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“Why do you have to be so practical?” I moan, but it’s a fake complaint. I love having a practical woman. And a thoughtful one. I’ve had affairs with women who behaved like divas, expecting the help to pick up after them.
I gently lift her off my cock, and we dress and carry the leftover wine and the glasses to the kitchen. We go upstairs, take a shower, and slip into bed. Grace arranges herself on my chest, and I stroke her hair as we relax.
“What are your plans tomorrow?” she asks, her voice sleepy. She sounds so cute when she’s sleepy.
“We’re starting to shoot a few scenes tomorrow,” I tell her.
“How are you feeling about your lines?” she asks, struggling to stay awake.
“Pretty good, actually.” I’ve worked on my character for months, and I’m confident that I can step into Damon King’s shoes. “Sleep, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
She murmurs something that I don’t quite catch, and I kiss the back of her head. I muse over how much my life has changed over the last few weeks and all because of Grace. My life feels full and purposeful now in a way that work cannot make you feel. Only love can.
I’m startled by the realization that I love her. I’m in love with Grace Hughes. It has crept up on me and settled in as if I’ve always loved her. She makes me happy. I start to drift off to sleep with a smile on my face.
***
It’s an early start for me, and I leave Grace sleeping soundly. I have a call time of 7 AM, which means I had to get up at half past five. The LA traffic is heavy, and it takes us a good forty-five minutes to get to the set.
The first thing that I do when I arrive is check in with the director, and then I’m shown to my trailer. I love having my own space for moments when I need to practice my lines or come down from the high of playing someone else before going home.
Someone brings me a coffee and a bagel for which I’m really grateful. Before I finish my coffee, someone knocks on my door. It’s a woman from the wardrobe. I’ll need to make my way there in half an hour. I’ve barely sat back down before another knock comes, this one noisier and impatient.
Fighting down my irritation, I fling the door open to find Skyler standing there, all decked out as if she’s on her way to dinner. She smiles widely, and I smile back. Skyler has that effect on people, and I’m guessing it’s the same star quality that Marilyn Monroe had.
“Hey, can I come in?” she says in her signature husky voice.
I’m willing to bet that Skyler features in a lot of men’s secret fantasies. She’s built like a Barbie doll, all boobs and curves. She doesn’t do it for me, though. Actresses never have. I learned a long time ago to separate my work and pleasure.
“Sure,” I tell her, and she enters and plops down on the couch. She places her script on the table and pats the space next to her. It’s too close, and I sit at the end of the couch. “I’ve been really nervous about this movie.”
I’m surprised. “Why? I know portraying real-life characters is tough, but you’re an old hand, Skyler. You’ll be wonderful.”
She smiles. “Thank you. Anyway, I came by to ask for a favor. Can we run through one or two scenes together? Just to get a feel for it.”
“Sure.” I’m more than happy too. It’s our first time working together, and it’s probably how she does things. She grabs her script, and I pick up mine, which is under the table. She turns the pages before returning to the first page.
“Let’s do the first scene,” she says.
I’ve memorized the whole script, and the first scene is between Damon Knight and his wife. It’s the night before the fire, and they are getting ready for bed while discussing their daughter’s high school graduation, which will be in a few weeks.
“Sounds good,” I say, and she begins.
We go through our lines, and I’m more than impressed with Skyler’s portrayal of Damon’s wife, Sarah. Her sexiness disappears, and she comes across as a regular housewife. That’s the mark of a good actor.
I don’t realize when it happens, but we’re seated next to each other with Skyler’s skirt-clad legs angled my way and her knees touching mine. My instinct is to move, but it will seem too obvious. I stay put, but I’m uncomfortable as fuck, and I can’t wait for her to leave.
When we’re finished with the scene, she looks up from her script and smiles. “That was beautiful, wasn’t it?” she says.
“It was,” I agree, now itching to move.
