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Only deal with women who know the score going in, never get serious and stay away from trouble.
On that note, I finish the call with Aden and make my way back to the studio. My mind turns back to the redhead from earlier. She spelled trouble—a lot of trouble. I still say there was something vaguely familiar about her too. It’s just as well I’ll never see her again though. Too many women to sample to put up with a mouth like that.
No matter how lusciously thick those lips were.
three
casey
“What happened to you?”
“I had a fight with a Raspberry Cheesecake latte,” I sigh out mournfully. “And it won.”
“Honey you’re supposed to drink them, not bathe in them.”
“Very funny, Roberta. Sorry I’m late. Let me grab a t-shirt from wardrobe and we’ll get started.”
“No worries. The director is in a meeting with the producers and the lead actors, so we have time.”
“Well, thank goodness for that I guess. What are they meeting about?” I call out over my shoulder, already walking towards the small closet that connects to Roberta’s makeup area. It mostly contains clothes she is supposed to be wearing for each scene. There are a few extras that wardrobe has brought over and thankfully some of those were plain t-shirts. I grab a soft, pale pink one and quickly toss my camisole on the floor and replace it with the tee. I wish I had a new bra, but beggars can’t be choosers. At least I don’t look like my boobs exploded with milk—I count that as a win.
“Who knows? Maybe Gloria’s current boyfriend is pissed at the producers for scheduling so many interviews with her and Aden as a couple,” Roberta shrugs.
I go back to the chair Roberta is sitting in, grab a brush and immediately go to work. Roberta has been a friend for a long time. I owe her more than I could ever repay. She’s older than me. She hasn’t given me her exact age, but I think it’s somewhere around her mid-fifties. She’s gorgeous even though she obsesses over her wrinkles. She’s got beautiful blonde, wavy hair that helps disguise the gray that she worries about. Though, this movie calls for the gray, so we’ve had to enhance it and I’m not sure she’s crazy about that. She’s tall, slim and looks better than most women half her age. Hell, I’d like to look as good as she does.
“I don’t see why she’d leave someone like Aden anyway. That man is fine,” I laugh, looking at her through the mirror.
“I know. A real woman wouldn’t, I imagine, but one who is more worried about her career slipping away,” she trails off with a shrug.
“I doubt her career would keep her warm at night like Aden could,” I respond.
“That’s the God’s honest truth if there ever was one,” Roberta answers, smiling.
We talk for a bit longer and then she leaves once I have her dolled up. I close my eyes and take a moment to relax. I can feel the dull thud of a headache forming behind my eyes. I couldn’t sleep last night which made today the absolute worst day to miss my early morning shot of caffeine.
I walk down the hall to a small lounge area they have set up for the low-level employees—like me. Coffee on the set tastes like dried ashes, but at least the aroma is familiar. I fill up a small cup, frowning because it’s way too cool for coffee, but it will have to do. I have to do Gloria’s hair next—desperation is my name. I admit my steps are slow leaving the lounge. I dread Gloria like the plague. As much as I like Aden and the few other stars that I’ve met during this film, I can honestly say I can’t stand her.
“Damn! I’m sorry I didn’t see you!”
I’m slammed up against the talking wall, the coffee crushed against my chest—just like last time. I look up and there’s Gavin—just like last time. He ran into me again. While texting on his phone—again. Not watching what he was doing—again.
“You have got to be kidding me!” I growl.
“You!” he says, surprised.
“Yes, me! You, idiot! How do they let you walk around by yourself?”
“Shit, lady. I’m sorry. Honest.”
“I can’t believe you!” I huff, not willing to take his apology. Maybe if he had offered it the first time around I’d be more inclined—better yet, if he had learned not to text and walk blindly so it could happen again. “What are you doing?” I cry when he has his hands on my shirt trying to pull it off of me.
“You don’t want to keep that coffee on you like that! It’ll burn!” he says, continuing to try to lift my shirt.
“Will you stop that!” I cry, slapping at his hands. “It’s cold! I’m not burning! You, moron!”
