Someone I Used to Know - By Blakney Francis Page 0,48

are going to come across a problem that money can’t fix, and when that happens, rich people do what they do best; they ignore it. They pretend it doesn’t exist.

Thankfully, I’d had a whole weekend to perfect my ignorant act. Unfortunately, as soon as the limo’s midnight exterior slipped through the tree line Monday morning, and my heart galloped like a cowardly horse spooked by a snake, I realized that there wasn’t enough time in the world to prepare me for Declan Davies.

“We’ve got to quit meeting like this.” Right off the bat, Declan deviated from our regularly scheduled program, cracking his window enough to peek at me.

“What?” my reply was deadpanned, inflectionless. It was a good start, but I had no illusions that Declan would simply roll over and accept my cool attitude towards him.

“You, hung over, shamed, and wearing sunglasses that are too big for your face.” A shimmer of a grin passed like a breeze. “You look like an insect.”

I had no answer for that, so I resumed our routine, whether he was a willing a participant or not, walking to my side of the car. I’d long ago shrugged off any door opening privileges from the driver. I was a twenty-first century woman!

“What? No muffin this morning?” His forced nonchalance didn’t even put a dent in the tension simmering between us.

I shrugged.

I shrugged a lot during the following days. It became my go-to response to his continued attempts to weasel past my indifferent exterior. On the inside, though, I was stewing. No one had ever gotten under my skin like he did over that next week.

At first, I almost believed he was going to accept it. My muteness stretched out over days unnoted, although his lack of interest could have had something to do with the bully impersonating our previously sweet and laidback southern director.

Georgia had been transformed. It was clear she was on a mission to get the performances of a lifetime from Madeline and Declan, and she wasn’t accepting anything less, even if she had to forcefully drag it from the depths of their souls.

The lead actors’ distraction allowed me to really study the filmmaking process for the first time since I’d arrived. It was much more intricate than I’d ever given them credit for. A huge amount of thought, money, effort, and time went into even the smallest of details. I once witnessed two crew members almost come to blows over how the books should be arranged on Cam’s bookshelf in the loft set.

It still hadn’t gotten any less strange watching The Girl in the Yellow Dress’s twisted, sometimes backwards, reenactment of the things I’d sworn to never think of again. Seeing the actors that were chosen to play an off-brand version of my parents was weird, but nothing surpassed watching Madeline and Declan pretend to be Cam and I in the surreal department.

I often found myself mesmerized by their scenes together. They had a sizzling chemistry that was impossible to describe when you’d seen them interact off camera. I couldn’t understand how a nearly sibling-like bond transformed into something so raw and honest that it was impossible to turn away from with a snap of the clapper and a shout of “Action!”

***

“Just think, in a few hours you won’t be a virgin anymore.”

Fran and I were camped out in the wardrobe department, waiting for Madeline to finish. The stylists had managed to wrangle her behind a privacy screen for once, an impressive feat.

I cleared my throat, embarrassed, and felt the prickle of blood gathering at the surface of my cheeks.

“You’re a couple of years and one childbirth too late.”

Fran laughed at the rare joke. I knew better than to be offended by the two cellphones that never left the personal assistance’s eye sight. From our mutual time spent trailing after America’s favorite starlet, I’d learned that losing focus, even to blink, could cost you millions of dollars in their business.

“I’m talking about you witnessing your very first live sex scene today.”

“But isn’t it supposed to be a closed set?” I looked to the far end of the room, where I could make out Madeline’s slender shadow behind the partition. They were doing a lot of work just to have her get naked, if you asked me.

“Only because the tabloids would call her a hussy if she didn’t have it written into all her contracts…Honestly, it was easier to keep my daughter Maria dressed when she was a toddler than it is Madeline