Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(26)

There was a long pause, and Cole watched as they slowed, a tractor ahead of them, a man perched atop two huge wheels.

“I’m somewhere. Give me an hour and a half… and make it Van Nuys. I want to see this girl tonight, I don’t care how late it is when I arrive, and then I’m flying back. My kid has some awards ceremony thing in the morning.”

Cole smiled. “It’s done. Call me when you land.”

There was a grumble, and the call ended. Cole slammed a hand on the dash in celebration, the loud sound making the man beside him jump. “What was your name again?” Cole asked.

“Bennington. Ben,” he amended.

“Ben, pull the car over. I’m gonna drive.”





Ben obeyed, the sedan bumping as it rolled over the tall grass. By the time he put the car into park and opened his door, Cole was there, larger than life, the afternoon sun haloing him as Ben looked up and stepped out.

“Thanks,” Cole said, settling his long legs into the car, Ben jogging over to the passenger side, half afraid the man would pull off and leave him behind.

When Cole hit the gas, the wheel yanked left, the car slid a little in its U-turn, and Ben gripped the handle.

“Sir, the… uh. Town is back there.”

“We’re going back to the girl. What’s her name?”

“Summer. Is she… uh… is she the one you were just talking about on the phone?” There was a bit of shrillness in the man’s voice, a highness that didn’t really fit, and he glanced over, his hand tightening on the steering wheel as they took a curve fast. The car had some pickup. Surprising.

“Yes. Something wrong?”

“You’re wanting to cast her? As an actress?” The man’s face was almost white, and Cole glanced at his hand, holding the center console tight, his knuckles almost bleached from the grip. He couldn’t tell if the man was scared of his driving or the prospect of Summer as an—

Summer. A terrible name. Was Ethel or June already taken? Summers should be reserved for thirteen year old girls with braces on their teeth. He slowed down a little, brought the speedometer needle under sixty and watched the man’s shoulders relax a little.

“Yes,” Cole answered the question, his foot shifting to the brake as he looked for the turn.

“An extra?”

He chuckled. “No.”

“Not… I mean you mentioned Minka…” The man—Ben was it?—swallowed hard and pointed right. “That’s the street.”

Cole applied the brakes, the cheap car skidding to a stop instead of turning. He shifted the car into park and turned to face the man. “What’s wrong? Spit it out.”

“Nothing.” The man’s hands moved nervously in the limited space between them, his gaze flitting to Cole’s eyes, then down, then back up, the entire production a little nauseating. Literally nauseating. Cole grabbed his arms, stilling the movement. “Stop that. Talk.”

“Summer… she’s not an actress. No background in film. I asked her already. Tried to get her a job.”

Cole shrugged. “And?”

“And…” Ben looked away. “She can be a little headstrong.”

The corner of Cole’s mouth turned up and he smiled. “Yeah. I got that.”

“Maybe you should let me bring it up to her. I don’t think…” He twisted his mouth, and if Cole could open his lips and drag the words out of him, he would. Instead, he waited.

“I don’t think she likes you very much.” The words rushed out of the man quickly, and he gripped his seatbelt as he said them, his eyes jumping to the side.

For the first time since Nadia left him, Cole laughed. Not long, just a few beats in time, but he felt a pinch of something tight relax, felt a bit of himself come back. I don’t think she likes you very much.

“Good,” he said, shifting the car back into drive and turning down the dirt road. “That’s a good thing.”





CHAPTER 31


“The only reason I'm in Hollywood is that I don't have the moral courage to refuse the money.”

~ Marlon Brando

I was in my bedroom, fishing items out of the laundry basket, when the knock came, the crack of the door heard, then Ben’s voice. “Summer?”

I stepped out of the bedroom and into the hall, my steps hesitant until I saw that it was just him. “Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he repeated.

We looked at each other for a long moment, then burst out laughing.





“So tell me,” I said, my butt on the back porch, my feet in flip-flops on the top step, the lines of the wood against my bare thighs. “How badly did I screw things up?”

I cradled a Miller Lite in my hands, Ben’s colder than mine; I had grabbed the fridge door the minute Ben’s car left the yard.

“Pretty bad,” Ben laughed, pausing in his sip to straighten up, his index finger pointed straight out, a furious look on his face. “Get OOUUUUTTT!” he mimicked, and I covered my face, laughing.

“Pretty bad,” I agreed, finishing the remainder of the beer and setting it down on the porch. “Did I at least look kick ass?”

“In your baggy tee, grandma bathing suit and ripped shorts?” he grimaced. “Oh yeah. Totally kick ass.”