[Reviews - 99]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 1677 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
thanks to Cordykitten for her review
please do review, i'm beginning to worry
Spike woke up the next morning feeling at peace. He couldn’t remember all of his dream, in fact he couldn’t remember much at all; he knew he’d been with his angel, but the bulk of the dream lay just out of reach. What he did remember was the feeling of peace, and the fact that he hadn’t been fair to Anya. He hadn’t talked to her in weeks without a lawyer being present and that was no way to treat a pregnant lady. No matter how pissed at her you were.

He tried to think of what he could do, but first things were first. He glanced at the clock beside him. Five-thirty in the morning: not a good time to be phoning anyone, and only half an hour before he had to leave for the studio. They were filming one l-o-n-g fight scene today and he needed to be awake and concentrating when the pyrotechnics went off. Last time he didn’t he got a sore ass when one of the explosions caught him. Good one for the blooper reel or youtube. Not so good for the old ego. And his ego needed stroking at the moment. He thought about his day ahead. Concentrate William, he told himself as he grabbed a cup of coffee and made his way to his beloved old Desoto. It had been his first ever car, and despite the Mercedes, Porsches and Humbers parked in the garage, he still preferred his dark lady. He took one last look around the apartment. Time to be getting something bigger, he said quietly to himself as he left for the studio, especially now the baby was on the way.

It was peaceful driving in so early. William always made a point to be on time and ready for his scenes: unlike some of the big Hollywood stars he thought about the rest of the cast and crew. Today, he managed to get in ahead of the makeup girls, but just behind the stunt director. Amy Allen, his infamous co-star, wouldn’t be in for hours, and everyone knew it. The cold politeness with which she was treated said more about the crew’s views of her behaviour than anything else could.

‘Morning Spike!’ Clem shouted across from where he was fixing the explosives for the big battle, his long hair dangling down to cover his face. Clem was the sweetest man you could hope to meet. He helped out at the animal shelters, supported charities, but didn’t go out in public much. A nasty accident had left him with scars all over his face and arms. The cause of the accident was coming on set soon, and although Clem loved working with Spike, he wanted to be away long before Ms Allen showed her perfectly sculpted (thanks to surgery) face. Plastic fantastic he called her in his own mind, that or silicon Barbie.

Spike was one of the good guys: charities were helped whereever and whenever he could. All his costumes were sold for charity when finished with. Spike had had that written into every contract, that along with time for fans, competitions and anything else he could do ‘to make the world a little sweeter’. The only thing he ever kept was the trademark leather bomber jacket he wore on NEMO. And that was his.

Fans knew they could ask him for autographs and they would normally be obliged. Even the paparazzi had problems digging up dirt on Spike Atherton: he dated rarely, but he didn’t sleep around; he drank, moderately, and he didn’t do drugs. He was becoming an all around nice guy.

Spike grinned and waved back. ‘Coffee?’ He shouted. Clem nodded and watched as Spike made his way over to the table set out with coffee and do-nuts for the early arrivals. Everyone was surprised when they met Spike Atherton for the first time. They expected a stuck-up Hollywood type, but what they got was a hard working actor who would go out of his way to be kind and helpful. It wasn’t unknown for him to get out of his car and go across the road to see fans, he always had time to speak to anyone who wanted to talk to him. Even the paparazzi respected the way he behaved, he didn’t court publicity but he wasn’t rude or nasty to anyone who approached him. Clem smiled as Spike made up a tray of coffees and do-nuts and was delivering them round to the early crew. One of the new girls was blushing like mad as Spike gave her that evil grin of his. Clem accepted his coffee gratefully, he had nearly finished setting up all the whiz bangs that would make the shot look far more dangerous than it really was; then he could leave.

‘Mr Atherton?’ a woman’s voice could be heard shouting. ‘Mr Atherton?’ Spike looked round to see a very harassed Winnifred ‘Fred’ Dalton was calling him over, she really looked upset.

‘What’s up pet?’ he asked.

‘Oh Mr Atherton…’ Fred started.

Spike gave her a look. ‘How many times have I told you pet, it’s Spike.’

‘OK then: Spike,’ she smiled, ‘I’m sorry about this but Ms Allen wants to redo the scene in front of the bedroom door, she is causing all sorts of, um, er…’

‘Disturbances?’

‘Yes, disturbances, says her hair wasn’t good enough or something, it should only take an hour or so, and we’re all set up inside, so if you wouldn’t mind?’

‘No problem pet, it’ll allow the boys out here to finish their work without anyone getting in the way.’ He smiled across at Clem, knowing how much the man disliked Amy Allen and with good reason. If the silly cow hadn’t run across the set from her dressing room because someone had put the wrong flowers in it, Clem would never have had to swerve his car and the accident would never have happened two years ago. Spike vowed to keep the actress really busy until the special effects crew was ready for the next scene, and made his way to make up.

Grabbing Amy by the shoulders he swung her into his arms and kissed her soundly on the lips, just grateful that she wasn’t telepathic, as her character was supposed to be. Her shoulders felt like a skeleton under his hands and her tongue sticking down his throat made him want to gag. She looked great on film but in the flesh she was plastic, bones and bad skin. But she could act when she wanted, he supposed.

As soon as the director shouted ‘cut’, Spike wiped his mouth.

‘I wish you wouldn’t do that Spike, it’s so rude.’ Amy moaned at him.

‘Wish you’d clean your teeth,’ Spike spat back, ‘and stop shoving your tongue down my throat, we’re acting, remember.’

‘Oh, but it could be so much more,’ Amy ran her hands up and down Spike’s chest, playing with the buttons on the dress shirt he was wearing.

‘Only in your dreams and my nightmares pet,’ Spike grinned and walked off, listening as Amy gave everyone around her a hard time.

The afternoon was far more pleasant, if you call getting blown up, punched, kicked and thrown off a moving car pleasant. Spike Atherton was very glad that the stuntmen took most of the knocks. He was there strictly for the close-ups and the easy fight scenes. He had no intention of even pretending he did his own stunts, and had little patience with the actors who did, it seemed disrespectful somehow of the guys like Dalton who put their lives and bodies on the line to make you look good.

As he watched, from a safe distance, as his psychiatrist character ran across the roof tops before being punched and kicked by the murderer, he tried to think about Anya. She was carrying his child and he’d behaved very badly: time to make things right, make her feel safe and secure. Every pregnant woman needed to feel safe, he was sure he’d read that somewhere. He just didn’t know how to go about it. The child was going to be loved. He wanted to be part of the baby’s life. He’d grown up without love since his mother had died, and he knew that Anya’s childhood wasn’t the sort they made into family friendly movies. He thought back to the night nearly seven months before hand. They’d both been lonely and lost and stupid, but it wasn’t the baby’s fault.

Then it hit him, how grateful he should be to Anya. So many women would have just gotten rid, and not thought about him: Anya wanted him to be part of their lives, and she was doing everything she could to make sure he was involved and he hadn’t even gone to a doctors appointment with her. Well, that was all about to change. Spike waited patiently until they called cut again and made his way to the director.

‘Could I ask a favour mate, any chance we could do my bit next? I really need to slip away early.’ Fred and the director looked at him open mouthed. They had never heard Spike Atherton ask for anything, in all the time they’d worked together.

‘Yes, sure, 45 minutes and you’ll be away.’

‘Thank you. I really need this.’





You must login (register) to review.