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Apparently he wanted this job, too.
David probably wasn't a terrible person. He was just out of touch with reality. And normalcy. Something I figured a lot of famous people suffered from. I'd have bet money from what I'd seen on set that he surrounded himself with people who only told him how awesome he was, that he was the most special snowflake of all of the special snowflakes.
People that never let him know when he was acting like an entitled douchebag.
He wasn't even a bad actor. He had a limited range, as most too good-looking men do, but what he played, he played well. He'd just decided to be a dick to me since the first day we'd met, and he couldn't hide it even when the cameras were rolling.
I was still a little bummed about it. I'd been excited to meet him, more excited when he wanted me to come over to his house to rehearse together.
About two hours and a few drinks later into that first meeting he'd asked me (way too bluntly and without an ounce of charm) if I wanted to fuck, and I'd politely turned him down.
Okay, polite maybe wasn't the word. I'd tried to be polite, but I'm sure my version of a polite no had come across more than a touch sarcastic. And likely mocking.
He hadn't taken the rejection well. I honestly didn't think he knew how to deal with it. So he turned it on me. Told everyone I was difficult to work with while taking exception to every word that came out of my mouth.
I ignored it and tried my best not to let it show that I couldn't stand him when the cameras were rolling. I thought I succeeded.
David didn't even try. I don't know if he thought he could bully me into wanting to sleep with him, or if he was just that unprofessional.
One thing was for sure. Before today no one had dreamed there was a chance he could be fired.
"I don't want to fire you," Stuart told him when David had calmed enough to let someone else get a word in. "I don't want to. I just may need to. Scarlett is electric. She's magic. Incandescent. She gives me life. She's my muse, and she was made for this part, but as soon as I put you together, everything goes flat. Flat! I can't have it be flat, David. Tell me how I can keep from firing you."
That little speech, and fear of losing the role, seemed to help. David tried harder. Became more civil with the next take, like a light had been switched on. A big heaping of humble pie had been just what the doctor ordered.
What a spoiled brat.
When we finished another take it was to a spattering of applause and eccentric Stu blowing kisses into the air.
I was almost disappointed. I'd have loved to replace David with Anton or, hell, just about anyone, but if he was going to behave himself, I wouldn't be a butt about it.
We were taking a short break while we waited for setup on the next scene when my phone started ringing.
It was Bastian. I took a deep breath and answered.
"I can't find Dante," he began.
I closed my eyes, rubbing my temple with my free hand. "He's here," I told him.
"What do you mean by here?"
"Somewhere in town. Or at least he was a few days ago."
Bastian cursed. "Damnit, I should have guessed. If you see him again, tell him I need him to call me. He needs to pull it together."
"Do you really think that's a good idea?" I asked pointedly. If Dante knew I was talking to his brother, no matter the reason, I had no doubts it would send him into a jealous rage.
"I see your point," Bastian admittedly wryly. "Well, if you see him, will you figure out what he's doing there, where he's staying, and then let me know?"
"If I see him, yes, I will."
I stared at my phone long after the call had ended.
Would I see Dante again? Did I want to?
I was able to answer the first question much sooner than I'd imagined, as the next time I went to my trailer for a break, I found Dante sprawled out on my sofa. Again.
And he was stinking drunk. Again.
