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She attempted to peer around me through the six-inch gap. “Nothing,” she replied innocently. “Just wanted to see what outfit you ended up choosing.” Her lipstick had been reapplied with precision accuracy and her hair was back to its glossy sleekness. E locked her eyes on mine. “Hi Jake.”
I didn’t make a move to open the door to confirm or deny her greeting. She knew he was with me like I had known she wasn’t alone earlier.
“Well, have a good night,sister.”
Then she was gone.
And the cruelest game of blue balls had commenced.
Chapter 18
Jake
Chicago
Marcus Woods wasa man I met a few years ago. I had just signed another three-movie contract to continue playing Koil. We were in preproduction for the fourth movie.
It was to be an origin story. One where my character not only delved into his past, but spent the majority of the film as a tortured soul. It dealt with the aftermath of Koil accidentally killing an innocent civilian because he was unaware of his powers.
Robert Moore, the director, introduced me to Marcus; he was my new trainer. I was still in pretty good shape from the last film and I had just seen Sergio, my normal trainer at lunch, so I was left to wonder where Marcus fit in.
“Marcus isn’t here to get you in better shape,” Robert informed me. “He’s here to help get inside your head. Train your mind.”
With no other choice but to accept instruction from my new austere tutor, it all began to make sense.
Marcus was former military. A former SEAL to be exact. And his job was to teach me coping mechanisms for torture.
I’d heard of other actors undergoing similar endurances to make it easier during the application of lengthy prosthetic makeup, and his task with me was along the same lines.
My character was recovering physically and mentally from his past and dealing with a recent injury. I was in makeup for several hours each day, but the desired result went far beyond aesthetics.
Marcus peeled me like a vegetable, layer by layer, until the incessant grating was enough to break me. It was harrowing. It was beyond difficult. And it made me regret signing the contract.
The movie was met with rave reviews, most of them noting my grisly appearance and overall sense of dejection.“Jake Stanley has brought a sense of realism and grittiness to this otherwise cookie-cutter superhero.”In the end, it was worth it.
Robert had been right in bringing in Marcus. I owed a lot to him for the success of the film. It was rare, but if I ever found myself in a particularly difficult situation (interviews being a prime example), my mind would slip back into the coping mechanisms Marcus instilled in me.
Only now, it wasn’t working. Being opposite Lucy in the photo ops booth was a new kind of torture. Between the fans filtering in, I wasn’t able to talk to her. Because she was at her job, I wasn’t able to touch her. All that was left was to stare at her. We were so close, yet unable to do a damn thing about it.
I met her directions with communicative looks. It was absurd, but I’d been told that I had very expressive eyes and I wondered if she could see the indecision on my face.
I had never not been more than present while being at a photo op. Visualizing success was currently moot. Marcus would be ashamed.
Putting my best foot forward (or what I hoped was a genuine smile at least), I muddled through the rest of the hour and a half.
The last group were three girls dressed as different versions of Peyton Powell.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, Jake!” Peyton 1 cooed.
Peyton 2 practically lunged toward me, but the third sidestepped her.
“So. We were thinking we could hang off your arms like you’re strong enough to lift us all.” Apparently, she was the boss in the group.
“Who says I’m not strong enough in real life?” I countered, trying to make light of the situation.
“You’re human,” she deadpanned and rolled her eyes. Peyton 2 was a party pooper. I decided I didn’t care for her.
The pose was secured while Lucy captured the shots expertly. When it was over, I lowered my arms. Peyton 1 lingered a second, boldly squeezing my bicep.
