Someone to Stay Page 15

  And their conversation in the car - had they decided to end things when filming was over? It certainly felt that way. And, looking at her now, yielding and perfect as she watched him...is that what he truly wanted?

  “I was just thinking...it was stupid, really,” Cassie said. “But my dad...he would have liked you.”

  “That’s not stupid. That’s...that’s touching. What was he like, your dad?”

  He could see it then, the impeding shutter behind her eyes. The desire to close it off, to isolate herself from the conversation, to fend it off and change the subject. But then, as quick as it came, it was gone.

  “He was...a nice guy,” she said, quietly. And then, louder, “He owned his own business out here, Ray’s Electric. An electrician,” she added, heaving a great sigh and pulling herself entirely on the bed, facing him and pulling her knees up to her chest. “He loved to fish, and hunt, and he loved football. I don’t think there was ever a Sunday during football season when he wasn’t watching it. I think in a lot of ways he was the stereotypical guy, you know, the ‘All American’ sort of thing, but he...” she trailed off, clutching her knees harder, not quite making eye contact but looking in his direction. “He had a lot of love to give, and he was always willing to help mom with me, no matter what it was. He was...stern, when he needed to be...”

  Jake sat back, listening as Cassie continued to describe her father. He could picture him: a youngish-looking man with a beard, with kind eyes and a warm smile, jeans and work boots and keys jangling at his hip as he walked. Listening to her talk about him, he could understand why she felt his loss so acutely, why it had been so hard to let go of the remorse she felt over his death. He wondered, not for the first time, how Cassie had gone so long without opening up to anyone about it. He watched her talk, the words falling into a sort of comforting, smooth rhythm, and he could only listen, transfixed.

  After she stopped speaking, she sat in silence for a moment, letting go of her legs and sitting crisscross style, pushing her hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ears.

  “He sounds like he was an amazing person,” Jake said finally, and Cassie nodded slowly.

  “He was.” She picked at a loose thread on the comforter, and Jake watched her hand move for a moment before noticing what looked like a notebook sticking out from under her pillow directly behind her hand.

  “What’s that?” Jake asked, pointing. Cassie turned her head to see where he was gesturing.

  “Oh - nothing,” she said, shoving it under her pillow even further. “Just my sketchbook.”

  Jake remembered when she said that her therapist suggested she draw her feelings since she wouldn’t voice them; that sketchbook must be those efforts.

  “I’d very much like to see them, Cassie. But if you don’t want to show me, I understand.”

  She was going to say no - he could see it on her face. But, like earlier, that expression changed and she relented, pulling the sketchbook out and handing it to him.

  “Promise not to laugh.”

  “I would never laugh at you,” Jake replied, opening the book, taken aback completely by what he saw.

  It was her mother: hair shorter than it was now, eyes sad and tired, intricate looking marks scattered around her face to depict shadow. It was startlingly beautiful; Cassie obviously had an innate talent for this. Jake looked up at her then; she was studiously looking elsewhere, and he looked back down and flipped the page.

  A girl he didn’t recognize, with longer hair shaded in and eyes wide and expressive, a frown playing across her lips. Turning the page, he saw a rough sketch of a truck, an older style Ford. The detailing was exquisite.

  The whole book was filled with pictures; to him they looked like snapshots of memories, a frozen moment in time that only Cassie knew. The only thing missing from the book was someone who could have been her father, the reason for such fantastic art, which he found puzzling. He stalled at the last picture, a scene of figures skating on ice, snow covered trees decorating the background.

  “Cassie...” he said, trailing off, closing the book and looking down at its cover. “These are incredible.”

  “They’re really not,” she replied, taking the book from him. “They’re just...when I can’t think of anything else...I draw.”

  “You’re being quite modest. You never went to school for this?”

  She shook her head, hand resting protectively against the cover; he could tell she was uncomfortable with the conversation and could understand why she looked so bashful about it.

  A talent born from loss - a skill honed by grief. And, given that she had only recently opened up about it all, he understood completely her apprehension to embrace it.

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you to talk about. I just...you have real talent for this.”

  “Well...thanks,” she said, taking the book and pushing it back under her pillow. “I’m not trying to be ungrateful or anything, I promise.”

  “I know that, and it’s okay.”

  Cassie smiled at him, a smile of relief, and leaned forward, her hair slipping over her shoulders as she did so. He watched it, transfixed, before looking up and meeting her eyes.

  “So, how’s your movie going?” she asked then, obviously looking to change the subject.

  Jake shrugged noncommittally. “It’s...fine. I enjoy working with Dan, but...” he trailed off, thinking of Alexa, casting his eyes downward. Alexa was complicated; their shared history made things even more so.

  “But?” Cassie prompted.

  He took a deep breath. “My co-star, Alexa, she’s not as fun to work with.”

  She nodded. “Sam...mentioned her once.”

  “What did she say?” Jake asked despite himself. He shouldn’t care about these things - he felt that his publicist, Eric, may be rubbing off on him after all.

  “She just said that you guys had a falling out. I guess there were rumors you two were dating or something.”

  “We never dated,” he said, a familiar sense of indignation creeping up on him at the thought. Alexa, Jake now knew, had already had a very possessive and irrational significant other: cocaine. He felt a strange sense of shame, suddenly, recalling the look of extreme hurt on her face in his trailer; it had been one of betrayal. She hadn’t deserved the way he treated her.

  “I’m not accusing you of anything,” Cassie said mildly. “Sam follows up on that stuff, not me.” She paused a beat, and then asked, “Who’s Dan?”

  “Dan Hawthorne,” Jake replied. “The director. Hmm...he was sitting right next to me during dinner at the hotel when we first met. On the other side of me was Alexa.”

  Cassie’s eyes lit up. “The man in the Black Sabbath shirt?”

  “Sounds like Dan,” Jake agreed, laughing a bit at her reaction.

  “I liked him.”

  “He’s quite a likable guy. A family man, really, when he’s not working.”

  “And who are you, when you’re not working?”

  Cassie’s question gave Jake real pause. He wanted to tell her, You’re looking right at him. But he knew, innately, that that was not right. He thought of his trendy yet quiet flat back in London, his mum and dad. He thought of himself as the boy who had tried out for Hamlet, the feeling of knowing that life was out there, if only he’d reach out and grab it. He thought of himself in the present during time off between films, the long, endless days spent reading, long walks through the city, parties at friends’ flats, town homes in the suburbs. He thought of himself now - the distance he had put between himself and the world. That day on the balcony, right before dinner, right before meeting Cassie for the first time, flashed through his mind. His hands had gripped the railing, he’d felt a sort of sense of comfort, watching the hills, the river.

  The man with the camera had ruined that.

  “I suppose I’m more at ease with the world,” Jake finally replied, sitting up fully on the bed, facing Cassie as he crossed his own legs in front of him. His hands l
anded in his lap, fingers together as though in prayer. “It’s a lot easier to move about in London, believe it or not, than it is in the States. But, when I’m not bound to endless takes and retakes and dubbing and marketing and interviews...” He unfolded his hands, placed them on his knees. “I feel a sense of freedom that I don’t have while I’m filming.”

  “At one time, you loved acting,” Cassie said then; it was not at all a question but a simple statement of fact. “You told me acting in Hamlet changed your life. So, what happened?”

  Her question froze him completely. What did happen? He remembered what he’d told Cassie that day while hiking: It’s hardly about the acting anymore.

  “I loved acting when it was only about the acting,” Jake said slowly. “Now it’s a...a display of vanity. Of money.” He thought bitterly about his last premiere; he’d been almost hostile to any reporter that asked him what he was wearing.

  “A suit,” he’d said gruffly, and then he’d softened it with a smile.

  “I don’t understand,” Cassie said. “If you don’t like being in movies, then why do you? You could go back to the stage. See if that’s where you really belong. Take a break from the movies for a while. Don’t actors ever do that?”

  “I - yes. Some do, I suppose.”

  He had, of course, thought of this before. He’d fantasized about telling his agent to take his scripts and shove off, bursting through the doors of the National Theatre and auditioning for something - anything, really - and escaping again into that person he used to be before his career took off.

  “Then why don’t you?” she pressed.

  He didn’t have an answer for her. He wished there was something to do with his hands to distract himself from her ardent gaze. She wanted to help. It felt, to him, like she was looking right through him.

  “Because...because it’s not that simple, Cassie. Let’s say I go to London, I perform on stage. Then what? That three-film deal will be gone, sold to the next bloke with actual sense.”

  She looked surprised at his outburst. “I don’t understand why that would be such a bad thing. You seemed completely miserable at the prospect of signing onto it.”

  “I - I am. I mean, I’m not. I’m not miserable about it.” He forced himself to stop, to tone down. Cassie’s hand on his knee caused him to focus again, his eyes fixated on her fingers gripping at his jeans. He looked up, surprised to see how close she’d gotten, her green eyes wide and expressive.

  “Jake, it’s okay. You can do whatever you think is right. I don’t know enough about your profession to know what is right or wrong...I was just curious, that’s all.”

  She was close enough that he lifted his hand and cupped the side of her head, fingers sliding in her hair. She closed her eyes momentarily, a small smile on her lips.

  “You challenge me with your curiosity,” he said then. “I’ve thought of stage acting before. It’s a fantasy of mine, I’ll admit.” He lifted his other hand, wrapped it around her, bringing her even closer to him. He felt the heat radiating off her body, the in-and-out of her breaths. He was distracting himself from the pull of her words, from the things her words made him feel.

  Focusing instead on the way her body made him feel, he inclined his head, making a soft sound of appreciation as their lips met. He felt her hands in his hair, the pressure of her fingers against the back of his head, and, somehow, they ended up laying against the bed, on their sides. He felt her leg entwine with his and he deepened the kiss, releasing a small gasp into her mouth, the sensation visceral, magnetic. The heat spread through him, an overwhelming wave of arousal distancing him from coherency.

  He reached out a tentative hand and splayed it across her waist, fingers naturally fixating on the hint of skin between her shirt and jeans. He knew better than to go further than that - her mother was right downstairs, after all – and so kept his hand rooted to that spot, not moving, not pressuring.

  How long did it go on for? Jake had no sense of time as they kissed; he was only aware of Cassie, melding into him, an inexplicable feeling of wholeness transfixing him, making it impossible for him to stop. He was dimly aware of her breathing into him, the shivering of her hands, her arms.

  She moved suddenly; she broke the kiss, lifting herself and moving above him, lowering her face toward his again. He felt his thoughts fog over with desire - she was consuming every part of him, his thoughts, his heart, his skin.

  “Dinner’s ready!” he heard, and he jumped.

  Cassie did too. She ripped himself from him, sitting up and looking toward the door. Jake determined that the voice came from downstairs; the look on Cassie’s face revealed that she thought the same.

  She laughed a bit, a nervous sort of giggle, and he joined in. She moved to the edge of the bed and stood up, running her hands through her hair, making her way over to the dresser to look at herself in the mirror.

  “Well, I guess it’s not that obvious,” Cassie said as Jake stood too. He walked up behind her, regarding her reflection for a brief moment before wrapping his arms around her front and nuzzling his face into her neck, kissing her there.

  She leaned into his touch, and he held her for a moment and then released her.

  “Not obvious at all,” he said with a grin.

  12.

  “Cut.”

  Jake pulled away from Alexa at that word, hands dropping from her shoulders, expression slackening into something more neutral.

  “Take five, guys.”

  Their eyes met and held for only another split second before Alexa looked away and sauntered off without another word.

  It had been a trying day; they were in the middle of an important emotional scene for Alexa’s character, yet the chemistry had died in Jake’s trailer on Saturday afternoon. Dan was losing patience, but there was not a lot Jake could do at this point. He at least remained in character.

  “Jake.”

  He turned to see Dan walking up to him in a bleach stained oversized t-shirt. Jake had smirked at that, earlier. Dan did not care about fashion and conforming to trends like some other directors he’d seen. He respected Dan for that.

  “Man, listen...” Dan pulled out his mobile, opening it up and scowling at it. “If we don’t get this scene in...we’re going to be behind. And the studio, they’re already riding my ass about this as it is.”

  Jake narrowed his eyes, training his face to stay in its neutral facade. He ran a hand through his hair, shoving another into his pants pocket.

  “What do you suggest?” he asked carefully.

  “Well, man...I suggest the two of you locate the chemistry that seemed to have disappeared overnight.”

  Jake’s face flamed. It’s not that he couldn’t take the criticism, no - it was that this entire thing was bloody embarrassing.

  “Believe me, I want to, Dan.”

  “But?”

  Jake hesitated. “But...”

  “Does this have to do with...you know. That girl you were caught with?”

  Dan’s question, while not surprising, agitated Jake. Surprisingly enough, he hadn’t heard a lot about the picture yet, other than what Alexa had said on Saturday. He forced his face into a tight smile.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Hmm.”

  Dan watched him for a moment before looking back at his mobile, finger sliding across the screen. After a few seconds, he turned it toward Jake.

  A picture of what Jake knew was Dan’s little girl was on the screen, a huge smile on her face as she posed with Dan’s wife, a birthday hat on her head smashing down her brown curls. Jake smiled at it.

  “It was her birthday yesterday,” Dan said. “She’s five now.”

  “That’s...that’s excellent,” Jake said. He slapped Dan on the back. “You’ve done well. She looks just like you.”

  Dan turned the mobile back, looking back at the photo, yet Jake could tell that Dan’s mind was somewhere else entirely.

  “You know,” he said, as a crew member walked by,
the wooden floor of the house they were filming in creaking heavily against his boots, “sometimes I can’t help but ask myself if this is worth it.” He waved his hand out generally, indicating the space around them. Jake felt rather dumbfounded by the shift in conversation.

  “Well, you could always take some time off,” he supplied weakly, uncomfortably aware of the parallels with Cassie’s comments only the day before.

  Dan looked rather incredulous at that. “If I take time off, then Hollywood forgets me...and worse, the producers will think I’ve gone soft.”

  Feeling rather awkward, Jake shifted on his feet. “Er, Dan, I mean, really...directors take time off all the time. You’ve done five films in three years. Nobody will think you’ve gone soft.” His own comments hit him hard; the parallels were uncanny.

  But it’s different for you, yes? He asked himself. Big-shot Jake Mason doesn’t get breaks.

  Dan scoffed, shoving his mobile back into his pocket. “Yeah...I’ll think about it. Just...let’s try to find that chemistry again, eh?”

  Jake nodded and sat on the bed in the room they were filming in, staring directly into the camera but not truly seeing it. The crew were starting to filter back in; very soon the master bedroom would again be full of crew members: on screen you saw only the scene, the actors. Behind the camera were at least ten people in charge of all the things that made that scene feel real.

  Alexa walked back in, her long black hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, her high cheekbones glistening in the lighting. Their eyes met again; Jake remembered with undiluted tenacity Alexa’s words. And your new friend? I feel sorry for her. She was justified in being upset with him, he knew, but he couldn’t let go of the raw anger he felt at the memory of what she had done to him three years ago.