Bootycall 2 - J. D. Hawkins Page 0,5
into a tight hug. For a moment we just stand there, breathing in and out together, and I try not to lean into his touch, desperately wanting him to kiss me but also desperately wanting him to get his ass to work and never take me in his arms again.
“Thanks, Gemma.” He lets me go and I step back to adjust my shirt, glancing around to check that no one’s seen us here together. We seem to be alone.
“Do you feel better?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, rubbing his face. He’s still a little shaky, but I can see him coming back into himself, a look of determination now replacing the panic in his eyes.
“If you need anything, you know I’ll be around. Don’t hesitate to call on me, ok? It’s what I’m here for,” I tell him.
“Thanks,” he says, his eyes settling on me with so much appreciation and warmth I feel like I just saved a bunch of kittens from a fire.
He laughs a little, and so do I.
“Ok,” I say, “go. I’ll meet you on set.”
He nods, and starts walking away, turning back to me after a few steps.
“You know…that’s not the first time I’ve had a panic attack before filming.”
“Really?” I never would have guessed. Dylan’s the last person who looks prone to anxiety, with his devil-may-care attitude and all that sexy swagger. This is the first time I’m seeing a vulnerable side to him.
“Really,” he admits. “But no one’s ever talked me out of it before.”
We smile at each other for a few moments before he turns and I watch him walk off to the hair and make-up department.
As soon as he’s gone, I almost experience my own panic-attack revelation. I lean up against the wall and sigh to myself. Dylan has more sides than a die. I can barely spend a couple of hours with him without seeing something completely surprising. But still, I wasn’t expecting this. Just as I was getting used to the bad boy, the party animal, the asshole, he turns into a sensitive, real, genuine guy who’s more intimidated by himself and the image he’s built up than I am.
And I’m right there with him. Riding his rollercoaster of emotions. Peeling away his layers, feeling with each one that I’m getting closer to the source. To the magnetic pull at his center. And the more I do, the more I’m struggling with my own stormy feelings. The more I find myself drawn to his complexity, buried in the middle of his contradictions, desperate to unravel his body and his mind so I can put myself in there. I don’t care that my heart (and my career) could be in danger, that this thing we have is unpredictable, that it goes against everything I thought I wanted – it’s addictive, and I can’t resist the urges that he’s planted inside of me.
Shit. Now I’m the one who needs to do some deep breathing.
Chapter 3
Dylan
A couple of weeks into the shoot I fall into a rhythm, just like Gemma predicted. I immerse myself in the character, in the scenes. Living and breathing the motivations, stepping out of it only to take an analysis of what I’m doing, how it’ll look on screen. As a director, Christopher is fantastic, and we spend hours off set talking through what will work and what won’t. Both of us driven into an artistic frenzy, lost in the creative high, spurred on by the idea that what we’re making is something special, unique, brilliant.
I’m not perfect – I never am. Sometimes I find myself alone, pacing up and down my trailer, thinking about having a drink and just running away from all the pressure and the expectations weighing on me and on this project. But I don’t. And when I can’t stop myself, Gemma’s right there with that look in her eyes, the one that says she knows I can do this and I better not fuck it up. So far, I haven’t.
Then there are times when I’m so imbued with the anger and madness of my character I carry it off camera, shouting at innocent crew members and breaking into a rage over nothing – even though everyone on set knows what’s happening. The energy I’m giving off is starting to rub off on them, and they don’t flinch when I talk to them in character, they even play along when I’m allowing myself to explode.
Every once in a while my anxiety overwhelms me again, crushing me