The Gravity Between Us (New Adult Contemporary Romance) (6 page)

“Hey, I’m starving,” she takes the focus off the giant elephant in the room that apparently only I can see. “You want to head down to the bar across the street and try some of the black crawfish I’ve been hearing about?”

“Crawfish?” I am entirely grossed out at the idea of chomping on something that looks like a crossbreed between a scorpion and a lobster, but Rebecca seems fun and adventurous. I could use a bit of fun and adventure. “There isn’t anything I’d like to try more!”

❄ ❄ ❄

It turns out Rebecca is exactly what I expected her to be. She’s loud, rowdy, and quite a partier. I learn her entire life story while watching her inhale tequila shots. She’s twenty-two, originally from Iowa, and has been living in Los Angeles for four years. She has a boyfriend named Tom, a dog named Chutney, and a father who never believed she’d amount to anything. I tell her that I’m single, that I don’t have a dog, and that my mom is the epitome of a pushy “stage mom.” Thanks to the Internet, she already knows all about where I’m from and how I got my start. It’s strange to think that anyone who wants to can consult the web and magically know all about me.

It’s after two in the morning when I decide I need to leave.

“I’m gon’ stay n’ make some new friends,” she slurs. No one in the crowded bar is paying much attention to us, but I don’t think I should leave a pretty, drunken girl by herself at a pub in the French Quarter. That screams disaster to me.

“Oh, no you don’t.” I slam some cash on the bar, stand up, and sling her arm around my shoulders. The second we try to leave, I see people pulling out their cell phones to capture us on video.
Wonderful. I’m underage, carrying an inebriated girl from a bar in the dead of night, and some crappy rag mag will have photo evidence of the whole event by the time the sun rises.
I’m tempted to deadpan a camera and say “Hi, Ma. Aren’t you proud?” but that would almost certainly be the dumbest thing I could do in this situation. Lawrence is already going to shit a brick and beat me with it. I needn’t say anything to fuel the fire.

By the time we stumble into Rebecca’s room, I am thoroughly exhausted. She passes out almost as soon as her head hits the pillow. I roll my eyes and leave her to her own devices. When I reach my room, I fall into bed without bothering to change into pajamas. I’m finding sleep elusive, though. The way the night ended is bugging me. I try to avoid nights like these. I kind of like my budding reputation as Hollywood’s “good girl.” I like to present myself as fun-loving, yet dignified. There are too many people in this business who strive to make themselves seem much “cooler” than anyone needs to be. Besides, if getting so sloshed that you need to be carried home is the public’s idea of cool, I’d much rather be thought of as lame.

I click a text to Payton, although I know she won’t be awake to answer it. “Sorry I haven’t texted in a while. Things are insane here. Tonight was my first break from filming in forever, and my co-star got wasted. Pick up a gossip mag on Monday if you need a laugh. Have the day off tomorrow! Hope to talk to you. XOXO Kendall.”

❄ ❄ ❄

Saturday is the cast’s first full day of rest since day one. I spend most of the day reading and lounging by the indoor pool with the rest of my cast mates. Lauren Atwell—the actress playing Tracy, the bassist—is beyond cool. I met her briefly once at a premier, but this is the first chance I’ve had to really get to know her. She’s twenty. She likes to read and go to concerts. She’s been acting since she was ten, though this is her first major studio production. I get her phone number so we can hang out back in LA. Spencer St. Germaine, our drummer, is the only one of us who can play his instrument for real. He’s sweet, but spends most of his time on the phone with his girlfriend.

In time, Rebecca joins us. It becomes apparent to everybody that she is hung over when she keeps calling us by our characters’ names.

“Someone had a rough night,” Lauren says.

Spencer, finally detached from his cell, says, “Yeah, you look like you lost a match with an MMA fighter.”

“I
feel
like I lost a match with an MMA fighter,” Rebecca replies. “Thanks for getting me back to my room last night,” she says to me.

“You’re welcome,” I reply while checking my phone for any texts I may have missed. It’s late afternoon, and I still haven’t heard anything from Payton. It’s worrying. That’s not at all like her. She usually gets back to me ASAP when she knows I have free time.

“Waiting for your boyfriend to call?” Spencer asks.

It’s the most irritating thing that everyone assumes I have a boyfriend, like it’s impossible for me to be happily unattached. “Why does everyone always ask me about the boyfriend I don’t have?” My voice sounds much sharper than I intended it to. They all pick up on it.

“Sorry,” Spencer nods. “It just seems like you’re waiting for a call.”

“Is that a sore subject, the boyfriend thing?” Lauren questions.

“I’m waiting for a friend to get in touch with me. I sent her a text last night, and I’d normally have heard back from her by now.” I shrug. “And no, it’s not a sore subject. I’m just not interested in a relationship right now.”

Just then, my phone rings. It’s Payton. I hop to my feet, distance myself slightly from everyone so that I can talk to her privately. “Hey. Did you get my text?” I wonder if maybe it got lost across the great, expansive airways of America.

“Yes, I did. Sorry. I had a study group this morning. I went for coffee with a girl from the group afterward.”

“Oh.” A spark of jealousy ignites inside me, though I’m not sure why. It’s not like Payton would ever replace me. Would she? “You were on a date?”
That isn’t any of your damn business. And shouldn’t you be happy for her if it was a date?

“Um, sure, if you consider a two-hour conversation about the Nazi occupation of Europe a date. That would be the worst date ever and likely put me off women altogether.”

I laugh. “You’re right, that would be the worst date ever.”

We talk for over an hour and set up a video chat session for when I get back to LA. After she hangs up, I rejoin the pack by the pool. Rebecca and Spencer are horsing around in the water. Lauren is smirking at me. “Got that call you were waiting for?”

I plop into a lounge chair. “Yeah. My friend, Payton.”

“That’s good. I could tell you were worried.”

“I haven’t been able to talk to her much lately, since we’ve been so crazy busy with filming.” I decide right then that I will never take another part in a film that’s only in production for thirty-one days. It’s too much, too quickly.

She furrows her brow. “Afraid she’ll forget about you?”

“No.” It’s more me forgetting about her, though I know that could never, ever happen. “I just always think I’m missing out on things back home. Even in high school, when I was just doing TV shows and small films—I worked so hard, scooping up as many roles as I could get. People say high school is the greatest four years of their lives. When I actually managed to be there, it
was
great. Yet I know I missed some of the most important things. I wasn’t there for prom. I wasn’t there for graduation. I wasn’t there for my best friend when she was dealing with what was, in all probability, the hardest thing she’s ever had to deal with.”

“Sounds like you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into when you signed up for fame and fortune.”

“I wanted to be an actress, strived to be a great one, but I was kind of ill-prepared to be
famous
. Like, there’s this bizarre new thing that’s been happening to me lately; I keep catching paparazzi hiding in the bushes in front of my apartment building!”

“Yikes.” She laughs. “I haven’t had to deal with that much absurdity yet.”

“Want to trade lives with me?” I ask, only half-joking. “Mine’s becoming kind of insane.”

“No, thanks, I’m good with getting paid for being a tiny blip on the radar. If you think it’s bad now, wait until award season comes around.
In Heaven’s Arms
was incredible. If you don’t get an Elite Awards nod, there isn’t any hope for the rest of us.”

“Oh god, that is the last thing I want. I’d be honored and flabbergasted to the point of muteness, but I don’t want to deal with that kind of attention. It’s gotten hard enough already to have anything that’s
personal
.”

She nods. “I guess that’s how you know you’ve made it, when privacy becomes a mythical thing.”

“I guess so. I suppose I’d better take a deep breath and hold on for dear life.”

She laughs again. “Definitely.”

❄ ❄ ❄

Finally, it’s the last day on set.
Everyone
is beyond ready to wrap at this point. But today is the day I have been dreading—the filming of scene thirty-two. I’ve never enjoyed doing sex scenes, but this one is freaking me out much worse than any I’ve had to do before. It’s a closed set, so only the most necessary cast and crew will be loitering around as it happens. Normally, that makes it easier for me, but this time, it isn’t helping at all.

As my call-time approaches, I contemplate chugging some vodka or something to help loosen me up. I feel shoddy, like this is the ultimate assessment of my acting abilities and soon everyone will see what an unqualified fraud I am. I can fake playing a girl left dazed and lonely by her sudden shot to stardom because that isn’t such a stretch from the person I really am. I can even fake playing the stupid guitar. But this love scene, the way it’s written… it’s too passionate, too real for me to counterfeit. I’ve never experienced anything like it in real life, so I’ve got very little to draw on.
I am going to bomb.

We’re standing around, waiting for the gaffers to adjust the lighting. I sneak off to the chair where I left my phone. I flip through the contacts and punch the key for “Payton” while wondering if she ever gets tired of talking me through my absurd crises.

“What’s wrong, Kendall?” She questions as soon as she picks up.
She knows me so well, it’s frightening.
Suddenly, a shroud of guilt takes hold of me. I start thinking about all the times she must have needed me to be a phone call away, and I wasn’t.

“Nothing is wrong, per se. I just need a potent shot of reassurance. You were the first person who came to mind.”
Nice going. Way to sound like a stage-five clinger.
“Remember when I told you I got to kiss that up-and-comer? We’re shooting that scene in, like, five minutes, and the revised version involves much more than kissing.”

“So, Kendall Bettencourt, the best actress in the business, is nervous. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I can’t act. I can’t do anything. Let’s move on.”

“Oh, please.” She draws out the ‘ease.’ “Acting is like breathing for you, drama queen. Close your eyes and pretend you’re in your own space, kissing someone you’d kiss if you weren’t acting.” She pauses. “Think of Jared.”

“Jared?” I let out a boisterous cackle. The crew around me stops what they’re doing to glower at me. Jared. Gross. That
car crashed and burned when we were fifteen. Absolutely
nothing was salvaged from the wreckage. “I would never kiss Jared again, even if he were the last living thing on earth. Seriously, I’d make out with a dead cactus first.”

“Made you laugh, though,” she says. “It can be anyone, anyone at all. Picture someone you’re comfortable with. Hell, picture that dead cactus if it’s easier than what you have to work with.”

“Okay.” The assistant director taps my shoulder. This is happening… like imminently. “Thanks, Payton. I’ve gotta go.”

“Good luck.”

Sure, I could picture someone I’m comfortable with. The problem is that the first person who pops into my head is the
last
person I should ever think about kissing.

Rebecca steps next to me looking über self-assured. “Are you ready to kill it?”

“Of course,” I smile.
More like it’s ready to kill me
.

Action is called. I steady myself before moving closer to her. “You’re wearing that?” I tug at the strings of her sweatshirt, disgusted. “You could at least make an effort.”

She slaps my hand away. “We’re going to an interview for a magazine, not the Grammys. What am I supposed to wear? Shredded jeans and a dog collar, like you?” She pauses and so does my heart. “Goddamn it, Katie! You used to be a musician. Now you’re just some desperate rock star. Always gotta look the part. Always gotta be high on something.”

I wipe at my nose with my palm, sniffle. “Look the part? I am the part! I’ve spent every waking hour trying to get exactly where I am right now! I crawled through the shit, played in every dive and gutter to get here! I worked my ass off. Now that I’ve made it, I’m enjoying it! What’s the problem?”

“You think you were alone in those dives? Sam and Tracy and I were right there with you the whole time! The problem is you’re the only one who’s changed! I used to be so in love with your talent and with you. But you turned into a junky… before you know it, all you’ll be is a has-been.”

She’s right in my face, now. The heat between us is palpable. Suddenly, they’re not Rebecca’s eyes I’m looking into—they’re Payton’s. I gulp hard. What I’m feeling isn’t comfort; it’s something else entirely.

Do it
! I close my eyes, reach behind her head, and grab her ponytail. The next thing I know, I’m voraciously shoving my lips against hers. She wraps her arms around me. Her hands settle on my back momentarily then abruptly move to the hem of my shirt. Her mouth breaks contact with mine for a split second as she pulls the shirt over my head, exposes my black lace bra to the camera. Then her lips smash into mine again. We move together in unison—still kissing—and fall back onto the bed. I’m on top. She’s writhing against me from below. To everyone watching, I’m acting, but very much to my chagrin, I’m turned on
for real
. It’s distracting in the worst possible way.

I force myself to concentrate on the script directions. I’m supposed to speedily unbutton her pants, but it feels totally wrong.
To hell with that.
Instead of pulling her jeans off in one quick motion, I slow it down. I slide the waistband down around her thighs, making a point to touch her skin in the process. I tug at the bottom cuff of each leg—first the right and then the left. I crumple the jeans into a ball and throw them to the floor. I slither up her body to look into her eyes once more. She bites her lip and curls her hand behind my neck. We meet half way and kiss again. She glides her tongue into my mouth, making this guttural moaning sound that reverberates deep in the hollows of my chest.