My loving boyfriend from last night has been replaced by a silent, furious man. He refuses to say anything, preferring to stew in a deceptive calm. His gorgeous, kissable lips are turned down in the corners, and his forehead is wrinkled up in frustration. Basically, he’s pissed at me for drinking, pissed at Steve for letting me get swarmed, and pissed at the salesperson for revealing my location. Oh yeah, and pissed that I didn’t wear a disguise. But really! I was visiting the shops to make connections for work. I didn’t want to look like some ridiculous punk rock band drop out!
Because of what happened yesterday and my subsequent panic attack, Bossy Drew demanded that I accompany him to the set today for the first day of filming. I tried to stay in bed but he threatened to drag me to the car in just my tank top and panties. And he would, just to prove a point.
Of course, his call is at the obscenely early hour of 7am. So here we are in the car, me hung over and Drew tired from staying up late yelling at Steve, arranging for more bodyguards, and being generally angry, so now both of us are in terrible moods.
Bruce drives into the studio, showing Drew’s credentials at the guardhouse. When we pull into his marked space outside the soundstage, Drew breaks his silence. “Bruce, Steve, give us a minute.”
Both front doors open and the two men get out, slamming the doors shut. Suddenly we’re alone and I’m nervous. Angry Drew is not someone I want to see right now.
“Syd, I’m sorry that I’m being a cold bastard,” he says, turning to me and taking my hands in his. He pulls them to his mouth and presses a soft kiss on them. This, I didn’t expect.
“Drew, I …” he interrupts me.
“No, Sydney. You should be able to go out and be safe. I just need to be more careful in making sure that no one can get to you. For you and for me.” His eyes are pleading with me to understand. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I didn’t think about the fact that you’d be recognized without me. So I’ve asked Jane to hire another couple of bodyguards for you when I’m not there. And when we get back to New York, we’ll bring them with us.”
“But …”
“No one will get to you Sydney, it’s not a request. I watched a video from yesterday…” He pauses, the muscles in his neck and jaw straining from stress. “Those people, they put their hands on you. I told you before, I don’t share and I won’t tolerate anyone touching you.” His voice lets me know there will be no arguing with him. Then he leans in and kisses me on the lips, effectively silencing my response.
Before I can speak he slaps on a fake smile, opens his door, and gets out. My door opens a moment later and Drew extends a hand, helping me up and ignoring my irritated stare, confident that I won’t argue in front of Bruce or Steve who are standing next to the car. When I take his hand, I notice that a couple of his knuckles are black and blue.
When did that happen?
I drop his hand and cross my arms over my chest, attempting to give him a scowl for his bossiness, but my excruciating headache turns it into more of a grimace. He smirks at my pout and puts his arm around my waist, leading me into the studio.
Drew takes me past the receptionist and through several twisting hallways, coming to a stop at the enormous soundstage. I gasp, my hand flying up to my mouth at the memories that come flooding back. Tears prick the corners of my eyes as I think about the many days I spent on the sets of my parents’ different movies. I remember being so proud that it was my mom or dad that was the star of the huge production going on around me. My childhood, so wonderful at times, but so messed up and horrible at other times.
Drew has turned to face me, noticing that I froze in place. “Baby, are you okay?” He’s leaning close to me with a worried look on his face.
I dash away the approaching tears with the back of my hand and give him a small smile. “Yeah, just remembering stuff. You know, from my parents movies.” I shrug it off like it’s no big deal.
From the way Drew’s eyes narrow at me and his lips smash into a thin line I know he doesn’t believe me that it’s not a big deal. Right now, I just want to be alone to mourn my lost childhood, and I’m still mad at him for bullying me, and I have a throbbing headache. Drew sighs heavily, staring up at the towering ceiling and rubbing his neck. He’s about to say something when a man with an enormous set of headphones around his neck walks over.
“Andrew! How’s it going?” He shakes Drew’s hand and looks at me expectantly.
“Sorry,” says Drew. “Sydney, this is Daniel Talon, the director for the film. Dan, this is …”