Hollywood's Secret Baby

That makes sense. But what doesn’t is Cory waiting for me to finish showering. So I bite my lips as I look at him and ask a question absolutely loaded with innuendo. “Exactly how big is this shower of yours?”

Five minutes later I find out as goose bumps give way to heat and soap. And the answer is that like everything else in his house, the shower is massive. Lined with natural stones, and studded with more than a dozen nozzles, it’s big enough for probably six people to shower without touching. But we’re just two people. And we’re definitely doing some touching.

We wash each other’s bodies, me paying extra attention to his cock, while Cory washes my breasts at least three times. After two times on the plane, I’m a bit too sore to go a third time, and Cory seems tired as well. So after some light petting, we rinse off and step out of the water.

After drying off and slipping into one half of a pair of matching shower robes, I hop downstairs to check on Lizzie. As I expected, she never dried her hair. That’s probably because all the excitement of the day finally caught up to her, because she’s fallen asleep next to her open suitcase on the bed. I move her things to the floor and tuck her into bed, making sure to splay her hair out on the pillow beside her so it doesn’t chill her too much. Then I place a kiss on her forehead, whisper that I love her, and reappear in the living room where I collapse on the couch just as Cory pops open a bottle of wine. It’s barely nine o’clock, but gravity weighs heavier on me now than it did this morning. I barely raise my arm to reach for the glass he hands me. The couch has claimed me, and I don’t know if I’ll ever leave its warm confines.

Cory clinks his glass against mine. “To you, Hot Stuff. And our gorgeous daughter.” He drains half the glass before collapsing on the couch beside me. His eyes unfocus, looking through the wall. Then they drift down to the coffee table. “Oh, shit. I forgot all about that thing.” He picks up a book that’s loosely bound with the words ‘Title Undecided’ printed on the front. “You’re really about to hate me.”

“What is it?”

“This,” he says, placing the book on my lap, “is the script for our movie. You don't need to know all the lines yet, but it would be a good idea to read through it. And since tomorrow is the first day we’ll be on the set—”

“You want me to read it right now?” I simply don’t have the energy to keep the incredulity out of my words.

Cory leans over and kisses me. “I did say you were going to hate me.” Then he pulls himself up and makes for the stairs. “Tell you what. While you’re reading, I’ll put your things away. How’s that for a deal? No one likes unpacking a suitcase.”

“And you do?”

“No,” he says. He’s already halfway up the staircase. “But this way I get to see what kind of goodies I can look forward to pulling off you in the days to come.”

Not about to be embarrassed by him going through my underwear, I tuck my feet up under me and turn to the first page. The scene starts with a character named Lina who works as a prostitute. She’s with a regular client in a pricy hotel suite when….

Three pages in I stop fighting my heavy eyelids. I turn to the next page but see nothing. I stop thinking about how I should at least brush my teeth before succumbing to sleep, but the moment I allow myself to recline, the script propped up on my chest in a quarter-assed attempt to keep reading, I’m out.

Chapter 13

“This is Augusta,” Cory says for what feels like the hundredth time. From the gritting tone as he introduces this next person, it seems even Cory is tired of meeting all these people. “Augusta, this is—”

“Jay,” he says, extending his hand.

In the past hour since we arrived on set, I’ve also been introduced to camera directors, sound technicians, about a dozen executives from Telestar, the production company Cory always works with, and a handful of others whose titles and names have already bounced out of my head.

Jay’s smile is friendly, if fake-feeling, but that’s where his attractiveness ends. He’s overweight, with a sheen to his skin from what appears to be a

perpetual layer of sweat. His body hair appears to never stop. Bristling from his wrists and curling around his watch is more hair that tickles even as I shake his hand.

“And who is this?” Jay asks, turning his attention to Lizzie.

“This is my daughter. Lizzie, say hello.”

“Lizzie,” he says. “We’ll make a star out of you too.” Jay bends down and extends his hand to shake my shy girl’s hand, but Cory cuts in front of him.

“You haven’t seen Sarah around, have you?” Cory asks in a serious tone while directing Lizzie behind him, rather rudely I might say, and glancing around the studio. To the left are two tables loaded with bagels and soda cans. To the right is a door that leads back out into the bright California sunshine.

“Is she around?” Jay replies. “If you see her first, you give me a fair warning.”

“You and Sarah don’t get along?” I blurt out before realizing how my question could easily come off as an accusation.

“Another reason I prefer to work with new talent,” he says and taps his finger on the side of his nose like I’ve seen characters do in old black and white movies, “is that you’re still desperate to please. Once you’ve been around as long as Sarah, you start thinking it should be the other way around.”

He snaps his fingers and says, “It’s like the difference between a cat and a dog. Have you heard that joke before?”

I shake my head while Cory tries to pull me away to meet someone else, but Jay is not to be stopped.

“Dogs see us humans and think, ‘Wow! They give me a place to live. They give me food. They love me. They must be gods.’ Whereas cats see us and think, ‘Wow! They give me a place to live. They feed me. They love me. I must be a god!’” Jay does this weird clicking sound with his tongue. “Sarah’s a cat, and you're a dog. I prefer dogs. They’re much more loyal.”

An older woman in a prim gray skirt and jacket calls for Jay. “My long-suffering assistant calls! You warn me if Sarah shows up.”