So here's another one-shot, this time about Rosalie... I hope you like it!
Stephenie Meyer is the goddess, and I am just playing with her characters.
I shove my foot to the gas pedal, furious, and the red Mercedes shoots forward like it was a NASCAR-race. From the rearview mirror I catch a glimpse of Royce in his ridiculously expensive underwear, running after me.
That bastard of a boyfriend. My boyfriend. Ugh. Even the thought of the words "Royce" and "boyfriend" in the same sentence make me want to throw up the smoothie I just had for breakfast.
Just to clarify things, Royce King is the man, or poor distortion of a man, that I have been seeing for the past three years, more or less exclusively.
Alright, alright, seeing might not be the right expression to describe what we have going on. To be honest, we live together. Wait, no, I live with him. In his house. His fucking huge-ass house with tennis courts and a miniature spa. Oh, and don't forget the movie theatre.
And he never gets tired of reminding me of the fact that it is his house and I am just the parasite living off his assets. Here comes the important question: Why am I still with him?
Well, it's something steady. Steady is good. Steady is having a place to go every night, an actual house instead of a crappy one-room apartment with paper-thin walls and a moldy bathroom. Having a man by my side at the dinner parties and premieres I have to attend to.
People take you more seriously when you are Rosalie Hale and Royce King from Beverly Glen than when you are just Rosalie Hale, the single girl from Silver Lake.
It used to not be like that. When Royce and I first met, he charmed me with his polite behavior, with the interest he showed in my life and getting to know me and my "beautiful soul" as he put it. I know, I know, that should've rang the bells. It was straight from a self-help title.
How to lay a teenage girl - 10 easy ways.
But Royce was handsome, witty, and a true gentleman. Note the word was. The last glimpse of the gentleman disappeared somewhere along the way around two years ago.
Nowadays, he's just plain asshole. That one word truly is enough to describe his whole personality.
Well, I was foolish then, when we met. Young, eager and confiding. It was three years and some months ago, at a charity dinner his old family friend Victoria Laurent was hosting.
Talking about Victoria, she is one of those women who don't actually do anything; she just lives her fabulous life filled with dinner parties and enjoys a few botox shots every now and then, in between her pedicures and margaritas. She was a model in her twenties, and succeeded in snatching herself a wealthy husband. James Laurent comes from a family with old money, and they have a prodigious mansion in Bel-Air.
And a penthouse in Manhattan.
And a "cosy little cabin" in Aspen.
And a villa in Saint-Tropez.
Okay, I might be a little jealous. Just a bit.
So, Royce was there as a friend, and I was there because Victoria just adored my previous movie. It was a small supporting role I played, but big enough to catch her attention, apparently.
"Chérie, you were merrrrveilleux", she said with her faux French accent, which she always goes way overboard with. Victoria likes to tell people she is French, but I happen to know she is from New Rockford, Minnesota. That is my secret weapon. You know, just in case I ever need one against her.
Anyway, she invited me to the dinner alongside with Robert Stewart, the director and co-producer of the movie, and spent all evening introducing me to the wealthy businessmen and the sulky gold-diggers with unsuccesful nosejobs. I can't complain, I made many useful contacts that night.
And I met Royce. Good or bad thing, I don't know.
Maybe I would've succeeded on my own, maybe not. But I didn't want to take the chance to find myself still living in my tiny apartment in Silver Lake at the age of thirty-five, an old maid with roles in class b movies that wouldn't pay enough to cover my rent. So I went along with Royce.
He is a few years my senior, and at the time I was only nineteen, so he had the experience I wanted, and I had the body he wanted. I was a fine doll to show around, he was my key to success.
Needless to say, the success is yet to come, but everything else I have gotten.
Regular appearance in the worst gossip magazines including People and Star, a few offers to pose in Playboy, and the abusive boyfriend. Who, by the way, is also a full-time alcoholic and has an ego bigger than Texas.
Yes, I was in love with him once, or the man I thought he was, but no more. And I am going to leave him. I really am.
It's just that right now I have no place to go, and I enjoy sleeping in Royce's massive bed, even if it means sleeping with him. I enjoy having a maid, and a cook. I enjoy being able to go to the gym whenever I feel like it. In the middle of the night, even.
Sounds perfect, right? Yeah, if it just wasn't for Royce. He fights about anything and everything, drinks almost every night and then gets… A little aggressive.
This morning he came to the kitchen, reeking of old booze, and started bitching about me being too loud when I was getting up. That started an enormous row, as usual, and in the end he was yelling at me about my choice of shampoo, because apparently he doesn't like the smell of apples in the morning.
That was when I left, and he followed me all the way to the front door, calling me with all the insulting names his little brain could come up with.
So I took his Mercedes and here I am now, on my way to the studio. We are shooting every day now, and they need me on the set nearly twenty hours a day. I'm really hoping it will be worth all the time I'm putting in, hoping this will be the movie to give me a name, so I can leave the imbecile and he can do with his life what he does best.
Which means, ruining it.
And I will be single. A fabulous, wanted single woman. Not a girl, a woman. Rosalie Hale, gorgeous and independent. I'm not going to depend on any pathetic asshole ever again, not going to be with another Royce, not going to…
"Shit!"
I slam the breaks on and come to a halt three inches from the brand new Corvette in front of me. Red lights. Again. This happened yesterday too, I was too pissed at Royce and too busy planning his death in my mind to notice. I take a deep breath.
Forget about Royce. Don't think about him. Think about the speech you are going to give when you accept your Oscar for best actress. Don't think about Royce.
-.-
I pull up in front of the studio, healthy and alive, with no more incidents threatening to destroy someone's new car. Or someone's life, for that matter. I see my co-actor Jacob Black grabbing the doorknob, then turning around to face me, a huge grin spreading across his face.
I wave at him and hope for him to disappear. Jacob is five years younger than me and very eager to please me. Too eager. He is one of those kids who have been in the public eye since day one. He was born for Sarah and Billy Black, who were praised to be the happiest couple in Hollywood. That was, before Sarah died in a tragic accident a few years back.
Jacob posed in all the gossip magazines when he was only weeks old, and hasn't missed an issue since. From playing a baby in soap operas to now being my co-star. In my opinion, they should have picked someone older. Though I have to admit, Jacob looks twenty-five, not eighteen. Still. I'd rather work with someone who has graduated high school.
"Rosie, long day ahead. Prepared?" He chuckles as I step out of my car. No, not mine. Royce's car. Stupid Royce. Stupid Jacob. I glare at Jacob and mumble something under my breath.
"Okay, no worries. I won't bother you anymore", Jacob holds his hands up in the air. I sigh. I know I should not direct my frustration with Royce towards Jacob, but he is there, annoying as hell. And I hate him calling me Rosie. He thinks we are best friends of some sort, and even my visible hatred at times is left unnoticed.
"Sorry, Jacob. Just some tension in the air." I decide to play it calm today. If I let Jacob get on my nerves at 6 am, there is no way I will be able to prevent myself from strangling him by afternoon.
"Know the feeling... And hey, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Jake?" He grins widely and holds the door open for me.
"Thanks."
I force a tight smile and step inside the cool building, Jacob following close behind. I don't bother answering his question. I don't want him calling me Rosie, I'm not going to call him Jake. Piece of cake.
Jacob continues to babble on about something, but I'm not paying attention. I want to turn around and snap at him to shut up, but control myself. He is not Royce, Rosalie, I remind myself, you can't hate all men because one of them is a total dick.
But oh, so many of them are. Royce is just the top of the iceberg.
"Here comes our star! Morning, sunshine", the assisting director Mike Newton comes to me, kissing me on both cheeks and taking my hand. I feel instant irritation. Mike Newton is young, stupid and slimy. He is million times worse than Jacob Black, for he thinks himself as the ultimate Greek god and is, for some incomprehensible reason, convinced that I have the hots for him.
Truth to be said, he disgusts the crap out of me. But, once again, I have to control myself. I have too much on stake. I'm not going to let Mike Newton ruin it all for me, so I nod at him and flash a quick sort-of-smile.
"Morning, Mike." I see our head director Carlisle Cullen appear on top of the staircase a few feet away, and prepare for a day full of work, work and, surprise, work. "Rose, Jake. Let's move it", he orders. Jacob snorts and I roll my eyes. Carlisle pretends to be a hard-working director, but he's got as much authority as the goldfish Royce has at home. He is too much of a friend to really be our boss.
Nevertheless, we obey, climbing up the stairs. Jessica Stanley, my make-up artist, gives me an encouraging smile and starts gossiping about Mike Newton while she applies the warpaint on me.
Well, anything to keep my thoughts off Royce. Even her crush on Slimy Newton will do.
-.-
"Let's take a break", Carlisle declares. I could hug him for that. We have been shooting for eight hours straight, and I would gladly even look at Royce for a change. It gets a bit on my nerves to stare Jacob romantically in the eyes, and then kiss him passionately for two minutes.
For three thousand times in a row.
Jacob couldn't be happier, though. He seems to be enjoying every second of the scene, and I have never seen Slimy Newton look so jealous before. Being beautiful surely has it's downsides.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and go sit down next to Alice Brandon, the girl playing my best friend. Alice is tiny, black-haired, very cute, gets excited about anything in a matter of seconds and talks non-stop, but I like her.
She is honest, completely herself, and is neither scared nor jealous of me. We made friends when the filming started, which I am happy of, because I have never been one to have very many of them. Alice's gossip and confiding on me was nerve-wrecking at first, for I have always been the one to talk. And everyone else has been listening. But now I have gotten used to it. In a way, it even makes me feel good, just listening to someone who talks about normal things.
She makes me feel normal. Alice does not worship me as if I was the queen, instead, she keeps my feet on the ground.
"Cullen surely likes to enslave us, huh?" She chirps, sipping her orange juice and giggles then. "You probably have had enough of kissing for the next few decades."
"Tell me about it", I roll my eyes. Alice leans over the table, looking around as if to check there's no one around to listen.
"Have you seen the new stunt guys?" She whispers. I raise one eyebrow. Alice and men, an equation that I haven't been able to solve, no matter how hard I've tried. She loves each and every creature of the opposite sex, plays games until the guy is all over her, and then moves on to the next one. She never gets past the flirting point.
Not even when the most gorgeous men of Los Angeles are courting her with diamonds and pearls. As soon as she gets their attention she cracks into her babbling laughter and winks to the next in line.
"Flavor of the week?" I guess. Alice shakes her head dramatically.
"You should see those men. I mean, wow. I'm talking about hot stuff here", she says, her voice dead serious, "and I only saw them from distance." I throw my head back in laughter.
"That good?"
"Better."
"Sounds like I need to check the supply", I say, half-jokingly, though I have to admit that I am curious to see what gets Alice so out of her character.
Not that I really care. I don't need any more men interfering my life.
"You do. Wanna go now?" She suggests, a mischievous grin on her face. I don't want to know what's on her mind, but I can tell, she's up to no good.
"Why not", I shrug, and we get up from our chairs.
"There you two are!" Newton's voice echoes from the doorway, and I want to cry. Will he ever leave me alone?
"I've been looking for you everywhere", he continues, and steps forward with some people following him. "Guys, let me introduce you to the better half of our cast. Rosalie Hale, Alice Brandon. Rose, Al, these guys will be here to do the dangerous shit Jake can't handle." He laughs as if he just made the joke of the year.
And then he moves out of the way, exposing two men. I suppress a gasp and see Alice clench her fists together. She looks like her eyes are about to fall out of their sockets, and I don't need a mirror to know that I am the picture of her.
Two perfectly featured faces.
Two perfect, perfect bodies.
Without a doubt, two of the most gorgeous men I have ever seen in my life.
"Holy fuck", I whisper, hardly audibly.
"I told you", Alice hisses under her breath. I nod inconspicuously.
Newton is wearing an awkward smile on his face, giving us a weird look. He clears his throat, and I correct my posture, put a smile on my face and glance at Alice, only to see her do the same.
"Jasper Whitlock."
I hear the voice of an angel, as one of the men steps forward. Jasper has honey-colored hair, a composed expression on his face, and a deep, calming voice. Alice gulps audibly, and I feel like wishing Jasper good luck. Alice clearly has found her next boy toy, and I feel bad for him already. As he turns to Alice, I see pure admiration in his eyes.
Here we go again...
I don't have time to think about it more, as I turn to the other man and open my mouth to introduce myself, but no voice comes out.
Sex-on-legs.
I see a row of pearly white teeth and a pair of lusciuos lips, curved to an amused smile. I see a strong man, taller than the Jasper-whatever, and more muscular, too. His brown hair is curling above a pair of playfully twinkling eyes.
"Hi, I'm Emmett."
My breath hitches, and I extend my shaking hand forward. He punches it slightly and grins widely.
Did I just say I don't want any men interfering my life? I might just need to change my mind about that.
"Rosalie", I say, and keep my voice steady, though my insides are dancing wild jitterbug.
I want this man.
And as that thought strucks me, I lick my lips and smile him seductively.
I need this man.
He answers my smile, and I want to rip his clothes off right then and there. I haven't felt like this in a long, long time.
For the past two years, every man I have met, I have automatically disliked. For Chrissake, I even met Tom Cruise, and my heart did not jump one bit. And then there comes this man, out of nowhere, and I feel like jumping on him and having wild, passionate sex like some crazy nymphomaniac.
I know I want that, and yet I feel more than just physical attraction. I see myself strolling on Rodeo Drive with this man, laughing and making jokes. I see myself having dinner with him at a fine restaurant, sharing intimate glances over a bottle of wine.
I feel...
Interest. Both physical and mental. His laugh makes me want to laugh. His eyes make me want to stare into them for hours and hours. Yeah, yeah, alright, no denying the obvious; his lips are just begging to be kissed. His... Okay. I won't go into details.
All this goes through my mind, over and over again, in a time period less than two seconds.
"Pleased to meet you, miss", Emmett winks, putting a stop to my daydreaming. I flash him the widest grin anyone's seen on my face in ages. Trust me, it's been a while. Royce is not exactly the kind of man who puts a smile on your face on everyday life. "Care to show me around?" He continues. My heart is about to pop out of my chest.
"Well, why not." I raise one eyebrow at him, wishing with all my heart he had been casted as my co-actor instead of Jacob. I wouldn't mind filming those love scenes with him, in fact, I would do my worst every time just to get to reshoot them. Except that there is one tiny problem; he is not an actor.
He is a stunt man.
I am falling hard for a man who jumps hills on motorcycles and gets blown up in the air for fun.
I have officially gone nuts.
So I let Emmett McCarty, a complete stranger, take my hand in his, crack up in laughter as Slimy Newton turns to the deepest shade of green, lead our way out from the studio and wish Royce King-of-the-assholes a happy-ever-after in that miserable life of his.
For I won't be setting a foot in his precious rathole ever again. From now on, it will just be my stunt man and I.
Because, you know, sometimes you can just tell when it hits you.
This one I know for sure.
I love each and every one of you who took their time to read this. Reviews make my day... So please. Just click the review button, write something... Anything, and I will be ever thankful.