The Love Script, page 13
Brad turned from his seat at a table and waved him forward. He mumbled into the cell plastered to his ear. “Gotcha. We’ll make sure everything is good. . . . All right.” Brad set the phone down. “Have a seat.”
This wasn’t good. Lamont pulled out a chair. “Everything okay?”
“That’s why I called you in here.”
“What’s going on?”
“The Luminary article was sent out to all their online subscribers. You’re trending.”
Lamont’s mouth dried. “In a good way or . . . ?”
Brad leaned back, placing his interlaced fingers behind his head. “In a good way.”
A whoosh of air fell from Lamont’s mouth.
“That was the producer. He said people are shipping you and the hair stylist—”
“Nevaeh.” Lamont raised an eyebrow.
“Right. Her. Anyway, people are favorable toward you. There’s even been pushback on the trolls who have been spamming her account.”
Lamont’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t know?” Brad cocked his head. “Your girlfriend has closed at least two of her social accounts thanks to the amount of hate speech filling her feed. I assumed you had advised her to close them.”
If Lamont had known, he would’ve. “I didn’t know.”
Brad tutted. “You understand how to ignore the press, but someone like her doesn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your girl is green. She doesn’t know the ways of Hollywood or how to avoid the news rags. I’d advise her before she has to shut down all of her accounts and start walking around with a bodyguard.”
Great, now Lamont needed to down some antacids. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Keep up the favorable press, and the producers will continue fulfilling their side of the contract.”
“Understood.”
“See you on set.” Brad flicked a hand toward the door.
Lamont stood and left the trailer. He blew out a breath, rubbing the back of his head. Should he call Nevaeh? He’d check the time, but a watch didn’t come with his outfit. Apparently, Dalton didn’t wear one. Plus, he probably needed to head to the set before he missed the call and other cast members thought he was fashionably late on purpose. His long strides ate up the ground.
As much as he wanted to think about Nevaeh having to close her social accounts, Lamont really needed to get into character. The quicker he did that, the faster he’d be able to recite the lines in the way Dalton was known to do. He’d just have to talk to his girlfriend after this scene was filmed.
He scanned the set, thankful to see the leading lady had yet to make an appearance. Good. He didn’t want to be the last one ready. He took his place, mentally viewing the script. His assistant would be behind the scenes somewhere in case Lamont needed anything. Would it be weird to ask Greg to check on Nevaeh? Maybe Lamont could get him to text her while he was on set.
“Places, everyone.”
Lamont moved to the round pen entrance, placed a foot on the fence, and rested an arm on the top rail. He put a faraway expression on his face and waited for the director to call action. Although he hadn’t seen Alyssa, the director would only call for places if everyone was accounted for.
“Action!”
Dalton imagined the breeze blowing through the countryside, then stiffened, as if sensing Lena behind him. He turned slowly and let his gaze roam the figure of the lead actress. “Lena,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Dalton.” She took a step forward as if shy.
But at this point in the story, they were done with hiding their attraction. Today’s scene called for their first on-screen kiss. Considering they had already filmed the ending a few weeks ago, it was a little strange to film the kiss today. But filming was rarely sequential.
“I’d hoped,” he murmured, closing the gap between them and placing her hands on his chest.
“Couldn’t you tell?”
“I thought.” He shrugged. “I just didn’t want it to be my imagination.”
“It’s not.” She slid a hand on the back of his head.
He dipped lower, pausing a breath away. He waited a moment to make sure the director wouldn’t call cut, then placed his lips against his costar’s.
On-screen kissing was about as romantic as eating a vat of onions before your first date and expecting the woman to swoon. Oh, her head would drop back, but from disgust and not a desire to kiss.
Lamont waited for the cut, but it wasn’t coming. How long did the director want them to hold this position? Was it a fade-away scene, and he’d forgotten?
“Cut!”
“Finally,” Alyssa muttered as she stepped back.
Someone from the hair-and-makeup team rushed to reapply Alyssa’s lipstick while another rushed to Lamont’s side to remove the lipstick stain on his mouth.
“Thanks.”
The woman nodded and walked back off set. Lamont turned to see what the next direction was, but Brad was talking to the screenwriter.
Lamont placed his hands on his hips.
“Antsy to get out of here and back to your ladylove?” Alyssa smirked.
“Just want to do the best job today.”
She rolled her eyes. “You say that every day.”
“I mean it every day.”
She folded her arms and closed the gap between them. “Is it real?”
“What?”
“This holier-than-thou act?”
“Have I given you that impression?” Lamont never wanted to appear like he had it altogether. Far from it. If it weren’t for God’s daily grace, Lamont would be wallowing in failure.
“Well, no. But you say hello to everyone. You don’t swear on set like half the other leading men I’ve come across. You never proposition me.” She huffed. “So, like, is your faith legit? I saw that article with your girlfriend. And I admit I’m having a hard time believing she’s a virgin and neither of you have ‘crossed a line.’” She mimed air quotes, her mouth twisted with snark.
Lord, please give me the words. He slid his hand in his loose pocket. “What have I done to make you think my faith is fake?”
Alyssa’s mouth dropped, then shut. She looked up as if thinking of the answer. Finally, she met his gaze. “Well, nothing really.”
“Then you’re just wondering how we could save intimacy for marriage?”
“Of course. No one does that. No one.”
“I do. I don’t want to go back to the place I was.” The path where he used people, and they used people, and it was all a mess that had him checking into a “retreat” to find himself. Fortunately, he’d found God instead of replacing one vice with another.
“Then that’s it? You don’t want to be bad, so you decided to be good?”
“I don’t think it’s as black-and-white as that. It’s more like I was in such a state that once God opened my eyes to Him, I couldn’t help but choose the things that would only glorify Him. It’s no longer about me.”
Alyssa snorted. “When is it not about us?”
“When you have someone ask you about your faith, and you can see they’re hurting.”
Her gaze locked onto his. “What do you mean?” she whispered.
“I’m guessing you’re asking questions because something inside of you recognizes God could be the answer. Sometimes that comes from a place of mere curiosity, and other times we’re searching for meaning when we feel empty.”
Her eyes welled up, and she stepped back.
“Alyssa—”
She held up a hand. “I’m okay.”
“I didn’t offend you, did I?”
“No, but you certainly gave me something to think about.”
He could only pray that God would continue to open her eyes. “If you ever have any more questions, please ask.”
She nodded.
“Places, people! Let’s take it from the top. We’ve got two more scenes to shoot after this.”
Lamont sighed and went back to the fence. But before he set his arm back on the rail, he glanced at Alyssa off set, waiting for her entrance. This. This was why he’d been willing to enter into a relationship with Nevaeh. People needed to see the goodness of God, and if the media had its way, he’d be canceled right now, his career over. He still wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure he’d done the right thing, but Alyssa’s questions made him believe what his mom had been saying all along. Something good could come of all of this.
Seventeen
I fluffed the bottom of Ms. Rosie’s curls and grinned at her reflection in the mirror. “There. You look beautiful.”
She smiled, tilting her head left, then right. “I certainly feel it. You do wonders with my hair.” She bunted the bottom like I had done. “I still can’t get over how soft my hair is now.”
“That seems to be a common side effect from chemo.” I had done so much research to make sure I encouraged her hair to grow back in a healthy way, including ensuring all of her hair-styling products remained chemical-free. Ms. Rosie had had enough of that to last a lifetime.
I hoped.
“That’s what a lot of ladies in my support group said.” She got out of the chair and opened her arms for a hug.
I lightly squeezed her petite frame. Ms. Rosie gave the best hugs, and the comfort almost made me want to spill my guts. Only how could I tell my sort-of-fake boyfriend’s mom that this was all too much? People were giving me double glances when I went out, and thanks to the Luminary article hitting a few days ago, I had more people following my Instagram account than I could handle. The DMs ranged from sweet solidarity comments from other Christians who were waiting for their future husbands to judgmental Bible thumpers telling me not to be unequally yoked with Lamont. They doubted his salvation and cautioned me against dating him. But the ones that shocked me the most were supposed celebrities asking me out. Surely those were spam accounts, though one had a blue checkmark, which meant it was verified. Right?
I stepped out of Ms. Rosie’s embrace and started putting my supplies away.
“What do you have planned for the rest of your day?” Ms. Rosie asked.
“I’ve got a shift at The Mane Do I’m headed to.”
“Any news on your applications for film hair stylists?”
I turned back toward her. “I did get an email from one production company letting me know they filled the position and to apply if a new spot opened in the future.”
She frowned. “You’ll get one. Just wait. I know good things are coming.”
“I hope you’re right.”
I closed up my case and grabbed the handle to drag it to the elevator. “I’ll see you next week?”
“Maybe sooner.” She smiled. “What do you think of getting together for lunch one day?”
I stopped, stunned. “Really?” Why would she want to hang out with me?
Ms. Rosie nodded. “I know you only came here to be my hair stylist, but don’t you think we should start spending more time together? After all, you’re dating my son now.”
Right. Of course Ms. Rosie would be on board with helping Lamont’s image. My stomach clenched. Had I really believed she wanted to hang out with me for me? “Sure. We can do that one day.” I forced my lips into a curve.
“Great. Text me your schedule so we can figure out a time.”
“Okay.” I waved and left.
All the way to the salon, I kept thinking of Ms. Rosie’s offer. It was really unfortunate dating a celebrity. How was I supposed to know who was sincere in their attention toward me? I couldn’t even trust Lamont when he said he was interested in getting to know me more.
Wasn’t he just trying to appease his conscience and force feelings that weren’t there? At least on his end. I couldn’t help but think of the reasons my admiration for him continued to grow. He was doing so much good in the world—not just with charities but also in choosing movie roles that fans could watch without worrying if scenes would dip into rated-R territory—and the way he treated his mom with such affection was endearing. However, that didn’t mean I had to fall for his charm. I couldn’t! Friends didn’t fall for friends. Not sure where I heard that, but it sounded like a movie quote.
I parked in the back alley behind The Mane Do and hustled inside. After storing my things in my locker, I grabbed my apron and tied it around my waist. My Ankara-print headband was still in place and added color to the boring black I wore.
Nineties R&B music drummed through the sound system, and the low murmur of voices reached my ears as I walked up to my booth. Suddenly the music seemed louder. I turned to see if someone had turned up the volume and found all eyes on me. Since the mirror in my locker had proved I looked presentable, obviously there was nothing horrifying hanging off my face. Which could only mean that the stares were due to my recent status in the news.
I tilted my chin and ignored the many looks. No need to spend time dissecting them. I had clients to attend to and professionalism to uphold. So what if the moment I stepped through the doorway, the hum of voices stopped. I didn’t care what they thought of me . . . much.
“Your client is here.” Jewel gave a nod toward a woman sitting on the sofa.
“Thanks.”
She nodded and crossed off an item on her clipboard.
“Come on back, Kace.”
The woman eyed me, and my stomach clenched. Kace was a new client, and I could only pray she was here for an actual appointment and not some fact-finding mission.
“How are you today?” I asked.
“Good. I just need a wash and press.”
“Of course. Do you want the same look?” I pointed toward her hair, which hung in soft waves.
Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “No, this look is tired. I want to look like a star.”
“Oh, do you have an audition?” I motioned for her to sit before the sink bowl and draped a hand towel around her neck, followed by a smock around her person.
“No.” She snorted. “I don’t want to do all of that work. But if I could snag a celebrity, then I’d be set.” Her black eyes roamed up and down my figure. “How did you do it?”
I flinched inwardly. But outwardly, I gave my most saccharine smile. “It was my winning personality.”
I wish I could say Kace was a one-off, but client after client made comments about me and Lamont. Some were subtle, and some were outright. The current person in my chair was working my every last nerve.
“I mean, do you know how hard it is to make it as an actress?” Mercedes asked.
“I have an idea.” Nora was upset she hadn’t gotten a callback on her latest audition. She’d been reminding me of the charity event and how she still didn’t have a ticket. But how could I ask Lamont for something I didn’t even want Nora to show up to?
“Really? Is that why you’re dating Lamont Booker? You want to be an actress?”
I stifled a sigh. “No. I actually like him as a person. I’m not with him so he can do something for me.” Actually, it’s the other way around. Wouldn’t that shock you?
Nevertheless, I kept mute as I ran the hot comb through Mercedes’s edges.
“No one in Hollywood likes someone just to like them.” Her gaze met mine, reflected in the station mirror before us. “You’re, like, gonna start your own business or something, right? You two aren’t dating just to”—she shrugged—“fall in love?” Her voice rose in question.
“Actually, Mercedes, that’s exactly our plan.”
“Where is she?” a voice shrieked.
I tensed at the noise, immediately holding the hot comb as if it were a weapon. I could probably knock someone over the head or burn them with the hot tool, but it would be pointless if that shriek belonged to a person with a gun.
“Miss, you can’t go in there!” Jewel shouted.
A wide-eyed woman stood in the doorway, her chest heaving as she scanned the room. Her entire countenance shifted as she spotted me. “You!” She pointed. “How dare you date Lamont Booker?”
What in the world? My feet rooted to the floor, and my hand clenched the hot comb. “Can I help you?” I asked cautiously.
“There’s no way that fine, beautiful man is dating someone like you. Not when I could make him happy.” Her voice took on a hysterical tinge.
I backed up, gaze darting to Jewel. She was on the phone. God willing, she was calling the police.
“I’m sure you don’t want to come between a couple.” No, I wasn’t. I just needed some sort of wisdom to come out of my mouth and calm her down.
“Why shouldn’t I?” She gestured toward her body. “I would know how to make him happy. Something a virgin like you wouldn’t know about.”
These comments were becoming increasingly irritating, but now wasn’t the moment to ignore the Holy Spirit and let my flesh speak for me. This woman was unhinged with a capital U.
Before I could speak, cops filled the salon and hustled the screaming woman out onto the sidewalk. I blew out a breath and dropped the tool into the mini furnace.
“You’re all done.” I unwrapped the smock from Mercedes.
She looked at me with pity. “Is love really worth that?” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder.
My lips flattened. “You can pay at the front desk.”
The police took statements from a few of us before deciding no harm had been done. Only they couldn’t see the woman inside of me who wanted to shrink inside of herself. Wasn’t the Luminary article supposed to show people we were the real deal? That nothing untoward had happened? Yet I was still being maligned by entertainment news and the zealots who believed everything they stated. Somehow my curves and the lack of blockbuster hits behind my name made me less-than.
For the first time since this started, I was actually worried about my safety. I didn’t have security at my apartment or a driver to ensure no one could get at me in a vehicle. Not to mention the world knew where I was thanks to social media posts. Who knew where the next fanatic fan would pop up?
Lord, I’m starting to have doubts. About myself, this relationship, all of it. Help me, please!
Eighteen
Lamont wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and wash the stench away. The smell of horses seemed to have permeated his skin after being on the Kentucky Tracks film set all day, but tonight, he needed to look and smell his best. He and Nevaeh would be attending the Sands of Time charity event this evening as their first couple event. This would be another opportunity to solidify their relationship in the public’s eyes. Give them better news than some irate fan showing up at Nevaeh’s work.
