Adult Fiction
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Handbags & Gladrags
Charlie slapped him hard across the face, her manicured nails flashing red in the light. His hand came up to catch her wrist and he tugged her furiously closer. "You don't like it when the shoe's on the other foot, do you, Angel?" he spat, eyes dark as they glared at her. She tried to tug herself free but he just gripped harder and she felt her teeth clench angrily, the line she had been about to deliver lost from her mind. What the hell was he playing at? She found herself shaking with anger as he glared down at her, her other hand poised by her side as she decided what she should do. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Why was he looking at her like that? Was this about what had happened earlier?
"Cut! Cut! Meth, what are you doing? That's not in the script!" Lee strode onto the set, the cameramen peering out from beneath their equipment in puzzlement. He was brandishing a copy of the script in front of Meth's face, but Meth was just glaring at Charlie. He looked almost as if she'd turned him to stone. She didn't like the man, but, damn it, there was no need for him to pretend that she was Medusa. "Meth, what are you doing?"
Meth came back to his senses and relinquished his hold on Charlie's wrist. There was an angry expression splashed across her face that turned his stomach. Their mutual dislike had yet to be thrown across the gossip magazines, which was at least one thing that the pair of them had to be thankful for. There was certainly no love lost between them, but what had happened just then? He could see the cogs turning in Charlie's mind as she watched him in mutinous silence. She thought that he had done it on purpose to sabotage the scene. It wasn't because of that that he had suddenly just blanked out. The way she had jerked her hand in his had reminded him of someone else and how terribly close it was getting to a particular date. Lee was talking to him, trying to figure out exactly where Meth had gone wrong or gotten confused. Meth was barely listening to the director as he rattled through the script and the actions that they had discussed previously. He nodded absent-mindedly, glancing up to catch a glimpse of the sulky yet sultry Charlie Andrews slinking over to one of the cameramen, tipping her head in a lilting laugh that set the blood of most men on fire... but not Meth. Charlie was one of those diva bitches. He didn't like her attitude one bit. She found people who could help her get further on in her life, wrapped herself around them and squeezed until there wasn't any sweetness left, until the victim was as sharp and as bitter as a lemon. Oh yes... Charlie had a reputation alright and he sure as hell wasn't going to get involved in any of that. He glared back at the script that Lee was pouring over, angry at the way Charlie laughed and flicked her hair. She was nothing but a celebrity whore, ready to sell herself to the highest bidder.
It was disgusting.
"It's fine, Lee. I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind lately," Meth lied. Lying was one of the easier things he could pull off as an actor. This was his poker face, his work face, his Charlie-is-just-a-bitch-and-I'm-not-going-to-let-her-get-to-me face.
"I understand." The director clapped him on the shoulder, his jovial smile charismatic to the very end. "We all have a lot on our minds. It's the stress of the job."
"Yeah..." It wasn't the stress of the job that was getting to Meth. It was the stress of something else, but that was his own personal business. It was something he would prefer to keep deeply hidden from the tabloids and definitely hidden from Charlie. He didn't like the idea of her knowing anything about him that could give her potential ammo. He'd already heard from some of the make-up team that she had somewhat of a reputation to exploit the weaknesses of her co-stars. Meth liked his job at The Elite. It was a position his agent had fought to get him. He would fight to keep it if he needed to. Charlie could just go whistle if she thought she was going to take this away from him.
The brunette, her glossy lips sparkling in a smile, laughed, her perfect hair bouncing in a perfect image of professional beautitude as she slid away from the cameraman, thanking him for generously offering her a glass of water before slipping back over to Lee and Meth. "So are we alright to continue?" Her eyes spoke fire and ice, sweetness disguising a sharp annoyance. Meth had had no need to interrupt everything like that. They were bound to be at it all day anyway, so why had he had to call an undue halt to the proceedings? It wasn't as if she was going to enjoy this scene. She had to kiss him, for gods' sakes, and try to make it look like she was overcome with passion. She had no doubts of her skills as an excellent actress; the question was really whether or not she could manage to lock up the urge to vomit when she and Meth locked lips. He was arrogant, cold and aloof... and he clearly hated her. That much was obvious, though she could not think of how she had managed to offend him. It was dog eat dog in the acting world. If Meth wanted to act like an injured puppy, then he could, so long as he was aware that Charlie would guard herself with the intensity of six bodyguards and an ice fortress.
Meth nodded, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand, trying to ignore the feelings at the back of his mind that were the cause to the pitch and toss of the storm in his stomach. There was the memory of an angry blonde trapped in his mind. They had argued that fateful night. She had slapped him across the face and he had grabbed her wrist exactly as he had had to grab Charlie. And he had simply glared at her, unable to frame the angry words he had felt for fear that he would explode with it all. The argument had been about something so stupid. She had asked if she could stay the night, but he had said no. Jean had told him that she didn't believe the depth of his affection, didn't believe that he loved her. "It's been two years of us being together and you still won't let me stay the whole night. What is so wrong with me, Meth? Why can't you just let me in? Why do you have to play these stupid mind games with me?" The shrill voice echoed in his memory as he slipped off set and into one of the cooler, empty corridors. The darkness made him feel a little safer as he leant back against the wall, closing his eyes and wrapping himself in a cloak, drowning in his own misery and guilt.
There was the heavy print of Charlie's lips on his lips. He had tried to ask the writers to alter it so that he didn't have to kiss her, but they had questioned his motives on the matter and so he had simply shut up, to which they had said that there was a chemistry between him and Charlie. He had been inclined to tell them to shove their job up their backsides, but had bitten his lip, instead, concentrating everything inwardly. He needed this job. It was his big break. He was just biding his time until a better offer came along, which his agent was sure it would. Good things, after all, come to those who wait. Meth stuffed a hand in his pocket and flicked open his mobile phone with the other. The call connected quickly and the young man relaxed a little as his brother picked up, wittering on about how they were going to meet up for a game of pool later.
Charlie slumped in her private dressing room. There was a message from that stupid reporter on her mobile phone. She was getting sick of this. He was almost as bad as Mike Day, her stalker, who insisted on waiting outside of the studio for her to leave work. She had started leaving by the back door, but it didn't seem to help much because no sooner was she home than he would turn up outside of her appartment and just wait. Charlie had no idea what he was waiting for, but it unnerved her and it was getting embarrassing to keep phoning the police and having them escort him away. Other than Mike and the reporter, it was pretty lonely in her world. Her parents had cut her off ever since she'd decided to become an actress. It was hard trying to get in touch with them because when she did they made her feel as if nothing she did was worthwhile. This was one of those many secrets that were being withheld from the public eye.
She looked in the mirror and ran the back of her hand across her lips, smearing the thick lipstick that had been painted on by the make-up girls earlier. The woman in the mirror looked to her like some cheap tart, which is what her parents thought of her, selling herself to the highest bidders. Azure eyes that looked as though they were smattered with glacial frost or icy stars stared back at her, circled with thick spidery lashes. She could feel the backs of her eyes pricking with tears as she continued to stare at herself. Despite the glamour and the celebrity friends... it was a lonely existence. There was a knock on the door. "Just a minute!" she called out, scrabbling for a make-up removing wipe. She rubbed hard at the smeared lipstick and dabbed at the kohl and mascara that thickened her lashes. Satisfied that she looked less like Frankenstein's drag queen, she coolly slid open the door. "Yeah?"
"Mr Day is out at the front again; Harris told me to warn you. He said there's a taxi waiting out at the back for you."
"Thanks, Laura." The PA nodded and slipped off down the corridor, shoulders sloping. Charlie sighed, looking at the huge mirror in the gloomy lights of the room. Yet another backstage exit, then. She hated all of this sneaking around, but that was the price of fame. Another price was having to kiss Meth Croft. Her fingertips went to her lips. The skin was tingling from scrubbing herself with the make-up removing wipes.
Meth was watching his feet, concentrating on what he would do if he should have to entertain the dreaded subject with his younger brother. He didn't think Weston would bring it up, but at least if he was prepared for it then he wouldn't have to talk about it in too much detail. He could design a way of changing the subject and pushing his brother in the other direction. Weston wouldn't mind; he was laid back and understood his brother's need for privacy in that area. It was bad enough when he went back to see their parents around this time of year. His mother had a habit of fussing over him. Her intention was to make him feel better, but it very rarely had its desired effect. His father was no better. He was a man who did not know exactly how to express his emotions and it was painful to see him try for it would always express itself as though his limbs had frozen on the inside and a block of wood had been placed in his mouth as he had no idea what to say or exactly how to act. Meth had occasionally thought that his father's reactions to discussing feelings were similar to his own, perhaps showing from whom he had inherited the characteristic... but he didn't like to read into his own thoughts and feelings too much; it always made him feel a thick film of guilt slide over him as brought what had happened to Jean to the front of his mind. If only he'd said how he felt, perhaps she-
He knocked into somebody in the corridor, raising his head and his eyebrows in surprise, stilling his tongue a moment later as it reached for the habitual apology. It was Charlie and, though she looked like a different person without all of that heavy make-up slapped on her face to make her look like the sultry scarlet woman of The Elite, he did not want to take any chances with her. After all, the female of the species was most definitely more deadly than the male. Look at black widow spiders, for example, they did what they wanted with the males and then they ate them. You could see that enough down the pub; broken men who'd enjoyed the honeymoon and then found that their wives were divorcing them for half of their earnings. Still, he supposed there were men like that, too. "I didn't see you," he said, woodenly, to the woman looking up at him with those huge, frosty blue eyes.
Charlie shook her head, brown hair shimmering and shimmying in the dim light. "Well you wouldn't have. You were looking at your feet." She frowned at him, a small furrow appearing in her brow that he couldn't help but notice. It made her look more innocent and real than she did on the set, but it might still all be an act. "Be more careful in future, Meth."
He grunted something in reply, letting her take it in whatever way she wanted to. His hands stuffed themselves back in his pockets. Queen Bitch or not, he wasn't taking any chances so she couldn't take any prisoners. He moved to the side to step past her.
"Is Meth your full name or is it short for something else?"
There was a quizzical expression upon her face. He considered it a moment, wondering how he should reply. Was she digging for something? What was her motive? Could there possibly be any motive to this question? "Why do you want to know?"
Charlie just looked at him. Why did she want to know? There was no reason, really. She was just curious. She should have realised that after his cold behaviour towards her she wasn't going to get any kind of answer to her question. Her eyes slipped down to the left before she could stop them, her head tilting at an angle and making her look as though he had injured her somehow. Why should she give him the satisfaction? Charlie angled her chin into a more defiant position. "It doesn't matter. See you tomorrow." And with that she moved past him.
His hand caught on her arm with a light but firm touch. "Methwick. It's short for Methwick." She was blinking up at him with those big eyes he was sure had been made to make men go weak at the knees. "My parents like names that are 'different'."
Charlie pursed her lips for a moment, considering him. "Oh... Okay..."
He let go of her arm. They simply stood looking at each other. There was a low hum in the direction of one of the studio doors that sounded like muffled chatter. A light flickered overhead. Charlie and Meth both wondered why they were standing there in such an awkward silence.
"You're heading in the wrong direction for the car park," he said, finally, as though it had been jerked out of him.
Charlie looked down again. It was going to sound big-headed if she told him, but what other possible reason could she have for leaving by the back door? Besides, Harris and his PA would back her up with the truth. She was just afraid that the reason why he was being so cold towards her was because she was egotistical, which was certainly not true. She had this terrible need for people to like her, at the moment. Perhaps it was because her parents were being so cold towards her. "I... I have a stalker. He's waiting outside at the front, again..." This was it. This was where he told her that she was completely self-absorbed and needed to get a grip. The line of his mouth hardened a little. He was going to say something like the make-up girls.
"I see. See you tomorrow." And then he left.
Charlie watched him go down the corridor, broad shoulders tensed, not glancing back at her. She was trying to work out whether the silence was better than the comments of the make-up girls, but she couldn't decide.
