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I wrote: Great, just waiting for things to get rolling. What are you up to?
He responded with: Roger is here. He brought chocolate croissants from my favorite local bakery, and we’re having coffee and catching up.
It was a good thing he couldn’t hear me, because I sighed dramatically. Then it took me four tries to compose a message that didn’t seem sarcastic. I ended up with: Enjoy. After I hit send, I muttered, “Fuck.” That could totally be read like it was dripping with sarcasm.
Why was I so threatened by his ex? Okay, yes, he was built like Jason Momoa, but Gabriel had broken up with him. The whole jealousy thing was immature and ridiculous, and I really didn’t want to be that guy. Well, except for the part of me that was pure caveman and wanted to yell that Gabriel was mine, snarl at Roger, and chase him away with a wooden club. But that part of me had some serious issues, and it was best to keep a lid on that possessive little fucker.
I was still sitting on the curb a few minutes later when Phoenix showed up with the cat under his arm. He was also carrying a bulging tote bag, and he was wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap, which made me say, “You know, that’s not much of a disguise. How many people asked for your autograph between wherever you parked and here?”
“Six. I hate it when movies film on location and draw out all the star-seekers. What’s wrong with a nice, secure movie lot, far from gawking onlookers?”
I got up and asked, “Have you ever considered changing your look, so people stop thinking you’re Dallas?”
“I spent several years clean-shaven with short, bleached blond hair. During that time, I was almost never mistaken for my twin, but I felt like I’d lost my identity. Eventually, I decided I wasn’t going to let Dallas take that from me.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “I’d love to see photos of you with that hair.”
Phoenix grinned too and started walking toward the trailers at the end of the block. “No chance.”
We noticed a commotion among a group of onlookers, and I glanced over to see Harper Royce had arrived on set. Harper was a lead actor on this film and one of the hottest young stars in Hollywood. He was tall, handsome, and loved by everyone—except his former assistant, Phoenix Jaymes. As Harper went right up to the wooden barricade, then started signing autographs and posing for photos with fans, I said, “It seems not everyone hates filming on location.”
Phoenix scowled and kept walking as he muttered, “It’s a dream come true for an attention whore like Royce.”
When we reached hair and makeup, Phoenix said he’d look for me at lunchtime and went to find Will’s trailer. I climbed back into the RV, which now contained half a dozen crew members. They were happily gossiping about the latest Hollywood scandal while Gina ignored them and scrolled through her phone.
A little while later, Harper Royce joined us. He smiled at Gina and said, “Can you believe it? I’m actually early for once,” as he took a seat at her workstation. Then he waved at me and said, “Hey, Riley. Did you have a good weekend?”
I couldn’t help it, I was a fan even if my friend hated his guts, and it secretly thrilled me that Harper Royce knew my name. “It was epic. How was yours?”
“Super low-key. I went home to L.A. and just chilled. I didn’t even get out of my pajamas on Sunday.” He flashed me the disarming, dimpled smile that had helped make him a star, and then he asked, “What made yours epic?”
“I went to Catalina and found the long-lost love of my life.”
He nodded his approval and said, “That’s epic, alright.”
Gina went to work on Harper’s makeup, which was pretty minimal. The green-eyed blond was absolutely gorgeous, so all she really had to do was even out his tanned complexion and play up his eyes with an extremely subtle application of liner and mascara. When she was finished, it didn’t look like he was wearing any makeup at all, but he seemed younger, well-rested, and even more radiant than usual.
There were only three actors on set that day. In addition to Will and Harper, the third was Emma Rosen. She was arguably the biggest star on this picture, and she traveled with her own makeup artist and hair stylist. That meant it was a pretty low-pressure day in our department, but I still felt a little nervous.
A few minutes before Will joined us, Gina called me over and said, “So, you get what we’re going for today, right? Your makeup needs to be more subtle than what we were doing a few weeks ago.”
Will was close to thirty and absolutely beautiful, with big blue eyes, porcelain skin, and a flawless smile. He was portraying a twenty-two-year-old drug addict, so as his makeup artist, it was my job to make him look paler, thinner, and younger. I also had to show the signs of addiction on his face in a way that wasn’t obvious or cartoonish. Those signs had been more pronounced in the scenes we’d filmed a few weeks ago in Northern California, to show the character was deteriorating shortly before he killed himself. But the upcoming scenes were flashbacks to happier times, so everything I’d been doing had to be dialed back, while still transforming the actor into the character.
