1
Peter
Present
The girl is looking at me. I call her a girl and not a woman because that’s what she is. Probably recently graduated from college and moved to Los Angeles for fame and fortune. I sigh, and try to focus back on the script in front of me. But once you can feel someone staring at you, it becomes harder and harder to ignore it. Looks like I’m going to have to find a new coffee shop. Again. One of the double-sided perks of fame, I guess.
This used to be one of my favorite spots in Los Angeles. It’s small and quiet enough that it’s easy to sit and memorize lines. The staff, if they recognize me—and I by no means expect them to—doesn’t comment or treat me differently. And up until a couple of weeks ago, none of the patrons did either. But that was before the announcement. The new show I signed on to—my new show as I allow it to be called in my mind—Undercover, propelled me from vaguely recognizable and the “Oh, you’re that one guy from that one show,” to “Oh my god you’re Peter Holleman!” basically overnight. Honestly, I’ll take it.
We haven’t shot anything yet, so the promo posters are simply images of me, but the marketing department is good at what they do, and the advertisements struck a chord. I can only hope that the show strikes a bigger one.
I really love the script for this show. It’s smart and witty and has more than enough material for me to work with. I play Alex, a jaded New York detective who’s sent deep undercover to dismantle part of the Mob. The plan is to get close to the mark through his daughter Genova, but Alex gets too close, and by the end of season one, he’s going to be in way too deep. And he’s going to be completely in love with Genova.
Shooting starts today, and I’m excited, but I’m still struggling with some of my lines. Which is why I’m here, being distracted by the looks the busty redhead is obviously throwing my way. I glance down at my phone. There are a couple of texts from my agent, Michael, reminding me when I need to be at the studio. I struggle not to roll my eyes. As if I would forget my call time on the first day filming the biggest show of my career.
Female laughter distracts me again, and I glance toward the table where the redhead is sitting with her friends, and stifle a sigh. She’s standing now, and I recognize the body language. She’s getting ready to make her approach. A lot of these girls have the same kind of deal. Basically groupies, they’re not interested in anything but being able to say they slept with you. Maybe they’ll get their fifteen minutes of fame from some of the tabloids. She’s going to be disappointed.
At this stage of my career, I have everything to lose. So I don’t sleep with groupies. That’s not to say that I lead a celibate life—I’m not going to torture myself—but I’m not going to jump into the back of a car with girls who approach me in coffee shops.
I take a deep breath and a sip of coffee as she approaches, pretending that I don’t see her. I’ll do my best to let her down easy.
She clears her throat. “Excuse me?”
I look up and give her a mild smile. “Yes?”
“You’re Peter Holleman, aren’t you? From Tales of Briony?”
“I am.” I had a small part on Tales of Briony, but the character became a fan favorite. Probably because I was shirtless in the majority of scenes. She smiles, and holy shit she looks like Amber. I feel like the breath has been knocked out of me, but I keep the smile on my face. “Can I help you?”
Clearing her throat again, she inches closer. “I just wanted to come over and tell you that I’m a huge fan of yours.”
“Well thank you,” I say. “That’s very nice to hear.” Behind her, I see one of the staff watching the interaction, and I appreciate that they know. But I give a subtle wave with my hand. I’ve got it.
“I was also wondering,” she says, a sudden blush painting her cheeks, “I’ve heard that you’re single?”
“Correct.” There’s no point in lying about that. The only thing that happens if I lie is she goes to a tabloid saying I now have a girlfriend, and there’s a whole run of speculation about it. It’s a delicate time right now. I’m not famous enough to be followed by a bunch of paparazzi yet, but I’m just famous enough that things can easily be made up about me because I’m not a household name.
She takes a brazen step forward and leans down to my level, her breasts nearly pouring out of her shirt in a way that is one hundred percent intentional. “My apartment is only a couple of blocks from here. I can be your Cassidy tonight.”