Free Resist by Blanche Hardin Page A

strangle her but I’ll call cut before she passes out. Makeup has to be applied to make her look dead and then we’ll finish up there. How does that sound?”
    Zed rolled his eyes. “Why go through all the trouble? It’s not like the viewers don’t know she isn’t really dead when they keep seeing her in different movies—”
    “Are you fucking stupid or do you just like to act that way?” Brigitte questioned belligerently. “It’s the same as a horror show or a film. We know these fictitious monsters aren’t hacking people to death but that doesn’t mean they don’t do all the makeup and sound effects. It’s the same with what we do but it’s just more . . . real.”
    He ignored her and glanced into Vie’s direction. She sat in her special chair again but she also had an open copy of the screenplay in her hands. If he didn’t know her as well as he did, he wouldn’t hesitate to think she was reading it with intense interest.
    “Hello?” Blaine snapped his fingers in front of Zed’s face. “Get your thoughts off of her and on to the job I am paying you to perform.”
    His violet-blue eyes coldly glared at his brother before he mock-bowed. “Yes, Massa, anythin’ yous say, Massa,” he replied in an exaggerated southern accent.
    “Fuck you, Zed. Just do your fuckin’ job.”
    “Not even if we were on a deserted island and I was starved for a warm hole, Blaine.”
    “If you two are done with your pissing contest, can we start to film already?” Brigitte interrupted. “I’m starting to get really bored with the insults you two exchange between one another about that shrew over there.”
    “I couldn’t agree more.” His brother leaned closer to him. “Get your shit together or next time, I find someone else. I don’t have to deal with this crap.”
    Zed walked towards the bed without saying another word.
    He wasn’t in the mood to argue with his brother. Not now, not ever.
    Not when it was over a woman who seemed unattainable to him at the moment.

 
    Chapter 8
     
    Vie
     
    I couldn’t deny it was a strange phenomenon watching two people have sex. Yes, I understood that the film Blaine was shooting wasn’t porn. It wasn’t even commissioned. It was an art house movie that would do well overseas no doubt but would appear in very few U.S. theaters due to the NC-17 rating it would no doubt acquire from the Motion Picture Association of America—or MPAA as most lay people knew the prestigious film board.
    The sex scene was shot in an arty way so that those who did see the film would always wonder—were they or weren’t they actually having sex? There were no up close shots of Zed fucking Brigitte, no “money shots,”—as they were referred to in the porn industry but still, it was explicit.
    This was something completely and utterly brand new to me because I innately knew if I’d been asked to witness this even several months ago, my answer would have been “Absolutely fucking no! Do I look like a pervert to you?” But now, I could watch it and not noticeably squirm in my seat.
    It was a much longer process than I thought it would be since Blaine had to often call “Cut and print.” He would make some suggestions about positions, modify the lighting and then continue where they left off. How either one of them found pleasure in an experience so mechanical was beyond me.
    Or rather how Brigitte found much to satisfy herself I should say. Zed actually looked bored half the time during takes when he wasn’t looking in my direction like I’d actively betrayed him by agreeing to dinner at The Polo Lounge with Blaine.
    Granted his brother probably made it seem more romantic than it was when in fact, it was a business dinner with two studio execs for the upcoming reality show, WAGs . The show was in pre-production and they wanted to meet with both of us since he was passing me off as his director-in-training. I would get co-Director credits while he would get all the glory under his