Senior Year
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Senior Year Part IIChapter 24: Defenseless free porn video
Wednesday January 11
Today was the last ‘official’ day of filming. The plan for the rest of the week was to complete on-location scenes. There were only a few B-roll sequences to finish—mostly wide landscape shots; no actors needed. My contract said I had to be here through Sunday in case we had to reshoot anything. They would spend the next few days deciding if they had everything they wanted in the can before everyone scattered.
I’d just finished back-to-back scenes and wouldn’t be required for a little while, so I planned to go to the coffee shop on campus. I could use a serious caffeine injection due to my lack of sleep over the past few days. Plus, I needed to get away for a few minutes. That I’d ever thought being a movie star was a fun way to make money was starting to make me question my sanity. With our tight schedule, it had become our norm to shoot from nine in the morning to the wee hours of the night. A trip to the coffee shop was more of a sanity break than anything else.
I found Lexi and Manaia at my side as I headed for the door. Manaia had the drone under his arm and released it as soon as we got outside. The students at Pepperdine had gotten used to us filming on campus and generally left my fellow actors and me alone now. I had noticed that they’d figured out that the drone signaled that I was walking around campus, and the number of cute girls around seemed to mysteriously increase. Lexi likened my drone to a cute puppy or baby. It was a chick magnet, but had the added benefit of not having to be fed or cleaned up after.
With my long legs, and being a man on a mission, I was soon leading our merry band. When I turned the corner at the library, I ran into a girl and knocked her books out of her hands.
“Jerk!”
I looked down, and it was the actress who’d played Juliet in the play we’d filmed. I gave her a neutral look and did my one-eyebrow-raised look. She realized it was me, and her face went red.
Lexi was suddenly around me to make sure the poor girl was okay while Manaia picked up her books. She looked me in the eye and shrugged.
“That’s a pretty good move with the raised eyebrow, but is that the best you’ve got?” she challenged me.
Well, hello there. She had my full attention.
“I suppose you have some skills in that regard,” I surmised.
“Check this out.”
She got her phone out and intently flipped through it to find something. When she found what she was looking for, she raised her head.
“You might want to video this. Prepare to be blown away,” she said dramatically.
Only an actor would be so brazen. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I felt that if someone suggested you capture something for posterity, it would be either something amazing or an epic fail. Either way, I could make her famous when I uploaded it to my social media feeds. I smiled and nodded when I was ready.
Her thumb tapped the face of her phone, and the music started. I started to smile when her eyebrows began to move. It was both awe-inspiring and worrisome at the same time. Since I had a niece and nephews who were preschoolers, I recognized the song—Baby Shark Dance. Kyle, Mac, Nate, Duke, and I had shaken our booty to it more than once while my toddlers watched on in fascination.
What broadened my smile into a wide grin was that each of her eyebrows kept time to the beat as she swayed to the music. I was going to have to learn how she did that, if for no other reason than to entertain the little ankle-biters. It was like she was having a party on her forehead. By the time the song hit the ‘doo, doo, doo, doo’ part, I was envious of her talent. It was hard enough to raise only one eyebrow. This was amazing. She might have created a new fad, brow dancing. Her eyebrows snaked back and forth and did all kinds of silly things. I knew right there and then that I would be spending quality time in front of a mirror in the near future.
When the music ended, I didn’t know whether to buy her a coffee, slink away, or cheer.
“I’m not quite sure what to say to that,” I admitted. “Interesting choice of music.”
“I babysit my sister’s kids. They give me the same look you just did,” she said.
“You deserve a reward. Let me buy you a coffee,” I said to settle on the proper response.
Lexi went with her to order coffee as Manaia and I watched the video. I was torn between sharing this with the world or keeping it to myself. Did I really want others to gain knowledge of this talent before I mastered it? In the end, I decided that humanity needed something to put a smile on their faces. I was sure it would supplant the most recent cat video that was all the rage as the most-watched right now. I might even earn some kind of award for discovering the next big thing like Myspace had been for social media. Then again, that had been a failure. I was sure brow dancing would become a real thing. For some reason, Manaia wasn’t as enthused as I was.
I hate crying for a part. Actually, I’d never cried for a role before. It was sprung on me that I had to act like I was crying to win Haru’s undying love.
“I’m going to look like a total wimp. That is not in line with who my character is. I’m supposed to be this cool surfer dude who’s a chick magnet. I’m not the guy who weeps to try to win a girl back,” I complained to Mr. Nomura.
“And here I thought you were an actor. I have every confidence you can pull this off,” he said, playing it straight.
“Are you seriously telling me that you would do it?” I asked.
“What are they paying you again?” he asked. Mr. Nomura tapped his chin with his finger like he was weighing the pros and cons of this impending fiasco.
“I might as well let her cut my manhood off and wear it as a necklace. Better yet, what do they call ritual suicide over there?” I asked, showing how politically correct I was at the moment.
“Seppuku.”
“Why don’t we suggest I do that instead?” I asked. “At least I wouldn’t embarrass myself.”
“There are times I would like to help by cutting off your head,” Mr. Nomura offered.
Note to self: If I see Mr. Nomura with a sharp sword, it might be time to leave.
“Go talk to Mr. Otsuki. He listens to you,” I pleaded.
“Why don’t you do the scene as written, and we will see if it works?”
“I’m not falling for that. I know how this works. We do one take, and then it’s over. As soon as it airs, I will be forever known as the guy who weeps at the drop of a hat. There will be memes of me that will be used for years to come.”
“Since when do you care what people think about you?” he tried.
“Pulease! I’m a teenager,” I said.
Yes, even I saw the irony of using that as my defense. Every teen wants to be perceived as grown up. Mr. Nomura made no attempt to hide his amusement at what I just said. I thought for a moment that I should probably cancel our dinner plans for tomorrow. The last person I needed to hear about this blunder was my uncle. He loved to point out that everything I did was somehow tied to me not being grown up yet.
“I could throw a fit,” I offered.
That made him laugh.
“Okay, okay. I’ll go talk to him before you shoot the scene. I’ll just tell him it’s an American thing.”
“Whatever it takes. Just tell me: would you get all weepy to win a woman back?” I asked.
“Nope,” he answered emphatically.
“I didn’t think so.”
I was glad he was my mentor and could fix this.
Shoot me now. I cried like a baby. All I had to do was think about this week with my dad’s scare and Brook being forced to move. It was surprisingly easy, and I felt better afterward. That still didn’t make it okay in my book, though.
Note to self: track down the writers and end their lives for that one.
Note to self: never piss off the writers.
Lexi handed me my phone when I had a break.
“Call Wolf, Tim, both your brothers, and your dad,” she ordered.
I decided to call my dad first. I hadn’t talked to him since he was taken to the hospital.
“Bless your heart,” he answered, imitating my Grandma Felton.
I could hear my mom laughing in the background.
“Tell him that I’ll never buy him crying again. He almost made me believe it,” Mom yelled so I could hear her.
“How did you all see that already? I just shot that scene like an hour ago.”
“Lily follows some of your castmates on social media, and one of them posted the video.”
“I’m starting a list, and I think she just made it,” I said, half-serious.
I might have to call my fixer to ‘fix’ a few people.
“She’s just doing her job,” Dad said to defend Lily.
I decided to own it. I’d learned that was better than letting them continue to torment me.
“Well, I’m glad my crying jag went viral. It’ll give the internet trolls something else to laugh at.”
“That’s awfully big of you. Frank said he thinks it makes you more relatable.”
I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with my dad. He’d actually talked to my PR guy? What had my world come to?
“Relatable?” I asked against my better judgment.
“Yes. Because most people don’t really know you, and everyone says you appear a little too perfect. Luckily, we all know you’re not.”
I could hear my mom snicker, and Dad shush her. If my dad hadn’t just about died on me, I would have unleashed a choice comment or three in retort.
“Uh ... thanks, I guess,” I said as my brain locked.
This was one of those instances where I would have the perfect comeback after I hung up.
“You’re welcome.”
“Uhm ... what did you say, Lexi?” I faked. “Sorry, got to go.”
I could hear my parents’ laughter as I hung up. I suspected that the rest of my friends had similar comments, so I felt it was better that I not call them back. See? I knew crying was a bad idea.
I turned around, and both Manaia and Lexi had big smiles on their faces. Yep, I just added them to the list. Maybe Paddy would give me a group discount.
“Let’s just see where this goes. I’m all in,” I said.
“Cut! That’s a wrap! Good job, people!” Mr. Otsuki said for the last time.
I’d already said my goodbyes. It was nearly four in the morning, and I was exhausted, but happy. We were done! I found Manaia and Lexi in the dressing room, looking like death warmed over.
“Is that it? Can we go home now?” Manaia asked.
“Just finished.”
“Good. Let’s get out of here,” Lexi said.
I helped her stand up, and Manaia followed us out to the parking lot. I looked up at the moon and took a deep, cleansing breath. The air smelled like smoke. Over the last few days, they’d gotten the wildfires down to something manageable. The news said they hoped to have everything under control come the weekend if the winds didn’t pick up again.
“What’s your plan for tomorrow? Please say we can sleep in,” Manaia almost begged.
“Take the morning off. I want to get eight hours of sleep at a minimum,” I announced.
“I’ll put it in the log,” Manaia said.
They tracked my plans for each day so they could arrange the right level of protection.
Manaia had released the drone when we walked out the door. He put his hand on my chest when his phone app beeped.
“You and Lexi hang on. The drone has spotted something,” he said.
“Let’s just go,” Lexi complained. “It’s never anything.”
“Until it is,” I said and pulled her back into the building.
“Hey, is it okay if I work as your PA until you leave?” Lexi asked when we were safely back inside.
“Do whatever you want. If you would rather take a few days before you go back to work, I would understand. I’m just going to do a bunch of nothing until I fly out,” I explained.
“Mind if I do a bunch of nothing with you?”
Was she flirting with me?
“How about we just hang out as friends? Maybe I can run and get you a coffee or something,” I suggested, reversing our roles.
“I’d like that.”
Manaia was back.
“It was a group of teenagers skateboarding,” he reported.
“At four in the morning?” I asked.
“Yeah, go figure. Come on, I want to get home.”
That sounded like a good plan.
Thursday January 12
I woke to the sound of someone knocking on my door. The clock on the nightstand said it was noon. I had to get up, or my sleep pattern would be seriously off.
“I’m awake!” I called out.
Aunt Bonnie stuck her head in the door.
“We’re meeting Cindy and the other people from Ohio State in an hour.”
“At the house?” I asked.
“No, at some fancy restaurant. Lexi set it up as a thank you for their work. After lunch, we’re touring your new home.”
“Guess I’d better get in the shower.”
I was glad Lexi had thought to do something for them. I’d been focused on the series and other personal matters this week.
When I got out of the shower, I checked my phone. That was a mistake. My friends were more than amused by my crying scene. The producers of the J-drama had put out a trailer to hype the show, which included a quick clip of me in tears.
I saw a message from Ari saying that Netflix was in negotiations to air the episodes worldwide. They’d picked up several shows from Japan, China, and Korea. I admit that I’d binge-watched a few of the Asian shows and enjoyed them. I was happy for the cast because it would expose their talent to the world.
I was disappointed that I didn’t see anything from Brook. She’d been upset about the move. I figured she needed some time, so I left it for now.
Fritz had given Manaia the day off and was my security for the day. He picked up Lexi, my aunt and uncle, Grandma Dawson, and me and took us to Little Beach House Malibu. I was glad that Lexi had chosen this particular place because I liked it and would have picked it if asked.
They were busy today, so we weren’t able to all sit together. I found myself at a table with Cindy, Dean Lloyd, Professor Donaldson, and Professor Katz. We’d scored a table on the terrace with a spectacular view of the ocean.
“When I researched the area for the trip, this was one of the places I wanted to come. If I’d known you were a member, I would have called you sooner,” Professor Katz said.
“What do you mean?” Professor Donaldson asked.
“This is part of the worldwide Soho House private members clubs. The club is a little different because it caters specifically to people in creative fields,” I explained.
“Fancy,” Cindy said with a smile.
I rolled my eyes at her. I was glad when our server appeared with menus.
“Can I get breakfast?” I asked. “I didn’t get home from filming until four this morning.”
“Breakfast service stops at 11:30, but let me ask. What can I get you to drink?” she asked.
“I’m going to have the yerba mate tea,” I said.
“What is yerba mate?” Cindy asked.
“It’s a holly found in Central and South America. When I filmed The Royal Palm, which was shot in Cuba, I discovered that they didn’t have Coke products there. They did have a soda made from yerba mate that was interesting. The tea has the strength of coffee, the health benefits of tea, and the euphoria of chocolate, all in one beverage,” I explained.
“What does it taste like?” Dean Lloyd asked.
“It’s an acquired taste. I would compare it to the first time you try coffee. You’re not crazy about the bitter taste, but once you figure out what it does for you, then you crave it. Yerba mate tastes like a combination of dirt, grass, and what you would guess the ashes in your fireplace taste like.”
“That sounds gross,” Cindy said.
“It’s weird. The more you drink it, the better it gets. It’s like a fine cigar. Your palate changes over time, and it becomes enjoyable. It’s hard to describe,” I offered.
“I’ll try it,” Dean Lloyd said.
They all decided to get it. They didn’t end up liking it, but I was impressed that they were adventurous and willing to experience something new. They agreed that even though it tasted nasty, they loved the jolt of caffeine. That it was on the menu meant I wasn’t the only one who had discovered it.
“Cindy tells me that you might have more projects for us,” Dean Lloyd said.
“Cindy and I went to high school together, and because of that, I know she understands my taste in decorating,” I said.
I wanted to make sure they knew it was because of her they might get access. I went on to explain that I’d obtained the condos in a legal settlement and didn’t even know if they would need any upgrades.
“Well, I’d be willing to jet off to Monaco for you,” Professor Katz offered.
“Get in line. I’ve already had one of my employees volunteer to go to Whistler for a ski vacation,” I shared.
“I think what Professor Katz is trying to say is that we would love to have a chance to offer internships for other projects. The Malibu house has been a nice change from what we normally offer, and I would like to continue to do projects like this,” Dean Lloyd said.
“Like I said. I’m not even sure anything needs to be done to them,” I said to hedge my bets.
I ended up having to order off the regular menu and had the turkey club.
When we arrived at the house, my first thought was that the neighbors must hate me. There were construction trucks everywhere, and you could hear heavy equipment running in the back. We pulled into a full-on construction zone. Before I got overwhelmed, they took us inside the house, where they’d taken over an area as a staging center.
They had artist renderings of what was planned tacked to the walls. Cindy explained it to my family.
“The idea is to give everything an overall Tuscan-inspired feel with three main goals: a home to accommodate David’s extended family, a place to relax, and finally, a place to entertain.”
I zoned out a bit as I took in what I was seeing.
“ ... and the tennis court...”
“What tennis court?” I asked.
“I forgot; that was supposed to be a surprise,” Cindy said.
I remembered her asking if anything was missing and me jokingly saying that we needed a tennis court. Based on the plans, I didn’t see where they could put one with the space being eaten up by the garage/apartment/security center at the back of the property.
“We figured out that we could put it on the roof of the garage,” Professor Donaldson explained.
Yep, I already knew how Coby would die. He would climb the stairs to get to the third story where the tennis court was, scale the twelve-foot fence surrounding it, and plunge to his death. Then again, knowing him, Coby would bounce and not have a mark on him. If he didn’t die, Duke might. I could see the boys hitting balls over the fence and my hound bounding down the stairs to rescue them. After a couple of trips, he would be worn out.
Barring those impending catastrophes, I loved it.
I also had the realization that the garage was going to be huge if its footprint was large enough to accommodate a tennis court.
Turned out, I didn’t need to decide anything. That was what my grandmother, aunt, and Lexi were there for. While they took care of that, Uncle John, Fritz, and I went to see the construction with the dean.
“You know that I might have to kill you,” Uncle John said.
“Why? What did I do now?” I asked.
“You saw Bonnie. She’s going to want to redo the farmhouse after seeing this.”
“Don’t blame me. She told me she married you for your money,” I teased.
Dean Lloyd took us to the back of the property, where they were putting in the foundation for the multipurpose garage, security hub, apartments, and now a tennis court.
“Buildings are designed to support a vertical load, including the floors, roof, and all the stuff inside, against the pull of gravity. Earthquakes present an interesting problem. Seismic waves cause horizontal movement that will push a building off its foundation regardless of the advanced engineering techniques employed,” he explained.
“That’s troublesome,” Uncle John said.
“It can be a real problem with bigger and taller buildings, mainly because the sideways movement will cause the building’s own inertia to topple it. One solution is called ‘base isolation.’ Basically, the building floats on systems of ball bearings, springs, and padded cylinders. Together they act like a shock absorber that negates the shaking of the ground.”
“You said bigger and taller buildings,” I prodded.
“We may have overengineered this building just a bit,” he admitted.
“At what cost?” I asked.
“What does peace of mind cost?” Dean Lloyd asked.
“Sounds like a big number,” Uncle John quipped.
“It added three percent to the budget.”
“And this is beyond the building code requirements?” Uncle John asked.
“Yes.”
“Total budget, or the budget for just this building?” I asked.
Dean Lloyd flinched.
“Good catch,” Uncle John said. “That’s the danger in letting academic types run a project. They want to try the newest gadgets or techniques, which may not be the soundest financially. They don’t have to make a profit and are spending your money, not theirs.”
Dean Lloyd’s face colored at that observation. To his credit, he didn’t refute it. All that kept me from being upset was that I knew Jack Mass had been involved, and if this were truly egregious, he would have put a stop to it. I would talk to him before I got upset. It also told me that if I let them do more projects, I would have to hire someone like Jack to oversee them.
“So, it will be safer?” I asked.
“Yes. I would expect it will also save you money on insurance,” he said to throw me a bone.
As we worked our way back to the house, it looked like a bomb had gone off around the pool area. They’d taken the roof off the pool house because they planned to add a second story. The contractor was in the process of jackhammering out the pool deck, and the pool had been drained so it could be resurfaced. If I hadn’t seen the drawing of what this area was going to be, I would have been worried. I’d sent Cindy pictures of the pool area at L’Horizon Resort & Spa in Palm Springs, and she planned to incorporate some of those features. To the side of the pool, they’d dug a big hole. I assumed it was for the hot tub.
Dean Lloyd saved a tour of the house for last. They hadn’t done much work in there yet because I had a tenant living there. The plan was to stucco the exterior and add stone features to carry through with the Tuscan look and feel. Since we were getting a massive garage in the back, they planned to enclose the one in the house and make it into a downstairs area for the kids. That was where the bulk of the bedrooms were.
The idea was to use the second floor as more of an adult area with the master bedroom on that floor. It would have floor-to-ceiling glass panels that could be opened and slid back so they disappeared from view. The house was on a high-enough elevation that you could see over the roofs of the houses downhill from us, resulting in a great view of the ocean. It would also allow us to enjoy natural cross ventilation and help bring the outdoors into the home.
They were extending the second-story balcony and adding a staircase to the roof. I’d asked that they model the roof area after Rita James’ beach house. It was designed as an outdoor living and entertainment zone that had spectacular views of both the hills and the ocean.
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