Free Brainrush 04 - Everlast 01: Everlast by Richard Bard Page A

in.
    “That’s right, goddamn it,” the director said. “We’ve got to
reshoot.”
    A clamor of groans and curses.
    “Oh, crap,” Lacey said.
    Marshall’s shoulders sagged.
    There goes my plans for tomorrow morning.
     “Listen up!” the director’s voice boomed. He pointed to a man
Marshall recognized as the location manager. “Charlie, you’re on point. Notify
the locals and do whatever the hell you have to do to get our permits extended
by a day. The rest of you know what needs to get done, so get on it. We start
shooting at seven in the morning.”
    The lavish party broke into a brainstorming session. The
director stepped offstage to face a barrage of questions from two of the
producers. A crowd huddled around the location manager as he barked out orders.
Guests streamed toward the exit doors, their cell phones glued to their ears.
Reservations needed to be changed, equipment unpacked, bribes paid.
    A small group at the bar high-fived one another. It was the
stunt people. They’d played a key role in today’s scenes and the reshoot meant
their earnings on this project had just jumped. One of them, a big Irishman named
Pete, caught Lacey’s eye and raised a shot glass in salute. He said something
Marshall couldn’t hear, and the rest of the team turned toward Lacey and lifted
their glasses as well.
    Marshall knew what that was all about. Lacey always insisted
on performing most of her own stunts, believing the inherent danger added an
edge to her performance. To Marshall’s disgruntlement, she’d take on just about
anything. Except fire. As a young child she’d been trapped in her home during a
blaze. If it hadn’t been for the heroic action of her older brother, she’d have
never made it out alive.
    Her brother had died saving her.
    But the action scene being reshot tomorrow, while still
dangerous, was a straightforward car chase culminating in a spinout and crash. Lacey
set her untouched flute of champagne on a cocktail table and acknowledged the
crew with a grand curtsy that would’ve pleased a queen. The men laughed and
downed their shots. She wagged a scolding finger at them and they promptly hid
the empty glasses behind their backs. It wasn’t smart to drink before a shoot.
    Marshall looked longingly at the glass of champagne he still
held, tempted to take a taste. Instead, as a sign of solidarity, he set his
flute down beside Lacey’s and they followed the crowd out the exit.
    The producers had rented the entire seventh floor of rooms
for key guests attending the celebration, so the hallway was crowded with
activity as Marshall and Lacey exited the elevators and made their way to Lacey’s
room. Once inside, she kicked off her heels and started stuffing things into a roller
bag.
    “The makeup team will be knocking at my trailer door at four
a.m.”
    He knew all the reasons she liked to sleep in her trailer
the night before an early shoot, but he wasn’t about to let her get away that
easily, especially as hot as she looked tonight. He slipped off his shoes and
socks and then removed his jacket, bow tie, and shirt and threw them across a
chair.
    She was grabbing underwear from the dresser drawer when he
moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Do you have to go right
away?” he whispered, his lips finding her neck.
    Her reaction was instantaneous. They’d played this game
before; it was one of her favorites. The linen slipped from her hand as she
reached over her left shoulder and slid her fingers into the folds of his hair.
She melted into him and they both felt his body respond. His breathing
quickened and he turned her to face him, lowering his hands to her butt and
lifting her onto his hips. Her lips caressed his neck, legs clinging to him as
he walked to the adjoining room and lowered her onto the bed. He unzipped her
dress and slid it over her head. Her eyes were hungry.
    “The makeup people will be knocking at my trailer door at four
a.m.,” she repeated