We lay back down.
"Is Gram upset with us?" I asked him in a very small voice. She must have been so disappointed. Here she'd taken me in and now she had to deal with this mess.
He went stiff around me. "Of course not. You thought she'd be upset with you?"
I shrugged a shoulder. "I killed a cop. I made you, I don't even know what, get rid of the body? I'm nothing but trouble."
"Stop it. None of this was you. She's sad about it, very sad." The way he said, the way his voice cracked on the words, made it clear she wasn't the only one that was sad. "But of course she doesn't blame you."
"Do you think they'll ever find the body?" I asked him.
He was silent for a long time then, "I don't, and I don't think you need to know anything else about it. It's taken care of, okay? You trust me, right?"
I did. Completely and utterly.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
"Love doesn't make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile."
~Franklin P. Jones
PRESENT
SCARLETT
I was wearing nothing but some pasties up top and a bare strip down south, simulating sex with a guy I wouldn't have let so much as kiss my feet if a camera wasn't rolling. Meanwhile somewhere deep down I was questioning my career choices.
I tried to get lost in the role, to put just the right touch of vulnerable passion into my expression.
I was always the epitome of nonchalant about the racy scenes, the nudity, all of it.
Because I was determined to be a professional, particularly about this.
Some of it was pure brassy nerve, the part of me always making up for the fact that I had been a victim once. Overcompensation as I tried to convince myself that I never would be again.
Deep seated and hidden just as well was how this elicited something ugly in me, how letting someone I hadn't chosen and did not want put their hands on me made me feel unclean. Sticky with an old filth that would not wash off.
There was even a physical pain that it triggered, a sharp stab, almost like a menstrual cramp but more acute and lower, that only came up when I kicked this particular internal hornet's nest. I'd never, never say it, though, or show it. I was determined to be a pro to the end, especially about this.
And I'd been good. Great. Compared to my co-star, I'd been a hell of a professional, but it was too much. Currently he was poised over me, grinding his relentless erection into my hip for about the thousandth time.
Suddenly I couldn't take it. Couldn't be tough and nonchalant about it for one more second.
I shoved at David, pushing him off me. "There's seriously nothing we can do about the erection he keeps grinding on me?" I addressed Stu.
"You know, most women would love this," David told me, tone deeply offended, like that would somehow change my mind.
I rolled my eyes. Those women didn't know this douchebag in real life. It was amazing how unattractive a mind could be even it fit was wrapped in a sexy as hell shell.
We'd been at it for going on fourteen hours. Take after take, with small breaks that didn't let us get far from set.
I was tired. The night before had been my first at Dante's house in four days. We hadn't slept much.
No rest for the wicked.
But it was more than lack of sleep that had me upset enough to pull a diva moment. I'd been dreading this scene, this interaction, from the get-go, and the fact that it was all worse than I'd been anticipating was not helping.
Stu called cut and came to stand by the bed. I sat up, one of the assistants brought me a robe, and I thanked him while shrugging it on. My eyes were on my director all the while. I was expecting to get an earful.
He looked back and forth between David and me several times, pursing his mouth. "This isn't working. I just assumed it would. I figured when I casted you two." He waved a hand, vaguely indicating our bodies. "I just figured playing up the sex would be a no-brainer. But I don't like it. I think we should do something with subtlety."
I was so relieved that I wanted to cry, but I hid it, just nodding agreement.
He wound up rewriting the entire scene. It ended with me taking my top off and fading to black. I was reassured that all he planned to show was some heavy side boob.
I actually had no problem with nudity. I just didn't. It was the touching while nude that I couldn't get past, or at least not easily.
The next time Stu called a break I found Dante in my trailer.
He was lounging on the sofa, phone to his ear.
He wasn't one to sit idle, so he'd started working again the week before.
He smiled when he saw me, holding up his index finger.
I just nodded and went for coffee. I listened almost absentmindedly to his side of the conversation and when I realized he was dealing not with day-to-day Durant Department store business, but with Gram's much beloved charity, I went warmer inside, the day suddenly felt less dark. Of course he would do that. Continue her work. Make her proud.
I was stirring the sugar into my cup when Dante pressed up behind me. He was still on the phone, and I hadn't realized he was moving close.
I jumped about a foot.
He slipped his free hand into my robe, running his palm over my breast. The pasty seemed to give him pause, and he fingered it briefly before he felt his way to the other one. That got a quicker check before his hand snaked down, feeling between my legs.