Sticks and Stones

Chapter 3-2

Paul liked to spend at least four hours a day in his studio when he wasn’t in the middle of a shoot, but Jack had interrupted him just after the two hour mark. And Paul lost all interest in dancing. He snagged the script and marched out of the small building, his shoulders bunched up around his ears. Jack was even more obnoxious than Paul had initially given him credit for. Martin had thought he was overreacting. Clearly, he had been underreacting. Clearly, he hadn’t been angry enough.

“Melinda!” Paul roared, though she was waiting for him at the back door.

“Mr. Dunham, I am sorry.”

“How did he get back to my studio?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Dunham. I sent him away when I took the script.”

Paul took several deep breaths as he regarded the small woman. She had been working for him for the past decade, and she was his first line of defense. The one who kept nosy reporters and photographers away. The one who politely, yet firmly, turned back overeager fans. The one who always knew when to tell Josh that he wasn’t home.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. It’s okay.” The door bell chimed through the house, putting Paul’s teeth on edge. “Go take care of whoever that is.”

She bustled off, leaving him in the kitchen with a script he was starting to hate rumpled in his hand. Tossing it onto the counter, Paul reached overhead to get a drinking glass. His whole day was a wreck now. His timing was off, his head was a morass of dark thoughts, and all he wanted was to pick Jack up by the scruff of his neck and pummel him until he wasn’t nearly so pretty anymore. The image of Jack black and blue brought a grim smile to his face as he filled the glass from the tap. Schary wouldn’t be so excited about his new toy if it was broken. It would be even better if Jack had a broken leg on top of it. Couldn’t dance on a pair of crutches.

He was still smiling over what he was sure was going to be his new favorite fantasy when a throat cleared behind him.

“Hi, Paul.”

The glass nearly fell out of his suddenly numb fingers. Melinda had obviously forgotten, or maybe she just didn’t care, that Betty Thayer was no longer welcome in his home. He turned around with a tight smile. “Betty. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Betty had been barely eighteen when they’d first met. Her heart-shaped face had still had traces of baby fat, though her features were fine, her nose adorably imperfect. She laughed all the time, her green eyes dancing, and she’d worn her hair longer than was fashionable at the time, all because she liked the way it swished around her shoulders when she danced. Back then, she’d been dying it blonde, but either she needed it different for a project, or she’d finally learned she didn’t need to conform to whatever stereotype she’d always envisioned Hollywood starlets were. Now, it was a warm golden brown, cut to an elegant pageboy that skimmed her narrow shoulders.

She fidgeted with her pocketbook, an oversized patent-leather thing that was wider than her slender form. “You’re mad I’m here. I’m sorry. Don’t hold it against Melinda, okay? I didn’t give her much of a choice about letting me in.”

Paul sighed and set his glass aside. “I’m not mad at you. Jack Wells was here earlier. He barged into my studio and…have you ever met Jack?”

Her nose wrinkled. “Yes. Unfortunately. We have the same vocal coach.”

“Then you know what an obnoxious prick he is.”

“I know he’s exactly the kind of guy who drives you craziest.”

“Right. An obnoxious prick.” Paul tapped the top of the script. “Have you had a chance to look at this thing? Is it any good?”

“It is, actually. It’s very funny.” She frowned. “You haven’t read it yet?”

“No, Jack brought it over this morning. I guess he doesn’t know that there are messengers for that sort of thing. Did you want to go over it or something?”

“No, I just…” She took a deep breath. “God, this is harder than I thought it would be.”

Paul tensed. Their break-up had not been a pretty one, and Paul didn’t want to go down that road again. In fact, he didn’t want to go down any road with Betty. “What is harder?”

Her fingers were leaving sweaty trails in the leather of her clutch. Whatever was bothering Betty was wreaking havoc on her nerves. “I want to make sure we’re going to be able to keep it professional on this,” she blurted. “I mean, we haven’t worked together since, well, you know when. And trust me, nobody was happier about that than I was. But it would be nice if we could get through the next month and then all the promotions next year without any bloodshed. Or public scenes. Or flying shoes.” The last referenced the one time Paul had tried to talk some sense into Betty after their break-up. He’d ended up at the emergency room with a mild concussion and a slice down the side of his face from where she’s managed to clobber him with one of her heels.

Paul blinked. “I didn’t plan on making any scenes with you. I just want to get through this movie and put it behind me.”

“Yeah, well, we always have a way of working around what we plan, don’t we?”

Paul’s lips twitched. They knew how to get under each other’s skin. But after just ten minutes with Jack Wells, Paul thought Betty was a saint in comparison. “True. Okay, you stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours, and we can focus on getting through this without killing Jack.”

Mention of Jack made Betty wrinkle her nose again. “I am so glad you have more scenes with him than I do. And more screen time. And that you’re the one I have to kiss. I just know he would try slipping me tongue.”

Paul remembered the way Jack leered at him, not to mention the suggestive comments. He really didn’t think Betty had to worry about Jack slipping her anything. “Yeah, I doubt he’s overly concerned with boundaries.”

“I was surprised to hear you agreed to the casting. I mean, Jack’s a great dancer, so at least he’s not going to make you look bad, but he’s not the type you usually choose to work with.”

“He’s not a great dancer. He’s a clod. And I didn’t agree to this. Jesson assured me that if I walked away from this film, I’d be breaking contract.” Just the thought made his head pound, and he turned to fumble through the cupboards, searching for the headache powder. “I didn’t have a say in any of this.”

“Really?” Her shock was evident. “But Schary loves you. Why would he risk making you angry?”

“Because Jack is his new pet. He’s grooming him…” Paul’s eyes narrowed. “Like a little punk like that could carry MGM on his back.”

Betty didn’t seem convinced, but at least she didn’t continue on about Jack’s nonexistent talent like everybody else seemed to. The less time he spent thinking about Jack Wells, the happier Paul would be.

“Oh, that won’t happen if this takes off the way everybody thinks it will. My manager said Schary sees you two as the next Hope and Crosby.”

The pain behind his eyes increased. “No, no, no. That is not going to happen.” Betty nodded sympathetically, but Paul didn’t think she understood. He would walk away from movies forever before he allowed that to happen. Five minutes in the same room with Jack gave him violent impulses. He was not going to tie his profession, and his life, to Jack Wells. “Besides, for all he knows, we don’t have any chemistry.”

“Maybe not.” She tucked her purse closer into her body, more relaxed now that her mission had been accomplished with minimal violence. “I guess we’ll know soon enough, though.”

“Unfortunately. This is going to be a long six weeks.”

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about. Jack’s the one with everything to lose.” She retreated to the doorway, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll see you next week then. And thanks for hearing me out.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for coming up to see me. I’ll walk you to the door.”

They passed Melinda in the hallway, and she shot him a fearful glance, but he decided not to chastise her. His head already hurt enough without calling the help to task. Betty was right about one thing. Jack was the one who stood to lose. Did the arrogant little bastard even realize how perilous his current situation was? Probably not. The thought cheered Paul. With a little bit of help, Jack could be his own worst enemy on the shoot.