Millie

Well, this is great. There I was thinking I was having a decent day.

First torrential rain stops the video shoot for the night. We were supposed to go until one in the morning but were forced to stop at eight, which means we will be extremely rushed tomorrow. I’m also betting it means that the set will be even colder and damper.

Then Lizzie calls to tell me that they’ve had yet another argument and our father threatened her. ‘You can reside in the gutter your wretched sister inhabits’ was the quote she gave me. I just pray to bloody God that she can sit tight those few more weeks, because if he delivers it would be ten times worse than the previous occasion. The family’s got an international profile now.

More than that, I could not stomach seeing her in the position that I was. I mean, it would be better because at least she’d have me, and I had nobody, but it’s not a substitute for being independent. Lizzie only needs to make it to twenty one and the money’s hers. But if she moves out to America before then he will keep tabs on her and he will find out that she’s with me. He would inflict consequences.

Then when I inform Ben that she’ll be moving in with me soon, he decides to tell me that there’s only room for one of them. I don’t know who the hell he thinks he is!  Not only does he make some childish ultimatum against my own flesh and blood, but it’s an even bigger bloody cheek when it’s my house. He’s barely even stayed there since he’s off shooting movies half the time anyway! So I no longer have a boyfriend, if we’d even got far enough to be able to call him that.

Do you blame me for deciding that I need a drink?

The hotel bar is nice. It’s busy enough for atmosphere but not loud or crowded. The lighting is dimmed but warm, almost like candlelight, and the black leather booths are distressed enough to be casual without being tatty enough to look cheap.

It’s comfortable in here. I spend far too much time in hotel rooms so I try to force myself not to hole up like a hermit every night. Even if it’s only an hour in the bar, it’s healthier to get out. Hitting on the right spot is crucial though if I want to escape the evening relatively undisturbed, so this place is a winner. On a night like tonight when I’m alone I can be more of a target but thus far all’s good.

When I say that a lot of people bother me when I’m out, people assume that it’s guys hitting on me. That’s not the case. A lot of men are too intimidated to chat me up. (Unfortunately this means the ones who do tend to be the rich and powerful sort who’ve been taught by the world that money buys them everything). I do however get a lot of paparazzi attention, a lot of people wanting pictures and then a lot of general staring and whispering. I wind up very aware of it even if I’m not being approached.

Mostly I’m sitting here pondering things while I sip my drink. I’m getting a few text messages from friends but I don’t feel the need for any distractions. I’m comfortable in my own company and I like people watching. I like to dream up back stories for people in my heads, imagine why they’re there. Real life is probably far more mundane than the scenarios I dream up but it keeps me entertained.

There’s what you might call a ‘silver fox’ sitting at the marble topped bar, drinking neat scotch while he flicks through an iPad. He’s tall, handsome, in his fifties or so. Despite being on one of those high stools he’s tall enough for one foot to rest on the floor. Not in a suit. Guessing he’s an executive at a tech company. He’s smartly and expensively dressed but more casual than other types in here who look like stockbrokers.

I’ve decided he’s here to close an acquisition and waiting for his girlfriend, who will be scandalously younger. His ex-wife will be at home with the kids, getting a new wardrobe and hair cut ready to find her own younger lover to reinvigorate her ego.

Wait, no – he’s wearing a wedding ring. There goes that daydream.

I probably shouldn’t swap the daydream for the memory of this afternoon but it’s still playing on my mind. Is it very terrible that for the first time shooting an intimate scene I found myself a tad… what’s the right word… affected?

Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t sexual. I wasn’t swooning or going weak at the knees. It wasn’t the indifference I usually feel though. It’s just that for some reason, when I feigned the lustful look into my co-star’s eyes like I have a hundred times before, for the first time my professional detachment faltered. I wondered who this person I was pretending to be with is and what kind of character I’m dealing with.

It wasn’t very much of a feeling, but ‘not very much’ is a big leap from the usual ‘nothing.’

God. Felicity would’ve ripped my hair out by the roots if she’d witnessed me snogging her fling, even professionally. Good job he cleared her out.

It could’ve been worse. The good thing about being a woman is that you can chalk up almost any moment of discomfort to acting – turn it into something that fits with the role. Whereas sometimes the guys I’ve worked with have got into a situation I had to politely ignore. Felt a bit sorry for them, really, men are at the mercy of their appendages and they can’t win. A lady could get offended if they do get hard and offended if they don’t, depending on her own whims. My personal attitude is it’s a mechanical thing when you’re rubbing up against each other like that. It’s not a sexy environment and you shouldn’t read anything into it either way. Ignore it and speak not of it. (Though for the record, he didn’t).

Still, at least all that happened to me was that I breathed a bit heavier. But yes, I had something to hide. I’m never comfortable shooting those scenes. I don’t like having to be up close and personal with any man I’m not dating (I’ve never been flirty or tactile with my male friends either). This was different. I wasn’t only uncomfortable, there were also a few small butterflies in my stomach – not many, but enough to notice. 

It doesn’t make much sense, really. Once Felicity left and wasn’t there to stare daggers at him for it Justin was friendly. We chatted a bit between takes and he came off as a pretty good egg, nothing to get cowed by. He’s good looking, but not more extraordinarily so than any other man I’ve met. (In actual fact he’s got a bit of a conk on him. That’s a very large nose).

Even so there’s… I don’t know. I think he’s just an intelligent man with a bit of something about him. He’s got an air around him, like he’ll make short work of getting you pegged. Maybe that’s all it is.

In fact, now I think of it I reckon that’s it exactly. When you like to think yourself the inscrutable sort it’s unnerving to have anyone too incisive around. Not quite sure what he’s doing with Felicity though.

Strike that, it’s the other way around. I’m not quite sure what she’s doing with him. Felicity, for all her mercurial and grudge holding ways, is not a bad character. She’s a highly social creature and sharp as a whip. High maintenance maybe but she’s never been short of friends. She’s got brains and a commanding personality, easily rules the club without trying. She thrives in that scene in a way I never could and used to envy. I felt so out of place.

Justin Timberlake, for all his charms, isn’t part of that sphere and would never fit in. Granted I barely know him but I doubt he’d want to. It’s a different world and I don’t know how he keeps up with her. I can say this because I used to be one of them, but in that set people are demanding because they’re brought up to be privileged and entitled. I used to be the same until circumstance taught me a few harsh lessons. He seems too down to earth for that scene. She’s too smart not to know that so I wonder what it’s about from her side.

That shouldn’t be taken as an aspersion against her though. It’s easy for Felicity to be perceived as a massive diva, but she’s not. She’s just assertive and used to having everything. (And God only knows assertive women of any background get called a lot of unfair things in this world).

People know of our little tiff and think I must hate her, but I don’t. Do you know, if it hadn’t been for our bloody parents I think she and I might have remained pals. Maybe even after my fall from grace.

Our fathers were business partners and great friends, once upon a time. We spent many a holiday together and she and I were thick as thieves. I remember her being a wildly fun friend who in her own way could be quite sweet. Dominant, but not malevolently so. When she was in your corner she’d go all guns blazing for you. Sometimes I miss her.

Then they had a business bust up and shit hit the fan in spectacular fashion. When it came to the blame game my father got snobby – thereafter they entered a pissing contest which he frequently used the title to win. Her father understandably grew resentful. Unfortunately that bitterness infected Felicity, who always adored her dad (I on the other hand would have adored pissing mine off by remaining in contact). She got an idea into her head that I shared my father’s attitude and felt like I was peering down my nose at her. Clearly the resentment hasn’t faded.  

Looking back on it now I’m ashamed that I got as into the animosity as she did. It was so silly, but it just seemed the done thing. If she was angry with me I needed to be angry with her. Instead of diffusing the situation by being there for her and disproving the theory, I started trading bitchy moves. My only excuse is that we were young.

So yes, I’d better not mention that I had any moments with her… is he her boyfriend? I was somewhat confused by what he said about it. Anyway, if she gets any idea that I’m after him she’ll have my guts for garters. She certainly wouldn’t stop to hear that I’m not.

**

Justin

I have zero idea why I invited myself into Millie’s suite. Yeah I’m bored, but that doesn’t usually drive me to push myself on people I’ve only known for a day. I have even less idea why she humoured me.

I am really friggin’ bored though, since I’m suddenly without my entourage. Trace left to fly back to LA earlier this afternoon. Little did I know when I sent Felicity away from set that I was inadvertently sending her to the south of France.

Apparently she got an offer she couldn’t refuse while at the spa. That seems to happen to her a lot. She gets a random phone call inviting her to some exotic place and she’ll ditch everything (including me) without a second’s pause. It serves as my notice that we’re back off again. In my world this is rude, in hers it’s what everyone does. Maybe it should bother me more but… it’s like I said earlier. She and I separate to come back together.

So that was me, friendless and pathetic. I walked back into the hotel as Millie was walking out of the bar. We’re on the same floor so we were making small talk in the elevator, she was talking about sitting and watching a movie and… I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea. Pitiful truth is I didn’t feel like being alone tonight. Even a near stranger’s better than nothing.

It’s because of the shoot being cut short. You’d think I’d be grateful, with it being such a long day, but mentally you kind of gear yourself up for that. When it gets cancelled that energy has nowhere to go. My first try was the gym but it didn’t help much. Wasn’t in the mood.

So instead I’m sitting here with her, eating mini bar peanuts and trying to concentrate. It’s some black and white movie with Lauren Bacall.

At least I can take heart from the fact that Millie isn’t concentrating either. Sure, her body and her face are pointed towards the screen. She’s sitting on the other end of the couch, legs crossed under her, slouched in the grey sweatpants and black tank she changed into. I did put some nuts in a bowl for her too (before I ate the whole bag) but she hasn’t touched ‘em. She gives off every appearance of watching the movie, but her eyes are glazed over.

“Drink?” That question got asked out of boredom not politeness.

“Bottle of water, please, if you were getting up anyway.”

“Sure you don’t want something stronger?”

“Nah, had my quota in the bar, ta.”

You have to chuckle. “You got a quota?”

“Yep.”

Oh… she’s not kidding. “Seriously?”

“I jest you not.”

I will ignore the fact that she made fun of me in that sly sarcastic way of hers because I’m reeling. This is just too funny.

 “I can’t believe you have a quota for how much you’re allowed to drink. Type A, much?”

“Hey, it’s your set I have to be skinny for tomorrow.”

She stretches her arms above her head, giving a yawn. She does look kind of worn out. Or at least as worn out as you can ever look when you’re a supermodel who’s just slathered expensive skin care over your million dollar face.

“Yeah, because clearly you need to worry about that,” I scoff.

“Let me enlighten you Mr Timberlake,” she says, giving me a condescending raise of her eyebrow. “Anybody as tall as I am who claims to naturally be as slim as I am is a dirty great fibber.”

It’s amazing how somebody can cut you down to size with one short comment. She’s only teasing me. She’s saying it with a smile. Yet somehow I now feel like an ass for picking on her.

I mean… yeah. She works in an industry where somebody five pounds heavier than her would be deemed to have let themselves go. If I have to let my belt out a notch after a real good meal nobody gives a shit – if she did they’d publish a picture circling it and say she’d piled on twenty pounds. She must get that all the friggin’ time, even as people say models are too thin. But she has to look after her appearance or she wouldn’t get work.

I never thought about that before. I know about life under a magnifying glass, but not like that. I find myself re-evaluating her in light of it. I’m wondering how she deals with it, how she still manages to be so confident, and whether she ignored those peanuts in front of her because she didn’t want them or to maintain her figure. In the process I’ve totally confused myself. Am I being concerned or am I now another person scrutinising what she puts in her mouth?

Maybe I should just mind my own business. That seems like a solid idea.

“Ice?” I ask.

“No thanks.”

It takes a couple of tries to locate the mini bar. The room is hard and modern, all white walls and dark wood furniture, and there are a stupid number of cupboards in this unit. If her suite is anything like mine, the bathroom will be grey slate and white tile and the bedroom more dark wood. Only splashes of colour to be found are red cushions and the odd red flower in a vase. It’s all sharp cornered and sterile.

She seems a little too classy for the bottle, even in her sweats, so I decant the water into a glass. I don’t make any pretence at class so I’m happy to drink the beer as it comes.

“Madam,” I say as I hold it out to her.

Her lips perk up in a tiny smile at my dumb flourish. “Thank you kind sir.”

“Are, uhh… are you okay?”

Well - managed to make her lose that fast. “Any reason I shouldn’t be?”

“No, no, sorry.” I’m bumbling, I can hear myself. “Was just that you seemed a little distracted, is all. Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Where she was hunched forward her body now slumps back against the cushions. “I shouldn’t be defensive.”

“Well some nosy bastard you didn’t invite is asking you questions while you’re trying to watch your movie.”

“Oh who are you kidding? Neither of us is watching it. You’re bored out of your skull and I’m off with the bloody fairies.”

Oops. Guess I wasn’t masking it well. Though she took a shot at herself as much as me so maybe I shouldn’t take it badly?

“Anything you want to talk about?”

Millie shakes her head. “No. Just a shitty day. Not anything to do with the video,” she hastens to add.

“You sure?” I ask. “I know you were uncomfortable with that fight.”

“Honestly, I was having a great day until after we all got sent home.”

That soothed my ego a little bit. I’m glad she was having a great time. Kind of surprised, since Felicity was trying her hardest to make it otherwise, but glad. She was fun to have around. We talked a little between takes and she seems pretty cool. Hard to work out, but cool. So I’m glad she enjoyed it too. I’d like to think of my sets as good places to be.

“If you want to bitch, go ahead,” I offer. “Sometimes it helps to tell it to somebody outside.”

“Not much to say.”

Even the way she shrugs is delicate. It’s so strange. Physically she’s dainty and birdlike but the attitude is quiet strength. She’s this peculiar mix of sweet and steel. It’s like coming across a quaint little thatched cottage in the woods, something out of Little Red Riding Hood, only to find the walls are two feet of solid stone.

“You can do the short version.”

Why am I pressing this? She’s a stranger. A fascinating little mystery, but still a stranger and it’s not polite if I pry.

“Basically, my father is threatening to chuck my little sister out and disinherit her too, and when I informed my boyfriend her arrival is imminent he threw a fit so I broke up with him.”

“Oh. Wow.” There’s nothing else you can say. “That blows, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not so bothered about Ben.” Her blue eyes flick sideways towards me and she gives me a comic grimace. “That was early days and I’d rather find out he’s a brat now than later. I’m just worried about Lizzie. Impotently so, which is what I don’t deal with well.”

I can feel my brow creasing together. “Why impotent?”

The question hangs for a moment and I’m not sure whether she’s going to answer. Her hands are entwined by her fingers and you can see them twitching a little bit.

“He can’t know that she’s still in contact with me or I’d seal that fate for her. “

“Oh. Wow.” Is there an echo in here? “I know you’re not supposed to judge without hearing both sides, but your father kind of sounds like an asshole.”

“My father is a controlling bully who doesn’t care about anything except in terms of how it affects or reflects on him,” she says bluntly. “Including his children.”

At least I only say it in my head this time – but oh wow. The way she’s so curt and perfunctory lets me know that’s as much as she’ll say, but it was still more than I expected.

“But you found a way to stay in touch?”

Millie nods, loose waves of hair falling out of her ponytail. Her fingernails are tapping against the side of the glass with a light clink.

“She’s got me saved under a false name in her contacts.”

“You mean you think he would check it?”

“Wouldn’t put it past the wanker.”

“That’s crazy. Just crazy.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“So you have to pretend not to see her? That’s fucked up.”

“Only for another few weeks,” she explains. “Our mum’s money was put on trust for us both for when we hit twenty one. After her birthday it’s hers, but until then he could repeat whatever dark arts he used to keep mine. As soon as she hits the magic number he’s got no more way to punish her if she sees me.” 

“Dark arts?”

“He had every right to disinherit me from his side but I don’t see how he could for my mum’s. I still don’t know what exactly he did and I doubt it was legal, but I was skint so couldn’t afford the lawyer to challenge it.”

“Presumably you could now? If you wanted to, I mean,” I add. Don’t want her to take it as if I’m telling her what she should do.

“More trouble than it’s worth.”

“Damn.” The syllable stretches out on my tongue while I contemplate this. “So pretty much the second the money hits her account she’s moving in with you?”

“Yes.”

I may not have heard her father’s side of all this, but that’s telling to me. If the sister’s making plans to emigrate as soon as she physically can… Daddy doesn’t sound like he’s too fun to live with.

“Well at least that’ll be a nice middle finger at the fucker,” I say.

A sad smile pricks at her lips. Her thumb and index finger pick at the bottom one. “I wish I could take satisfaction in that, but it just pisses me off. I don’t want her caught in the crossfire or winding up in my situation.”

“Well she wouldn’t, she’s got you to support her,” I point out. “Though if you’ll let me say so, you rocked your situation.”

“My situation wasn’t as romantic as the press makes out,” she says. “Even if I’d be here to shield the worst, I’m not having it for her.”

Somehow her cheekbones are standing out even more than normal. I then realise it’s because her jaw is clenched. Every word out of her mouth is making me more curious - she clearly has a hell of a story that hasn’t been told - but it would be inappropriate to dig more than I already did. Given the scary expression I doubt she’d entertain it, either.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to minimise it or anything. Meant it as a compliment.”

Thank God – her face softens a little bit. “I know you did. It’s just a bit of a touchy subject… not really the way I wanted my life to go, you know?”

“You don’t like modelling?

“It’s fine and it saved my hide, so I’ll forever be grateful,” she says, picking at the hem of her pants now. “But was never what I envisioned.”

“Well you got some security behind you now,” I reply, “so what would you want to do?”

“For now I’ll settle for being the video girl.”

That was a clear sign of the subject being closed. Still, I’m marvelling at how much I did get out of her. It was the bare bones but even that was quite something.

“Hint taken,” I say.

“I appreciate a man who cottons on quick.”

The hint of mischief is back in her voice – so small it’s miniscule, but it’ll do.

Again I wonder why she let me in here. Maybe some part of her was looking for someone to vent to? Maybe she didn’t want to be alone with these thoughts and worries? Either way I get a feeling she’s not usually the sharing type. Heck, she still hasn’t even told me that much.

It’s kind of funny how things can turn out. I tagged along with her out of pure boredom. If Trace was here I never would’ve considered hanging out with Millie tonight. Yet now, after a surface level conversation, I’ve gone from mildly curious to seriously intrigued. She’s an enigma.

Behind closed doors the game face falters a little bit. You start to see that hidden behind her attitude there’s something brittle about her. She came off as so effortlessly cool on set, like she could take anything in stride. Now she’s curled up small into the corner of the couch - putting in that distance and acting warier. It’s not like she’s had a personality transplant or anything. She’s not behaving like a different person or collapsing into some weak mess. But the mask has slipped.

It makes you reassess other things as well. Maybe I’m seeing what I want to, but now I think about it… tonight when she excused herself to change, she went into the bathroom. In the wardrobe trailer she was changing in front of both men and women. Don’t get me wrong, I know that was a professional environment and there’s a difference. It’s not like I expect her to strip in front of me. But she didn’t go into the bedroom and shut the door like most people - she picked a room she could lock. This is a person who’s paraded in front of cameras barely dressed and who carries herself with a lot of self-assurance, but there she was putting up more walls. Or maybe I’m reading into it too much?

Everything I learn about her begs more questions. I won’t lie; I want the answers. I am determined to work out what makes this woman tick.