Page 42 of Hot Set

As I closed up my case, I faintly heard Brandon behind me, climbing a ladder. It was just the two of us; I realized. We’d just been filming a couple of extras, and they’d already left. My mindcareened into a half-dozen fantasies where I justtoldBrandon how I felt. But it was pointless. I was leaving.

Even if there was guilt, I had to go. It would be foolish to stay when I had gotten mydream job. And no one here would blame me for leaving. No, everyone would tell me that I ought to go, follow my dream and not abandon it for a crush and an independent film project.

Brandon let loose a string of curses. I turned my head and looked up at him. “Did you need—”

There was the sound of something metallic followed by cold and red. I felt like I’d been doused in a bucket of ice water, and when I looked down at myself, I was covered in fake blood. Brandon’s gasp seemed disproportionately loud. “Oh, my God,” he said.

I wiped my face across my partially stained sleeve and blinked up at him. Brandon remained frozen on his ladder, looking almost comically apologetic. My eyes landed on the bucket before him, dripping with fake blood. He’d dumped a bucket of fake blood on me. It was something so outlandish and strange that I honestly couldn’t think about how to react. All I knew was that we’d just reenacted the climactic scene from Stephen King’sCarrie,and that was probably far funnier than it should’ve been. For a few seconds, we stared at one another. Then, Brandon burst into laughter, laughter that shouldn’t have sounded so alluring, considering he’d just drenched me in fake blood.

“I get it, Brandon,” I said, “You want me gone. You don’t have to cover me in blood. I can take a hint.”

Brandon was suddenly in motion, moving quickly down the ladder. “I amsosorry,” he said, “Really,reallysorry.”

“At least, you didn’t hit me in the head,” I quipped. “Then, I’d have a concussion, too.”

Brandon shook his head. “I can pay to have your clothes laundered,” he said.

As if off-the-rack Wal-Mart clothes were really worth the money it would take to have them professionally laundered. They’d probably fall apart at the seams, anyway.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll just go home and throw them in the washer by themselves. That’ll probably get it all out.”

Or it’d stain the inside of the washer, and my mother would kill me.

“But don’t you drive over here?” Brandon asked.

I shrugged. “So?”

“So, you’ll get that all over the upholstery,” Brandon said. “And then, I’d feel really awful. I mean, I already feel awful, but I’d feel evenworse.”

“Well, I can’twalkhome.”

And I couldn’t imagine going on public transit and making a mess, rashly assuming they’d even let me on. It was at least midnight.

Brandon frowned. “Why don’t you come to my apartment, then?” he asked. “I’m close enough that we could walk there. You can take a shower, and we’ll throw your clothes in the wash.”

My mind flashed to what had happened thelasttime I’d gone to Brandon’s house, something which Brandon didn’t even seem to consider. Maybe what we’d done really hadn’t beenthatbig of a deal, and I was obsessing over it more than I ought to.

“Sounds good,” I admitted. “Not like there are other choices.”

Besides, if I walked into my mom’s house like this, she’d have a heart attack. Especially if I got fake blood over allhertile floor. Brandon didn’t seem really concerned about it, but maybe that was because he wouldn’t personally be stuck trying to scrub any blood away. Not that my mom would either. If I got fake blood onhertiles, I’d have rubbed my fingers raw trying to get it off.

“That would be great, actually,” I said.

Brandon grabbed a towel from nearby and carefully handed it to me, avoiding spreading the mess, like it was some kindof peace offering. I wiped my face, but had a feeling I wasn’t making the problem much better.

“We’re probably going to get stopped by the cops,” Brandon said.

“Probably,” I said. “You should feel bad. The police department could be spending valuable time chasing criminals, and instead, they’ll be chasing us down.”

I dropped the now-red towel onto my make-up case to deal with later. Brandon looked like he desperately wanted to smile and was trying his absolute hardest not to. I followed him out, and we walked along the sidewalk in a sort of companionable silence. I kept looking at him out of the corner of my eye, studying his features. It wasn’t fair for him to be so attractive…and single. I wondered now, what would’ve happened if I’d been able to rewind time. If I could return to the moment when we’d met and had taken him up on his offer.

“So,” Brandon said finally, “You’ll have to let us all know how things are going in D.C.”

“You’ll have to let me know when the movie is finished,” I said. “I could come to the premiere.”

“Of course, you will,” Brandon said, shooting me a smile. “You worked hard on it. Youshouldbe there, so you can see all your hard work pay off.”

I nodded, but my stomach twisted. Would I really be able to do that? Being near Brandon made everything strange. I couldn’t untangle my feelings. Of course, by the time this was all finished, I might already be in D.C. It would be easy to find an excuse, then; a reason not to go.

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