Just Physical Page 2

  “Come on in,” Grace said, giving her a hug. Her skin was warm, and drops of water clung to it. “We’re outside in the hot tub.” She led the way to the stone patio at the back of the cottage.

  Jeez. Jill shook her head at herself. You’re not so desperate that you’d ogle your best friend, are you? Okay, maybe she should cut herself some slack after more than eighteen months of not looking at, much less touching, another woman. Besides, even priests and gay men ogled Grace. She hadn’t been voted one of the sexiest women alive for nothing.

  When they stepped through the sliding glass door, Lauren lifted a hand out of the bubbling water and gave a short wave. “Hey, Jill. Want to join us?” She pointed at the redwood hot tub that was big enough for three.

  Jill playfully clutched her chest. “Skinny dipping with the two of you? Thanks for the very tempting offer, but I’m not sure my heart could take it.” Her heart was just fine, but immersing herself in hot water still wasn’t a good idea. Any rise in body temperature could make her symptoms flare and force her to use a cane for the rest of the day. But she didn’t mention that. There was no reason to constantly remind the people in her life about her damn MS, now that it was in remission.

  Grace gave her a look that said she knew exactly why Jill had rejected the offer. Thankfully, she said nothing.

  Lauren smiled, leaned back, and watched Grace climb back in. “Suit yourself. Grace and I get it all to ourselves, then.”

  Jill’s friends looked at each other and seemed to forget that they weren’t alone.

  Jill smiled wistfully. She was happy for Grace, really. After her failed marriage and all the bullshit she’d been through last year, she deserved whatever happiness she could get. But sometimes, a part of Jill rebelled at the unfairness of her own situation. Her friends had it all—they were successful, healthy, and in love, while she…

  Oh, come on. Stop the pity party! You’re doing just fine. She sat on a deck chair in the shade and cleared her throat. “So, did you get a chance to talk to the casting director?”

  “Um, yes, I did,” Lauren answered.

  “You did?” Grace asked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Well, I just met with him earlier today, and when I got back…”

  Grinning, Jill shook her head at her friends. “Let me guess… You got a little distracted.”

  Lauren’s gaze strayed to Grace’s bare shoulders, which were peeking out of the water. A wide grin formed on her face. “A lot distracted, actually.”

  “So,” Jill said, “what did the casting director say?”

  The smile disappeared from Lauren’s face. She might have once been one of Hollywood’s top PR experts, but she couldn’t act to save her life.

  Jill suppressed a sigh. “He said no.”

  Biting her lip, Lauren nodded. “I’m sorry. I know you really wanted that role.”

  “It’s okay,” Jill said, trying not to let her disappointment show. “Maybe I wouldn’t have been a good fit anyway.”

  “You would have been perfect,” Grace said, her cheeks reddened either by the hot water or her passionate defense. “You’re strong and tough with just a hint of vulnerability. That would have worked great for the role. Not to mention that you’re gay, so you would have had no problem kissing another woman. I really can’t understand why they wouldn’t let you audition.”

  “It’s a pretty challenging role,” Lauren said quietly.

  Grace frowned at her girlfriend of six months. “You think Jill isn’t up to it? You saw her in Ava’s Heart. She acted circles around the rest of the supporting cast! She—”

  “I’m not talking about that kind of challenge. The script calls for a lot of physical action. The two lead actresses will have to do some of their own stunts.”

  Jill bit down on the inside of her cheek. So that was the true reason. It wasn’t her looks or her acting skills. It was the MS. She hadn’t had an attack for seven months and two weeks. At times, she could almost forget that she even had MS. The people in the industry never forgot, though. Disaster movies were expensive. The powers that be didn’t want to risk production being held up by an actress who couldn’t keep up.

  “I understand,” she said as calmly as possible, even though she was raging inside. What good would it do to make her friends feel bad about it too?

  “I don’t,” Grace said, her famous sky-blue eyes darkened to a thundercloud gray. “Why couldn’t they at least offer her a supporting role? One that didn’t involve so much running and jumping and climbing over mountains of debris?”

  Years of acting experience enabled Jill to look calm while her friends talked about her as if she weren’t even present. She knew they meant well.

  “Actually, I was able to convince the casting director to take a look at her head shot.” Lauren swiveled around on the hot tub’s bench seat to face Jill. “With your green eyes, red hair, and fair complexion, you look exactly the way I imagine Lucy Sharpe to look like. You’re even the right age.”

  Lucy Sharpe… Jill tried to remember who that was. Maybe it was just her imagination, but since the MS had started, her memory didn’t seem to be the same. Sometimes it took her forever to learn her lines.

  “The lady doctor, remember?” Lauren prompted when Jill directed a questioning look her way.

  Ah. Jill nodded. She was also a strong female character, and she starred in nearly as many scenes as the two leading ladies, but she wasn’t a main character. Jill forced a grin. “Ooh, so I’d get to play doctor?”

  “If you want the role…” Lauren searched her face.

  “Sure, what’s not to want?” Jill swallowed her pride. It wasn’t as if casting directors had been knocking down her door in the past nine months since her double outing.

  Lauren brightened. “Okay. I’ll let them know, then.”

  “Do you think they’ll go for it?” Jill asked.

  “They’d better.” Lauren flashed a grim smile. “The casting director is my godfather, and after he shot me down about you playing Kathryn Winthrop, he owes me.”

  Even though it might be stupid, Jill shook her head. “I don’t want to get the role just because the casting director is doing you a personal favor.”

  “Are you kidding? They’d be lucky to get you. I think you bring just the right kind of spunk to the role. Besides…” Lauren gave her a playful leer. “I’m sure you’ll look great in a corset.”

  Jill groaned. “I hate period costumes. You can’t breathe in those things. Next time, write a script about a female version of Casanova who does nothing but lie by the pool and seduce women all day. I’d be perfect for that role.”

  Both of her friends snorted and splashed water at her.

  “Hey!”

  The walkie-talkie crackled to life. “Crash?” came the stunt coordinator’s voice through the device. “You still there?”

  Crash grinned. She was standing on the rooftop of a six-story building. Where was she supposed to go? “Still here and ready to rumble.”

  “We need a few more minutes to set up the cameras,” he said.

  “Okay. I’ll stand by.”

  The walkie-talkie fell silent.

  Normally, Crash didn’t mind the waiting involved in making a movie. In her five years in the stunt business, she had gotten used to it. But up here on the rooftop, the dry March wind was so much stronger than on the ground that it made her eyes tear. She had to repeatedly reach up, wipe her eyes, and brush strands of her blonde wig out of her face.

  While she waited, she went through her reminders: keep an eye on the wind currents, to make it less likely she would jump into a sudden gust that would blow her off course and make her overshoot the air bag. Hit the inflated bag straight in the middle, so she wouldn’t get a bad bounce and smash against the building or the ground.

  She took a deep, steadying breath. While a ce
rtain risk always remained, the stunt was safe. She’d checked out the equipment and had done a practice jump earlier today.

  Finally, the stunt coordinator’s voice came through the walkie-talkie again. “Ready?”

  Crash peered down the building to the blue heavy-duty air bag below and made sure the safety spotters were in the correct places. “Ready to roll.”

  “Remember to do a face-off and—”

  “I know the drill,” she told him.

  The second-unit director’s commands came through the walkie-talkie as he instructed his crew. “Roll camera.”

  “Rolling.”

  Crash eyed the spot on the rooftop ledge where she had to go over in order to hit the air bag just right.

  “In three, two, one…”

  At the countdown, Crash’s body started to buzz with excitement. The thrill of doing a high fall never got old, no matter how often she’d done it. She planted her feet more firmly and waited for the final cue.

  “Go!”

  She jumped over the ledge face-first, kicking her legs and flailing her arms just the way the director wanted it. The ground rushed up fast. Wait, wait, wait… She gave the cameramen as much time as she could so they’d have plenty of material to shoot before rotating her body.

  She landed flat on her back, her chin tucked into her chest, with the impact as evenly distributed as she could. A bit of air whooshed out of the bag.

  Everything went quiet for a moment. Then the crew broke into applause.

  Crash lifted up on one elbow, looked behind her, and grinned. Perfect landing. She had hit the white X in the center of the air bag.

  Their stunt coordinator, who was also the second-unit director, walked over. “You okay?”

  She smoothly rolled off the air bag and dropped to the ground. “Yeah. Need me to do that again?”

  “No. You nailed it on the first take. Nice job.”

  “Too bad,” Crash grumbled. With the adrenaline still pumping through her body, she was ready to climb back up and do it all over again.

  He looked her up and down as if taking her measurements. “Do you have more stunt work lined up for the next few months?”

  “Not yet.” Crash wasn’t at a point in her career yet where she would constantly work. Just when she had started getting bigger jobs, she hurt her leg in a motorcycle stunt. Then, on her first job after that had healed, a fire stunt had gone wrong. Memories of heat searing her skin flashed through Crash’s mind, and she stifled the impulse to rub the burn scar on the back of her neck. The screw-up hadn’t been her fault, but that didn’t matter. If people thought she was still skittish about it, word would get around, and stunt coordinators would stop hiring her. Nothing was more dangerous than a stunt person who couldn’t keep a lid on their fear.

  “You might want to hit up a buddy of mine, Ben Brower.” The second-unit director handed her a business card. “They start shooting a historical drama with lots of action scenes in mid-May, and they’re still looking for a girl to double one of the actresses and maybe play a few extras in the more dangerous scenes.”

  “Woman,” Crash said.

  He frowned. “What?”

  “They’re looking for a woman to double one of the actresses,” Crash said softly, but without flinching away from his gaze.

  His frown deepened. “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

  Crash decided to let it go. The second-unit director looked as if he were old enough to have gotten his start doubling for John Wayne, so compared to his age, she really was little more than a girl. He was offering work, so he hadn’t meant it in a belittling way. “So, who would I be doubling?” she asked. “The lead actress?”

  “No, one of the supporting actresses. Jill Something-or-another.”

  Great. So she’d be doubling for some unknown wannabe starlet who probably had one scene in the movie. Crash sighed. Well, it was better than nothing, and he had said she could play an extra in some of the more dangerous scenes. If she did well, it might get her on the list of candidates for bigger, more exciting work. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll give Mr. Brower a call.”

  “It’s a movie about the great earthquake and fires of 1906, so you’ll probably have to do some fire stunts. You’re up for that, aren’t you?”

  Crash gritted her teeth. News in the stunt business traveled fast. “I’m up for it,” she said as evenly as possible and pocketed the card. “Thanks.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “And cut,” Floyd Manning called. He gave Jill a nod. “Thank you, that was great.”

  Jill stuck her index finger into the high neck of her starched blouse and tugged, while trying to adjust her corset with the other hand. She didn’t know how women in 1906 had lived like this every day. She’d been saddled with the corset and the two petticoats for less than a day, yet she was already sick of them.

  “Why don’t you take a short break?” Floyd eyed her with a wrinkle of concern between his eyebrows. “We won’t need you for the next hour.”

  Truth be told, Jill could use a break, but she didn’t want any special consideration. “Um, wasn’t I supposed to head over to the second-unit set?”

  The director shook his head. “That’s not necessary. We’ll get someone from the stunt department to do it. Just join them after your break so they can shoot the lead-in.”

  Jill gave up on her attempts to get the corset to fit more comfortably and narrowed her eyes at Floyd. “Nikki and Shawn are running through walls of fire, climbing tons of debris, and dodging panicked horses, and you think I can’t even trip over a bedpan?”

  Floyd got up from the director’s chair and walked over to her, probably so none of the crew and cast would overhear what he had to say. “It’s not that I think you can’t do it. But if you get hurt, we’ll have to stop production while you heal. That means a lot of lost money. If the stunt person gets hurt, we just call in another one.”

  After seven years in the business, Jill knew that was how things worked, but she still felt there was more to it than the routine procedure. “Yeah, but it’s not like I’m supposed to do a backflip and land on a galloping horse. I’m tripping over a bedpan, for Christ’s sake!”

  Folding his arms across his skinny chest, Floyd faced her squarely. “It’s not as easy as it looks. You could still get hurt.”

  “Would you let me try if I didn’t have MS?” Jill asked.

  A slight flinch. “It’s not like that,” he said but couldn’t look her in the eyes anymore.

  Bingo. She’d been right. Not that it gave her any satisfaction. She opened her mouth, about to tell him where he could shove his unwanted consideration, but then she bit her tongue. He probably meant well, or he had the producers and their insurance company breathing down his neck. Besides, it wouldn’t do her any good to get a reputation as a diva who flew off the handle when things didn’t go her way.

  She inflated her cheeks and then blew out a breath. “All right. If you’re sure you want to bother a stunt person for an easy thing like that…”

  “I’m sure,” he said.

  When he didn’t add anything else, she turned and walked to her trailer. At times like this, she really regretted coming out to the press and the public—not as a lesbian, but as a person with MS.

  Well, it wasn’t as if you had much choice. The paparazzi had snapped pictures of Grace helping her to her trailer when her symptoms had flared. The press and the public had promptly concluded that they were having an affair. If she hadn’t revealed the truth, the rumors would have gotten out of control, hurting her friend’s career, because back then, her fans had still assumed Grace to be happily married to action star Nick Sinclair.

  Jill entered the trailer and flopped down on the couch. Exhaustion settled over her without warning, so she closed her eyes, not even bothering to get out of her costume. She’d rest here for a moment and then
head over to the second-unit set. Maybe Ben, the second-unit director and stunt coordinator, would let her try no matter what Floyd said.

  Crash grunted as the pink-haired wardrobe assistant laced up her corset. Man, this thing was worse than a stunt harness.

  The young woman stepped back and eyed her from head to toe. Usually, women didn’t frown like that when they regarded her half-dressed body.

  “What?” Crash asked and peered down her body too.

  “Um, you’re about the same age, height, and weight as Ms. Corrigan, but…uh, you need a little something…” She gestured at Crash’s chest and then stuffed some padding into the corset.

  Chuckling, Crash held still. She had yet to meet the actress she would double, so she had no idea about her bra size. Of course she had planned to pay her a visit and study the way she moved so she could copy her as closely as possible, but the stunt coordinator had called her in two weeks early, saying there’d been a change of plans and they needed her right away.

  She didn’t yet have the call sheet or the stunt script, but when she had arrived, the second-unit set had been buzzing with activity. The rigging coordinator had set up a ratchet and debris cannons, so apparently, one of the stunt performers would be thrown through a wall or a window by some kind of explosion. She hoped she’d get to do that gag or another, equally exciting stunt.

  Once she was in costume and had her makeup done, she headed back to the set. Her petticoats rustled, and she looked down at the long skirt she was wearing. It always felt a bit strange. While her job sometimes made it necessary to wear a dress or a skirt, the last time she’d worn one off-set had been her sixth birthday. Good thing they pay me well for this. At least the high-neck blouse and the ankle-length skirt would cover the pads she’d wear for some of the stunts. Usually, stuntwomen had it harder than their male colleagues since they didn’t get to wear baggy pants and long-sleeved tops that could hide their pads.

  When she stopped a PA and asked him where Ben was, he directed her toward one of the buildings. They were shooting in an old, abandoned hospital that reminded her of the one in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. She followed other cast and crew members up the stairs and found herself in a long room, with two rows of metal-framed beds lined up along the walls. Gas light fixtures hung from the ceiling.