Page 8 of Hollywood Crush

“Does it matter?” Sandra sounded exhausted, like she was lecturing a child.

“Well…” I didn’t know how to articulate to her that I wasn’t happy with coming here in the first place and that now finding out I was so far down the pecking order hurt. It felt like going to a party after being told I was the guest of honour, only to find out they actually wanted me to wait tables.

“Anyway, I have some good news for you, and it requires me to admit that I was wrong which does not happen very often.” Sandra paused for dramatic effect. I stayed sullenly silent on my end. “I’ve had some calls from news outlets about that film I told you not to do. Sounds like Siobhan is shopping it round and streamers areveryinterested in taking it on as an awards magnet.”

“And?”

“And, that means you become a hot property again. Indie darlings are all the rage. Stick to this show and if it gets renewed for season 2 I can fight to double your wage.”

“At 35? What happened to it being too late and me being washed up?”

“As I said, Daniel. Indie films are all the rage, and older men can be sexy again. They’re calling it theFassbender effect. So you sit tight in Wales for a few months a year, phone in your performance as an elf-king or whatever and rake in the cash. Three seasons and you’ll never have to work again. You’ll be able to find a house and settle down somewhere nice.”

“That’s fine. So long as the nice place isn’t fuckingWales.”

???

By the time I had finished prep for the day I wanted to scream. Roland had continued to push the buttons of the few advance crew on set and made major alterations to the script I had already tried to start learning. Filming proper was to start in days and I already felt like the whole set was running on willpower and duct tape. Set building was to begin the next day and Roland had spent so long arguing with the set designer that they had reached a stalemate by the time I was dismissed at 8pm. It had been a gruelling day of more makeup tests and very uncomfortable costumes and I wanted nothing more than to head to bed.

The car pulled up to the hotel door. I thanked the driver. There were several vans parked on the road which meant that the crew had arrived to start setting up. I’d eaten a stale sandwich on location from the catering vans so had no desire to check out the facilities as they’s been set up here. There was no way they would compare to what Tudor had made me the night before.

Speaking of the devil, there he was in reception as I stepped over the threshold. He was shouting instructions over the new bustle of people carrying equipment between rooms. I spotted some filming equipment being pulled through the door he had told me led to staff accommodation and the gym, so guessed he had agreed to store some of the equipment here too.

Despite the hustle and bustle, he still managedto catch my eye over it all. He pasted on that same smile I had seen the day previous, the one that I could tell covered another layer underneath. Fine, if he had decided he didn’t like me for some reason, that was fine. I didn’t care. Wasn’t my business to make him like me. It was my business to finish filming here and get out.

The worst thing was how good he looked, how assured. Despite my annoyance at him, I wanted him. But it would be stupid and unprofessional of me to try.

“How was your day?” he asked as I passed by the desk.

I gave him my bestI can’t be botheredlook as I passed. “Fine.”

Chapter Four

Tudor

The previous two weeks had been very, very busy. Despite the extra help we had from the new catering staff, Mam and I were still the only staff in the hotel to carry out most of the tasks. We still had to clean and polish through all the corridors and communal areas and change the bedding and provide fresh towels every few days. The crew had been mostly alright to work with and didn’t have too many demands, but our top floor guests — the directors, producers and actors — were another story altogether.

Ledgers had been put into place which demanded the most obscure of things, and whilst the production runners were dealing with most of the material objects — one particular guest actress of a certain calibre had insisted she be woken with a bowl of Lucky Charms every morning with the marshmallows picked out, and another had marshmallows delivered to her 3 times daily — we still had to make alterations for the hotel side of things. Roland Haggerty would only sleep on silksheets and needed ice packs placed in the bedding each evening before he got back from filming.

Despite how busy we had been I still had one particular thing or person on my mind. Daniel Ellison had thus far proved to be an enigma. Amongst all the actors, he had requested the least, but had so far confined himself to his room almost completely. Once filming had started he would leave his room and head directly to the waiting car, and once it had ended he would have his meals brought up from the caterers. Each time I had seen him he looked a little bit more drawn and tired. On the first day of filming his stubble had disappeared and had yet to make a reappearance.

I couldn’t help but feel a gravitational pull toward him despite the obvious dislike he had for me. I hadn’t questioned it though if we’d met down the pub I’d have called him out for it and possibly offered to take him outside to sort it man-to-man. But I was representing my hotel and the customer service we could offer. I wasn’t here to make enemies, I was here to make money. So I had given my best customer service smile and left his packages outside his hotel room door each day rather than have him confront a face he obviously didn’t like the look of.

Despite that, I had surreptitiously followed him on Instagram. I was sure he wouldn’t notice out of over 200,000 followers that there was one more. And he probably couldn’t pick me out of a crowdon a normal day anyway. It was just me with this weird obsession. The most recent photo he had posted was an announcement of his involvement in the series, where they had scraped back his hair, added prosthetics and covered those lovely brown eyes with inky black contact lenses.

“When was the last time you took an hour off to do something you wanted to do?” Mam asked as we finished scrubbing down the reception counter late one night. Luckily the caterers had taken full responsibility for the kitchen and diner, although that meant…

“You know I like cooking, Mam. Otherwise all I do is work. And as they’re using the kitchen…”

“Then go and use that fancy new gym you had installed. Anything to get you out of that mopey mindset.”

“I haven’t got a-” I started. Mam cut me off.

“I didn’t say it to start an argument, now go. I’ll finish up here.”

“Thanks Mam.”

I ran to my bedroom to get changed into my workout gear and then to the gym. Truth was, I had been itching to use the gym. My old gym equipment had been dying a slow death before the production had sent a demand for a particular calibre of equipment. So far I hadn’t known any of the actors or crew actually use it.

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