“I’ll have to think about it. I don’t want to put you at risk.”
“You can fly from New York with Tommy.”
“That sounds good, Mom. I’ll talk to Garrett about it,” I lie again. I’m not going anywhere near them. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 9TH
Are you afraid?
2pm
After the dance competition is over, I grab a cab to the screen test.
Once inside, I quickly recognize Knox Daniel. Not because I know him, but because I loved the sweet roles he played in some of my favorite teen movies. I’ll even admit to having a teensy crush on him back then. From what I’ve seen in Annie’s tabloids, he’s recently single after a lengthy-for-him two-month relationship with a pop star.
He used to play the good guy. The pretty boy. Now, his hair is a little darker and it's way sexy on him.
The casting of him in this role is great. He’s the hot bad guy. The guy who you wouldn’t mind kidnapping you.
I close my eyes.
I can’t believe I just thought that.
I’ve been going back and forth about how this character should be. Based on the lines I memorized, I know they want her to be weak, crying, and wrecked about being kidnapped, but with a little bit of my-dad-will-make-you-pay spunkiness.
And if I’d tried out for the part when Tommy wanted me to last spring, I would have acted just that way.
But not any more.
Knox struts up to me and gives me a once-over. “Who are you?”
“I’m Keatyn. Nice to meet you,” I say with a big smile, wanting to make a good first impression.
He scowls at me. “Why did they make me come in for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought they were bringing in someone famous. You look sorta familiar, though. What have you been in?”
“This is actually my first screen test. First audition, really. I mean, unless you count my school play.”
“What the hell? Whose dick did you suck?”
I narrow my eyes at him, totally ready to blast this idiot when I hear a loud female voice.
“All right, let's get started.”
He turns to me. “Don't screw up—actually, do screw up so I can get the hell out of here.”
Other than the girl who brought me in here, no one’s really said anything to me.
And I’m disappointed that neither Tommy or Matt are here.
Oh well.
They can see it on tape later, I guess.
I walk out onto the well-lit set. There are people behind the cameras but the off-set area is dark, so I can’t make anyone out.
And if I look too hard at the lights I’ll end up seeing spots.
I get tied to a chair in what’s supposed to be the middle of an old warehouse. As Knox takes his position, a guy says, “Test one. We’re rolling.”
Knox struts toward me and allows me to drink from a glass of water he’s holding.
I drink it greedily, as if I haven’t gotten any in a while.
“What happened to your arm?” I ask him, leaning my cheek toward it, since my hands are tied.
Right now it’s a perfectly muscled arm, but it will have a large scar of some kind on it during the actual filming.
He leans down in front of me. “This is the reason why you’re here.”
“You kidnapped me because of a scar?”
“It’s more than just this. There are some on my chest too. I wouldn’t look like this if it weren’t for your dad.” At this point the viewers will be thinking, I don’t care at all about some little scar because Knox is smoking hot.
“What did my dad do?”
“I work for Reginald Ramsey,” he says proudly. “When your dad took out one of his factories, I happened to be in it. Barely escaped alive. So you should be nice to me because this isn’t just a job. It’s retribution.”
“Will you please untie me?”
Knox whispers to me, “Wrong line.”
“You should untie me,” I say, deviating from the script again. “Or are you afraid to?”
“I’m not afraid of some girl.”
“Then untie me. My wrists are sore.”
“Aren't you supposed to beg?” he says, referring to what my lines are supposed to be.
“I’d never beg for anything.”
He gets close to my face—either because he's mad at me or because he’s improvising.
“Just wait,” he says with a bad guy sneer. “As soon as I kill your father, you and I are gonna have some fun.” He runs his hand across my collarbone, suggesting exactly what kind of fun we’ll have.
“Did it hurt?”
He flinches, pulling away from me. “It did, yes.”
“Why were you working for a guy like Ramsey?”
“My younger brother, he got in with a bad group. Starting dealing and using,” he says sadly, staring into space.
It makes me want to hug him. He’s a good actor.
He continues. “I got involved so he could get out.”
“So this isn’t the kind of life you wanted?”
He shakes his head, and the bad boy is back. “It doesn’t matter. When this is over, I’ll be rich and powerful.”
I shake my head right back at him. “No, You're nothing more than a pawn. A babysitter.”
“Bullshit. When we take over the country, I get New York. When anarchy reigns, I will be a king.” He gets in my face. “Ramsey told me not to hurt you, but he didn't say I couldn't scuff you up a little. Maybe we’ll have some of that fun now.” He kisses my neck obscenely.
This is where the scene is supposed to stop. To make the audience think that if Tommy doesn’t find me soon, I’ll get raped.
But fuck that. Tommy Stevens’ movie daughter wouldn't allow herself to be the victim.
“So, you really don't want to make the world a better place? Face it. All you are is Ramsey’s little bitch.”
He keeps going too, improvising his lines. “Bullshit.”
“Fight me then.”
“What?” he asks, his face screwed up.
“Untie me, and if you can pin me, then I’ll go for whatever kinda fun you want, willingly.”
He shrugs, unties me, then says, “Interesting. Let's see what you've got.”
I stand up and massage my wrists for a second, while he takes off his shirt.
I touch his muscular chest. “It’s really too bad you wanna play bad guy because of a few scars. I mean, they’re kinda sexy. Besides, if they really bother you, find a good plastic surgeon. Don’t destroy the world.”
“I thought you wanted to fight me?”
I take a step back then throw a jab to his face, careful not to connect.
This surprises him, so he takes a defensive stance. “Interesting,” he says again, studying me carefully. Then he goes all cocky. “So, you like what you see?” He points to his real chest and, somehow, even though he’s staying in character, I’m pretty sure he’s talking to me.
He throws a punch back at me, which I easily block with my forearm, returning a quick jab to the chest.
“You hit like a girl.”
“I am a girl,” I say, stripping off my own shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“Just evening the playing field.”
“Sorry, I’m not twelve. You can’t distract me with a pair of boobs.”
I throw another punch at him, this one landing on his shoulder harder than I meant it to. “Last chance. Turn good guy and let me go.”
“No,” he says, throwing a kick at me, which I block with my forearm. Then I punch him in the stomach.