Chemistry Read online

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  Dear diary, I'm sorry, I've lost track of time and days, but I think it's been a month since I arrived at this place I'm supposed to call home. As you'll soon see, I am in a grim mood as I write this because my mind and heart seem to be somersaulting with confusion. And it's all because of That Man with his green eyes and confident manner. But today something changed, and I'm not sure it will ever be unchanged. It all started with a cloud, a menacing, black cloud looming on the horizon. But it wasn't a cloud bringing the downpour of rain we so badly need. This cloud did not come from the heavens. It came from the bowels of hell . . .

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  Twenty-Seven

  Jameson

  I was feeling pretty damn confident. Kinsey and I nailed it the night before. Even though we'd both grown up and moved on with different lives, there were still sparks between us. At least I was feeling them. Hell, I could almost hear them crackle. I was hoping to celebrate the moment with her, but she had rushed off set so fast I never had the chance. I wasn't sure why she left so quickly, but I was ready as ever to rekindle those sparks in front of the camera again. I was looking forward to being on set with her.

  Sawyer hadn't put out any edict saying that only working crew members were allowed to watch the filming, so I had no real excuse for telling Harlow to stay away. Fortunately, there was scant shade near the farmyard set, so she had to find a spot off in the distance, near the shade of the trailers. It didn't matter to me either way. I was going in with the same confidence I had the night before, whether she was hanging out or not. This movie was about my career, not her feelings, something she overthought way too much.

  The green screen had been brought in. Eventually, the digital talent would add in a dark, looming dust cloud. A massive industrial fan was on standby ready to kick up our fake dust storm. Unlike a real dust storm, the stream of filmy dirt (also a prop) would come from one direction. We were definitely going to get dusty, but as long as we stayed facing the farmhouse, the dust would blow against our backs and not hit our faces. Special consideration had to be taken for the live chickens, so the fan was set high enough that a clear stream of air would pass over the birds as Nate and Cassie corralled them into the farmhouse. Benny, the animal trainer, would be situated behind the fake farmhouse door with a whistle the birds had been trained to respond to, along with a bag of plump meal worms, their favorite treat. Kinsey and I were to gently corral them while trying to make it look like a wild chase.

  I loved animals but working with them on a movie set was a whole other thing. The main goal of the chicken herding session was to show Nate and Cassie subtlety flirting and laughing together, a moment in the diary that brings them closer together, while driving a wedge between the two brothers. It was a pivotal scene, and I knew Sawyer was determined to get it right. But the more takes it needed, the less likely it would be perfect.

  I headed over to my mark, just inside the barn, and mentally dashed my lines off. I was in the midst of my silent run through when I spotted Kinsey heading to the set. She was carrying the big straw hat she was wearing in the scene. The massive fan was going to blow it away almost from the start. It was a prop to illustrate the strength of the wind and the looming threat of the dust cloud. As she swished, in that sexy walk I always loved, across the yard, I realized all my lines and everything that had happened in the first half of the day vanished. I was transported back to a vision of Kinsey clutching a straw hat, similar to the one she held, as she walked through a pumpkin patch near San Diego. Somehow, we'd gotten lucky that day and few people bothered us while we hunted for our perfect squash, sipped mulled wine and took pictures on bales of hay. The corn maze, we discovered, was the perfect place for a kiss and whatever else I managed to get away with before the next group of maze people came through. It was one of those rare days when we were just two people, totally fucking nuts about each other, with no intrusive cameras or tabloid spies.

  "Benny, if you're ready, our female lead has finally decided to grace us with her presence," Sawyer said through the megaphone.

  Kinsey bowed politely. The one thing she didn't do was glance my direction, even though I was stretched up tall and prominently, hoping she would do just that. I just needed a good, solid glimpse from the turquoise blue eyes to fire me up for the scene. But she avoided looking at me altogether as she allowed the costume assistant to position the hat on her head. The thin cotton fabric of her dress clung to her long legs as she strolled to her mark. Roger handed his script off to an assistant. The guy never stopped learning his lines. It was as if he was obsessed with getting everything exactly right the first time. There was nothing wrong with that, but the guy was going to burn himself out, and frankly, it was fucking annoying. It was easy for him. He just had to not drool or dance or act like an idiot and say his lines. Sawyer wasn't expecting any chemistry from the guy. He just had to be bland and only semi-likable like Tom Biggs. It didn't seem too big of a stretch for him.

  "Roll camera, roll sound," Sawyer ordered.

  Tom runs in from field shouting.

  Tom: Dust storm. Get the house sealed up, Cassie!

  Cassie comes out from the vegetable garden, shields her eyes and stares out at the horizon.

  Cassie: Looks like storm clouds. Maybe it'll bring rain.

  Tom sweeps past her, angry.

  Tom: Stick to growing vegetables and cooking instead of predicting weather. And do as I say! I'm going to drive down the road and tell the neighboring farms.

  Fan starts. Cassie's hat blows off. She lunges for it but misses. Light dust blows, and she spins around to keep it out of her eyes. Chickens scurry into frame. Tom runs out of frame.

  Cassie struggles to close the wood shutters on the house. Nate runs out from barn, tosses aside his rake. Races to help Cassie.

  I reached Kinsey. The wind from massive industrial fan blew hard against her as she struggled to stay on her feet and swing shut the wooden shutter. I came up behind her, close enough that my body pressed against hers. She startled and lost her grip on the shutter. It flew open and smacked hard against the wood siding on the facade. It broke off a hinge. None of it was part of the scene.

  "Cut, cut," Sawyer grumbled. "Turn off that fucking jet engine fan and see if you can bring down the velocity to a category two tornado instead of a five. Carpenter, we need that hinge fixed, pronto. And Benny, gather those birds. We're going to need them back at their mark."

  I backed away from Kinsey as she shyly turned around. It seemed like I was the last person she wanted to see.

  "Sorry about that," she said, looking as if she wanted to disappear. I still knew all her quirks, most of which I'd come to love because they made her uniquely Keezy. She was shaking her hands at her sides, which meant she was feeling super anxious. Against my better judgment, particularly since she startled when I walked up behind her for the scene, I reached forward and took hold of her hand.

  "Relax, Keezy. We weren't that far into the scene. Sorry, if I got too close."

  Her blue eyes barely grazed past my face. "No, that was stupid of me." She shook her hands again and then her arms. "I've got it straight in my head now, so I'll be expecting you."

  Roger marched back into the set area to return to his mark. "Nice work, Greene," he sneered.

  "Do you have a problem with something, Evans?" I snapped. It was another bad judgment call, but since I was starting a stream of them, I figured what the fuck.

  Roger swung around. I stared at him hard. He backed off, muttering something about not being paid enough for this movie.

  "He hates me," Kinsey said, sounding genuinely sad.

  I shook my head. "No, he hates that he's not the lead and that we're both making more money than him."

  Sawyer didn't bother to leave his chair, which was probably better for Kinsey. The hinge was fixed and the chickens had happily trotted back to the trainer for some treats. "Back to your marks. We'll take it from the top."

  Camera's rolled and we started over.
Roger seemed angrier than the first time as he dismissed Cassie's suggestion that it was a rain cloud. I couldn't help but clench my fists when it seemed he was spitting the words because he was pissed at Kinsey. Chickens scurried, dust blew and Cassie struggled with the shutter, my cue to race out of the barn.

  I pressed up behind Kinsey. This time, she tensed instead of startling, but it was a reaction only I noticed. And it definitely didn't help.

  Nate's hand reaches up, over Cassie's. He holds it there as he helps her push the shutter closed.

  I could feel the warmth of her hand beneath mine, the slim hand she was shaking from anxiety just seconds before. I could still feel it trembling. I badly wanted to whisper in her ear 'it's all right, Keezy, we've got this' but I wasn't so sure anymore.

  Cassie spins around finds herself trapped between Nate and the wall.

  It was supposed to be one of those hot moments when Cassie and Nate, standing just inches apart, stare longingly into each other's eyes. But Kinsey couldn't seem to focus. She was nervous, uptight. Her gaze lingered for a second on my face, then she moved on to her next cue.

  Cassie: The chickens, I need to get them inside. They won't survive.

  Cassie sidles past Nate and keeps her arm up and face averted from the dust blowing toward them.

  Nate steps in to help corral chickens, comical chasing and laughter follow.

  For a brief second, the two of us forgot we were on camera and that the chickens were paid actors. I chased after two determined chickens and Kinsey went after a few rogue birds. They clucked and waddled and did the natural comedy act that chickens were so good at. Kinsey's laugh, a real one, not a fake forced one for the camera, sparkled through the mix of dust, wind and loud chicken protests.

  Organized chaos followed and the chickens were eventually corralled, mostly due to the trainer's whistle. Kinsey laughed and squealed as she helped a few extra chubby hens up the two steps onto the porch and through the door that led through the fake farmhouse facade.

  "Cut." Sawyer hopped off his chair as the fan was powered down and the dust settled around Kinsey and me. He strolled toward us with a satisfied grin. "Way better, Kiki. Not perfect but better. Thought we lost you for a second. I liked the laughter. We're going to take ten, then move to the interior set for the rest of the chicken scene. Benny," he shouted toward the set.

  Benny poked his head out of the door. He was holding a red hen under his arm. "Yes?"

  "Will your group of girls be ready in ten, or do you need more time?"

  "We'll be ready. Just finishing up our treats."

  Sawyer turned back to Kinsey and me. We were standing a good distance apart. I still had the uneasy feeling she was trying to avoid me, but Sawyer didn't seem to notice. Roger joined our little meeting.

  "This next scene is going to have to show a lot of emotion. Everyone bring your A game."

  "Some of us already have been bringing it," Roger said snidely.

  "Well, if that's your A game, Evans, then you are a C minus at best. Now, all of you take ten and be ready for the interior shot with our brood of clucking hens." Sawyer walked away. Kinsey followed but forked off toward her trailer. I was disappointed. I was hoping to talk to her, but it seemed I was the last person she wanted to be around.

  Twenty-Eight

  Kinsey

  I raced back to the trailer, thinking I badly needed to sit and relax and think about anything except acting. A few minutes of meditation away from the set, then I'd be ready for the next scene. Only my plans were intercepted, intentionally, it seemed. Harlow came out of the shadows of the other trailers and stopped me a good twenty feet before I reached the sanctuary of my own trailer. She was wearing the teeny, tiniest pair of khaki shorts that she must have bought from the children's department. She was the size of a fucking wood sprite, and I felt like an Amazon woman, a giant hulking monster next to her. Since Jameson's trailer was across the yard, I could think of no reason for her to be on my side of the lot.

  "I was watching that scene," she said with false cheer in her voice. It was tiny like her, but it always had a sharp edge.

  "That's nice," I said with a curt nod. "I've only got ten so—" I pointed toward my trailer.

  She stood there on her teeny, tiny feet, in her teeny, tiny shorts, looking as if she had something to say. Something told me, I wasn't going to like it one teeny, tiny bit.

  "Is there something you need?" I asked her, not even trying to sound courteous.

  She shrugged her narrow shoulders. They were tanned and shiny with lotion. "I just think you should try harder. After all, Jameson is only here filming this movie because he felt sorry for you."

  The teeny, tiny woman knew how to land a solid blow.

  I sucked in an urgent breath and scolded myself for even thinking about showing any kind of weakness in front of the evil wood sprite. "I don't know what you're talking about." I tried to make my escape but her teeny, tiny feet followed.

  "After that horrible wedding fiasco, when you were left at the altar—" she started.

  I spun around. "I left Kent at the altar, and I don't even know why I'm bothering to tell you that because I don't really care about anything you have to say." I kept walking.

  "Jameson knew your career was in the toilet and that you were basically dried up in Hollywood, so when Sawyer came to him with this project, he decided to take it because he felt sorry for you. So I think you should try a little harder because he's put his own career on the line."

  I reached the top step of my trailer just as she'd finished hurtling the stinging words at my back. I slipped eagerly inside and shut the door behind me. Shelby was out on set somewhere, and I had the space to myself. I covered my face and shut my eyes tight to fight back the tears and avoid destroying my makeup. I started pacing, deciding that might ease some of the anguish, instead the short, narrow trailer started closing in on me, making me even more anxious. I spun around and peered out the small window over the couch. The teeny, tiny beast was already halfway back across the lot.

  I had call time in less than ten minutes. "Fuck it." I pulled open the door, raced down the steps and headed out toward the desert landscape.

  I marched past the last trailers where the crew had been staying. The last bits of crumbly asphalt from the RV park fell away, and dry, soft sand began seeping into my sensible Cassie shoes. It was still early, before noon, and the mid-autumn California sun was low in the sky, but with nothing except dry desert air to filter the heat, its rays were pounding down and bouncing off the ivory sand. Grizzled, fuzzy Joshua trees dotted the landscape, twisting like gnarled, hairy elbows. The thorny paddles of prickly pears and other cactus species that I couldn't name grabbed at me, trying to snag my dress. The costume department would be pissed if I came back with it shredded by cactus thorn. Maybe I wouldn't even bother to head back. I could just traipse out over the hot, barren sand until I keeled over dead. Although that didn't sound too inviting, and it would give the teeny, tiny woman too much pleasure. Suddenly, I could see why Cassie used non personal phrases to describe people. Although teeny, tiny might have been considered too specific. Either way, I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of dashing off into the desert to die of thirst, or worse, be eaten by vultures and snakes. Or was that worse? I shook the grim thoughts from my head. I just needed time away from the chaos, time to regroup, time to convince myself that I wasn't still in love with Jameson. Admittedly, the last part was probably going to take longer than the few minutes I had to myself.

  Two black ravens used their long wings for balance as they teetered on the twisted limbs of a Joshua tree. They both stared at me with what I decided was hunger in their black beady eyes. It was possible they were watching me and wondering why a crazy woman was wandering aimlessly around the desert.

  I decided to pull up a seat, or, in this case, a large, remarkably smooth granite boulder. At first, I leaned against the rock, facing away from the sun. I felt the heat instantly on my back, but it felt good,
soothing. I closed my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts and feelings. They were shaking and bouncing and catapulting all over my brain. I was seriously considering taking up journaling like Cassie. It seemed like the perfect way to blow off steam and reflect on life. It had to be way more satisfying than posting a picture on Instagram or posting a comment on Twitter. Granted, it wouldn't get any likes or retweets. Somehow, that made the idea even better. I could write with free abandon and not give a damn because I wouldn't get slapped with opinionated rudeness.

  As I lost myself in my thoughts on journaling, something that was distinctly not sand crossed over the bare part of my foot. My eyes popped open. I looked down just as a silvery lizard jumped off my foot. I screamed and felt free to sound as hysterical as I wanted since there was no one to judge me. It felt good, cathartic and it sure seemed to scare the heck out of the lizard. At least I thought that was the source of his terror until the hair stood up on the back of my neck as I sensed I was being watched.

  I swallowed and found my throat was as dry as the sand surrounding me. The creeping feeling of being watched increased. I moved only my head to glance to my right, fearing that whatever was watching me would be waiting for me to make one wrong move. I scrambled through the list of desert creatures I'd learned about in school. There was one in particular that scared the shit out of me. As my eyes flicked sideways, I saw the yellow slit eyes, the forked flickering tongue, the shimmering scales on the underside of its long neck. It wasn't just any snake, it was a rattler. And it wasn't just passing through on its way to a lizard lunch. It was coiled. I knew little about desert wildlife, but I knew coiled was bad.