In Your Dreams Bobby Anderson (4 page)

“Come
here Carl.”

“Julie,
I told you, I have to kill someone.”

Samantha Tucker silenced Bobby with a kiss. It was suppose to be lips only
, but he felt her tongue caress his teeth.

“Samantha
—”

“Cut!”

“Geez, sorry.”

Samantha giggled and lowered her lashes.

“Again! From, ‘Come here, Carl’.”

Concentrate, Bobby.
Just this last scene.
Bobby wiped his hand across his forehead and tried to keep his eyes off of Samantha.

With Lola in his life
, it had been easier to focus on his work and treat Samantha’s flirting as a “thing”, but Lola had left and Susan hadn’t been dreaming of him. It was driving him nuts. And who was he kidding? Samantha wasn’t pulling big at the Box Office because of her college degree. She was hot. The tabloids were practically screaming for the two of them to become an item again.

“Sor
ry, Bobby,” Samantha smiled and didn’t look at all sorry.

“Back to your places!
” Neil shouted.

“Can you handle it?” Samantha whispered as she passed
him.

“Oh, I can handle it,” he
said, but Samantha had already found her spot and was busy concentrating on her wrist bracelet as she waited for her queue.
Women
, Bobby thought. They were frustrating him from all directions.

“Come here
Carl!”

“Julie, I told you, I have to kill someone.”

Samantha moved in with her kiss, and this time Bobby was ready for her. Their lips met and he gave it his all. He would have even dipped Samantha if he thought Neil would go for it.

“Jesus! Cut! Cut! Cut!”

“Huh?”

“Bobby, what the h
ell are you doing? Are you trying to give me my fifth ulcer? Should I check myself into the hospital now? What, Bobby? What? What’s it going to be? The hospital, Bobby? The Goddamn hospital? Tell me!
Tell me!
” The main artery in Neil’s neck twitched dangerously and his head looked as if it might explode from the exerted pressure.

“You see?” the assistant
said, staring Bobby down as he tried to calm Neil.

Neil marched up to Bobby
, little bits of saliva glistening on his lips. “You are supposed to
reject
her! This is the last scene. How are you supposed to walk off, the solitary man, if you accept her kiss? How am I supposed to finish this fucking film today?”

“Chill.
” Bobby couldn’t think of a better word. It was a mistake.

“Chill? You want me to chill?” Neil
spat out gobs of spit that landed farther afield than his lips now. “How Bobby?”

“Sorry?”

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Are you sorry?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Why not?” Neil echoed Bobby’s words, mock confusion on his face.

Bobby felt
as if he were back at primary school, faced with an impossible teacher-hates-student situation. But he could save this one. He was Bobby Anderson, after all. Samantha was just Samantha. He would show her. “I’m ready,” Bobby said, and went to his mark.

Samantha’s eyes followed him, still smi
ling, still ridiculously sexy. He hated it and loved it at the same time.

Bobby felt like
calling out “action!” himself, he was that ready to finish this scene; but doing so would be have been a certain career death wish. He would just have to let Neil ride out his little temper.

“Well, I’m so blessed that Mr. Bobby A
nderson is ready. I suppose that means we’re also ready, doesn’t it?”

Bobby shrugged,
still playing dangerously with fire.

“Quiet on the set!” shouted the assistant. “On your marks!”

“Come here, Carl.”

“Julie, I told you, I have to kill someone.”

Kiss.

Bobby pulls away.

Samantha flutters her confident eyelashes, so beautiful, she only knows how to get what she wants.

Not this time.

Bang!

A shot rings out.

Bobby has his gun pulled.

He’s
shot Samantha.

She can’t believe it
.

Eyes fill with tears.

She couldn’t work her magic this time.

Bobby would never choose her over his work.

But, what’s this? Bobby sees that she too is holding a gun. A gun pointed right at him.

He looks down.

Blood spews from his stomach.

The realization kicks in,
“You shot me.”

“Did you really think I was going to let you get away?”

“I didn’t want to do it, Julie.”

“Neither did I.”

“And cut!” Neil clapped his hands like a child finally allowed recess. “I can’t believe this fucking film is over! Remind me someone not to go see it, all right? Can you all do me that favor? I want to shelve this one and never think about it again. Actually, I think I’m going to get the hell out of here and never think about any of you, ever again.”

Neil gather
ed up his few personal items―a script, his jacket, a leather bag, his cap—made a “sayonara” sign to anyone interested enough to be looking, and disappeared through the exit door.

His assistant chuckled
nervously, but remembering he still had a job to do, mouthed, more than actually spoke, “Great job guys.”

“Whatever,” Bobby mumbled.

“So?” Samantha eyed him. She still wore those sexy eyes, but her mouth wasn’t doing the sexy coy thing it usually did. Had she lost some of her energy with Neil’s departure?

“So
?” Bobby said.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” Samantha actua
lly looked as if she might cry.

Personally, Bobby just wanted to c
elebrate, and why not? He had just finished a Neil Carly movie (barely) and was set to make millions. “I’m going out,” he said with conviction.

“Where?”

“Wherever you want.” Now he was talking. That’s the man. Yes! Ask the lady out.

“
All right.” Coy and sexy smile were back. “I was wondering when you’d want to date me again.

“I was distracted
.” This was fun, but why did it all sound so cliché?

“
I
wasn’t.”

“Bobby!”
Patrick ran up to them.

“Patrick?”

“Oh my God! Does your manager ever, like, take a nap?” Samantha rolled her eyes. “See you at eight outside Burnies, okay?”

“Sure.
” He liked Burnies. It was the kind of place where two movie stars could have an intimate meal without actually being intimate; miscellaneous people spewed at the bar, music blasting, long queues in the street to get in—which of course he would brush by. Burnies was so much better than Marty’s, and Samantha was so much better than Lola.

Sure, he’d hooked up with Samantha b
efore, and it had been hot, but for some reason something had been missing. Nothing seemed to be missing now, though. He was free of Lola and Susan didn’t seem to need him. He was
free
.

“Bobby! Congratulations!”

Well, almost free. “Patrick. Where were you? You missed the final scene.” He enjoyed watching Patrick’s guilt, which probably wasn’t guilt at all, but the best kind of acting. Bobby shook his head and silently scolded himself for thinking that. He knew, at the lowest level of his heart, that Patrick really did care about him. Maybe.

“Busy, Bobby. But I’m here now. Want to celebrate?”

“Yes, but not with you.” Bobby smiled. “I have a date with Samantha.”

“Well, good for you!” Patrick was genuin
ely pleased. Bobby and Samantha made the perfect couple. When they dated a year back, the papers had been kind to them. Their breakup was unexpected, and then Lola had cozied her way into Bobby’s life soon; and, in Patrick’s opinion, ruined all that he had tried to accomplish for his client. All right, that was probably an exaggeration, but Patrick had never liked Lola.

“Have fun. And let’s meet soon to talk about the up-coming interviews.”

Bobby sighed. “Sure, Patrick. Whatever you say.”

How
would Bobby describe Samantha? Well, she was certainly beautiful. She had youth on her side, and she looked the image of good Californian health—although she was from Colorado.

L
ike Lola, Samantha had the perfect shade of bronzer on her face, the perfect lashes, the perfect lips. Well, not all true. Samantha’s lips were thicker than Lola’s, and they were always puckered, ready to scowl, laugh, cry, part, twist, and grin. Just
ready.

Lola’s lips weren’t ready; they were in r
eserve, waiting to see what to do, suspicious. God, enough about Lola! Lola was over. He had done the right thing. He didn’t even miss her. It wasn’t as if they’d had intimate conversations about life―not that that would have mattered anyway, after all, it’s not as if he spent his relationships talking about life. And although the sex had been pleasant, it hadn’t been magic.

All Bobby really wanted, if he was honest with himself, was
to succeed. To be on top and stay on top. So why hadn’t he stayed with Lola? She had enough ambition for them both. He hated to admit it, but he knew it was because of Susan, a girl he hadn’t spoken more than two sentences to, and who happened to be a dream.

Bobby put his car into gear and shifted lanes. He was running late
, but it didn’t bother him; Samantha would be late too. Shaking his head to rid his mind of Susan, he tried to concentrate his thoughts back onto Samantha.
She
was the girl he was going to see tonight.
She
actually existed.

Where was he with his thoughts? Yes, S
amantha’s looks: she had brown hair, layered and wavy to just below her shoulders. Her eyes were… What color were they? Hmm… He’d been on set with her for months, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember if they were brown, green, hazel, or something in-between. Definitely not blue.

He pulled up to
Burnies, hopped out of his Lexus, threw his keys to the valet, and sidestepped the lucky paparazzi that happened to be in the right place at the right time. He saluted the door guy, waved to some of the civilians waiting in line out on the street, and stepped into the noisy establishment.

He hadn’t been to
Burnies in a while―Lola hadn’t cared for it. But in L.A., people in the service industry have a knack for treating famous faces as if they see them every day. Bobby wasn’t at all surprised to be ushered in and given the best table, as if he frequented Burnies regularly and
had
a best table.

Samantha would
arrive even later than he had. He had calculated that already. She wasn’t a bigger star than he was, but she was a girl, and that always brought attention. She would arrive after him to show that he was waiting for her and not the other way around. If anyone knew how to play the game, it was Samantha Tucker. Bobby sighed.

Thank goodness s
he was nineteen now. There had been a lot of jokes and remarks sent his way when she was barely eighteen, and although the media had never attacked him for it, they hadn’t completely let him off either. Bobby grinned at the thought of all the headlines that would emerge tomorrow morning claiming that they knew exactly what was going on. They would say that he had split with Lola and quickly replaced her with Samantha. And why not? Working in the same movie usually created real life romance. Or maybe the headlines would speculate that the split with Lola had been because of Samantha. In any case, Samantha would use it all to her advantage. But what could he use to his advantage? What was in it for him?

Bobby sighed
again and flipped through his menu. He was on a low carb diet, which meant that pasta and pizza were out. A hamburger would have been a nice treat―he felt like eating a juicy hamburger to celebrate his new freedom of movies and women—but all that bread was a no-no. He wouldn’t order anything until Samantha got there, anyway.
Where was she?

At that moment,
the door of the restaurant opened and Bobby heard the familiar click clicking sound of a dozen or so cameras. Samantha was causing a stir. It had to be her. Of course her stir causing was due to his being there as well. The paparazzi had put two and two together. Bobby grinned to himself, and realized that he was becoming quite pathetic.

“Hey Sugar. Sorry for the delay,
traffic is a bitch.” Samantha kissed him distractedly on the cheek.

During the movie, Samantha’s character
had been that of a perfect young lady, someone a guy would want to protect and marry (before she shot him). He didn’t quite like her casual language now, and remembered with a jolt how she actually was, how she used to be when they dated.

“This place is
a bitch! Did you catch the fuss outside?”

Samantha waited as
Bobby pulled a seat out for her. He was trying to mentally decide if a place being a bitch was a good thing or not. “Uh huh, sure is,” he said, deciding not to give it too much thought. Samantha seemed to have many uses for that word. “Hey, I’m starving. Want to order?”

“Sure…
ummmm…” Samantha flipped through the two page menu like someone who has already made up her mind, “Oh heck, let’s be daring. I’ll go with the spinach quiche.”

Bobby wasn’t quite sure what to do with that information.
Spinach quiche? It certainly wasn’t sexy, but it wasn’t diet food either. He couldn’t make fun of it, and he couldn’t exactly order a steak if all she was having was a quiche. Ah, The chicken kebab. The person who invented it sure knew about dates. It was manly enough without going overboard. But no, maybe not as manly as the shrimp kebab. That was certainly more daring, but potentially messy if it came with the tails still intact. Decisions…

“Can I take your order?” a skinny Italian looking waiter
stood over their table. He was probably the next Nicolas Cage of Hollywood.

“I’ll take the
spinach quiche.” Samantha smiled. “But are the eggs, like, free range?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“It’s okay.” Samantha did her puckered, sexy lip thing. “I know the manager, Max. The eggs
are
free range.”

“So why’d you ask?” It c
ame out of Bobby’s mouth before he could stop himself.

The waiter smiled
. He would probably sell the whole grisly story later to Star Magazine.
She was, like, are the eggs free range? And he was, like, huh, what’s the big deal?
His fans would think he was a chicken killer. He had to think fast, but Samantha was talking, and not too sexily.

“
Fuck, Bobby. I wanted to be sure!”

“Well, free range or not, I don’t feel like eating a dead chicken today
, so I’m going for the Caesar Salad.” Score one for Bobby Anderson!

Samantha’s eyes
bulged. Why were his dates going so badly lately?

“For your information,
eggs
are
not
dead chickens, and I’m sure the one that laid the eggs for
my
quiche are having a great life.”

“So, did you, like, go meet them or som
ething?” Did Max, the manager, introduce you to them?” Bobby tried to laugh as he spoke, because he didn’t really want to fight with Samantha, not now, not here; and besides, there
was
all that paparazzi outside, not to mention the fact that Nicholas Cage was standing right there. Couldn’t she just laugh about it as well?

Samantha studied him carefully. Bobby could see her brain ticking
away at a ferocious speed, weighing the pros and cons of each behavioral choice. She smiled and her face relaxed “Ha, ha. You are so fucked up, Bobby. Never a dull moment. You know what? I’m going to join you and have a Caesar Salad as well.”

Hallelujah
! They had both lost the war but won the battle. They’d won their freedom to look happy together, but they’d lost one quiche and one chicken/shrimp kebab. And he’d seen Samantha choose a salad today at lunch, so she had lost triple. But, boy was she smart for her age. And her eyes, were…hmm, they looked hazel.

“Why are you staring at me? You’re frea
king me out.” The waiter had gone and they were alone at last—as alone as two people in a crowded restaurant can ever be. At least in a place like Burnies the customers had enough restraint not to look at them directly. Bobby felt as if he had been spotted by a discreet pack of lions while crossing the African Savanna. All he had to do was keep going and not show that he knew the lions were there, just keep going and they would leave him alone.

“So?”

“Sorry?”

Sigh. “Oh
Bobby, you are such a cool guy and working on set with you has been an awesome experience, especially, you know, since we have a history, but you’re acting so strange lately. What’s up?”

Yeah, like he was
going to tell
her
. “Lola.” Wow! Lola was turning into the best excuse of all time.

“Lola?
”

“Yeah, you know,
we broke up and it’s hard.”

Samantha
’s eyes softened. “That bitch! What did she do?”

Bobby knew she wanted all the gory
details. She desperately needed to hear how awful Lola was and devour her bit by bit, but Bobby wouldn’t give Lola up so easily. He didn’t owe Samantha that much.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to come up with anything to say because Nicolas Cage was back with their
wine. He wanted a Coca Cola, but Lola had sort of weaned him off of it and he was in the habit now of ordering wine. He would compensate for it later, though, with a Rum and Coke.

Samantha
still waited for some sort of explanation about Lola, but sensing she wasn’t going to get one, started fidgeting instead. “You think the movie’s going to be a hit?”

“It
better.”

Dinner didn’t take long and
their conversation stayed in the safe area of movie sets, fellow actors, and best directors. But as they finished an oversized piece of chocolate cheesecake, Tony, Adrian and Mike walked in with four girls in tow.

“Oh, my God!” Samantha whispered loudly in
Bobby’s direction. “Where did
they
come from?”

“Bobby, m
y man! And Sa-man-thaa! Funny seeing you two here. Unsuspected!” Tony chanted.

“Busted!” Adrian joined in. “
You guys celebrating, or what?”

“Guess so.
” Unlike Samantha, Bobby was relieved to see his crew. He didn’t feel like figuring his evening out after the cheesecake. Now he wouldn’t have to; the guys would decide. The girls were a different story. It was clear that Samantha wasn’t happy.

“Don’t you guys have somewhere to go?” she asked dryly.

“Oh my God! Are you Samantha Tucker?” one of the girls squealed.

“Oh my God, she is!” said the other.

“I loved you in Patience,” said the first girl.

“I loved you more,” said the second. “You were totally amazing!”

“No,
I
loved you. You were amazing in
all
of your movies,” said girl number three.

Bobby could see that this new twist
annoyed Samantha more than if the girls hadn’t accepted her at all. Now she would have to be nice. Bobby was just put out that they weren’t all going gaga over him. Hello! He was Bobby Anderson. Why were these girls acting as if he was just anyone sitting there?

While he
brooded about it, Samantha tried to figure out how to stay out of the loser circle the girls were rapidly pulling her into. She already had the guy, these girls she did not need.

“Wow, you
are sooo nice!” Samantha put on her girl voice, the one she used when she needed something from anybody who wasn’t a male. “I totally wish I could hang out with you, but I have to get going.”

S
ad faces all around.

“Aw, that’s too bad,”
—girl number one.

“
I know! Right?” Samantha pouted. “I have this after dinner party thingy at my manager’s house. So, Bobby?” Samantha’s panther eyes were on him. “You coming?”

“T
hat sucks, man. Stay with us. We’re going to hit the town,” Tony tried to copy Samantha’s pout. Bobby would have to break it to him later that men don’t pout.

Right,
so here is where decision-making becomes crucial. Whom do you turn down in L.A.? Samantha Tucker, who wants to take you to a fake party so that she can actually take you to her house and have sex, or your guy friends, who want to take you out for a great night so that you can eventually meet a girl and have sex?

Bobby knew
he didn’t have a choice.  “Samantha is right. We promised.”

“Since when did you start caring abou
t managers, man?” Mike said.

God, he hated
it that they needed him so much. And
they
had busted in on
his
date. Had they been stalking him? If they wanted to party with him to celebrate the end of shooting, they should have just called and arranged it. He had wanted to go out with them five seconds ago, but his friends were set on making it impossible for him. If only they hadn’t shown up with the girls. Samantha wouldn’t have minded being the only female in the group. She might actually have wanted to join them.