Costars (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (3 page)

Chapter Two

Managing Expectations

Damian

“I’m thrilled to be working with her,” I
tell Kandice from KNTV-LA. “I think she’s a promising, up-and-coming actress
and I think you’re going to be amazed when you see what she can do.”

Honestly, I didn’t think she was that
great today. Maybe it’s just nerves, but she’s stretching to make a B-list
showing.

Still, the PR thing to do is to be nice and
appear excited about my costar.

“So,” Kandice from KNTV-LA says, “you’d
say that working with Emma Roxy has been an overall positive experience?”

I’ve never known why people are interested
in shit like this.

Why does anyone care what we’re like in
real life? The truth is that if you’re a person who cares that much about
something
so
inconsequential as what someone you’ve
never met thinks about another person you’ve never met, you’re probably not the
kind of person I want to meet.

Still, the only projects that see a boost
from conflict on the set are the occasional horror flick where the studio’s
really trying to bump up the film’s “You wouldn’t believe the crazy shit that
happens on this set” cred.

“Well, we just met,” I tell Kandice from
KNTV-LA, “filming just started, you know, but so far, yeah, I’d say it’s been a
positive experience.”

“You never know where these things can
go,” Kandice from stupid, misguided KNTV-LA says, somehow managing to be the
first to publicly speculate on the possibility of an off-screen love affair between
me and Emma.

That sort of thing happens a lot, people
tell me, but I’ve never seen it work out without some kind of scandal at the
end of it. This is a job.

It felt good, getting that out. It really
did.

“This is a great project,” I tell Kandice
from KNTV-LA, “and I’m thrilled to be working on it with some of the best
people in the business. It’s always an honor to be a part of something with so
much heart.”

When you don’t have anything genuine and
positive to say about a film you’re working on, you say that the project “has
heart.” It doesn’t mean anything, but people who hear you say it still get that
warm and fuzzy feeling.

The script is nothing you haven’t seen in
every other summer romantic comedy that’s come out in the last thirty or forty
years, but that’s another one of those things they tell you not to say in a
live television interview.

They’d prefer you don’t mention how this
will be the fourth movie of the year that features a woman who is overworked
and hating her life, who then finds a man and, through his charm and carefree
lifestyle, he teaches her a new way of living: one that includes making time
for herself and his penis.

It’s touching, really.

“If you were to hook up with your new
costar, would she be the first leggy redhead you’ve had in your life?” Kandice
from KNTV-LA asks, and even in the somewhat pixelated view of her expression
that I can make out, I can see that she feels just as stupid asking that
question as I do having to answer it.

“I think women are beautiful, no matter
their hair color,” I deflect.

“Well, we are all looking forward to the
new film when it comes out. Thank you for talking to us today. Damian Jones,
everybody,” Kandice from KNTV-LA says and turns to a different camera. “After
the break, we’ve got the Chief of the Green Bean Council, Rick Murphy, to tell
us why this longtime side dish might be better as the main course. Stick
around.”

I warmed up the viewing audience for a guy
from the Green Bean Council?

“And, we’re out,” someone whose name I couldn’t
possibly remember says and comes in front of the camera, removing my
microphone.

On the little screen, Kandice from KNTV-LA
looks up and says, “So, off the record, real first impressions of Emma Roxy?”

There’s off the record and there’s off the
record. With one, the reporter would rather go to jail for contempt of court
than to mention your name in connection with a story. That’s how good reporters
get the inside track: They need to have that kind of credibility, to have built
that trust. If they start burning their sources, they’re not going to stay
competitive because nobody will talk to them.

Kandice from KNTV-LA, on the other hand,
has that hungry look in her eyes that always signifies a person ready to do whatever
it takes to get bump up a few spots in her world.

Ambition is not a motivator that I
generally trust in another person.

“Off the record,” I tell her, “I really
just met her. She seems to be a competent actor and a pleasant person.”

Kandice from KNTV-LA, who had hoped to
somehow leverage her leaking my (assumedly juicy) response into providing her the
opportunity to transform herself out of being Kandice from KNTV-LA into Kandice
from CNN or Kandice from Good Morning America, clenches her teeth and says a
quick “thanks” before the feed goes dark.

The little studio I’m in is quickly
traversable, and I’m back to my dressing room in no time at all, minus the time
it takes to do a couple of pictures and sign a few autographs.

“What’s next, Kieran?” I ask my
pretentiously-named assistant.

“All right,” he says, his feet on my
couch, “it looks like you’re back on set at five and then you’re done after
that. Did you want me to give Meg a call to see if she’s still interested in
doing a benefit with you, or do you still want me to wait until the rest of—
”

“Yeah, we’re just going to wait a bit on
that,” I tell him. “I still need to hear back from a couple of the organizers.
There are some location concerns, so I’d like to get all that figured out
before I start dropping in headliners.”

“Where were they planning to do it?” he
asks.

“I don’t even remember,” I tell him.

“What are the concerns?” he asks.

He’s always trying to be more involved than
I want him to be. Really, I just like having someone make my phone calls and otherwise
do all the leg work. The fact that he has a ridiculous name may have factored
into my hiring him, but the cruel joy I get out of that isn’t enough to
convince me to open up a spot in the inner circle.

The inner circle, well, that’s been closed
to new applicants for a long time now.

“Book me a dinner,” I tell Kieran, “for
tonight. Make it for two at La Rodolfo’s at eight o’clock.”

“May I ask who will be joining you?” he
asks.

“I don’t like your chances,” I tell him.

“They may want to know,” he says.

“I’m sure my name will be sufficient to
secure a reservation,” I tell him. “Now, call.”

He goes off and does his thing while I sit
in my chair for a few minutes.

I’ve been spoiled by movie-set trailers
and lavish green rooms. It’s been a while since I’ve done an interview
somewhere this low budget. Sure, it was just a remote, but I’m finding myself
frustrated they didn’t think fit to provide me with a better chair.

Oh well.

I pull out my phone and find the new
number, leaning forward to check my teeth in the mirror.

“Hello?” the voice answers.

“Hey, is this Emma?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she responds. “Who’s this?”

“It’s your favorite movie star,” I tell
her. All right, I’ve enjoyed fucking with her, but that one was just corny.

She sighs and says, “What do you need, Damian?”

“I was just calling to invite you out for
a ‘welcome to the set’ dinner,” I tell her. “I was thinking La Rodolfo’s at
eight o’clock.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t have anything,”
she says. “They’re booked out months in advance.”

I give a slight chuckle. Not enough to
come off as over-the-top conceited, but just enough to help her to the
realization.

“Oh,” she says. “Famous movie star and all;
right.”

“Yeah, so what do you say?” I ask.
“They’ve got some of the best Italian cuisine in the city.”

“Who else is going?” she asks.

“It’d be just you and me,” I tell her.

Right about now, you might be asking
yourself why I would invite a woman like Emma out to dinner. She’s not very
well connected and I haven’t really seen anything in her performance that would
make me want to get closer to her on a professional level.

On a personal level, she’s attractive.
She’s a leggy redhead, like Kandice from KNTV-LA said. She’s also pretty well
endowed and her bright blue eyes provide a welcome contrast to her dark red
hair. Yeah, she’s attractive, but so are a lot of other women and other women
would bring a lot less paparazzi.

Besides, she’s a bit judgmental for my
tastes.

The real reason is my cousin’s a big fan
of hers. I guess he was up late one night and caught one of her movies on
cable.

Normally, that in itself wouldn’t lead me to
extend a dinner invite to someone, but I do owe Nick a favor after I introduced
him to Liam
Neeson
as “the guy who flashed Céline
Dion after the Grammys.” While it’s true that Nick wasn’t at the Grammy’s, and
I’ve never heard any reports of Céline Dion being flashed at all, Nick’s been more
vocal about the whole thing than I think is really necessary.

I hate dealing with my family when I don’t
have to—especially extended family. You know, I never knew I had so much
extended family until I started making movies. Isn’t it funny how that works
out?

I don’t like the guy nearly enough to
invite him to dinner
with
Emma and
me, but I figure I can probably get her to sign a few things without
compromising my godlike, unapproachable air on the set.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I didn’t really
get the impression that we were going to hit it off.”

“Oh, I make a terrible first impression,”
I tell her. “Give me a chance to make a better one.”

She’s taking a long time to answer.

I wasn’t that big of an ass in her trailer
or on the set, was I?

“Rodolfo’s?” she asks.

“Rodolfo’s at eight,” I tell her, “tonight.”

“I’m on set at four, though,” she says.

“Yeah, I’m on set at five,” I tell her.
“I’ll talk to Dutch and let him know that you and I have a benefit or something
tonight. He won’t mind.”

“He won’t mind that two of the major
actors in the film are playing hooky with hardly any notice?” she asks.

“No,” I tell her. “Benefits like this can
bring a lot of attention to a movie in production.

“You say ‘benefits like this’ as if there’s
actually a benefit,” she says.

“I’m sure there’s one somewhere in the city
tonight,” I tell her.

“And he won’t mind that you’re going to a
benefit and he wasn’t invited to it?” she asks.

That’s a fair point.

“I’ll tell him it’s an actor thing,” I
tell her. “It’ll be fine. So, what do you say?”

She sighs again. “All right,” she says.
“Should I meet you there, or—”

“I’ll send a car for you,” I tell her.

Normally in this scenario, the car I would
send would be some rotten, beat up piece of shit, barely staying on the road
(when you tell someone you’re sending a car for them, they always think limo or
upscale town car. Spoiling that impression is a rewarding past time,) but I owe
Nick no less than three pieces of autographed Emma Roxy swag.

I’m really getting sick of the phone
calls.

It’s not that I’m really so indifferent to
Emma. She seems nice enough. She’s just not the sex-crazed, degenerate a-list
wannabe that has been my type for so long.

“Let me get you my address,” she says.

“No need,” I tell her.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I’ve got your address,” I tell her.

“What do you mean you’ve got my address?”
she asks. “I never gave you my address.”

“It’s on the new Mailboxes of the Stars
tour map,” I tell her. “Fair warning, if your place doesn’t have a gate in
front and walls or tall, sturdy fencing—”

“Walls?” she asks.

“…then I’d have something put up in a
hurry. Once these weirdos find out where you live, if you don’t have a moat
around your house, you never get any peace,” I finish.

“You really got my address off of one of
those maps?” she asks. “How did
they
get the address?”

“Probably bribed someone that knows you,”
I tell her. “It really doesn’t matter. So, reservation’s for eight; why don’t I
have the car come get you around, say, seven-thirty?”

“I guess,” she says. “I don’t like that
you got my address from—”

“I got them from Dutch,” I tell her, “your
name and your phone number. I guess directors have access to that kind of
thing. Anyway, so, seven-thirty sound good?”