“Nope,” I say. “No. I’m staying here.”
“At the Winchester?” Matt says, surprised.
I stare at him blankly. “Yeah.” Obviously.
He wipes his expression clean, though he can’t hide the flicker of annoyance, as if he’d actually decided to give me a chance. “I thought you live in LA,” he says.
“I do.” I sigh at his confused expression. I don’t want to explain that I want to take the chance to escape the apartment my father owns, so I tell him the second reason. “I thought it’d be easier to just stay in a hotel that’s close to the studio so I don’t have to drive back and forth.”
I hadn’t realized it would sound so bad, but now saying it aloud, I hear how much I sound like a rich piece of shit.
Matt’s face is strained. “Oh. Okay.”
He looks miserable, like he can’t believe I’m the person he’s going to have to pretend to be in love with both on-and off-screen, and—fine, all right, I’m in a crappy mood because I was sitting in a bar, thinking about my father and feeling sorry for myself. Besides. I need Matt, too. I need this movie to work, and if pretending he’s my boyfriend is the only way, then yeah—I’ll do it.
I drain the rest of my drink. No one’s sitting anywhere near me. I have that effect on people. “Dave’s task list is bullshit, right?”
Matt looks relieved at my attempt of a civil conversation. “Yeah. The schedule’s really fast. I don’t know if it’s believable.”
“Why? Because we hate each other so much?”
Matt frowns. “I don’t hate you, Logan.”
I meet his eye, and he’s watching me carefully, and—yeah, I don’t know. Things don’t need to get that intense. “Thanks, I guess,” I say. “For agreeing to do this.” I don’t want to admit it, but he saved my ass.
“I needed this also.”
“Why?”
He looks surprised that I even asked. I am, too. I didn’t think about the question before it came out of my mouth. But I’m curious. It would’ve been the perfect moment, the perfect chance for him to say fuck you, Gray, and watch me get fired in revenge for the way I’ve treated him. His mercy was shocking as hell. It’s not something people often show me.
“Well,” Matthew starts, slowly. He won’t meet my eye. He seems embarrassed.
“You didn’t agree to do this because you wanted to pretend to be in a relationship with me, right?” That’d be fucking weird.
He glares. “No. Christ. I just thought the movie would be lost without—well, without someone of your caliber. That’d mess with my future, too.”
I understand the embarrassment now. I wasn’t expecting a compliment from him. I raise a brow. “Someone of my caliber?”
He’s very embarrassed now, which is cute. It’s not groundbreaking news that Matthew Cole is attractive. It’s why he was hired in the first place. But I’ve also had a few too many drinks.
“Anyway,” he says, “I hope that we can move past the awkwardness and agree on a truce.”
“A truce? What are we, five?”
He ignores me and sticks out his hand. “We need to work together, right?”
I roll my eyes and take his hand. It’s obnoxiously soft. His shake is surprisingly firm. He lets go first, like he’s dying to wipe his hand off but doesn’t want to offend me. “See you tomorrow, Logan.”
“Right. See you.”
He leaves without another glance. I debate ordering another bourbon. I get the bartender’s attention. “One more,” I say. I pause. “And a paper, please.”
*
I can see why Write Anything was greenlit with a quickness and cut the line to production. It’s much more about character, less about fancy locations. The budget couldn’t have been much with the few sets we have around LA: a coffee shop, the park, a random sidewalk. Everything else is built at the studio location. People walk and run back and forth on set. Studio execs talk at the side, assistants following like shadows. There’s the cinematographer, production designer, assistant on the camera, the key grip and best boy electric, extras who stand around excitedly, publicists and the producer’s assistant, a cast assistant who walks up to me and asks if I need anything…Good thing I’m not an introvert and don’t become exhausted just by being around a shit ton of people. Ha.
First scene that I have to film is the most complicated one I’ve got. Probably to get it out of the way. We’re outside in the hot sun with a giant fan, water blowing. The big scene where I sprint through the rain so that Quinn can confess his-my-our love to Riley. Quinn’s been guarded, afraid to commit, so this is his big moment of breaking free. The water as a symbol of freedom has shown up in movies since the beginning of time. It’s a little cliché, but I’m not here to judge the writers. At least the water will feel good after almost dying of heatstroke.
It’ll need a few takes. Wardrobe is spread throughout the holding tent, ready with identical outfits and an overkill of dozens of towels so I can change in and out after being soaked. I nurse a headache from a slight hangover as I sit on the metal steps leading up to my trailer’s door and read the LA Times feature on Matthew. Mattie, apparently. I’ve always taken my roles seriously, and if I have to act like I’m in love with this guy, then I need to do my homework on him.
Scott sighs and leans against the trailer beside me. “Hot as hell today, huh?”
It’s always fucking hot. It’s fucking LA. I barely glance up. Scott’s the only other actor on set who’ll bother to talk to me outside of shared scenes. Keith’s got a hard job, acting as my best friend, since he’s always hated me. I’m not sure why. We barely interact. Maybe he follows the tabloids. Monica thinks everyone is beneath her, but especially a drug addict porn star like me. And Julie? She just thinks I’m a dick. I mean. She’s right.
But Scott’s been on different sets with me for a while. He tends to give me fatherly disapproving looks, but that’s about it.
He nods his head at the article. “Reading up on your co-star?”
“Color me curious.” I pause and glance up at him. “Do you think this whole golden boy thing is an act?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to believe anyone would be in this city and actually be that innocent.”
“Matthew’s not from here, right?”
“Yeah, but if you want to survive, you’ve got to learn pretty quickly.”
“Maybe you can help him with that.”
I snort and drop the paper to the side. The article was boring. A lot like Matthew Cole himself. “I guess not everyone can be a drugged-out alcoholic mentally ill asshole with unprocessed trauma.”
Scott raises his eyebrows at me with a blank stare.
“Joking,” I say.
Once I’m put through hair and makeup （I don’t know why they bother, it’s going to get messed up with every take）， I’m dressed and mic’d up and positioned on one end of the block, ready to run to Mattie’s standin waiting at the doorway of the townhouse on the other side, camera on a giant dolly that starts out close to my face before it pulls away for a wide shot. This feels like my big moment, the first time in years that I have the chance to get my life back on track.