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“Cut,” Aug calls, and then there’s shuffling. I peer around the set to see Alexa center stage, trusty Q-tip in hand.
“Give me five,” Alexa sighs over her shoulder toward Aug and Lance. “The sneeze smeared her mascara.” She looks down at Uma, the actress. “Need allergy meds?”
Uma nods, and as I’m about to shuffle down the hall to my office and reorder the LED bulbs for the prop makeup desk on set, Aug claps a hand over my shoulder.
“Cohen,” he greets, “How are you?”
I cast my gaze around the room, but come up empty. The set is full of people, but I don’t see her. Lance appears, sliding his iPad into Aug’s hands. He faces me with steely blue eyes that mirror my own. “She’s in her dressing room, taking a phone call.”
I furrow my brows as my gaze darts between them before Lance takes off, cupping his hands to his mouth to shout at the caterer coming in the building.
“On the concrete! Do not roll that cart over the wiring!”
I face Aug, and he shrugs. “He’s very… intuitive.”
I don’t deny that I was looking for her. “I gave her a ride the other night. I get the impression that someone’s bothering her, and I’m concerned.”
It’s all true, but I omit that I don’twanther to be bothered. I leave out how despite the fact I hardly know her and have no business inserting myself intoanyone’slife, I like her. Something about her softness on set, the sincerity in her voice. She’s real but wounded, and maybe she sticks out to me because I see myself in her. Alive but emotionally a little mangled.
I hope that’s not the case. I hope I’m wrong and she’s fine. But the way Aug doesn’t rush in with soothing words, or doesn't immediately laugh and throw his head back like it’s crazy, that has my hands balling into fists at my sides.
“Is Scarlett safe?” I ask, my voice deliberately small but also unintentionally gruff. There’s a dull ache in my chest as I wait for Aug’s response. He drags a hand over the top of his shiny dark hair, the overhead lights making a few silver strands shine.
“You know Pete Bryson, right? The head of Jizzabelle Films.”
I narrow my eyes, thinking back to the last event mixer held at The Fillmore for our industry, put on by Debauchery. A tall, thin man comes to mind, a heap of greasy brown hair falling over his forehead, gold ring shining on his pinky finger. When he slipped his hand in mine, it was limp, and he only held my fingers. Never trust a man with a bad handshake, my dad always said.
“The limp handshake guy?” I ask Aug, though I’m sure it was him.
Aug dips his head in acknowledgement. “Yeah, that’s him.” He surveys the people around us before lowering his voice. “She was in a relationship with him for two years. He’s how she got started in the business.”
I know how Aug found Tucker, but something tells me Pete Bryson finding Scarlett wasn’t quite as wholesome. And Scarlett with Pete? That makes no sense. She’s beautiful and sweet, and he’s…Pete fucking Bryson. A guy who’d screw over his own blood to get ahead.
“What about him?” I ask, but I know what’s coming. I think of the unrelenting ringing from her purse that morning. The voice on the other line. Hairs rise up along the back of my neck and all down my arms. That was Pete.
“Like I said, he’s both her ex boyfriend and former boss,” Aug says, an obvious discomfort clouding his normally clear eyes. That makes me nervous, because Aug is so solid. For him to be stirred or shaken must mean Pete Bryson is more of an asshole than even I know.
I just stare at him, trying to control the unsteady breaths that wrack my chest and cause my shoulders to lift with every concerned inhale.
“I’m glad we have her here at Crave. Pete was doing a lot of shit at Jizzabelle that would get the entire place shut down if anyone reported him.”
“And that would be a bad thing?” I question, still clenching my fists at my side.
Aug pulls a hand down his face before motioning something to Lance behind me. With his focus back on me he drops his voice to a private tone and says, “We have her here now and that’s what's important.”
“Tell me more,” I say, gripping his wrist as he moves to walk past me. He may be done with this conversation but I’m more interested than ever.
He looks at where I’m gripping him then up to my eyes. He’s clearly conflicted as to how to respond, but something he sees in my stare prompts him to answer. “Pete forced her into scenes, and other times, wouldn’t even tell her what was in the scene, but he’d tell the male actors and she’d just get…surprised.” He puts air quotes around that word, and I feel sick. “She had no real say in things. Pete treated her like shit, at Jizzandat home.”
“They don’t have contracts?” I may not be an actor, but I know how Crave works. Everyone and everything is contracted, for mutual benefit and protection.
Aug straightens, taking the slates from the chair where he rested them. “They do have contracts but they were in a relationship and…” his voice grows distant as he chooses his next words, as if he’s trying not to lie while also not telling the whole truth. “Pete is not a good man, and what happened at Jizz is just the tip of the iceberg,” he says.
From the hall, Scarlett appears, robe wrapped around her torso tight. Alexa has stopped her, and is assaulting her face with a brush and powder. Aug turns his focus back to his job.
“We have less than two minutes of filming, guys, okay? No hiccups, no sneezes. Let’s get it done,” Aug calls, and as the slates smack closed and he calls action.
Pete is not a good man. Aug’s voice rattles around my brain as my heartbeat intensifies. I swear I can hear that phone vibrating, the indignance in his voice. With my head down, I move quietly off-stage until I’m completely out of sight of everyone else, heading down the hallway.
