There was no malice in the man’s voice, and Trip smiled as we made our way over. He gripped my hand a little tighter and whispered, “Brace yourself.”
I didn’t know what was in store for me, but I found out soon enough. As we neared the table, the Elmer Fudd guy said, “And it looks like you brought me a present,” eyeing me appreciatively.
Trip snickered, “Not a chance, pal,” before addressing the other people in the room. “Everyone, this is Layla Warren.” He gave a warning look to Elmer and added, “And I brought her for me.”
I smiled and said my hellos as the people around the table greeted me. I finally looked over at Elmer and stopped dead in my tracks. The balding old man in front of my eyes was none other than Patrick Van Keegan! I was practically weaned on his movies growing up. He was my father’s favorite actor. A lot of other people’s, too. He’d starred in some of the biggest films ever made. The guy was a legend, and positively the hottest thing to hit the screens post-James Dean, pre-Trip Wiley.
I was grateful when Trip directed me to sit over near the craft table so I wouldn’t have to speak. I was completely star struck, and my hands had begun to shake. It was crazy. I was sleeping with the most famous actor on the planet, and I had firsthand knowledge that he was just a regular person underneath the fame. He just happened to have an irregular job that made him extraordinarily well-known. But there I was, getting all googly-eyed from being in the same room as Patrick Van Keegan. But hell. After all, Trip was presently the actor Patrick used to be. Who wouldn’t get star-fuckery around that?
But my God he’d gotten old. It broke my heart a little bit. I almost wished I hadn’t just met him.
The table Trip directed me toward was completely laden with snacks and drinks, and I grabbed a bottle of water out of the iced tub, but bypassed helping myself to any food. I took a seat on one of the folding chairs nearby and introduced myself to the other two girls who were there. Amber Lynn was fairly new to town. Chrystal Lynn was not. They didn’t wait to inform me that they were both “dancers.”
Chrystal Lynn gave me the once-over and promptly asked, “So, you’re fucking Trip Wiley?”
She asked it so matter-of-factly. Like she was inquiring about my shoes.
Ummm… “He’s my boyfriend.”
I saw the two girls exchange a snarky look, and it was enough to make me want to go Jersey on their mini-skirted asses.
“Our friend Marcy was doing him a while back. He’s really hot. You’re so lucky.”
Note to self: Remember to kill my boyfriend.
Amber Lynn piped in just then. “We’re fucking Patrick.”
I’m sure my mouth gaped open as I asked, “Both of you?”
Amber Lynn sounded as though she were trying to impart some newfound Hollywood wisdom when she taunted, “What, did you just come here from the farm?” They both shared a giggle at that before Amber continued, “It’s a whole ‘nother world out here, honey. You might want to wake up and realize it. Sex is money out here.”
Chrystal Lynn high-fived her slutty friend and added, “And there’s a helluva lotta rich people!”
The Bimbo Twins started cackling again, and it was enough to turn my stomach. They were both unbearably stupid, and they were both there with Patrick. What kind of world was this that Trip lived in? That I was living in?
I took a sip of my water when the old, ballbusting reporter in me decided to mess with them—I was just getting ready to ask their opinion on the situation in Darfur. However, I didn’t get to open my mouth, because Patrick Van Keegan had opened his. Loudly.
His booming voice yelled at the director, “You think I don’t know that? I was making movies while you were still in diapers, you little shit!”
His voice echoed around the large room, stunning everyone into silence. He stomped over to where we were sitting and grabbed at Amber’s hand as he commanded, “Come on, girls. We’re leaving!”
I caught Trip’s attention and gave him the wide-eyes. He gave a casual shrug and went back to work. Thankfully, the meeting didn’t take very long, and before I knew it, we were back in the Batmobile, wending our way through the lot once more.
“So, what happened at the table?” I asked. “Patrick Van Keegan lost his shit!”
Again, Trip only offered a shrug like it was no big deal. “He wanted to change some of his dialogue in a pivotal scene. Carlos refused to budge.”
“You can do that? Isn’t that the screenwriter’s job?”
“Normally. But a script is written long before any actors are cast. The best directors will have a screenwriter tweak a scene to suit the actors after the fact. For the bigger names, anyhow.”
“So… what? Carlos made Patrick feel like he wasn’t big enough to warrant the change?”