Costars (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (7 page)

It’s not hard to fake arousal, but faking
intimacy—not just physical or sexual intimacy, but emotional, spiritual
closeness? That’s one of the more difficult things an actor can be asked to do,
though we’re asked to do it all the time.

Everyone I’ve talked to in the business
has their own way of dealing with it.

Some people pretend that whoever they’re
supposed to love on film is their spouse or their mistress or, in one rather
odd case, a 1994 Honda Accord—I have no idea how that one actually worked, and
I have no inclination to change that fact.

Me? I’ve never really been put in a
position where that kind of thing would really matter.

You do your best when you’re paying your
dues in the B-movies or theater or commercials or whatever you’re doing while
you’re waiting for your big break, but a director who’s making a film about a
giant shark and a giant leopard doing battle on the streets of Manhattan isn’t
going to bother telling you if your attraction for the man who just killed a
dozen cultists and decapitated a golden statue doesn’t come across as
believable.

Shit, if it
were
believable, it would probably ruin the movie.

So, here I am, just standing around,
waiting for something to happen.

Eventually, I’m going to figure out what
to do about Ben, but I have serious doubts that that’s going to happen before
my time’s up. I would just call him now and set up a time to see the pictures
he’s blackmailing me with, but it shouldn’t be much longer before I’m due on
camera and I really don’t want to have to call Ben twice.

For now, though, I’ve got nothing to do,
so I just wait for Damian to finish up his conversation with Trey the Security
Guy.

I’m not waiting long.

“Hey there,” I say, walking over to Damian
as Trey leaves.

“…hey…” Damian responds, staring after
Trey.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s just one of those—it’s this…it’s
nothing,” he says finally.

Damian’s pale and sweating. Whatever’s
bothering him, though, it doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about it.

“I think you and I should schedule some
time to meet up over the next week or so,” I tell him.

“
Why’s
that?” he
asks. “Oh, right,” he says, “the whole blackmail thing.”

“Yeah, I’m probably going to want to talk
to you more about that,” I tell him. I shouldn’t be this nervous. “I talked to
Dutch, though,” I start again. “He said that he doesn’t want us to…I mean, he
thinks it would be best if we looked like we were…”

It’s really not that hard to put into
words, but I’m having one hell of a time trying to figure out how to do it.

“I don’t know what you’re asking me,”
Damian says absently.

“Dutch wants us to figure out a way to
make it look like we’ve got sexual chemistry,” I tell him. “Do you have any
ideas?”

“
That’s
what you’re worried about?” Damian asks, finally smiling a bit. “We can knock
that out in a weekend. Just to let you know, though, this is one of those life
situations where transference is a very real possibility.”

“Transference?” I ask. “You mean like when
a patient falls in love with their therapist?”

“Same thing,” he answers. “Just try not to
fall too far in love with me, though. I have a lot on my plate right now.”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “I’ll try to keep a
handle on that.”

Chapter Six

The Limitations of Decency

Damian

Tofu.

What that bag whoever left on my driveway
was filled with—it was fucking tofu cut to look like severed animal limbs
covered in fermented raspberry sauce for blood.

This week on
Vegans Attack
...

I guess it’s something that no animals
were harmed in the making of the little scene outside my door, but that doesn’t
put my mind at much ease, either.

The pink cloud I was on, relishing the
stalker because she was an indication that my career still had some vitality
left, that’s gone now. Ever since yesterday, I’ve been having Trey walk me to
and from my car on the set, and Danna called a company that specializes in home
security to send out a couple of guys to keep an eye on the house.

So far, there hasn’t been anything else
from the stalker, but I’m taking that with a grain of salt.

That’s not what I need to be focusing on
right now, though. What I need to focus on is getting Emma to come out of the
bathroom.

“It’s really not a big deal,” I call
through the door. “Actors do it all the time. It’s called ‘the relationship
weekend.’ It doesn’t mean anything real, it just helps two people connect with
each other well enough that they don’t look like novices when it comes time to
show some affection on camera.”

“It’s weird,” she says.

“It’s not like I’m telling you we’re going
to fuck or anything,” I tell her. “All I’m saying is that this is going to work
a lot better if, until midnight on Sunday night, you and I act in every way as
if we’re in a relationship.”

“What if someone sees us?” she asks.

“Then the film gets some free publicity,”
I tell her. “Now, are you going to come out of there, or am I going to be
sending room service to the bathroom for the next three days?”

Every once in a while, I forget that not
everyone’s familiar with every trick in the business.

It’s really not that big of a deal. If you
get two actors together to practice kissing, you might see some progress, but
it’s not going to change the way they look at each other.

If you’ve never shared that intimate
moment with someone, you’re never going to look at them the way that Emma and I
are going to need to look at each other for much of the rest of the filming.

The trick is simple: You and your costar,
whoever it is that you’ve got the onscreen relationship with, you go away
together for the weekend, somewhere that doesn’t like cameras where you can act
as you will without the scrutiny of the press. While you’re there, for all
intents and purposes, you
are
in that
relationship with that other person.

Easy
peasy
.

The problem is that Emma doesn’t really
seem to like the idea of pretending to be my girlfriend.

At least that’s what I’m taking out of
this.

“You’re seriously on the verge of hurting
my feelings here,” I call through the door.

“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings,”
she says. “I just don’t think I can do three days of kissing and holding hands
and ordering each other’s food and all that.”

“Is there any way we can talk about this
in the same room?” I ask.

The door to the bathroom opens and Emma
walks out slowly, saying, “I’m sorry. I don’t really know why I did that.”

“It’s probably got something to do with
that crush you’ve got on me,” I tell her. “Anyway, so are we doing this or
what?”

“So there’s no, like, safe zone?” she
asks.

“What do you mean?” I return.

“You know,” she says, “somewhere we can go
or something we can say to go back to reality.”

“It’s acting,” I tell her. “As it’s your
profession, I’m a little surprised to see you so wary of it.”

“It’s not that,” she says. “It’s just—”

“What?” I ask.

“I guess it’s been a while since I’ve been
in a relationship,” she says, “even a fake one.”

“You’ll fall right back into it no
problem,” I tell her. “So, are we putting on our actor’s hats or are we going
to keep going back and forth on this until the
weekend’s
over and we’re out of time?”

“Actor’s hats?” she asks.

“I was trying to speak your language,” I
answer.

I’m actually not entirely sure what that
means.

“So, Damian,” she says with a bit of a
blush.

“Yeah?” I answer.

“You wanted to just start, right?” she
asks, already breaking character.

“Yeah,” I tell her.

“Okay,” she says, “sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her.

“So, where would you like to go to dinner
tonight, dear?” she asks.

“Just for the record, we’re not an old
couple,” I tell her. “You can talk to me the way you normally would, just
pretend that you like me a little more than you do and we’re good.”

She shoots me a quick glare, but shakes it
off.

“Ah…” she says, shaking out her arms and
hands, her eyes closed. Her fingers close into her palm and she opens her eyes,
saying, “You hungry?”

“A little bit,” I answer. “I could
probably eat. What are you in the mood for?”

“You always do that,” she says. “You
always put the decision on me, but if it’s not exactly what you want, you
just—”

“Emma?” I interrupt.

“Yeah?” she asks.

“We’re not a dysfunctional couple,
either,” I tell her. “We’re just two people getting to know each other in this
new way.”

“I still don’t get why we’ve got to spend
so much time making out,” she says.

“Really, that makes me feel very good
about myself,” I laugh. “I feel very attractive right now.”

“It’s not that,” she says. “I just have a
hard time believing that we’re really going to make all of this progress over
the next few days and that it’s actually going to stick.”

“Well, we’re obviously going to have a few
make out sessions in my trailer when we get back in town,” I tell her.

She sighs.

“All right,” she says. “If this is what I
have to do for my art, then I’ll do it.”

“That’s the spirit,” I tell her. “Now undo
your top button.”

“What?” she screeches.

“So far,” I tell her, “you’re not even
convincing
me
that we’re in a
relationship and I’m pretending right along with you.”

“How does that translate into me showing
more skin?” she asks.

“Glad you asked,” I tell her.

“Oh God, here it comes…” she groans.

“When a man and a woman are going from
being single to being in a relationship, there are a few things about not only
their mannerisms, their mood and general demeanor, but there are changes to the
way they look as well,” I tell her. “Women will often show a little more skin
around their new beau, while men tend to walk with their shoulders back, more
confidence.”

“Have you ever noticed how, in every
possible situation where men and women have to do something, the men always
have it easier?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I answer. “I have, actually.
Doesn’t really seem fair. Anyway, so I want you to think back to the first
couple of weeks with your last boyfriend. What changed?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I guess I spent
a little more time on my hair.”

“Great,” I tell her. “Get back in the
bathroom and work on your hair a little longer.”

“Excuse me?” she retorts in a tone that
tells me that I’ve crossed some line.

“I’m telling you to do the things that you
would normally do if we were actually in a new relationship,” I tell her.
“There’s no reason to get all
pissy
about it.”

If I’d avoided use of the word
pissy
, I probably could have gotten through that all right.
As it stands, though, it takes me a good twenty minutes to talk her into
listening to me again.

“I’ll tell you what,” I tell her finally,
“why don’t we take the next hour to go over things that we do ourselves at the
beginning of a new relationship and see what we come up with. I, for one, start
shaving twice a day rather than once, so I’m going to go in the bathroom and do
that. If you need to get in there for your hair, I’m sure we can both fit.”

She’s still skeptical, but eventually she
agrees to go along with what I’m telling her to do.

I haven’t told her about hump practice
yet.

We take some time to get ready the way we
would if we were actually dating each other, and the results, while often
subtle, are rather striking.

I, for one, am very clean shaven, wearing
a semi-formal dinner outfit, cologne and enough hair gel for either boy band
membership or to choke a walrus, depending on whichever one of those options
turns out to be funniest. Emma, along with her hair going from a ponytail to a
stunning
updo
, is wearing a dress and extra jewelry.
I actually didn’t realize her ears were pierced until just now.

“Real quick,” she says as we both take
care of finishing touches, “I think this is going to work better if you pick me
up.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Like carry you
over the threshold or something?”

“No, I mean, if you come by the room to
pick me up for our date tonight. Our characters don’t live together, and it’s
not until the end of the movie that they’d be likely to share a hotel room
together.”

“Yeah, there is such a thing as going too
method,” I tell her. “For one thing, we’re going to have to learn how to sleep
together in only two nights, so I don’t think we’re going to want to get
separate hotel rooms just yet. For another, we’re going to have to be pretty
solid on all the visible aspects of the relationship the movie’s going to
cover, so it wouldn’t make much sense to spend any time apart while we’re
here.”

“Just roleplay,” she says. “Go out into
the hallway, walk around for a couple of minutes and knock on the door. It’ll
help me get in the mindset.”

“All right,” I agree. “Now we’re getting
somewhere.”

We stand there and look at each other a minute.

“Yeah, so any time you’re ready to pop out
there, that would be great,” she says.

“Oh,” I answer. “All right, I’ll be back
to pick you up in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” she says and she walks me to the
door. “Remember to give it a few minutes.”

“All right,” I tell her and I walk out the
door.

You know, this is a pretty good addition
to the relationship weekend. In the future, I’m sure I’ll want to figure out
something better than just walking around the halls a couple of minutes, but
it’ll be good to cover the anticipation of getting picked up or picking someone
up.

I walk around the halls for a few minutes
and, after knocking on the wrong door and being held captive in conversation
with the occupant of that room for what has to be a good twenty minutes, I make
my way back to our hotel room door.

I knock.

There’s no answer.

I knock again.

There’s still no answer.

I knock and call out Emma’s name, but
there’s still nothing.

Finally, I pull out my phone and punch in
Emma’s number. Apparently, I’ve forgotten which room is ours, and I really
don’t want to have to knock on every door in this hall to find the right one.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” I say, “I think I forgot which room
we have.”

“Were you just knocking?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I tell her.

“It’s the right room,” she says, “but I’ve
had a little change of heart. I think that you and I need to have a little
discussion about what we’re doing here, and this time, I think that I need to
be the one to lead it.”

“Oh, give me a break, will you?” I beg.

“First thing,” she says, “I’ll kiss you
because we’re going to be kissing onscreen, but we’re not going to spend three
hours a night and—how did you describe it?—dozens of little interludes between
now and when Dutch calls action?”

“I get that this makes you uncomfortable,”
I respond, “but I really think it’s best if we stick to the plan.”

“Do you know where intimacy comes from?”
she asks.

“It—”

“Intimacy comes from feeling safe with a
person, feeling a sense of security and trust. Knowing that this person, the
person that you’re with, isn’t going to judge you if you’ve made a mistake,
they’re going to help you pick yourself up. Intimacy comes from two people who
feel such affection for one another that there is no part of themselves that
they are unwilling to share with each other. Call me crazy, but I don’t think
we’re going to be covering intimacy in a weekend, but we’re going to try,” she
says.