Page 3 of Act Like You Don't Care
"No problem at all, sweetie," I told her. "Anyone else want an autograph before I run off to lunch?" I could skip lunch if I absolutely had to—it wouldn’t be the first time I’d ignored food to cater to the fans. Just...I was hungry, and my cousin Nick and his new husband should finally be back in Oceanport after their honeymoon and I wanted to be sure they’d enjoyed themselves. Imighthave added a few little ‘extras’ in when I booked the trip and, not having gotten any of the startled texts I’d been expecting, I was eager to poke the bear a little.
Me paying for my Oceanport cousins’ honeymoons was getting to be a tradition, one that I enjoyed more than I really should have. Though, in my more honest moments, I admitted that the chances of me having a honeymoon of my own were pretty slim. That was me, living vicariously through the Oceanport clan.
I pushed my impatience and that tiny hint of sadness that went along with it away, like I always did when my mind drifted in that direction, and focused on the fans. After all, they were why I was able to pay for these honeymoons and I owed them something for that. So I spent the time with them, signing everything that was offered to me—including a rather well-formed breast—while avoiding one kind of intense-looking guy who had no idea of personal space or taking turns. It was only after everyone had gotten a chance to at least say hello and I’d posed for four different selfies that I made my excuses and escaped to go jam a sandwich into my face.
My personal assistant Will was waiting at the catering hall, guarding my lunch against the passing film crew. "God, I love you," I told him as I fell into the chair at the little table. "I thought Pete was never going to let us go."
"He's got high standards, and you're certainly capable of meeting them."
I shrugged the compliment off. It wasn't polite to agree when someone mentioned that you were a good actor. Truth was, I’d been told several times—always behind closed doors and always with the caveat of 'for an omega'—that Iwasa good actor. Not Oscar material yet, though I’d also been told it was more my choice of roles that kept that little gold statuette out of my reach than any lack of ability on my part.
The whole thing frustrated me because I’d quite happily do movies with potential for an Oscar. I just didn’t want to play omega parts and getting a casting director to see past my omega status to the actor I could be was… difficult. I knew, if I had the right part, I’d knock their socks off—I had a knack for getting into the head of a character, and everything I thought showed on my face. As long as I could think like them, I could act like them. But so far, every one of those career-making parts wasWe love you but so-and-so was just a better fit.
This train of thought wasn’t going to get me anywhere, or put me in the right mindset for the rest of the day’s shooting. Deliberately, I got my phone out and spent a few moments shooting off some off-color texts to ol' Nick. Because if you're coughing up the cash for a guy's honeymoon, you should be able to be a little 'wink, wink, nudge, nudge' right? Besides, Nick would think it was funny.
"What's the schedule for tomorrow?" I asked Will once I’d harassed Nick enough.
Will flipped open his clipboard. "Reshoot of the scene outside the hospital if the weather cooperates at five, you and Mike have a refresher for the fight scene in the warehouse at ten, then the fight scene itself at eleven, lunch, interview with Claire Vogt for Today’s Entertainment right after that, then we're moving downtown to shoot on the street for a couple of hours."
"Not bad, I guess." Actually, it was really light. I should have had a heavier schedule at this point in the movie. "Nothing in the evening?"
Will shook his head. "The stunt double's scenes are scheduled for the evening."
I made a face and Will frowned at me. I ignored the frown; we’d been over this territory so many times already. He knew I didn't like using stunt doubles, though even I had had to agree that this particular scene was beyond my physical abilities. I didn't want to get hurt. Or dead. But I stayed in shape so that I could do my own as much as possible—it made for a better movie and, someday, I hoped it would help me overcome that issue with being an omega.
As Will dug out a pen to start going over the rest of today’s scenes, I noticed an envelope on his clipboard, buried underneath the pile of schedules, contact info, prep, and script pages. "What's that?" I asked and flicked it out and onto the floor like a cat.
"Nothing," Will snapped and reached for it, but I got there first.
"Fuck," I said tonelessly after I'd read the first paragraph of the letter it contained. "What the hell is wrong with this guy?"
"Just crazy. I’m going to take it over to security. Give it back, Tam, you don't need to read that."
But I did, kind of. Morbid curiosity, mostly, but the hair rising on the back of my neck made my need to know what other craziness was in the letter more important than my ability to sleep tonight.
The next paragraph was a little weirder and did nothing to make it seem less threatening.
God strikesdown sinners and there is no greater sin than to deny your proper place on this earth, which is to serve the alpha who finds you worthy in the ways that an omega is meant to serve. Aping your betters does you no earthly or heavenly good; your immortal soul suffers for your earthly pride and defiance. Repentance is what you need, to cleanse that sin. If you can not bring yourself to repent and make amends willingly, know that God will choose his agent to purify your soul against the calling of hell.
And then somemore bullshit about hellfire and a couple of lines talking about correcting me, like I was some archetype in this guy’s bible. Why were these people always religious? I handed the letter back to Will and did my best to look indifferent. "Well, someone took their crazy pills this morning." But when Will still looked troubled, I leaned over and patted his knee, wearing my best smile. "It'll be fine. Like, really, these guys are a dime a dozen. And it’s just one letter, right?"
He frowned and shook his head. "You done eating? You need to be back on set in fifteen."
"Just a sec." I pushed the letter to the back of my mind and inhaled the second half of my sandwich, then drank the diet ginger ale in almost one gulp. One good burp later and I could say, "Ready. Let's go do some acting!"
I was so good, I almost convinced myself I wasn’t bothered.
Tam
The rest of the day’s shoot went a little smoother. The last one was even a one-take wonder, which meant we were done on time and I could go home and try to get some sleep in before tomorrow’s four in the morning alarm.
Except I couldn’t sleep. The text of that letter kept circling through my mind like a paper vulture that wouldn’t be frightened away. I’d focus on something else until I was almost asleep, but as soon as I relaxed, back it came. I kept reminding myself that most of these things never amounted to anything, that my condo was well secured and that the studio was even safer. That anyone who was anyone in Hollywood got weird shit like this all the time and I should take it as a compliment.
But damn, it was creepy.
So, despite the early call the next day, I found myself getting dressed up to go to a party. I wasn’t going to let the lunatic force me to cower, sleepless, inside my condo. And, because it was a long-ingrained habit, I picked out the tightest pair of jeans I had that I could still skim out of in an instant and pulled on a goofy shirt I’d bought a couple of years ago, plain white except where the brightly colored handprints looked like they were groping me. I didn’t wear it often, but in my defiant state of mind, it seemed like the perfect choice.
Then I called a cab to take me up into the Hills, where Jack Sylvester was throwing a party. I’d turned him down when he’d invited me last week because I’d already seen the shooting schedule and knew we’d be tight. But if I was going to be awake anyway, I was going to show this lunatic that threats and fear-mongering didn’t work.
