Reel: A Forbidden Hollywood Romance

“Wardrobe took so long this morning,” Takira mutters. “Now we rushing.”

“Girl, it’s my fault. My weight keeps fluctuating. Before Christmas, I was dropping weight, so they took the dresses in. Now I’ve gained some weight, and they had to take them back out. I think I’m retaining water.”

I extend my leg, showing the slightly puffy ankles I noticed this morning.

“I might be ‘retaining’ Mama’s macaroni and cheese, too,” I joke, making us both laugh.

“Your body is probably so confused.” Takira shakes her head, braiding my hair. “All this running around you doing. I can’t wait ’til we’re done so you can rest. Let me get this wig—”

She cuts herself off.

I look up to catch her wide eyes in the mirror.

“What is it, T?”

She gulps and holds out her palm to show me what took her by surprise.

A handful of my hair.

My heart hydroplanes in my chest, spinning with dread and fear. A rash on my arms after too much time in the sun.

Understandable.

A new spot or two on my scalp.

Not unexpected.

Whole clumps of my hair coming out in Takira’s hands?

Alarming.

I swivel around to stare up at Takira, and her eyes reflect the worry building in me.

“Have you talked to Dr. Ansford?” she asks.

“Yeah, off and on, but not since the break. Everything’s been going well.”

I hesitate and then peel the sleeves of my bathrobe back, revealing the dark, dry patches on my arms. I hadn’t paid much attention, but they’ve gotten a little worse since Santa Barbara. I’ve had them before, but there are a few more this time.

“You think this is the beginning of a serious flare-up?” Takira asks. She lifts my chin and scans my face. I know she’s looking for the butterfly rash across my nose and cheeks I’ve had a few times before. “It’s not on your face yet, but between these new patches and your hair, I think you need to be aggressive about getting in with Dr. Ansford.”

I meant to call her after Santa Barbara, but things got so hectic when we started filming after Christmas break. To be honest, it wasn’t a priority . . . until now.

“I’ll call her today on my break.” I turn back around, and grab Dessi’s wig from the nearby mannequin head. I need to refocus for the upcoming scene. “Come on, T. I gotta be on set in fifteen minutes.”

Takira stares at the wig for an extra few seconds. “What you gotta do is take this seriously.”

“I am. I’ve been doing everything Dr. Ansford instructed. We’ve been filming for months with no real signs of trouble, and now that we have some symptoms, I’ll address them.”

“Stress feeds this, and what’s more stressful than the situation you’ve been in? Dancing eight, nine hours a day? You’re in almost every scene? It’s a lot, Neev.”

“And it’s almost over. I don’t need them to start doubting me now. I have to finish strong.” I jiggle the wig. “Speaking of, make me Dessi?”

“Okay, but I’m not letting you off the hook. If you don’t talk to Dr. Ansford today, I’ll go to Canon myself.”

“The hell you will. If there’s a problem that will hinder my performance, I’ll notify the producers. Until that time, let me decide what I’m capable of, okay? Canon’s not just my . . .”

Lover?

Boyfriend?

My man?

“I’m not just involved with him,” I settle on. “He’s my boss. This is the movie of a lifetime, not just for me, but for him. For Evan. For all of us.” I bite my lip and squeeze her hand. “Please, T? Just give me time to talk with Dr. Ansford at least.”

Takira blows out a long, slow breath, nods and takes the wig. She carefully tucks and pins my hair before slipping the cap over my braids and fitting the wig in place.

Within minutes, my makeup is done and I’m slipping into one of Linh’s costumes. The woman staring back at me in the mirror is just as much Dessi as she is Neevah.

And we both have a job to do.

“This could get serious, Neevah.”

Not the words I want to hear from Dr. Ansford when we chat on my break. She looks at me soberly from the video window on my iPad. I’d hoped, when I showed her the new rashes on my arms and legs and the additional bald spots, she would say it was just part of the disease. Nothing to worry about.

Except she does look worried.

“Any other symptoms?” she demands, leaning forward and probing with a sharp-eyed perusal.

“No.”

“No fatigue? Muscle aches? Joint pain?”

“I spent the last few months dancing, acting ten, eleven, twelve hours a day. Some fatigue, muscle aches, and joint pain come with the territory.”

“So you could have had unusual joint pain and fatigue that you chalked up to the rigorous dance numbers, but might actually have been signaling the onset of a flare-up.”

“I mean . . .” A band tightens around my chest at the implication. “I guess, but I’m in the best shape of my life.”

“Weight gain or loss?”

Linh’s tape measure cinching my waist taunts me.

“I’ve lost weight. Again, dancing, but seem to be gaining some now. We’re just coming out of the holidays. I ate too much.”

“Swelling?”

I hesitate before answering honestly. “My ankles, some, yeah.”

“We need to get bloodwork, urine test, metabolic panel.”

“Okay. We’re getting into one of the toughest stretches of shooting. In a few days I can—”

“Today, Neevah. The doctor I referred you to out there—I’ll ask her to see you today and do a blood work-up.”

“You don’t understand. I’m in every scene today. Our schedule is already set. If I don’t show up, the whole day is thrown off. A hundred people don’t work. I have to give them more notice than that. At least let me see if they can move some things around tomorrow so I can come in later and get the blood drawn then?”

Dr. Ansford bends her head, texting. After a moment, she looks back up, triumph all over her expression. “She can see you tomorrow morning first thing. Eight o’clock.”

“I arrive on set at five. Maybe there’s another time, because by eight I’ll be—”

“Figure it out. This is your health, Neevah.”

“I know, and this is my job. The opportunity of a lifetime. I need to be healthy, of course. All I want is to figure out both.”

“Think of it this way: If you neglect your health, you might sabotage this opportunity.”

Her sobering words still swirl in my head when I tie a bathrobe over my costume and head to video village. When I enter, Canon, Evan, Kenneth and Jill are huddled around one laptop, all wearing heavy frowns. Four sets of eyes snap to me at the tent entrance.

“Neevah, hey,” Kenneth says, clearing his expression to smile at me. “You need something?”

“Uh, yeah.” I shove my hands into the deep pockets of my robe and force myself to focus on Kenneth and not look at Canon. “Could I talk to you for a second before this next scene?”

“Sure.” He heads toward me, and I turn before anyone else asks or says anything. I feel Canon’s stare on my back, and it’s the closest I’ve come to his touch since Sunday.

For the last two weekends, we’ve stolen Sundays together. A few days ago, we donned caps and sunglasses, and strolled along the Venice canals. The arching pedestrian bridges and glimmering canals lined with beach houses completely charmed me. We rented a small boat, touring the sights by water, and found a secluded space for a picnic. This time when he took me home, he came inside. We made love and napped and laughed and talked and ate again, scavenging for food in my fridge.

That idyllic day feels distant as Dr. Ansford’s warnings echo in my ears. Once outside the tent, I look up at Kenneth and try to put my emotions at ease. Canon says my face shows everything. Until I know what I’m dealing with, I want to keep this to myself.

“What’s up?” he asks, sliding a pencil behind his ear.

“I know it’s last minute, but I need to come in late tomorrow. I have a doctor’s appointment.”

“Is everything okay?” A frown puckers his salt-and-pepper brows. He’s not much older than Canon, his unlined brown skin a paradox to his hair, which is completely, prematurely white.

“Yeah. I have a rash that needs looking at. It’s something I’ve managed the last few years. Stress aggravates it, and I don’t want it to get any worse. Then we’d have to disguise it with a lot of makeup, which might make it even worse. It’s a whole thing. So I want to get ahead of it.”

“Ah. Makes sense.” He pulls a rolled-up script from his back pocket. I’ve rarely seen him without his copy and it’s almost falling apart by now, littered with notes for all of us in the margins. “Obviously, you’re in most of the scenes, but I’ll look at what we might be able to move around and shoot for a few hours with you gone. May be able to use your double for some shots.”

I ignore the guilt twisting my insides and nod. I don’t want to cause problems. There’s a part of me that wants to say never mind. I’ll work around the schedule and squeeze the doctor in later, but I can’t forget Dr. Ansford’s grave expression.

“My appointment is scheduled for eight o’clock tomorrow morning. It’s the earliest they had. I’m sorry—”

“Neevah, we can’t afford to lose you for good.” He chuckles, because it doesn’t even occur to him that could happen. “So take care of it. We’ll figure it out.”

“Right.” I force a smile. “Thanks.”

I’m leaving a continuity check in wardrobe when I run into Canon, literally barreling into his chest as I round the corner.

“Sorry about that,” I mutter.

He steadies me, and we both look down at his hands wrapped around my arms. All I can think about is how he touched me Sunday, like he couldn’t believe I was real. Caressing me with reverence like he couldn’t believe I was his.

But I am.

I look up at him and school my expression into normal person face. “Hey.”

He doesn’t answer, but takes my hand and pulls me into the false alley again. Once we’re tucked away, shadowed, he leans against the wall and tugs me to stand between his legs. I toy with the buttons of his shirt and wait for him to make the next move in case the move I want to make is the wrong one.

“Kenneth says you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” I grimace. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a pain to shuffle the scenes, but I—”

“Hey.” He lifts my chin, cups my neck, and dips to hold my gaze in the barely lit space between the building facades. “We’ll figure that out. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

The chain tightened around my heart loosens at the concern evident in his eyes. And even though we’re on set with cords and wires snaking over the floors, cameras all around and even some above, the cast and crew scurrying to prepare for the next scenes, the intimacy of his touch takes me back to my bed, the sheets rumpled by our passion. I put one hand over his caressing my neck.

“I’m fine. I just need to check into that rash.”

He’s seen me naked, obviously, and knows about the rash. It’s still in just a few patches, though, so I’m hoping to keep it that way.

“Oh, yeah. That’s good.” He bends and brushes our lips together. “I miss you.”

I take his bottom lip between mine, nodding and resting my elbows on his powerful shoulders. “Same.”

“One month.” His hands skate down my sides, mold to my waist, and settle low on my hips. “After Santa Barbara, we’ll only have a month left.”

“Like you don’t immediately go into edit mode and all the post-production stuff once we wrap.”

“I do, but it’s a different level of concentration. We can—”

“Places!”

It comes from the real world just beyond our hiding place. Canon drops his forehead to mine and dusts kisses over my temple, my cheek, and finally, places one on my mouth. It’s a possessive kiss fraught with longing and promise and hunger. I lean into it, answer it, open under it, inviting him in, but there’s no time. There’s never any time anymore. A flurry of footsteps freezes us both as everyone scrambles to get in place for the next scene. Canon blows out a resigned sigh, and then he’s gone.