Unscripted Read online

  “Tate, Myf. Myf, Tate,” barks Roger. “Currently, Tate’s involvement in the project is hush-hush. You are not to speak to anybody about this, whatever happens.”

  I nod; the voice I need to find is hidden behind a shocked silence. Roger may not be the top of his field, but he’s connected to enough other people in the industry that I can’t screw this up.

  In the first audition for this part, someone I swear had never acted in their life spoke Dev’s lines in a monotone as I threw myself into the role in an attempt to impress.

  This time I’m auditioning opposite my husband.

  The giddy nerves and chattering to Audrey about the callback, about what could happen, crash into the realm of disappointment and frustration. There’s no way in Hell I’ll land this part now.

  Professional calm.

  I hold a clammy hand out to Tate. “Great to meet you, Tate.”

  He stares at my hand, then turns to Roger. “Why was I not given names?”

  “What names?” Roger frowns.

  “The girls I’m auditioning with. I asked for input.” I bristle. Here’s the real Tate Daniels, the one from years ago. Calling the shots, wanting everything his way.

  “Not your job, Tate. We pick and decide from there which girl you have the best chemistry with.”

  Chemistry? My anger that this guy’s dropped me, and our marital situation, as if I mean nothing will likely combust the whole building. My eyes make a good start—burning into the side of his perfectly sculpted face.

  Roger’s lined forehead creases further as he sizes up the situation front of him. “Have you met?” He gestures between us.

  “No,” replies Tate.

  Yeah, he’s my husband. “Once or twice.”

  “Have you fucked? Jesus, Tate.” Roger slams the script onto the table beside him. “Too awkward? Do you want me to call the next girl instead?”

  My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

  Tate turns over the first page of his script. “Just go ahead. Get this over with.”

  He refuses to look me in the eye. What an arrogant, bloody... I tip my chin and position myself closer to Tate, and Roger leans forward, elbows on his knees. I eye the business-suited woman sitting next to him with a clipboard and pen. Network executive?

  “Discussing your current case: conflict, tension—go.” Roger waves a hand and nods at the bored-looking guy, behind the single camera on a tripod.

  What’s the point? If Tate’s already scored the male lead, there’s no way he’ll want to work opposite me.

  No. Screw Tate Daniels; I want to show Roger I can act, and the next time this guy comes across me, he’ll remember.

  I launch into my lines. “I think you need to explain yourself.” Tate’s deep brow furrows. Does he think I’m addressing him? “Dev.”

  He glances at the script, switching into his character too. “We have the results we need.” He adds a cocky look, not far removed from reality.

  “At what cost? Beat the crap out of the guy and expect the confession to stand?”

  “And who’s gonna care that I hurt him? Guys like him meet people’s fists all the time.”

  I step forward, my character challenging Dev’s imagined superiority. “You don’t get to call the shots. We work as equal partners.”

  “Only when it suits me, Brit.”

  His loaded words, spoken in his smooth English accent, don’t escape me, and I’m as riled as my character. “Yeah, the man who thinks the law suits him, and not the other way around.”

  “My methods work. I do things the way I like.”

  “Do they?” I snap back. “You always get the results you want? No recriminations? That may’ve worked for you up until now, but I play a different game. Your behaviour won’t wash with me, Devlin.”

  Damn this bloody script.

  The Tate I spent an evening with in Vegas had a relaxed air. Well, as far as I remember. This character has an attitude to match the man I woke up with the following morning. Brit won’t stand for his patronising manner. I’d already decided that on my third run through with Audrey last night. The same applies to Mr Hot Shot here.

  “My methods work.” His voice lowers, eyes fixed on mine. “I don’t give a crap what anybody thinks, as long as scum are off the streets. I don’t want to see other girls hurt. Do you?”

  “Like I said, you don’t get to call the shots.”

  The tension between me and Tate translates into a weighted atmosphere between Brit and Dev; I’m lost in the silent challenge hanging in the air between us. Momentarily, I blank and drop my lines as I’m pulled out of the scene and back to Tate and Myf.

  He steps closer and stares down, arms crossed. “You have a lot to learn about how I operate.”

  “And you have a lot to learn about me.”

  The tension thickens. Oh, how I’d love to take this role outside of the screen test and speak my mind because Tate’s time’s up. I am not leaving this building until Tate Daniels speaks to me and explains where my divorce papers are.

  10

  I order a coffee from the small takeaway van outside the studios and return to a seat outside the auditorium. Another girl, similar in appearance to me, appears and sits nearby. She gives me a small smile as she fishes the script from her backpack and flips open a page. The girl’s younger though, twirling dark hair around her finger as she reads. Ten minutes, and one empty coffee cup later, the woman who scrutinised me earlier calls the girl into the room.

  Why the hell didn’t I tell Audrey about the Tate incident? Stupid enough to think I’d solve the problem, and fast, the more time that passed without my confession, the weirder I’d appear for not saying anything to her. Besides, there must be a reason I’m hiding this, and didn’t mention anything to my best friend. How is it possible to keep this a secret from her?

  Right now, I wish I could call her up and rant about my situation, at my possible big break screwed by past indiscretions.

  Indiscretions? Talk about understatement.

  The girl leaves, pink-faced and mouthing “wow” at me on the way past. I swear my screen test took longer than hers, which is a good sign. But the situation opposite Tate felt like an eternity, so who knows?

  One of the black double doors swings open again, and Tate appears. He pauses as he spots me and digs his hands into his back pockets, eyes troubled.

  “Myf?”

  “I think you need to explain yourself,” I say with a deliberate mirroring of the script.

  He glances around the quiet hallway. “I’ve meant to contact you.”

  “I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

  “Yeah, been busy.” He’s impassive, bored even as if he has a girl nagging for his attention after a failed date.

  “Too busy to divorce me?” I snap.

  He snaps his head back to the door in alarm. “Be quiet.”

  “Excuse me? Quiet? Like you’ve been? What the hell is going on, Tate?”

  Tate closes his eyes and mutters something. “Come with me,” he says opening them again.

  The nearby room he takes me to consists of a desk and chair, shining wooden floors, and a small red sofa. I stand close to the door as he sits on an executive leather seat at the desk, one leg across his knee.

  I’m with Tate Daniels in his natural habitat and arrogant glory. The man stepped from a room filled with people blessed by his presence and his involvement in his show. Roger’s PA hardly kept her eyes off the star; dewy-eyed as she attempted to pull herself out of the daydream he yanked her into.

  Did the other girls auditioning have the same issue? Too star-struck to perform well opposite him? He’s wearing the same tee as he did the morning after our night before, adding flashbacks to that fateful morning I don’t need.

  I understand his attraction, I really do; this man bewitched my common sense the first night we met, and I’ve fought my attraction to him ever since. For years.

  Not anymore.

  “Have you spoken to your law
yers or not?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I kind of... forgot.”

  I choke back a laugh. “Forgot? Isn’t sorting this mess important to you?”

  “I’m not planning on marrying anybody else soon, are you?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Means the annulment is on my to-do list.”

  “Your to-do list?” I almost slap myself across the face to confirm this is reality. “To-do list? Jesus Christ, Tate.” I plonk myself on the sofa and cross my arms. “I do not appreciate being on a ‘to-do’ list. We created this mess together; now I need your cooperation in getting out of it. Why the delay?”

  Tate doesn’t respond as he rubs his mouth and watches me.

  “Tate?”

  He sighs. “Okay, here’s the truth. Nobody knows apart from you and me...” He bites his lip. “Did you tell anybody?”

  “No. Nobody.”

  Tate taps his fingers on the desk, the rapping filling my angry silence. “The minute lawyers become involved, the chance this could slip out increases. The press will run with the story and use it to demonstrate my image as the uncontrolled, immature star.”

  “Oh, poor you. I’ll just stay married to you indefinitely then, in case your quickie marriage and divorce upsets your career too much?”

  “Maybe not such a bad idea.”

  He did not just say that. “What?”

  “Maybe not indefinitely but until—”

  I can’t stand up quick enough. “Until it suits you? You’re unbelievable! No. I want the annulment.”

  “Myf, please...” He gestures in the air. “I’ll pay you.”

  The self-control not to slap this man holds—just. “Money? Buying my silence? What the hell do you think I am?”

  “A struggling actress who needs money?”

  That slap edges closer to the end of my fingers. “You patronising jerk!”

  He stands too and reaches out to touch my arm, and I snatch it away. “No. I don’t mean... Sorry. I’m stressed about this. Really, it would help me out if you left things as they are for a few weeks.”

  “Weeks?”

  “Or maybe the network season.”

  “That’s months! No!”

  He drops the attitude he carried into the room with him, self-importance falling to the floor as he slumps against a wall. “I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t a big deal, Myf.”

  Tate catches me off guard with the worry in his eyes.

  I’m cornered, by him and the situation. Would it matter to leave things as they are? I’m not intending on starting a relationship where I might have to explain my marital status. And there’s the publicity, which won’t be great for me either.

  “How long?” I ask.

  “End of the season, tops,” he presses. “The situation is half your fault.”

  I grit my teeth. Months. “I know, but you’re the one who’s supposed to fix this and hasn’t.”

  “You won’t be ready for the fall out either if the situation becomes public knowledge.”

  “I’m sure I’ll cope. I’m friends with rock stars, remember? I’ve seen how to deal with this crap.”

  Is he right? Is keeping quiet the best thing right now? I need a job, not my name dragging through the mud. I’m not lying about what I’ve seen thrown at Blue Phoenix, and I’m unsure I can cope with the same treatment. Would my infamy increase or decrease my chances in the industry?

  “Fuck!” I drag both hands through my hair, pulling strands from the neat ponytail. “How the hell did this happen?”

  “You still don’t remember?” Was that hurt flickering across his face? Aww, his poor ego. “Nothing at all about our night in Vegas?”

  “Not much. But I sure as hell know I wouldn’t’ve done this if I thought the marriage would be binding.”

  “You and me both,” he mutters.

  Why does that twinge? Yeah, I’m unmarriageable, just ask Miles, but a tiny romantic part of me hoped Tate did this because he couldn’t get over unrequited love from years ago. Ha bloody ha. There’s no denying the attraction we fought each time we met remains, now replaced with awkward attempts to dig ourselves out of a hole.

  My pulse rate ticks up as Tate moves closer. He grabs a nearby pen and paper, then writes a number in neat, printed black letters.

  “Here. Guard it with your life.”

  “What’s this?”

  His fingers brush mine as he places the paper in my hand and triggers a memory. Tate with me, holding hands, running along the Vegas strip, singing. Singing what, I have no idea.

  “My number. In case you need to contact me. You left before I could give you this a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Right.” I search his impassive face for signs of the relaxed, happy Tate but only see dark and stress lines. “I guess as your wife I should have your phone number, at least.”

  “Funny.”

  The usual charge in the air between us sparks again as we’re close, and I stare at his full mouth and wish it held a smile for me. “I want a date.”

  “You want to go on a date? Uh...” Tate steps back, and he rubs fingers across his lips.

  “What? No! I mean we need to agree on a date to finalise the divorce. If you can give me one, I’ll think about what you want.”

  He laughs, the relief on his face irritatingly clear. “Oh, right. Sure. I can manage a date. Thank you.”

  Tate touches my face, and the sensation triggers shocks along my body. I may be annoyed with this man, but I can’t untangle myself from the effect he has on me. Something he’s using to his advantage as he smiles down at me. Whatever happens next between us, physical contact with Tate must be avoided at all costs. Not because his body against mine might awaken memories of whatever we did in Vegas, but because my fuddled brain would probably agree to anything he asks. I resisted this for two years at RADA; I’m not giving in now.

  “I must be mad to even consider this,” I mutter.

  “Some girls would like to be in this situation. Married to Tate D—” His slow smile evaporates at my filthy look. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

  I scoff. “Yes, Tate, it is. How about I call you when I’ve decided?”

  “Okay. But soon. And probably a good idea if we stay well away from each other,” he adds.

  “In case you’re seen with your wife?”

  “Don’t be like that. You know this means nothing.”

  My chest tightens, but why expect anything different? “Nothing. Right.”

  “Crap. I didn’t mean to sound rude, or hurt you.”

  “You haven’t! I agree. Keep away from me. Should I leave the room first this time?”

  Not waiting for a response and the word nothing ringing in my ears, I burst out of the room and into the quiet hallway.

  Miles screwed me over. Tate thinks he can do the same? Uh-huh. I hold the cards here. I don’t want his money, or to spend time with a man with little disregard for my life or feelings, self-centred and only concerned how it affects him. We mess up, but he expects me to do as he says if he throws money at me? To do what suits him? All because he can’t see past the end of his ego?

  Screw him. Tate Daniels can be the one left hanging for a change because I refuse to be smitten into agreeing to his demands.

  The smug feeling that I have one over on the guy balances out the anger.

  He’ll be sorry he’s this dismissive of me.

  11

  The cafe close to my apartment competes with several other trendy joints on the street, but I hang here the most. I prefer the burgers and atmosphere. The mix of customers makes for more interesting people watching compared to the others. The place is more basic, nothing fancy, and the prices reflect that which also attracts me. I sit on a hard wooden chair with Audrey, our table facing the door. Audrey looks on in amusement as I bite into my bun, at burger juices running down my chin.

  "One day, your metabolism will slow down, and you’ll need to stop eating things like that," she remarks.
>
  "I work out. I eat. Simple. No worries." I take another huge bite.

  "You’re an actress in Hollywood, and you say eating is no worries?" Her mouth twitches into a smile as she picks at her salad.

  "I’ll never get the waif-like, beautiful girl roles, so why bother?"

  "You’re not exactly overweight, Myf."

  "Exactly," I reply through a mouthful. "Besides, I had a shit day, and it’s either burgers or ice cream."

  "Another audition failure?" she asks.

  "Yes." Three days since the Angel City fun and games and, unsurprisingly, no offer. Like I expected one following the Tate debacle. Tate who’s still waiting for my call. Ha.

  I shut down any questions Audrey asked about Angel City following the audition. The news Tate’s taking the lead leaked, and Audrey suggested I used my connections to help with the role. I’ve never used my connection to Blue Phoenix, or their contacts, to help my career and won’t start now. If only she knew about my other connection to Tate, and how that could help me out if I were that kind of girl.

  My phone rings and I glance at the name. Ugh. I flip the phone, screen down.

  "Who’s that?" asks Audrey.

  "I don’t want to talk to my agent right now," I say. "May called earlier too, but I’m not in the mood for bad news." Every day the same loop: phone rings, hopes rise, May delivers bad news, hopes sink. Rinse and repeat.

  "Call her back! How do you know it’s bad news?"

  I pull a face. "Recent experience. Angel City is a no go, plus two more knockbacks this week for extras work." I wash my burger down with Diet Coke. "How about you?"

  "Same. Zilch. I’m wondering whether to ask if there’re any jobs available in this place."

  "That bad?"

  "Two failing actresses." She laughs. "Waitressing is our go to, right?” She sips her iced tea. “How was Tate when you tested with him? He seemed like a nice guy when we met him in Vegas, not the a-hole I’ve heard he is."

  "I’m surprised you remember."

  "Hey! I wasn’t sick because of the alcohol, just the mix."

  "Uh huh."

  "Was he?"

  "Hmm. Indifferent. Professional."