The Producer, page 10
“Not exactly. When I go out with someone, who knows my job, they always expect me to have something super interesting to say. When they realize that, in reality, my life is not as exciting as everyone thinks, they lose interest in me very soon and find someone else to chat with. I’ve gotten to the point where I get performance anxiety when I have to go out because I already know I have to be the funny, sexy girl with a sparkling personality; otherwise, my conversations with people last five minutes. Alcohol helps me overcome my initial nervousness. The problem is that it also erases my sense of limitation, and I don’t notice when I go from relaxed to completely drunk,” she admits.
“You’re an actress. Your job is to interact with people. How can you be anxious about dealing with normal conversations?” I ask incredulously.
“Being an actress is easy. You learn the lines, you act, you become someone else. You play the part of the independent, sarcastic one, the person who always has a joke for every situation. When I go out with someone, they expect me to be exactly like that, but in reality, I am the one who fails to be brilliant when I answer their questions. Have you ever thought of the perfect joke in response to someone, hours after you had that conversation when it’s too late? It happens to me every time, and alcohol helps me not to feel the pressure of having to impress someone. When I drink, I become the person with the perfect response at the perfect time.”
It is challenging to imagine her inability to communicate with people because I have never seen this side of Dakota. In fact, it is the exact opposite, and I wonder what her true personality is.
“You’ve never had this problem with me. You always answer me without ever missing a beat.”
She smiles and shakes her head, blushing.
“I know, but with you, it’s different. I don’t have to impress you. You see me as potentially interesting. Or rather, you find me interesting if I’m a good actress, and that I know I am. It’s something I can work on and prepare for. With you, I have to be professional at work, which I can do because I can prepare in time. It’s not something I have to improvise. I can talk with you about topics that really interest me, that I am passionate about, of which I know even the slightest nuance. You don’t expect me to be like the character I become on set. And it is easier because you answer me with just as many interesting facts, and it isn’t difficult to keep a conversation alive for hours. When you find yourself in front of a guy who just wants to slip into your panties, it’s hard to find a topic of conversation that interests him and keeps his focus on anything other than my tits squeezed into a bikini.”
Somehow I understand. I often have to change four or five topics to get the conversation to flow, especially in Hollywood, where nobody is himself in public. But I have years of experience on my back that have taught me to juggle these situations and a father who has beaten me to the point of branding this skill all the way into my DNA.
“And then there’s Serena, who doesn’t help. She is exuberant, always comfortable in every situation, and drags me into parties that sometimes are a little too out of my comfort zone.”
“Why do you keep going out with that girl? It’s clear that when you’re with her, you lose control.”
She shrugs and shakes her head as she swallows another bite of pizza.
“She is the only one who has remained close to me these three years, despite everything. I have noticed that people in this industry often approach me to get something. An audition, a good word with the casting director, with the director… They pretend to be my friends until they understand that my opinion in Hollywood is worth nothing and I can’t give them what they want. I know that Serena is not perfect and often plays on my insecurities, but sometimes a friend like her is better than being alone.”
I look at her for a long moment and realize how lonely she is. This industry tends to isolate you and let you flounder alone in shark-infested waters. I tried it, but at least I always had my brother. We have never been particularly close, but I know for a fact that if I need a word of comfort or even just to clarify my ideas, his opinion is always sincere, and his help comes without ulterior motives. I can’t help but wonder how deep her loneliness is if she feels the need to fill the void with fake friendships and alcohol.
“Don’t you have brothers or sisters?”
She shakes her head and smiles a melancholy smile.
“My father died when I was seven years old, and my mother never remarried.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It happened long ago, and my mother never let me lack the affection I needed growing up.”
I’m glad she at least had a parent to support her.
“Does she live far away?”
“Idaho.”
“What does she think about you living alone in a city like Los Angeles?”
The question pulls a kind of amused grunt from her.
“If it were her, she would make me go home instantly and continue my studies.”
Her reaction intrigues me. “Isn’t she happy about your career?”
She shrugs and cleans her mouth again with the back of her hand, a gesture that I find particularly sexy and distracts me for a few moments.
“When I took two years off after high school to perfect my acting skills, found a job to have money to move here, and then came to Los Angeles, she thought I would never be able to break through. She hoped I would soon give up and use the full scholarships for college I was able to nail. But I was lucky, I immediately got the part at my first audition and blew up all her dreams.” She laughs, amused.
“Don’t say you were lucky. You’re a good actress. You got this part because you deserved it, and you beat hundreds of other girls who showed up,” I tell her, and I see her blush with shyness.
“If Aiden Rodriguez hadn’t given up the part because of a conflict with the filming schedule of her other movie, I wouldn’t be here now.” She smiles half-heartedly.
I furrow my brows and study her to see if she is serious or fishing for compliments.
“It didn’t go that way,” I tell her, drawing her attention. “When the casting director had to choose between the two of you, he called me for the final decision. You were definitely better than her and more suited to the part, but you had no experience, and it was too big a risk to bet on a stranger. Sending Rodriguez home and finding ourselves with an unprofessional actress who blows up the production schedule was a risk to be taken with due precautions. When I saw the videos of your auditions, I had no doubt that you were perfect for the part. I preferred to risk a recasting after the first few episodes rather than let you go. It never happened that a casting director left the last word to me for the final decision.”
She widens her eyes in surprise.
“Really?” She almost seems to doubt my words. “She told everyone that she had to give up the part because she had a contract for another movie and couldn’t be on two sets at the same time.”
I smile at her naivety.
“Of course, she said something like that. She certainly couldn’t say she lost the part to a complete stranger from Idaho!”
She bursts out laughing, amused, and I see her relieved for the first time since I set foot in this house tonight.
The phone vibrates in my pocket, and when I pull it out, I don’t have time to see the preview of the message. Dakota has already taken it and placed it on the deck chair next to ours.
I raise an eyebrow in a silent scolding.
“Tonight, you are here to relax, remember?”
“What if it’s something important?”
She raises an eyebrow as if to say, don’t bullshit me.
“It took you an hour to get home when you thought the house was on fire. What’s more important than that?”
“You know, sooner or later, that tongue of yours will get you into trouble, right?” I can’t hide the fun in my voice.
“Do you want to play the boss card now? You’re in sweatpants and a T-shirt!” she teases.
“You’re incredible,” I whisper in front of her frankness.
“When was the last time you enjoyed this pool to relax?” she asks.
I wrinkle my forehead and think about it for a few moments.
“Never. This is the first time I’ve used this pool for the sheer pleasure of doing it and not for some party for the big shots,” I admit, a little ashamed.
I find her staring at me with her mouth and eyes wide open.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m always too busy,” I try to justify myself as she gets up and reaches out her hand.
I hesitate for a moment before grabbing it and getting up to follow her without understanding what she wants to do until a moment before she pushes me into the water, fully dressed, and follows me with a bomb dive. I re-emerge and spit out a puff of water.
“You’ve gone completely crazy,” I complain, passing my hands through my hair, trying to get it out of my eyes.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s a pool, Aaron, not a pot of hot oil.”
“I’m fully dressed,” I point out.
“I repeat, it’s a swimming pool. It’s full of water. Your clothes will dry.”
“Do you always have an answer ready for everything?”
“I would like that! Do you know how much easier my life would be?”
I turn toward her and find her staring at my chest, more specifically the muscles she can glimpse under the white fabric of the shirt glued to my skin. I knew the hours spent in the gym sweating like a twenty-year-old would not be wasted. She bites her lip, and when she looks up at me and realizes that I caught her staring, she looks down and blushes. It is that mixture of sexy and sweet that my body seems to appreciate so much that awakens the erection in my pants. I’m happy to be immersed in the water so she can’t see it.
When she looks up at me again, the embarrassment has disappeared, and the moment she swims toward me, I feel vulnerable. When she is one step away from me, she grabs my arm and makes me turn, giving her my back.
“You have a tattoo,” she whispers as her fingers slide down the dark lines under my shirt, sending a shiver down my spine.
“It’s a phoenix,” I whisper. Not many people know that I have it, even though it is as big as my whole back.
“Why a phoenix?” she asks, clinging to my shoulders and swimming around me to see my face. Her hands rest on my shoulders, and mine slide to her hips.
“To remind me that you can be reborn from your ashes, again and again.” Every time my father crushes me until some of my dreams die, I am reborn, stronger than before.
She looks at me for a long moment, her thin fingers lightly caressing the skin on my neck. I’m not even sure she’s aware she’s doing that. I think she wants to ask me more about the ink under my skin but decides not to. I thank her silently for this because I don’t know if I would be able to explain and make myself vulnerable in front of her.
I pause to observe her lips, the drops of water that stop on her cupid’s bow. I stare at her as she bites her lower lip, and my fingers tighten around her hips as I struggle to resist the desire to kiss her.
Her breathing becomes labored as she approaches slowly, reducing the distance between us. My phone vibrates again on the deck chair a few feet away, like an alarm bell waking me up. I detach myself from her and swim to the edge, pushing myself out of the water and grabbing the phone where Dakota threw it a few minutes ago. I read the messages without understanding them because all my reasoning is completely clouded by the erection that presses against my pants. I hear Dakota swimming to where I am and getting out of the water to sit in front of me. I’m so turned on that I don’t dare look her in the eye.
The thing I like most about Aaron’s house is that, despite it being June and the heat of Los Angeles being unbearable, by the pool, there is always a light breeze that gives you relief. Lying on the deck chair under the umbrella and sipping strictly non-alcoholic fruit cocktails is an excellent way to spend my morning relaxing, especially if there is one of the fantasy books I love to keep me company.
I look up at the kitchen window where Aaron is focused on reading the newspaper while sipping one of his smoothies with cabbage leaves and other ingredients, all too healthy for my taste. He tried to get me to taste one, saying they are rich in antioxidants that are good for my skin, but I couldn’t swallow it. The muddy texture and bitter taste were so horrible that I spat it all into the sink under Aaron’s bewildered gaze. In response, I teased him a bit by telling him that those things help him more because he is old, and, as expected, he left the room pretending to be offended.
I study the way his sweaty tank top adheres to his body after hours spent in the gym this morning, the sweatpants that hug his perfect butt, and the dark lines of the phoenix emerging on his shoulders. He’s sexy to die for. I have always considered him a man with charisma, pleasing to the eye, but always too distant to be considered distinct from the public figure he represents.
Living together, however, I’ve seen aspects of him that the public doesn’t have the opportunity to admire, and I must say that they are sexier than an elegant suit sewn on him. It’s sexy how his hair curls on his forehead after a shower, how his lips become sulky while he’s cooking, and how he looks at me as I tell him something while he is focused on the pan.
It’s sexy his way of speaking, reasoning, and making adult chat, allowing me to express an opinion on something that is not frivolous, such as politics or economics. He was pleasantly surprised when I told him I had opened an investment account to put money for my future with the first check I received. We have spent hours discussing the best ways to make the most of my investments to ensure a retirement paycheck that is adequate to one’s standard of living.
It’s official, I have a huge, gigantic, stratospheric crush on my boss.
I still have my eyes resting on him when I see him get up in fury, reach me with great strides, and grab me by the arm to get me up from the deck chair. For a moment, I blush, almost frightened that he may have read my indecent thoughts about him and wants to kick me out of the house.
“You must go to your room and don’t come out until I tell you, okay?” he orders, putting everything I left scattered next to me on the deck chair in my hands and rearranging the pillows to make it appear unused.
I open my mouth to ask him what the hell is going on, but he nails me with a look.
“I’ll explain later, but now you have to run upstairs.”
His tone is so resolute that every protest dies on my lips, and I find myself running up the stairs with my arms full of my stuff. I don’t have time to close the bedroom door behind me when I hear his father’s voice thundering from downstairs, and I stop my run. That man always gives me chills. I drop my stuff on the floor and crawl to the glass parapet overlooking the living room below, lying on the ground on the precious carpet that tickles my naked stomach. I’m lucky that its bristles are so soft that they almost look like a cashmere sweater.
“I told you to fire that bitch of your assistant, and you didn’t do it!” I hear him shout. I can only see Aaron’s bored face and his father’s back from this position.
“I don’t fire one of my best employees just because she threatens to chop off your balls. I hired her precisely because she is not intimidated by the bullshit you pour on her.” Aaron raises his voice a little, the only sign that this conversation is making him angry.
It is strange how I learned to read the small signs of his rigid posture and the intonation of his voice so that I understand when he is uncomfortable. He is angry, but there is something more, something that stops him from clenching his fists or putting his hands in his pockets to hide his white knuckles. He seems almost paralyzed, and the realization causes an icy shiver down my back. Aaron never lets himself be intimidated by anything.
“When I tell you to do something, you do it, you understand?” his father rants.
“And did you show up to my house for the first time in your life just to tell me I have to fire Tracy because she threatened to take your balls? You must be attached to your testicles to feel threatened by her words.” I believe his intention is to ridicule his father, but an inclination in his voice makes him appear insecure.
His father gets closer, and although Aaron doesn’t move, he slightly widens his eyes and appears surprised. I don’t think he’s used to such an attitude on his father’s part, and if I’m honest, I’ve never seen Aaron Steel Sr. lose control in this way. Of course, I have only seen him in public, I don’t know if this is typical behavior between them. From how Aaron seems caught off guard, I think he’s at least as surprised as I am.
“I came here because the girl still lives with you. Only gossip magazines can believe the absurd story that there is a crazy stalker. I know you fuck her. Do you want to get stuck with her for the rest of your life? I hope at least you have the decency to use a condom and not get her pregnant. I don’t want you to waste money you can put in the family business for a child born by mistake,” he hisses.
I am so shocked by his words that, for a moment, I don’t realize they are addressed to me. I’m too focused on looking at the mask of fury that covers Aaron’s face.
“If you think you’re coming into my house to use your filthy mouth to insult one of my employees, you haven’t understood anything from life. I shouldn’t even be here to respond to your disgusting insinuations, but one thing I want to be very clear, I don’t sleep with Dakota, and I don’t allow anyone to talk about her in this way,” Aaron hisses with a fury that could incinerate his father.
His father bursts into a laughter so wicked that the blood freezes in my veins.
“Who do you think you are dealing with? With the newbies you surround yourself with? There is no reason to keep her within these walls. You will never convince me that you’ve never fucked her.” He chuckles, amused, before pulling a sheet of paper out of his pants pocket. “Keep this. It’s a prescription for the pill that a friend of mine prescribed. Put it in her breakfast every morning without her noticing, so at least you won’t have a bastard around the house in nine months.”
