Page 3 of Dumbstruck
I’d like to say I’m more professional than this—more prepared—but I rarely have time in between projects to read entire scripts. It hasn’t been a problem before now because there’s always someone to give me a good overview of my character. I glance at Beckett, a director I’ve worked with before, and narrow my eyes. He has given me nothing but praise for my work so far, even though my costar Bonnie usually has something to say about the scenes we’re doing. Beckett always writes her suggestions off as inexperience, but I’m starting to think maybe she’s the only one who has a grasp on the story we’re telling.
My eyes jump to Bonnie. She’s over by the author, a man she is supposedly dating according to a popular tabloid site, though both their body language looks anything but comfortable despite their inability to look away from each other. Not that it’s any of my business. Whatismy business is the fact that I should have been listening to her from the beginning, and guilt winds its way through my body, leaving me tense.
I’m trying to be better at my job, but clearly I’m not doing well at that goal. I’m going to be stuck as a B-list actor forever, assuming I somehow manage to salvage the part I’m playing now. “Hooray for me,” I mutter.
Boom!
A deafening noise reverberates through the street, and I duck as people scream.What in the—
“Jonah!” Richie comes barreling at me a second later, ready to tackle me to the ground and shield me with his giant body.
I hold up my hands, my eyes locking on the now-mangled front tire of the SUV we’re using in the scene. “Hey, whoa, everything’s—”
My bodyguard smashes into me, taking us both to the ground and knocking the wind out of me. “Stay down,” he hisses, lifting his head to assess the damage. It’s not normal for tires to explode out of nowhere like that, but…
“Richie,” I choke out. He weighs a million pounds, and I can barely breathe. “I’m fine.”
“I’ll tell you if you’re fine.”
I’m not fine, but it has nothing to do with the tire and everything to do with the likelihood of me tanking this movie, just like that hardware employee the other day said it would. She didn’t actually say I would be the reason it fails, but she clearly isn’t rooting for this movie. Or me. And after McAllister watched the last scene we filmed, he seems to agree about my performance being wrong, which isn’t exactly a glowing review.
I take a breath—not easy. “Rich?”
He looks down, his face only inches from mine. He must not have seen any threats, or he would have kept surveying the area. “What?”
If I’m going to be stuck here for a minute, I might as well make conversation. “Did you know Logan is the bad guy in this movie?”
His eyes go wide. “What? Since when?”
At least it’s not just me. “Apparently since always.”
“But you haven’t—”
“I know.” I grimace. “How likely would Beckett be willing to refilm everything we’ve done so far?”
Chuckling, he gets to his feet and grasps my hand, pulling me up with him. “The director who is notorious for wanting things his way? Good luck with that.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.” As Richie tries to brush dirt from my back—wardrobe won’t be happy—I glance around the set to make sure no one got hurt. Everyone seems fine, if spooked, though Bonnie is suddenly looking cozy in McAllister’s arms. Interesting…
“Could I get props over here?” Beckett, director extraordinaire, says into his megaphone. He seems thoroughly annoyed by the delay, though he should be more concerned about the fact that Bonnie and I were only moments ago standing right next to the now-deflated tire. “Everyone take a break. Bonnie, Jonah, let’s run through the blocking again.”
I frown at Beckett, who is already back to talking with another member of the crew. “We don’t need blocking,” I mutter, ducking under Richie’s arm in search of some water and a moment to relax. “We need a new scene because I’ve been playing Logan all wrong.” I find an unbusy crew member who stands at attention when I approach, her wide eyes making her appear mildly terrified.
“Do you need something, Mr. James?”
I’m regretting sending Dexter off to find me a book because he always anticipates my needs. I hate asking for things. “Some water, please?” I ask with a smile. She scurries off like I just threatened her job if she didn’t find me water in the next thirty seconds, and I sigh. I’m no more important than she is, but I get this royalty treatment all the time, even at the level I’m at now. The more famous I become, the less human I feel.
It’s the one part of my job I hate.
“Jonah James,” a sharp voice says behind me.
I may have only talked to her once, but I still recognize June’s voice. Grinning, I turn to face her and can’t help but laugh when I catch sight of her scowl. “That’s quite a greeting, June.” And for some reason, seeing her has made me instantly relax. I have no idea why, with the way she’s glaring at me. But after all that nonsense I just went through, I’m desperate for a change of pace, and June has given me the perfect avenue. She was barely civil to me at the hardware store, and it was hilarious. “And here I thought we might become friends.”
“Ha!” She folds her arms. She’s wearing the same apron she was the other day when I went into her store, and I have to wonder if she ever works or if she spends all her time hiding from customers and wandering Main Street. “You’re part of the movie.”
I fold my arms to match her. “Yes, I am.”
“You could have said.”
