Page 13 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane, Part #4
The image of Maura vanished as Priscilla pulled rapidly away. He opened his eyes to see she was staring at him, her brow faintly furrowed. ‘That was the best performance you’ve managed so far,’ she said, with haughty condescension. ‘Who were you thinking about?’
He wasn’t about to admit the truth. Apart from anything else, the ache left by the longing to kiss Maura was too acute. But he didn’t mind Priscilla knowing that it certainly hadn’t been her talent that had inspired him to raise his game. ‘No one.’
She offered him a disbelieving stare but whatever she’d been about to say was lost as Minelli strode towards them.
‘That’s a wrap,’ he said. ‘Priscilla, thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else from you.’
Fraser said nothing as she was escorted from the room by Krystal.
A few minutes later, the assistant returned. She smiled in sympathy as she approached Fraser. ‘How’s the cheek?’
He touched the skin, which was still a little tender, and gave an exaggerated wince. ‘I think we’ll ask Juno to hit the other side.’
Krystal laughed. ‘I’ll be sure to let her know. Are you ready for lunch?’
He was, Fraser realised with surprise. It seemed simmering rage created an appetite. ‘More than ready.’
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Gordon will have my guts for garters if we let that pizza get cold.’
It wasn’t until much later, when Fraser was watching the Pacific Ocean lap at white gold sand, that he realised how exhausted he was.
Venice Beach was almost deserted; the clusters of skaters, footballers and volleyballers had long since gone, leaving only a handful of people to watch the sun dip below the horizon.
He’d laughed earlier when an enthusiastic musician had tried to get him to listen to his music, offering him a special deal if he bought a CD.
This is what Sam meant, he’d realised, and moved on quickly, still grinning to himself.
It had been good to laugh, after the tension of the day.
Juno Crosby had been blonde-haired and less classically beautiful than Priscilla, but Fraser had liked her more.
Their scenes together had been easy; fun, even when she was slapping his cheek and calling him an asshole.
He’d tried to ignite the fires of antagonism, mindful that their characters needed to go from dislike to the first stirrings of love over the course of the film, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was.
Judging from the expression Minelli wore, he hadn’t been convinced either.
He’d stopped the final scene just short of the kiss, exactly as he had with Priscilla, and Fraser had been relieved again.
The image of Maura had floated into his mind at the exactly the same moment and he wasn’t sure it was healthy to keep imagining what it would be like to actually kiss her.
After the screen tests were over, Krystal had been keen to discuss his fitness routine ahead of the start of filming.
She was surprised to learn he didn’t belong to a gym and made a note to find him a personal trainer – one who understood the rigours of preparing to star in a Hollywood blockbuster.
She also suggested he work with a nutritionist to help him stay in the best shape possible.
‘Not that you’re overweight,’ she said hastily, when his lips had twitched.
‘But we’re all carrying a little bit more than we’d like, aren’t we? ’
Privately, Fraser had thought that Krystal could do with eating more than green salads but that was a minefield he knew better than to approach.
Would it have been any better than her suggestion that he could lose a few kilograms?
He didn’t think so. And then it had been time for him to say goodbye to Minelli and Krystal, with firm handshakes and their fulsome thanks for his hard work.
They’d told the driver to escort Fraser back to his hotel but once in the car, he’d asked to head to the beach instead.
The driver had baulked at the idea of leaving Fraser there – clearly, he had his instructions – but in the end, Fraser’s determination had prevailed.
And now here he was, at just after seven o’clock in the evening, somehow both glad to be on Venice Beach and wishing it was Portobello.
Krystal had told him when he’d left that she’d booked an extra day in case one of the potential co-stars didn’t turn up, or filming took longer than it should.
But as they’d wrapped up on schedule, despite Priscilla’s best efforts, he had the following day to himself.
‘Let me know if there’s anything you need,’ Krystal said.
‘And of course we’ll make sure you’re collected on time for your flight tomorrow evening. ’
Except that Fraser was overcome by a sudden desire to feel Edinburgh’s cobbles beneath his feet instead of golden sand.
He knew a lot of successful film actors relocated to California, but he couldn’t imagine living here himself.
He might acclimatise to the heat, but he’d miss the way Scotland showed off throughout the seasons; snowy in winter, cautiously green in spring, vibrant in summer and spectacular in autumn.
He’d miss the dour humour of his fellow Scots – Priscilla aside, he’d found LA to be relentlessly sunny in more ways than one.
But most of all, he would miss Maura. The distance between them over recent weeks had troubled him more than he’d realised, and he’d been in the same city.
How could he expect the situation to change if he moved to another country?
Pulling out his phone, he checked flights back to London; the last one departed just after ten o’clock that evening, landing him back in Edinburgh at 9.
30pm the following day. There appeared to be seats available.
The urge to settle his feet on Scottish soil once more was almost tangible, only beaten by the desire to see Maura’s smile again.
Before he could change his mind, he reached for his credit card.
It didn’t matter that he had a flight already booked for the following evening.
Sometimes, the heart had to have its way.