Anyone But the Superstar (Anyone But You #3)

Chapter 3

3

LIZ

‘So, Anne, what do you think of NASA?’

‘Ish b’gar an I ought.’ I cringe in apology to Emily Durham, NASA’s public relations manager. ‘Orry.’ Thankful that this time my incoherence is due to a mouthful of food and not a cock covered in numbing cream, I grab a cup of coffee from the table that the catering company set up for the first day of filming, forcing the stale, tasteless muffin down with a scalding sip. ‘ Uhh .’

Emily’s eyes widen in concern before she rushes to hand me a napkin.

Eyes watering, I use it to dab my eyes. ‘I’m okay,’ I wheeze out after a few shallow breaths. Which is kind of true. If you don’t count the Urgent Care visit or my recent homelessness due to a housing issue between my college and the studio.

The past three days in Texas have been eventful, to say the least.

It seems since I’m here as my professor’s assistant and not as a storyboarder the studio hired, film production housing doesn’t apply to me. Nor does the shuttle that takes them to and from NASA. Both of which my professor failed to realize when he offered me the internship.

Not only did I have to find and pay for a hotel, but I needed to extend my car rental agreement since the hotels within walking distance of NASA charge astronomical rates.

Pun intended.

You’d think Houston would be overrun with hotels to choose from, but while NASA’s address may be Houston, it’s really located in the smaller suburb of Clear Lake. Houston made a narrow southern extension of the city’s zip code so they could claim NASA as their own.

I guess ‘Clear Lake, we have a problem’, doesn’t have the same ring to it.

The rhinestone hair clip holding back one side of Em’s blonde bob sparkles in the overhead fluorescent lights as she scans the crowd of production team members gathered for the press junket.

I only just met the petite and sparkly NASA PR manager today during the morning tour. Despite her shorter than my average five-foot-six height and how every aspect of her outfit is shiny, sequined or glittered, the crew shifted uncomfortably under her glare as she imparted a welcome/warning on where they could and could not go during filming.

Most of the buildings we passed on the tour this morning need security access to enter, which Em ‘kindly’ reminded us that I and the rest of the Hollywood interlopers don’t have. And even the ones we’re allowed into, like the one we’re standing in now, are chock-full of such state-of-the-art equipment that ‘cost more than our lives’.

Having been warned, the film crew gathered for a press junket in one of what seems like hundreds of buildings on the acres and acres of land that make up Johnson Space Center. Em had the concrete flooring sectioned off with red tape to delineate what areas were off-limits to crew. She even made sure to point these areas out to everyone as soon as they entered in case they were color-blind.

The petite PR manager doesn’t seem super enthused about Hollywood infiltrating NASA.

Even so, she was apparently too intrigued by her love of all things sparkly not to introduce herself to me afterwards so that she could get a closer look at my flip-sequin t-shirt.

Brush the sequins down and you have yourself a Bengal cat, a la King Dick Moore. Brush them up and it’s an ugly beige gremlin. Or, you know, Mike Hunt. I found someone on Etsy who makes custom flip sequined shirts. And as I like to patron artists when I can, I bought one for me and one for everyone else in the family – stick-in-the-mud Thomas included.

My niece, Mary, is going to love it.

But that was before I realized I was going to need hotel and/or car money during my time in Texas.

Em raises her eyebrow at me as I pop another mini muffin into my mouth before looking over the smorgasbord that only a few people have touched. ‘Hollywood does put out a better spread than Uncle Sam, I’ll give you that.’

My face heats, all three muffins laying heavy in my stomach.

I could make a joke about my unusual gluttony, but I can’t think of anything funnier than the truth. And yet, I’m pretty sure telling someone you just met that you cut your weekly food budget down to near-nothing because of possible homelessness due to a flighty professor and an Urgent Care co-pay I was forced to fork over thanks to possible numbing cream poisoning after ingesting said cream off a one-night stand’s dick three nights ago isn’t the best way to begin a new friendship .

Even if said someone covets sequined, interactive hairless pussy t-shirts.

Instead I go with a heavily pared-down truth. ‘I skipped breakfast this morning.’

My brothers may have refunded the inheritance my ‘father’ stole from my account with their own funds, but I never felt right using it. I’ve only dipped into the replenished account when both my brothers decided on expensive destination weddings. I figured if Thomas and Chase decided to pledge their lives to someone in a five-star resort location then that’s on them.

But using it to pay for my food and lodging so I can meet the other family member they didn’t know I had? That seems like something I should be woman enough to take care of on my own. Especially as they don’t know about her. The existence of my half-sister was something my mother only told me after I sat, silent and trance-like, for an hour in the family’s 15,000 square foot Manhattan mansion after also being told I was illegitimate and broke.

Thankfully, oblivious to all this, Em just nods at my excuse and grabs her own cup of coffee, her reach setting off a disco-ball effect on the large expanse of cement floor from her stack of crystal bracelets.

She helps herself just in time. Soon we’re both shuffling back from the catering table as the growing crew help themselves to food before it’s taken away for the scheduled press junket.

There are various types of press junkets. There are the large ones put on in convention centers with tickets sold to fans, and there are small, intimate ones that only include reporters and the movie production’s main principals—director and actors.

They’re usually scheduled after filming is finished and before a movie’s release. But as this movie will hold the record for most scenes shot on site at NASA, the studio’s marketing department is trying to garner early interest.

And because of NASA being a government-secured site, the press junket crowd, which looks deceivingly small in the cavernous building, is made up from crew members who already received their security badges and select, pre-approved reporters.

One of the grips, a camera and light technician, bumps into a panel of switches on the mock International Space Station training module (clearly marked behind red tape), causing Em’s gold flat to tap a staccato beat on the floor, her small foot making a larger than average noise in the football-field-sized building despite the murmuring crowd.

‘The next few weeks are going to be such a pain in the ass.’ Her flat freezes mid-tap and her sparkly glossed lips grimace in my direction. ‘Uh, no offense.’

I hold up the hand still gripping the napkin. ‘None taken. I can only imagine what needed to be contracted, signed and fought over during the whole filming agreement process.’ Balling up the paper, I toss it in the trash. ‘This is my first time on a movie set. I didn’t even know what a storyboarder was until my professor offered me the internship.’

Part of the scholarship I was awarded when I transferred schools requires teaching assistant duties, but as I was too late to apply, there weren’t any available. With this internship, I’m able to meet the required hours to graduate. Which means I won’t have to reapply for another scholarship or take on extra shifts at both the Pilates gym and Paint and Sip studio.

And, of course, the film’s NASA location makes the step I had been hesitating to take all that much easier. It was all too serendipitous to refuse.

Cringing at the reminder of douchebag Johnny and his bad pick-up line, I refocus on the real reason I’m in Texas and scan the cavernous building for a blonde woman with brown eyes and thick, black-framed glasses – the description of my half-sister.

But with half the crew local Texans and the other half California imports, nearly everyone is blonde, including myself.

And no one has glasses.

Ding . Em glances at her smart watch. ‘Shoot.’ Checking to make sure her rhinestone-collared blouse is neatly tucked into her metallic-pink, pleated, knee-length skirt, Em straightens as if readying for battle. ‘That’s my cue to go greet the VIPs.’

I get the feeling the tiny PR manager is fighting an eye roll.

‘Have fun.’ I manage to sound cheerful even though Em leaving means I’ll be left on my own, looking as clueless as I feel. Everyone on the crew seems nice, but they also all know what they’re doing.

‘Fun?’ Em snorts, grabbing her gold satchel bag off a shelf behind the red tape nearest the buffet table. ‘I have a feeling that after just one day with Hollywood types, I’ll be a lot more thankful for dealing with one of our astronauts causing an occasional tabloid ruckus.’

I hold back from asking after a particular astronaut ruckus, one about my sister that happened a few years go. Instead, I wish Em good luck as she hikes her bag onto her shoulder before setting off, leaving me to mentally pull up my big-girl panties and make my way through the crowd toward my professor.

I reach him just as a woman my age wearing a coral-colored halter top which pairs perfectly with her flawless tan gazes at Professor David Mirales like an enraptured puppy. ‘Have you met Felix Jones before?’

‘No, sadly, I haven’t.’ David shifts back to make room for me. ‘But I heard from Ron that he’s on site for the press junket.’

The crowd hums excitedly, whether from the intel David just gave them or the fact that he’s on a first-name basis with the director, I’m not sure.

The director, Ron Allen, is David’s friend from college. A fact I’m less awed by and more thankful for as their friendship provided me the internship and chance to meet my half-sister.

Coral Halter Top lifts her eyes to the tall guy next to her. ‘Do you think all the rumors are true?’

The guy shrugs, his normal-sized t-shirt lifting above his belt. ‘You never know, man.’ His shoulders drop, lowering his shirt back down. ‘I mean sure, celebrities date all the time, but these days the tabloids will print anything.’

‘Yeah, but didn’t he take her to an award ceremony after-party?’ Coral Halter Top counters.

Tall guy shrugs.

‘Guys, guys.’ David holds up his hands as if to call a truce. ‘If you’ll spare an old man a moment to impart some advice?’

I’d bet the remaining limit on my credit card that David’s lengthy pause has nothing to do with waiting for a collective answer and everything to do with soaking up their adoring gazes.

‘While it’s always good to be informed about the people you are working with—’ Halter Top throws Tall Guy a haughty look ‘—it’s also good not to believe anything you hear or see second hand. Especially in this business.’

The girl’s haughty look falls and Tall Guy smirks.

Feeling the need to play peacekeeper, a habit long-engrained from a lifetime of doing the same for my brothers and our – their – father, I speak up. ‘Who’s Felix Jones, anyway?’

It works. The tension evaporates as all eyes turn to me, their corresponding mouths gaping.

‘ Who is Felix Jones?’ A different, though equally tanned woman repeats my question in disbelief.

‘Are you serious?’ Halter Top adds .

‘He’s the biggest action star in Hollywood,’ one of the group says.

‘He’s been in every summer blockbuster for the past five years,’ another crew member is quick to inform me.

‘I don’t really watch action films.’ Growing up, my weekends were filled with charity events and social gatherings that my parents deemed more appropriate. And when I finally had a say in my own schedule, I liked holing myself up in my room to draw or read more than going out with my classmates – fellow children of the social elite.

Also, living in the city with the largest US theater district, I found I’d much rather see a show on Broadway than a bunch of explosions on screen.

‘Yeah, but he’s the lead actor in the movie.’ Tall Guy shakes his head. ‘Didn’t you do your research?’

Thanks for the judgment, Paul Bunyan . I will my skin not to reveal my embarrassment, but with the way my cheeks heat in the arctic air-conditioning and how Tall Guy shifts uncomfortably in his checkered Vans, I’m positive I failed.

I also fail at overcoming my long-learned unwillingness to speak up for myself. Because I did do my research.

I spent the small amount of time I had between David offering me the internship and leaving for Texas downloading and mastering all the necessary graphic design applications David uses for storyboarding. I may have switched my master’s from art history to graphic design after I no longer felt the need to appease the man I once called father, but even with all the courses I’ve taken under my belt, I still have a lot to learn. I wanted to be as prepared as possible.

Because I hate being the center of attention. And nothing makes you the center of attention more than being caught unawares .

And yet, even with my late nights learning new stylus techniques and panel formatting, the group’s shocked collective makes me feel like my time would’ve been better spent poring over back issues of People magazine instead.

David chuckles, thankfully drawing a few eyes his way. ‘Anne is my student.’ He drops a hand on my shoulder. ‘She’s here to earn hours toward her master’s degree in graphic art.’ He gives me a reassuring squeeze.

He may have good intentions, and I’m grateful he remembered to call me Anne and not Liz, but I can see the group retreat even further at the knowledge that I’m not really one of them .

Which is fine, I tell myself as I rescan the room for blonde hair and glasses.

I’m not here to make friends. Or to further a future career in Hollywood. I’m here to graduate and to figure out a way to introduce myself to a half-sister who knows nothing of my existence.

A half-sister who also happens to be the most famous astronaut at NASA – Dr Jackie Darling Lee.

Felix

‘Yes, but do you have a cow?’

I stare at the curly-haired woman floating across the massive screen hung in the front of the most impressive room I’ve ever been in. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘A cow .’ Julie Starr, aka Jules, aka, NASA’s Starr, drops her chin to level a stare directly into the camera recording her from inside the International Space Station. ‘Do. You. Have. One?’

Microphone in hand, I blink at the camera in front of me before turning to my manager/agent Jack for help .

I knew I’d be impressed when our morning VIP tour finished in the Mission Control, a place rife with both history and innovation, but I didn’t know I’d be too awe-struck to make sense of the Q&A the film studio set up between its principle cast members and NASA’s astronauts.

Jack just shrugs, his earlier expression of childlike excitement vanishing from his face the moment he realizes my eyes are on him.

He’s been giving me attitude ever since he raced to my hotel room a few nights ago to find me half-dressed and icing my balls.

My gaze shifts to astronaut Vance Bodaway, aka Bodie to almost everyone. He’s been our escort and tour guide around NASA this morning. He shakes his head, his long, black hair falling over the NASA patch on the left breast pocket of his blue jumpsuit.

‘The cow is a key element to the female character’s story arc,’ Jules continues. ‘And I should know since the character is basically me.’

Thankfully, my co-worker, Amanda Willis, takes the microphone. ‘Ms Starr, it’s an honor acting a role based on you.’ She flashes her girl-next-door smile at the camera. The one she gave this year when accepting her most recent Golden Globe for best female actress in a comedy. ‘It’s a dream to bring a woman of your intelligence, talent and humor to the big screen for millions to see.’

I’ve never worked with Amanda before, seeing as she’s Hollywood’s rom-com queen and I’m its action star, but I’ve heard nice things. Which says a lot in a business full of vicious gossip.

‘That’s great to hear, Mandy.’ Jules tilts her head at the camera. ‘I can call you Mandy, can’t I?’

Amanda smiles wide. ‘I?— ’

‘And I never understood why movies portray women as either smart or funny or sexy,’ Jules continues. ‘Why not all three?’

Recognizing that Jules’ questions lean toward the rhetorical, Amanda just nods.

Jules presses the hand not holding the mic to her chest and her body continues to slowly rotate clockwise in front of the camera. ‘ I’m all three.’

‘So modest, our Starr,’ Bodie mumbles, twisting his lips as if to keep from laughing.

Jules’ expression turns contemplative. ‘Do you know how to ride a Ducati, Mandy?’

‘Umm…’ Amanda’s smile slips.

‘Stop interrogating the celebrities, Starr.’ Astronaut Luke Bisbee floats into view, his tall body running the length of the entire screen, knocking Jules into the curved wall. ‘You know full well that Trish said her book was a work of fiction, any resemblances to people living or dead are completely coincidental.’ He winks into the camera. ‘At least that’s what legal told us to say.’

The surrounding NASA employees continue to work at their consoles, each with multiple computers, all of them set up in grid-like rows facing the screen. And yet none of the workers look up from their stations, choosing to ignore the astronaut comedy show in front of them and the award-winning actors and director behind them.

Their disinterest reminds me that while a celebrity may command attention in the ‘normal’ world, here at NASA, the employees have bigger things to deal with.

Like the infiniteness of space.

Taking advantage of everyone’s preoccupation with keeping the International Space Station running or Bodie and Luke’s effort to rein in Jules’ attempt to add livestock and a motorcycle chase to the movie’s cast and scene list, I back-step until I’m shoulder to shoulder with Jack.

‘Did you find her?’ My voice is barely audible over the astronauts’ bickering on screen and the low murmurs of NASA employees speaking into their headsets as they work.

Jack keeps his eyes on the screen in front of him as he whispers in return. ‘And just who might you be referring to?’

I roll my eyes at his continued blank expression. ‘Don’t play dumb.’

Jack examines his nails. ‘Oh, you mean the one-night stand who left you naked and emasculated on the floor?’

I glance at the flight director whose desk is next to where we’re standing. He doesn’t so much as twitch over Jack’s comment. Although seeing as he’s busy overseeing every aspect of every person’s job in this room, I’m not sure if that’s because he’s used to not visibly reacting or if Jack’s voice hadn’t carried.

Jack rocks back in the custom loafers I bought him for Christmas last year. ‘Or do you mean the one who ghosted you after taking a nude photo of you?’

Seeing as Mission Control is kept at a near-frigid level due to all the computer equipment, I can’t blame the heat climbing my neck on room temperature.

‘No, I know.’ Jack’s eyes narrow. ‘The woman who could get you on Ron Allen’s shit list and therefore banned not only from the serious movies you want to start making, but from all future projects.’

Ron Allen, the director of this film, took a chance on me. After Jack and I begged him, of course.

I’m grateful for the action films that put me in the spotlight. It’s just that, when I got into acting, I wanted to do more than just flash my abs and make quippy one-liners before jumping out of a helicopter. As the male lead, which is more of a side character in this female-focused romance, I’ll get a chance to flex more than my biceps. I’ll get to show Ron, and the movie audiences that I can be serious and funny without setting off or surviving an explosion every five minutes.

Narrowing my eyes right back at Jack, I take a deep, cold breath in through my nose. ‘No.’ My voice so low, I push my shoulder into Jack’s to make sure he hears me. ‘I mean the woman whose face you paralyzed by handing me a strip of numbing cream condoms like you’re an erectile dysfunctional Santa Claus.’

His carefully groomed and fashionably stubbled jaw drops. ‘I do not have erec—’ He freezes, his eyes shifting around the room to the people startled at his elevated tone.

A question from the ISS brings everyone’s attention back to the front.

Jack’s breath tickles my ear. ‘I do not have erectile dysfunction.’ Straightening, Jack smooths down his tie. ‘Those condoms were advertised as “for her pleasure” and—’ his hand pauses over his chest as if making a vow ‘—I am nothing if not a giver.’

I manage to keep from laughing, and note, not for the first time, that Jack should be the one in front of a camera, not me.

‘And no.’ His voice back to a normal whisper as Luke answers the director’s question about microgravity’s effect on facial expressions and physical reaction time. ‘I didn’t find her.’ Jack’s hand reaches for the pocket where he usually keeps his phone.

Guilt creeps back in. Jack isn’t a stereotypical agent or manager. He isn’t constantly on his phone making calls and greasing wheels. I’m his only client. So knowing that he’s anxious for his phone means one of two things. Either he’s waiting to hear the latest from the PR firm about the expected release of my semi -nude photo, or he’s fallen off the wagon again and needs a Candy Crush fix.

I slide my arm across his shoulders and give him a quick side hug.

Jack’s been with me since the beginning of my career. Hell, before that. We grew up in the same town, went to the same high school. We even headed to LA together after college – him to go to law school, me to try and make it as an actor.

Two years later, when I got my first big job, Jack was the one who stepped in and handled the contracts. He’s been my agent ever since.

He knows me. He knows my mom. He knows the truth about what’s happening and he’s done nothing but have my back through it all.

I don’t want to add to his worry, but the memory of Anne, slacked-faced and tear-streaked, flashes in my mind for the millionth time since my nuts were kneed into my stomach. ‘What if she was really hurt?’

It takes a second, but Jack catches on to who and what I mean, and, to his credit, his expression softens. ‘We’ve already talked about this.’

The director laughs at something Luke says and Jack and I both smile as if we’ve been listening.

Jack drops a hand on my shoulder and whispers, ‘ You have a bigger chance of having a sperm deficiency from her violent assault to your testicles than she does of having any lasting damage from the infinitesimal amount of numbing cream she may or may not have ingested.’

I can’t help but chuckle at his phrasing, thankful my reaction matches the room’s mood. ‘Spoken like a lawyer. ’

‘Spoken like a celebrity manager.’ He smiles back and drops his hand from my shoulder. ‘And friend.’

Before I can rib him for our bromance moment, the sound of my name jerks me to attention.

‘Isn’t that right, Felix?’ The director, Ron, looks at me expectantly.

Amanda hands me the receiver, her hand covering one end. ‘You used to want to be an astronaut when you were younger,’ she murmurs, saving me from looking like an ass for not paying attention.

Lifting the receiver, I give the camera set up in the center aisle a red-carpet smile. ‘Yes.’ I pause for a well-timed self-deprecating chuckle. ‘However, I had to give up the dream when I realized I needed to not only take but pass Calculus.’

I get the expected chuckle.

And an unexcited aside. ‘Yeah, and he gets more ass as a movie star.’

It’s whispered, and in the din of keyboard clicking and soft murmurings, I can’t tell where or who it came from. Jack’s shoulders stiffen, so I know he heard it, but thankfully Ron is busy assuring Amanda that neither a cow nor a Ducati are necessary to harness her character’s emotions throughout filming.

‘But now I get to live the dream,’ I continue, pretending I hadn’t heard the dig and that it isn’t just NASA’s camera in my face, but all the paparazzi who are ever ready for me to slip up so they can post about it and get more social media clicks. ‘All thanks to NASA allowing us to film an unprecedented number of scenes on site and even allow Amanda and me to train under the guidance of real astronauts.’ I adjust my expression into one of humble gratitude. ‘I want to thank you all for this unique opportunity and I promise you that we’ll do all we can to ensure our film is as accurate as both NASA and Hollywood magic allows. ’

It’s a good performance, getting even the hardcore NASA workers who hadn’t shown any interest in us Hollywood interlopers to flash me an appreciative smile.

But just when I think I created the perfect segue to leave for the nearby press junket, Jules grabs the mic. ‘If that’s true then you really need a cow.’