Someone I Used to Know - By Blakney Francis Page 0,83

didn’t even flinch, in full on damage control mode, powering through another frantic text message. Despite their lackadaisical responses, I was still pleased because neither one of them had made a move to answer the door.

“It’s me.” Alfred’s deep voice rumbled from outside.

I flew at the door. I’d never been so happy to have the mild-mannered Hawaiian in my life.

His huge form eclipsed the outside world as he hunched over to fit in the doorframe. He spoke to us calmly, “The police took him to the station. They’re going to hold him as long as they can.”

I exhaled deeply, relief filling up all the space the air abandoned inside of me. I finally understood why Madeline carted her bodyguard with her everywhere she went, even to the seemingly safe movie set.

A man had somehow snuck onto the lot with one of the tour groups, and taken a quick detour to where we were filming. He’d been deranged, shouting things at Madeline that would have had any shrink salivating. He’d charged us as I stood frozen, horrified by the surreal events unfolding before my very eyes, and just as suddenly, it had been over. Alfred was on him before the stalker even got close enough for us to get a good look at him, dragging the thin man away, without needing the assistance of the security guards who arrived a second after him.

I’d spent a majority of the three months I’d been here marveling at the insaneness of Hollywood. I’d thought I’d been submerged in it like a helpless victim propped up in a dunking booth at the fair, taking shot after shot from these circus people, but now I felt as if I’d been sheltered all along, cocooned from the true horrors that Madeline and Declan endured every day.

The difference was that they had chosen that life; I hadn’t. It was a sacrifice they made to get to do the thing they loved and were passionate about. I certainly couldn’t fault them for that, but I was without a doubt that it would never be the life for me. My anonymity was my life vest in this turbulent sea. I clutched it tighter than ever before, convinced it was the only way I could retain even a shred of sanity.

“Production is shut down until further notice.” Alfred didn’t look thrilled to share the news.

“What?” Madeline screeched. Of course, that made her upset. Crazy bitch. “We can’t afford to lose a whole day of filming this late in the game!”

I tuned them out after that, as Fran jumped in to talk her down from the threatening, level-orange fit that was about to commence.

“There’s someone outside to see you,” the big man mumbled down to me out of the corner of his mouth. He could be a ventriloquist with that minimal lip movement.

I nodded, nerves too shot to care who my caller might be. I didn’t even bother to get permission, walking passed a soothing Fran and an irate Madeline. My heels were heavy, banging down each step as Alfred let me by.

It was Declan.

He hadn’t even had time to get in costume, still dressed in the dark jeans and black button-up he’d been wearing that morning. The sleeves were rolled up though, and he was also sporting a few more wrinkles than the last time I’d seen him, displaying the stress of the day’s activities where his relaxed expression did not.

I was happy to follow him back to his trailer and away from the craziness that was Madeline Little. My mind was still locked in the moment when Madeline’s stalker had burst towards us, his eyes striking in their intensity, and body calm with resolve.

“Lunch?” he asked, reclining backwards onto the kitchenette’s counter.

Against the granite, his fingertips found the rhythm of his unspoken nerves, and I nodded just to give him something to do with his hands. I doubted I’d be able to eat anything, but the chances of him actually being able to whip up something edible were slim to none. It was a win/win.

I sat at the cushioned booth opposite of him, peeking out the blinds while he worked. One strong slip of plastic bent under the weight of my fingertip, allowing me to observe the outside world unobstructed. Everything out there looked a little different; every person a little more suspicious.

The microwave dinged, and a mouthwatering aroma pooled into the room, calling my attention back to him. I watched him, admiring the line of his broad shoulders and