Page 14 of Act Like You Don't Care
Tam made a face and while he didn't quite stomp into the room, he certainly gave off all the same vibes. He fell into a chair, his face still wearing the fake consequences of whatever had happened in his previous scenes. I noticed a small bulge on one cheek, where previously there's been a bleeding wound.
"Thanks," the producer said dryly and turned to the rest of the group. "I haven't shown him the letter yet, we sent it directly on to you."
It was interesting to watch the flash of emotion across Tam's face. "Where is it?" Tam said slowly, never taking his eyes off the producer’s face.
I looked over at Dad, then over to the producer, who nodded. I pulled the letter out of the folder, still in its plastic evidence bag, and passed it across the table. "Don't take it out, we're going to send it for forensic testing."
Tam threw me an impatient glance and snatched the bag out of my grasp. His eyes seemed to lock on mine for a millisecond longer than necessary, then he very obviously dismissed me and turned his gaze to the plastic bag and its unsettling contents.
He took a long time over it, reading it twice from the movements of his eyes, and his expression never wavered from mild irritation. I had to remind myself that the man was an actor. If it wasn't for the nervous tension in his mouth and his cheeks now being two shades whiter, I might have believed that he wasn't bothered by it at all.
Tam held the letter up in the air. "So? He's crazy." His voice shook on the first word but had firmed up by the second. I had to admire him for that.
"This isn't up for debate," Francis said firmly. "You've read the letter, he's getting worse. This isn't just me worrying about you now. It's coming down from the studio itself."
Tam's mouth tightened and he looked away for a moment before looking back at his boss with a challenge in his eyes. "So I'm stuck with a babysitter and the world knows..." His jaw snapped shut, cutting off whatever the end of the sentence was supposed to be.
But I knew him. I’d studied him since we’d gotten this job—this didn’t feel to me like a juvenile desire to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. This was panic, the panic of a man watching the empire he was trying to create swaying dangerously in the warning shocks of an oncoming earthquake.
"You don't want a babysitter," I restated his complaint, checking my facts with a solution already forming in the back of my mind. "But you'd accept protection if it didn't look like a couple of gorillas following you around like you can't look after yourself."
"Yes!" Tam sat up and looked me squarely in the eye. "I've worked too hard to get here to have people thinking I'm helpless!" The passion in his voice gave weight to it, and to his words.
"I think we can work with that." I turned to the producer. "Can we have a moment?"
The man nodded. "Tam's due back on set, anyway."
"We won't be long." I watched as the other three got up and exited the room, the producer relieved, the assistant curious, and the actor—maybe—hopeful. But still thoroughly pissed.
"What are you thinking?" Dad asked. "The studio has already said no to Laydon’s suggestion of a panic button and a perimeter."
"It's not perfect, but I hope it'll satisfy everyone involved. The protectee has a reputation for taking on serial boyfriends. We set him up with one of our guys with a low social profile, pretend they're dating. It gives the bodyguard a reason to be close, gives the protectee the cover he wants to protect his reputation, gives the studio the on-site protection they want. We keep a perimeter in casual dress at level two, change them out on a staggered schedule. The only issue will be the twenty-four-hour cover the boyfriend would need to provide."
Dad frowned. "We can call in some of the casual guys to cover regular shifts. Twenty-four hours a day is going to be tough on whoever is playing the boyfriend."
I nodded in agreement. "I think we can work around that though. I mean, as long as we have the perimeter on site, he doesn't have to be awake for the whole time. And if the perimeter is good, then the risk in choosing a less experienced boyfriend should be minimal. Jim can wire the client’s condo up and we can put someone in the building to live-monitor it."
"I'll call your mother, have her look through the personnel files, and make a recommendation on who we can trust to pull this off. It's a risk—I'd rather use someone we know better than the guys who aren't as visible."
"I'd run it past the studio too," Rick said quietly. "They're not likely to want their star covered by second-stringers."
"Maybe we present them the two options and let them sort it out between them," Jim said.
Dad slapped his folder on the table and stood up. "I'll talk to the producer and give him the quick version, find out what his timeline is. We can put something in place short-term for now and refine the protection plan later. Rick, call in Darcy, Mateo, and Beck to cover the studio until we've got things settled here. Tell them we'll let them know in a couple of hours if they'll be needed longer."
Rick got to his feet and pulled out his cell, the distant sound of another phone ringing already issuing from the speaker. Jim stood and I followed him and Dad out of the room. Dad disappeared in the direction of the producer, Jim hit up what looked like a snack cart, I wandered over to the edge of the stage. "Am I okay here?" I asked a young woman standing nearby. She had a headset on and was carrying a clipboard with a closely printed sheet of paper on it.
"Sure, just stay behind the line here," she said, waving her hand at a strip of tape on the floor. I took a half step back just to make sure I was far enough away and watched the milling about that was happening on the set.
I was starting to wonder when things would begin happening when, all of a sudden, everyone cleared out of the scene except for Tam and Grady Roark, Laydon’s co-star and, realistically, the big-name draw for this film.
"Ready?" the director called out, and Tam and the dark-haired man took a grip on each other. Then, "Action!" and everything began to move.
Tam and Roark swayed into the set, fighting viciously until the larger man threw Tam across the room to crash on top of a coffee table. The table splintered beneath him and he lay still for a moment before rolling to his feet with one of the table legs in his hands.
With a sound half-way between a scream and a grunt, Tam swung at the other actor, then again. The second time the leg broke against Roark’s arm. The dark man charged at him, driving them both through the door into the bathroom. Tam landed on the sink, ripping it off the wall again, then seized the broken pieces and threw them at his assailant. At some point, I noticed that the spot on his cheek had gone from intact to torn and bleeding.
I watched with interest as they finished out the scene, the bathroom almost completely destroyed again, and then the word, "Cut!" rang out across the stage and everyone relaxed.
