversation, turns away, doesn’t look at me again.

We’ll have to interact at some point. Her character is the sister of my character’s best friend. We have scenes together, speaking parts with each other. Plus, in a group this small, there will be interaction between all of us, socially. If we’re wishing each other dead, even silently, it won’t go unnoticed.

When I walk up to the craft services table during lunch break, I end up just behind Emma and MiShaun. Perusing the spread of sandwiches, fruit, cookies and drinks, MiShaun touches Emma’s arm lightly, saying, “Don’t fall asleep standing up. That wouldn’t end well.”

“Huh?” Emma blinks, stares into the steaming cup in her hand, and yawns. “I would kill for a double shot latté. This coffee is awful, but I need the caffeine.”

MiShaun selects a turkey sandwich and a bottle of raspberry iced tea. “The time change can feel like mini jet lag. Why don’t you get one of the set assistants to run to the nearest coffee house and grab a latté for you?”

“Can I do that? I mean would that be an asshole thing to ask?”

Wow, she’s got a lot to learn about being a movie star.

MiShaun laughs. “No, crazy, they don’t want the stars running off set to get their own drug of choice.”

“What’s funny?” I ask, stepping up between them, grabbing a sandwich from the top of one pyramid and taking a bite. Tuna. Not my favorite, but Olaf, my trainer, would approve of the protein content.

MiShaun cocks an eyebrow at me. “You’re funny. Don’t you two have a kissing scene in a few minutes? And there you go eating tuna fish, no care at all for poor Emma.”

I stop chewing. “Shit. I forgot.” I want to kick myself—I forgot we’re about to kiss isn’t the most flattering thing to say.

“Um, that’s okay.” Emma takes the smallest wedge of tuna sandwich on the platter. “I’ll eat a bite, and then I won’t really notice you, uh, having eaten any.” She nibbles it, grimacing almost imperceptibly. “See. Problem solved.”

She just ate something she hates to make me feel better. This bodes well on multiple levels. “So both of us eating it counteracts the effect? Clever. I was about to find a potted plant to spit it into.”

She laughs, thank God. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh!”

MiShaun shakes her head as though we’re both unbalanced.

“So, some of us are heading down to the strip tonight. Are you tagging along?” I invite her as part of the group, rather than disclosing that I want her there for myself. I take another sandwich and MiShaun gives me a horrified look.

“Reid Alexander, what would your legions of faithful fans think if I told them you eat smelly tuna sandwiches non-stop?”

“My trainer says I need to eat! Can’t a guy get some protein without seeking approval from everyone? God!” Smiling, I snatch a third sandwich and start to walk away, turning without stopping and pointing at Emma. Like an afterthought. “So yes for tonight?”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds cool.”

“Awesome. See you in a few.”

Emma

We’re filming the scene of the audition.

When Reid pulls me into his arms and brushes his mouth over mine, he tastes like spearmint. There’s no trace of tuna anywhere, which means we’ve both brushed our teeth since our earlier conversation at the craft services table. (I also flossed and gargled. Twice.) No one but me would know or care whether he tastes like fish or candy when we kiss; his minty fresh breath is for me alone. This knowledge sends a silly spark of euphoria through me.

And then Richter pulls me back to earth. “Cut! Perfect. Unfortunately, we have to film it again.” Unfortunately is not the word I would use for a required retake. He swivels around, looking for someone. “Scott—the lighting is much too ambient. It’s a high school hallway for chrissake, it’s going to be bright.”

I steal a glance at Reid as he stands next to me, the ends of his hair being tweaked to best show the streaks of light blond highlights through the natural dark blond. His eyes are closed as our hair girl, all five foot zero of her, circles him, pulling and spraying. Someone brushes powder on my forehead and refreshes my lip color. Before I have the sense to look away, his eyes open and he’s staring back. He smiles then, and my mouth goes dry. I lick my lips lightly and his gaze darts to my mouth. When his gaze drifts back to mine, his smile both devious and breathtaking.

Oh, yeah. I’m in trouble.

We have an outdoor scene to film this afternoon. Meredith and I rehearse lines as we near the exit, until we hear screams from the street-side end of the parking lot. Brooke and Jenna come up behind us and we all peek out.

Jenna sighs. “Looks like afternoon filming is about to hit a snag.”

“I think every mindless girl in Texas between twelve and twenty is at the other end of that lot,” Brooke says.

“More I heart Reid Alexander fans?” I ask needlessly, and she nods. I’m relieved to see our cast bodyguards and two local police officers on our side of the temporary three-foot barrier. Meredith and I exit cautiously while Jenna and Brooke stride out ahead, unconcerned.