Everything was normal the next morning. In the dining room, everyone grabbed breakfast, and although their voices were subdued, there was an air of work that disturbed Billie.
After the meal, Claudia handed out the updated schedule. They were shooting six pages, and Billie was relieved to see they were all quiet scenes and nothing involving deaths.
She shot pictures without enthusiasm. Diana ran back and forth between the set and office with messages for Richard and Claudia. Grady Leonard made himself a first-class pain in the ass, following Diana everywhere. He insisted they needed security if people were going to drown under their noses.
“That’ll only be a problem if Jordyn gets drunk and swims badly,” Diana said. “She’s fine. Take a pill, Grady. Unless it’s an upper. Don’t take any of those unless you’re thinking of overdosing.”
She stalked back to the lodge. Richard seemed amused at Diana, probably because her wrath wasn’t directed at him for a change.
When they broke for lunch, Billie grabbed two dishes from catering and met Diana in the office.
“Thank God.” Diana took a slice of pizza. “Sustenance.”
“How’s it going?”
“Awful. Reporters calling all morning about Lark. I must’ve said ‘we’re all saddened by this horrible accident’ about eighty times. Granted, it hasn’t made any of them want to come up here and cover the film. So many things shoot here no one cares.”
“I’m supposed to take headshots of everyone after shooting tonight. I really don’t want to.”
“Yes, you do.” Diana slung an arm around her shoulder. “I’m going to need those to make press kits. Did you know I asked Grady for a bio of Jordyn and he gave me an eleven-page essay? That man is driving me to drink.”
Billie laughed. “You can’t blame Grady for all of your drinking.”
“Maybe not all of it.” Diana frowned. “There’s Judd’s clinging. And I missed the ESPYs and any updates on Sidney, because this dump doesn’t have cable. That’s stressful.”
“ . . . and you like to drink?”
“Not that it’s notable.”
Billie grinned at Diana, then headed back outside toward the set, leaving Diana to her ringing phones.
All hell broke loose with Lark dead. As soon as Diana put down the phone, it rang again. The reporters who previously ignored her were asking for information and to speak to Dick. They had deadlines and they could really use her help.
Fuck them.
Diana strode through the lobby, on the hunt for Dick or, failing that, Claudia. The Hollywood Reporter called, and she needed Dick on the record, saying it was a tragedy this poor young woman met with an unfortunate accident on his set. He better sell it, too, or else she’d put her size-seven shoe right up his ass.
She found Dick on the back porch, smoking.
“I thought you quit.”
He glanced around guiltily and shrugged. “It’s been a stressful morning. What do you care?”
She didn’t, so she let it slide. “I need you to call The Hollywood Reporter. Tell them how upset you are about Lark, and I need you to make them believe it.”
He sighed. “I am upset about it. Did you think I wasn’t?”
“Continuing production without missing a beat indicated that, yes.”
“Do you know how much it costs to shut down, even for a day? This shit ain’t cheap.”
“Even shutting down for a day would’ve mitigated this mess. It looks cold and unfeeling, Dick.”
“The people who know their ass from a hole in the ground understand it’s not about feelings, it’s about money and time lost. People in the industry understand.” He shrugged.
“I give not one shit about what people in the industry understand, I care about what the general public—the people who are going to pay money to see this damn movie—thinks. Since I don’t want them to think you’re heartless douchebag, I need you to get on the phone and tell the Reporter this is a goddamn tragedy.”
“Lark died, of course it’s a fucking tragedy.” He stubbed his cigarette out on the banister.
“Don’t do that, either.”
“Do what?”
“Curse.” She put her hands on her hips. “Sound pissed off and bothered. Act like talking to them is an imposition on your time.”
“Why don’t you just give them the statement? I’m not a fucking actor, I’m a director.” He pitched his cigarette butt into the grass. “Do your job and keep those fucking vultures away from me.”
“It’s The Hollywood Reporter, not the Bumfuck News. You can take five minutes to call them. What am I supposed to tell them, you’re too busy shooting to express your condolences? That makes you look sympathetic!”
“I am too busy shooting!” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khakis.
“If you have enough time to smoke a cigarette, you have enough time to make this call. You’re killing me, Dick.”
“I wish.” He scowled. “This isn’t me being a selfish asshole. This isn’t just for me, it’s for my whole team, everyone who stuck with me through all this B-movie shit. Claudia, Serena, Felix, Alonzo, Anita—all of them. Everybody looks at the director, no one looks at all the people who make it work. I’ve finally got a good script, a real script, and if I can make it work, then I can make it. No more Invasion of the Killer Catwomen From Planet Nine. We’ll be able to do the work we can do, the work we want to do, not whatever shit we’re allowed to do.”
Diana was oddly touched, and she hated that Dick had surprised her. “Then make this call. It’s only five minutes for the good of the movie. Just be honest with them, and it’ll be fine. You do this, and I won’t bother you the rest of the day.”
He crossed his arms. “For the rest of the day? Really?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“I should be so lucky.”
Billie spent the day listlessly taking pictures. By the time they wrapped, the last thing she wanted to do was take headshots of the cast and crew.
Most of the crew sat for only as long as it took to snap a handful of shots before they left, not caring how their photos turned out.
Richard took up forty-five minutes of her time.
“Lemme see that one.” He got up and went to the monitor.
“No, sit back down! I’ll have to adjust the lights again. Just stay there, I’ll swivel the monitor around.” She turned it so he could see.
“Nope. I look too staid. I need to convey that I’m serious, but also have an easygoing nature.”
“You do?”
He gave her a look. “Of course I do. You ever see me get really angry? No. Easygoing.”
“You screamed at Claudia the other day.”
“Justified.”
“You told Pam her braised pork loin looked like dog food.”
“I can’t lie, Camera Girl. It did.”
“It was good.”
“Tasted kinda funny to me. I think it gave me gas.”
“Too much information.” Billie clicked the shutter again, catching Richard at an unflattering angle.
“Again!”
He smiled for the next picture, vetoed it, then did a serious expression that made him look like a mall security guard.
He stared up at the ceiling. “Camera Girl, are you any good at this?”
“I didn’t make your face.”
He frowned and she snapped a picture. It was her personal challenge to get as many unflattering photos of him as possible. She thought a scrapbook for the crew might be in order when all of this was done.
“You’re testy today.”
She lowered the camera. “Lark’s dead, Richard. Not like you care.”
“I care. I just don’t have time to deal with it. Too many people are relying on this production.”
Billie picked her camera up and sighed. “She was really nice.”
“She was.” He reached for his vape and changed his mind, then looked towards her and gestured at the camera. “Let’s get this done.”
Billie snapped a few frames.
“What lens are you using? Make sure it’s the 85, the 50 warps my head.”
His head was already warped, and not from the lens choice.
“Are you guys done yet?” Fay came into the room. “I want to get mine over with, and I’m sure Billie’s had a long day.”
“One more,” Richard said. “Wait, no—martini shot.”
Billie shot two more photos and Richard studied the monitor.
“Let’s look at the first few I did.”
Billie was about to lose her shit.
“Richard, I really like that one. You look distinguished. Not to mention you’ve got that great smile,” Fay said.
“All thanks to Mother Nature. I should show it off. Okay, Camera Girl. I approve this one. Now, make sure you Photoshop any loose hairs off my face, smooth out the smile lines, and maybe whiten up those teeth.”
Any whiter and he’d look like he had a pack of Chiclets in his mouth. She smiled tightly and Richard waltzed out of the room.
“Thanks. I think if you hadn’t saved me I would’ve been here until next week with him.”
“Well, you saw the photo he was using before. I think Diana has him paranoid about the image he’s been projecting.” Fay sat down, smiled, Billie clicked a few pictures and they were done. “Pick the most flattering picture, tell him how great it looks and everything will be fine. He just needs to look professional and creative.”
“You sound like you know him pretty well.”
“Not really. We met when he bought the rights to my screenplay. I sent it out to a bunch of companies, and he called me back the next day. It was a whirlwind. Come on. Let’s go get a drink.”
Billie packed up and locked the lights in the conference room. She followed Fay into the dimly lit bar. There were just a few people there and Diana was nowhere to be seen. She probably was shacked up with Judd, despite her protests he was a Level Three Clinger.
They went to the bar and got drinks, then sat at a table in the center of the room.
“How are you doing? After finding Lark, I wasn’t sure you’d stick around.”
“We don’t have much of a choice. Diana and I are getting visas from working on set, that way we can stay and live in Vancouver afterward. We already signed a lease on an apartment in Vancouver.”
“I didn’t know. But do you want to bail?”
Billie shrugged. “Sometimes. Mostly when Richard is looking my way.”
“Well, don’t take it personally. He hasn’t been feeling well the last few days, I think the stress is making his stomach bad. He really liked Lark, and I know he feels bad. Not to mention he has a lot riding on this movie.”
“What do you mean?” Billie sipped her whiskey sour.
“The financial backers would only put up the money if there was money already in play. Richard was owed a favor by Ira Goldman, but he’s producing in name only—Richard’s doing all the heavy lifting, but not getting the credit for it. He mortgaged his house to put up the first funds for the film. If this thing doesn’t succeed, he’s going to lose everything.”
Billie looked at Fay in alarm. “I didn’t know.”
“And he would kill me if he knew I said anything. I only found out by accident.” Fay sipped her drink. “He’s not a bad person. He’s sweet, actually . . . if you catch him at the right moment. He just has so much going on he’s focused only on getting this movie done. Whether it kills him. Or me.” She looked horrified. “I didn’t mean that. God. What a horrible choice of words.”
They were both quiet.
“I’ve only seen the edited script. I’d love to read your original.”
“I’ll tell you a secret. Most of it is my original script. Richard will say he hates something, I’ll rewrite it into a shlocky B movie scene and he’ll complain that it’s the same old shit he’s always done. So I ‘rewrite’ again—and put it back the way it was to start with. Between all the rewrites he tries to make and all the stress on set, he hasn’t noticed he’s just approving my original script.”
“Or he’s pretending he doesn’t notice.”
Fay’s cheeks colored. “At any rate, my movie is getting made. I just hope it looks okay. It’s hard to write something and let it go into the world and trust other people will get it right.” Fay took another drink. “But . . . I trust Richard’s vision.”
“You do?”
Fay laughed. “Yeah, I do. Watch him sometime. Even though he’s begging for a nude scene and would empty an entire bag of fake blood on Jordyn for the final murder scene, he’s good at what he does. He knows how to connect with the actors to get them to bring a page to life. If he can reel it in, I think it’ll be good.”
“You like him.” She was surprised to realize it.
Fay blushed to the roots. “Well, it’s complicated. He’s had relationships with a lot of women on his film sets. Part of that is gossip, but half the time that gossip comes straight out of his mouth. He was involved with Lark, you know. And I know he and Claudia were involved once. He hits on Jordyn like there’s no tomorrow. And I suspect he’s making in-roads with the other PAs and some of the hair and makeup crowd. It’s just weird. I wouldn’t trust it if he and I were to get involved. You see how he flirts.”
“No,” Billie said flatly. “Not really. He doesn’t even know my name.”
“Yes, he does,” Fay said firmly. “And I’m not just saying that. You should try and take it as a compliment he hasn’t hit on you.” Fay downed the last of her drink, then put the glass down on the table. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”
Diana cuddled in the warm curve of Judd’s body. His chest rose and fell and his heart beat slow and steady under her cheek. That was nice; there was nothing worse than waking up next to a dead body. A dead naked body. A dead naked body who was very much alive the night before.
Diana slid out from under Judd’s slack arm. His face was relaxed; she couldn’t help but feel tender toward him when he was asleep.
She glanced at the clock. Almost midnight; Miles would come to bed soon. She glanced at his neatly made bed wistfully, then began pulling on her clothes. Diana pulled the blanket over Judd’s shoulders and smoothed his dark hair back. He wasn’t a bad guy; he just had baggage.
She ran her fingers through her hair. She was only going down the hall, so hopefully her hair didn’t look like a wild animal’s nest or, better yet, she didn’t run into anyone.
Diana slipped out and shut the door quietly. As soon as the door clicked shut, the door across the hall—Brandi’s room—opened. It was Cassie.
Diana grimaced. Fantastic.
“Well, if it isn’t the little homewrecking slut,” Cassie purred.
“It isn’t.” Diana would give even odds lipstick was smeared across her mouth and chin. Damn it.
Cassie narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”
“It’s obvious your brains aren’t the attraction. You’ve been fucking Luka James since before I arrived. So don’t come at me with accusations of homewrecking when you had already ditched him before I even met him.”
Cassie had more extensions than Diana had hair and utilized all of them in what Di had to admit was a hair flip of epic proportions. “If I wanted him back, I’d get him back.” She snapped her fingers to demonstrate how easy it would be.
Diana shrugged. “If you get back together, you can thank me for improving his technique.”
“He’s only with you to bother me.”
Cassie’s confidence he would come running at her call put Diana’s hackles up. “You’re the worst sex he ever had. He told me so.” He did no such thing; Judd rarely spoke about Cassie, but when he did, he was annoyingly complimentary.
Painted and bejeweled nails raised, Cassie darted forward.
Diana took a cautious step back and wished she took her next-to-oldest brother, Fabio’s, advice on taking a self-defense course. With all the trouble she and Billie got into, she ought to look into it.
Cassie kept advancing, and Diana took another step back, looking around for rescue. Fighting with fists wasn’t her style. The elevator dinged, announcing someone’s arrival, and she thanked her patron saint, Agnes of Rome, for sending her a white knight.
Miles stepped out of the elevator. “What the hell is going on here?” Great, he was in a bad mood.
Even better, Dick was right on his heels. “I see Satan’s Right Hand continues to charm.”
“This is about Judd, isn’t it?” Miles stopped in front of them, crossing his arms. He had dark circles under his eyes.
“Oh, Miles, he just won’t forgive me.” Cassie threw her arms around his neck. “It’s all her fault.” She pressed herself against Miles and pouted.
Diana was struck with the urge to yank out every single one of her extensions.
Miles peeled her arms from around his neck. “No, he won’t forgive you because you cheated on him and made him look like an idiot—and that was before you dropped him for Luka.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Dick grumbled.
Miles explained briefly, discomfited and interrupted frequently by Cassie.
“It’s like a fucking soap opera around here.” Dick threw his hands up.
This was probably not a good time to point out Dick liked his extracurriculars as much as anyone else on set, if not more.
Cassie’s mewling reached a high pitch. “She’s purposely keeping us apart, Miles.”
Diana rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not. You could ask him, but he’s asleep.” She paused, and a mean impulse made her add, “I wore him completely out.”
“Diana!” Miles’ anger was disproportionate, even if she was unnecessarily bitchy. “What the hell did you want to say that for?” His annoyance might be because he held back Cassie, who unsheathed her claws again. Those nails should be registered as deadly weapons.
When Miles was angry, his eyes turned a light sherry-gold. It was cute.
Diana shrugged. “I wasn’t the one hiding out in Brandi’s room, waiting for someone to come out of Judd’s room.”
“That was a coincidence,” Cassie protested.
Diana wished she could burn calories rolling her eyes. “You weren’t interested in getting him back until he was interested in someone else.” She wasn’t convinced that hadn’t been Judd’s aim all along, but she’d die before she admitted it. “I’ve had enough drama for tonight. I’m going to bed. I’m worn out, too.”
“C’mon, Cass, I’ll walk you to your room,” Dick coaxed.
Cassie hesitated, caught between her desire to claw Diana’s eyes out and having Dick’s full attention for her litany of complaints.
Dick wrapped an arm around Cassie’s waist. “You can tell me all about it on the way there, pumpkin.”
“Well, okay.” As they walked away, Cassie looked over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at Diana.
Diana gave her the one-finger salute, then turned to the door to her room, key in hand.
Miles grabbed her wrist, and her skin tingled under his touch. He waited until she looked him in the eye. “That was completely uncalled for.” He exuded menace, and she couldn’t decide whether it was sexy or scary as hell. Maybe both. She had serious issues, and Miles oozing sex appeal wasn’t helping. He was an ass.
He disappeared into his room, leaving Diana standing alone in the hall, still trying to figure it out.