Chapter Six Chemistry Test

Chapter six

Chemistry Test

"Holy shit, that is a nice car!" Eddie's mouth hung open as the valet drove the sleek black Jeep convertible up to the entrance of the Ritz-Carlton.

"You're not wrong." Lee shifted beside him, clutching onto his rucksack.

Having slept for the recommended eight hours, Eddie was ready to take on the day. The hardest day of his life thus far. Including the day he'd buried his mother. Because today determined the rest of his life. Or at least the rest of his time here in America. This car, dropped off by the valet Priscilla had ordered for him, was only his if he got through the first test. The screen test. The chemistry test. He'd doused himself in Tom Ford to the point Lee was standing closer to him, inhaling his scent. If it worked on him, it had to work on the Disney princess he was about to do a screen test with.

The valet got out of the car, rushing around the bonnet with a tablet. "Eddie Brownlee?"

"Yep!" Eddie jumped forward. "She all for me?"

"She is indeed." The man handed over the tablet. "Need your signature and she's all yours."

Eddie gaped at Lee, grin wide. He'd already handed over his driving licence and passport and whatever it was the rental company needed when Priscilla had signed him up for the gig, meaning this car was his to drive as Priscilla had cancelled the driver it was supposed to have come with.

"Hold up." Lee held up a hand. "There's not a chance in hell I'm getting in the passenger seat of a left-handed drive with you behind the wheel."

"That's harsh, man." Eddie pouted and ran his finger along the smooth glass of the tablet to sign his name. He gave his signature that was on all his official paperwork where his name was Brownlee and not the autograph he'd been perfecting for years of being in the public eye as a relatively well-known soap star in the UK, where he used Hart. "You've never been in a car with me back home, either."

"Exactly. I have a rule not to allow anyone ten years younger to drive me."

"That's ageist."

"It's a safety precaution. I have more experience. Men in their twenties cause most of the road accidents in the UK. I'll assume here too, although I've not seen the data."

Eddie folded his arms. "That's not true."

"Look it up."

"I passed my test three years ago."

"I passed my test in ninety-ninety two. "

"When it was easier."

"How was it easier?"

"You didn't have theory tests back then. You literally got behind a wheel and tossed the examiner a fiver. Or gave him a blowjob."

"I did neither."

Eddie shrugged.

"When I took my test, there was no power steering," Lee counted off his fingers, "no automatic gear stick, no electric hybrid shit, no sat navs. It was harder . Therefore, I learnt the hard way and I'm better for it."

"But this car, I assume, has all of those things?" Eddie gestured to the valet for confirmation.

The man nodded. "It has a tablet hooked up to CarPlay and Google Maps. Four-wheel drive. Electric hybrid. Convertible. Automatic."

"See." Eddie grinned.

"And I had all those in my blues and twos. Move over, kid. This car is mine . Unless you've gone on the Met's advance driver and tactical pursuit and containment course, you can't argue this."

Eddie slipped on his shades. "Fine. Shotgun chooses the playlist."

"Again, not a chance." Lee angled his head for Eddie to move, then after a lot of discussion and handing over of documents both physical and electronic via Lee's phone, he, too, had permission to drive the vehicle. He dumped their belongings in the boot before climbing in the driver's side, sliding on his Ray Bans and roaring the engine.

Eddie could have wet himself. Lee was born to drive this car and was hotter than the hot stuff he'd checked out at Muscle Beach yesterday .

Unable to admit that, he sloped into the passenger seat, clutching his script which held the itinerary. He went to key in the address on the dashboard tablet when Lee whacked his hand away.

"Driver is in charge of the controls."

"I don't see how this is keeping me alive."

"Because I won't throttle you for inputting the wrong directions."

"Jesus. Were you this pernickety with your fellow Met officers?"

"The ones in my charge, yes."

"Did they call you Detective Cuntstable?"

"If they did, they would have done it far, far behind my back." Lee peered onto Eddie's lap at the address for the home in Beverly Hills where he was to meet the film's director. He then put the postcode into Google Maps on the dashboard tablet, the automated voice declaring they should head left on Admiralty Way to Lincoln Boulevard.

Eddie settled back, shades on, elbow resting on the open window, wind whipping his hair as Lee drove them out of the hotel and onto the route. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, and Lee navigated the beast of a car with one hand guiding the wheel, the other tapping on his knee. It was another ridiculously hot day and Lee had dressed for the occasion in his Nike running shorts and tee, giving Eddie another chance to drink in his tattoos, the one on his calf of the mountainous landscape Lee was infinitely more comfortable in than the plastic city they currently drove through, was as striking as the man himself.

Eddie, however, needed to remind the director and crew why they were taking a chance on an unknown, and had dressed to impress. His black drainpipe jeans with the designer rips, the fitted T-shirt and leather jacket paired with All-Stars formed the complimentary style they'd favoured in his audition tapes and photo submissions. So he'd worn it again.

He was sweating his bollocks off.

But that could be down to sitting beside Lee. In a Jeep. Cruising along Sunset Boulevard, the iconic palm tree-lined street winding its way through the heart of the city and on toward Beverly Hills. Lee made him hot by breathing. Existing . He needed to get over it before the grand mansions and lush gardens hidden behind high walls and wrought-iron gates came into view. Because here, the rich and famous lived. Here, the houses were palaces. Here, behind the opulence and indulgence, was Eddie's chance to become someone. If he could hold his nerve and not give away how he was a homosexual with a massive crush on his dad's best friend, that was.

"Thought you said this was a low -budget movie," Lee said, peering out the windshield at the gates of a Spanish-style villa nestled amidst manicured gardens and towering palm trees.

"It is." Eddie lowered his shades to get a better look. The enormous mansion might as well have been a location straight out of one of the US teen shows he'd used to watch as a kid and given him his thirst for acting. "Big budget people still do low budget movies."

"Why?"

"Cause they're the son of a big-budget movie mogul trying to make it on their own?"

"Not quite on his own, then. Or he'd be meeting you in Starbucks."

"Nepotism, Lee. We're all here for it. Why am I Eddie Hart here?"

Lee huffed something incomprehensible as the black gates opened. Eddie noted the CCTV above. Not before Lee did with his beady eyes having been checking all mirrors the entire journey. Eddie wasn't sure if his nerves were all to do with this screen test or if there really was a potential threat coming his way.

He jiggled his knee as Lee parked the jeep by the grand entrance.

"You nervous?" Lee asked, the engine switching off all on its own.

"No."

Lee lay a hand on his knee, and Eddie froze, meeting his gaze. "You'll do great."

"Yeah?" Eddie could have sworn he felt Lee's hand squeeze. It certainly left a lingering bruise on him, but Lee removed his hand, leaving him cold and empty and wishing for things he'd never have.

Like fame. Fortune. This house.

He'd give all of those up to have Lee suck his cock. Even just once.

"They asked for you, right? Brought you all the way here from London. Means they like you already."

"Not been to many auditions, have you, Lee?"

"Can't say I have."

"They can love your tapes. Your photos. Your show reel. But if when they meet you in person you don't smell right, or the actress doesn't like your hair." Eddie formed a bomb with his fist. "Toast."

"You smell pretty damn good and your hair is, as it always is, on point." Lee shouldered open the car door. "You're not toast, you're sliced bread."

Eddie got out of the car. "Not sure that's the right analogy."

"Best thing since sliced bread? If you're sliced bread, then you're the original best thing."

"I understand the analogy. I'm unsure it fits this scenario. "

"What do you want to be better than, then?"

"Nicholas Galitzine."

"Who?"

Eddie smiled, waggling a finger. "You flatter me, Lee Everett."

Lee furrowed his brow and Eddie rushed around the car to join him at the front of the house. Eddie felt better already. Having Lee next to him did that. He was like a ferocious guard dog who gave unexpected compliments. Like when he'd told him he was beautiful last night.

Okay, he hadn't quite said those exact words. He'd alluded to his mother being beautiful. Even so, he'd cling onto whatever came his way when Lee said it. Because the likelihood was, Lee didn't dish out shit like that to most men. Any men. And that fluttered in Eddie's stomach, as if the butterflies were limbering up for a warm spring.

"There's no doorbell," Eddie said, checking the double doors under the sheltered pillared entrance.

Lee angled his head to the two CCTV cameras pointing down at them on either side of the doors. "Might not need one."

As if on cue, the front door opened. "Eddie!"

Mitch was the atypical child of a rich movie mogul desperate to prove his own worth. Which meant he didn't use his surname. That was the only thing he didn't use. His father's wealth and contacts came as part of the package. Not that Eddie could have the high ground on that. He was here as his mother's son. But the LA Film School productions and the few Mitch had made for Cannes bore the credit, ‘ A Film by Mitch' . An all-American male, with Dodgers basketball cap covering a beach blond hairline, a shirt flung on over khaki pants and a sweater tied around his neck, he was straight out of Beverly Hills. He was short, too. Much shorter than Eddie's five-eleven and way shorter than Lee's towering six-four. He made up the shortfall in height with his personality, though.

"Welcome to America!" Mitch grabbed Eddie by his face and hauled him in to kiss each cheek. Which was weird. If you were English. Eddie guessed not as much if you formed part of the glitzy, glamorous lifestyle of Hollywood.

Released, Eddie cleared his throat into a balled fist. "Uh, thanks."

"And who do we have here?" Mitch gestured to Lee.

There was no missing him and by the dumbfounded expression Mitch wore, Priscilla hadn't called ahead to add Eddie's plus one. At least that meant he wouldn't have to pretend he was his uncle. For a start, as soon as Lee opened his mouth and his rough-and-ready British accent tipped to the surface, those who knew Lori Brownlee when she'd been Lori Hart, the all-American beauty born and raised in California, would call him out on his bullshit. And for number two, it was ick.

"Uh…" Eddie fought the instinct to say Lee was his boyfriend, despite that being the only thing running through his mind right then. Because he wanted it. Badly wanted it. He'd come out of the closet for Lee.

Lee held out his hand to Mitch. "Lee Everett. Eddie's protection."

Mitch shook his hand, lips parting. "Protection?" He turned his gaze on Eddie. "Priscilla hadn't mentioned you required…protecting?"

"Uh, no, no, he's precautionary." Eddie tapped Lee on the back.

"Precautionary?" Mitch slipped his hand from Lee's, and Eddie detected a subtle flexing of his fingers, suggesting Lee might have gripped him a tad too hard .

"I'm here to ensure a fair deal," Lee said. "Fair treatment. Eddie's quite the big thing back in the UK and we're temporarily loaning him to you. We'd like him back."

Eddie wasn't sure whether to hit him or kiss him.

In order to keep his face from being altered, he spoke instead, "Hope it's all right?" He angled his head toward Lee. "You won't notice him. He'll fade into the background."

"I doubt he can do that." Mitch regarded him as though he were an extra overacting to get noticed. He then waved his hands with a pfft . "Whatever. We might make use of him. Come in, come in." He opened the door to usher them both inside.

Eddie glared at Lee, who mouthed an innocent, butter wouldn't melt, "What?" Eddie tried to mouth back all the ways he was mad, but he came across as if he were in a game of charades, so stepped into the very grand, very white, very polished and buffed grand foyer of a Beverly Hills mansion and shut up.

"We're all in the studio," Mitch said, little legs rushing toward the turnoff on his right. "Can I get you a drink? Soda, beer? Coffee?"

Eddie had a crooked neck from checking out the ornate lighting, high ceilings, chandeliers and strategically placed greenery in the most epic of entrances to a home. "I'd kill for a Bud Light."

"Coming up! And for you?" Mitch peered behind him to Lee.

"Coffee. Black."

Mitch pulled out a walkie talkie from his pocket, which was strange and somehow necessary as he pressed a button and held it to his lips. "Bud Light and black coffee in the office, please, Harriett." He then waggled the device for Eddie and Lee to follow him.

They did, with Eddie's mouth dropping wider at each turn. They passed through a lengthy corridor with several rooms attached, all as painstakingly maintained, with gleaming polished surfaces and designer furniture. There was a grand dining room on his left, a family room with cinema seats and huge screen on his right, a den filled with DVDs, framed posters, trophies and trinkets in front and, off the back, which might have originally been a double garage, was the home studio complete with green screen, umbrellas, lighting and one camera pointing toward a sofa, on which sat Tiffany Rose. Eddie's soon-to-be, if he got this right, co-star.

"Eddie, meet Tiffany." Mitch gestured to the sofa.

Tiffany glanced up and erupted into a smile that would light up the big screen. Eddie hadn't met her in person, nor spoke to her. He didn't know her from Adam. But he was aware of her. And how she was the driving force behind this project. As a long-time Disney actress, she was tired of playing the squeaky clean all-American girl-next-door and wanted something meatier to show her growth and her obvious sex appeal. She wanted to attract the male gaze, which would provide her with more roles and elevate her to the front seats at the Golden Globes. That started here. And Eddie was the one who had the chance of acting alongside her, with the job of proving she was desirable.

Ironic, really. Considering.

Tiffany launched out of her seat, wriggling down her miniskirt, and drew Eddie into a hug. She smelled sweet. Coco Chanel , perhaps? And her tousled blonde hair caught the light, making it sparkle. Maybe she had the same methods as he for creating chemistry. Shame he wasn't into petite, blonde beauties with dramatic smiles.

He was into rough and tough hands and inked up ex-coppers.

"It's great to meet you at last!" She was a pocket rocket. Slender but with a curve to her hips that filled out her skirt, while her toned midriff had abdominals the women at the Muscle Beach Gym would be proud of. "I've heard great things about you, Eddie!"

She stepped away, and they shared a look. It was them checking each other out for any actual chemistry. Absolutely no attraction to each other on either part. Which often was a godsend when he'd been acting on the British soap scene. Crew hated it when actors got together. More often, it would ruin the on-screen sexual chemistry if they were already at it behind the set, but also things went wrong, and that could make or break a storyline.

Eddie knew all about that, too.

Tiffany's gaze drifted over Eddie to behind him and those beautiful blues widened, dilating with her baby-pink lips forming into a cute smile. It wasn't for Eddie. "Who's that?" she whispered to him.

Eddie didn't need to turn around, but he did, and Lee uncomfortably found somewhere to park himself where he wouldn't be in the way. It didn't matter where he was, he would always be the epicentre of any room. His bulk demanded it. And his tattoos. Mostly those biceps when he folded his arms across his sturdy chest, as he did then. He had the air of confidence. A man to be noticed. Adhered to. A figure of authority. Put a gun in the man's hands and everyone would be on their knees for him.

That's who Eddie had a desire for. A fuck load .

He turned back to Tiffany. "He's my insurance policy."

Tiffany twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "Lucky you. He looking to insure anyone else?"

"I…don't think so."

"Is he here just for today?"

"No, he'll be here with me throughout."

Tiffany cocked her head. "You might have to get this job." She poked his chest.

Mitch butted in from having been adjusting his camera. "Let's get straight into it. We've got," he looked at his watch and sat on the fold out director's chair in front of his camera. "Half an hour to make this work. Kyle, here, is the Director of Photography and on location camera operator."

Eddie smiled at the bloke popping out from behind the camera and waved.

"The rest, I'll introduce you to later."

Eddie nodded to those hovering around, which he assumed would be producers, casting directors and other such members of the crew who had a stake in whether Eddie was right for this role. It wasn't just Tiffany and Mitch he had to impress, but Kyle would be the one zooming in on him and deciding whether he looked right through the lens. So he'd better.

Eddie smoothed out his hair.

"You both have the script?" Mitch asked.

Eddie waved the papers as Tiffany skipped back to the x on the floor where she needed to be.

"We're taking it from page thirty-nine."

"Straight in, huh?" Eddie flicked through the pages, finding the scene. He raised his eyebrows. The first kiss. What a way to prove if two people who'd never met had chemistry on screen. Get them to make out before learning their names.

Mitch grinned and flipped his baseball cap around, the bill now down his neck as he dragged the camera to himself.

Eddie peered over to where Lee stood in the shadows. He gave him a smile, a nod, a look of encouragement, and Eddie clung onto how that made his heart dance. Then he put all those flittery-fluttery feelings in front of the camera when reciting passages to a girl he had zero feelings for. He sure as hell was gonna act like he wanted to fuck her, as much as he wanted Lee to pound him into next Sunday.

Watch out, Hollywood, Eddie Brownlee was about to act his socks off.

Eddie stood on the other x beside Tiffany, and he gazed into her eyes as if she was the most precious thing he had ever seen. He could do this. He could pour his heart and soul into this scene and this girl. Could imagine it was Lee. That he was speaking these words to him. It would be the only chance he had.

"And…action!" Mitch barked from behind the camera.

Off Eddie went. "Don't you fucking see this, Maya? See me! See what you're doing to me?" He spoke his line in an American accent as if he spoke rhotic as habit. The perks of having an American mother. " From that first moment I saw you, you made my heart dance. You saved me, Maya ." He took her hands. " Saved me from myself ."

Okay, yeah, the lines were corny. He'd have to work at making them sound good. Authentic. Like, who says this shit?

"Cut!" Mitch yelled from the side.

Eddie removed his hand from Tiffany's. "There a problem?" he asked back in his home counties English .

Mitch rubbed his brow. "Can we ditch the accent?"

"Mine?" Eddie held up a finger. Did he mean the English? Or American?

"Sorry, son, your American ain't up to scratch and we don't have time for a dialect coach here. Let's play him British."

" Is he British?"

Mitch scribbled something on his script. "We just made him British."

"Oh, right…" Eddie furrowed his brow, reading the lines from the script. "I sort of, rehearsed Joel as American."

" Un rehearse him American." Mitch waved a hand, ready to go again.

Eddie inhaled a large breath and he peeked over to Lee standing against the wall. That was embarrassing. To be told the accent he'd learned from his mother was shit. It stung. Really fucking hurt . All he could see was his mum, tutting, shaking her head in disappointment, and it pinched him behind his eyes.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Lee pushed away from the wall, concern in his drawn in eyebrows.

"Action!" Mitch yelled from the side.

Eddie closed it off, turning back to Tiffany and used those tears in his eyes to play the scene. This time in his real accent. With his real heart on the line.

" I'm in love with you, Maya. " He took Tiffany's hand again and smiled through his tears. " I always have been. From that first moment I saw you, walking through the desert in those stupid heels, you made my heart dance. You saved me, Maya ." He waited the beat it said in the script. " Saved me from myself . "

Tiffany smiled, tilting her head, and Eddie was unsure if she was acting or impressed with his. But she went straight into her line and off the scene went. Mitch gave more orders, or, as Eddie should expect, direction .

"Harder!" Mitch barked, waving his hands. "Look into her eyes! Swim in those eyes. Give it to me!"

Eddie merged into someone else, then. Someone who wanted to focus on the soft curve of Tiffany's mouth as she spoke, as if getting ready to taste her words and not drift his gaze to the man watching in the shadows. The tension in the room crackled as Eddie recited his next line. Back and forth, it went. A heart-wrenching scene of lovers unable to commit through pride and promise. He didn't just recite, though. He acted. Became his lines. And with every part spoken, he edged closer to Tiffany, falling into her spell, lips seeking lips.

Then he kissed her.

" Cut !"

Eddie jumped away first, clearing his throat, wiping the leftover gloss from his lips as he smiled over at Lee.

Mitch covered his mouth, having hushed conversations with the cameraman, and the others now huddled around him. He then turned back. "Tiffany?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"What do you think?"

Tiffany glanced over the camera to Lee. He looked over his shoulder, probably expecting someone to be behind him, but there wasn't anyone else here. He turned back. Tiffany smiled. And Eddie was pretty sure she was smiling at Lee.

"He's perfect, Mitch." Tiffany clasped her hands together. "Absolutely perfect . "

"That's settled then." Mitch stood. As did Eddie, and Mitch clapped his hand into his. "Welcome to Sands of Love. "

Eddie smiled his relief. "Thank you. Really, thank you."

Mitch waggled a finger at him. "Let's sign the contract over drinks in my office." He slid an arm around Eddie's shoulders. "My dad worked with your mom once. Beautiful woman. Such talent. You have it too."

Eddie smiled over his shoulder at Lee as Mitch steered him to the door. But it faded on seeing him in conversation with Tiffany.

"Work on the kiss, though," Mitch said. "It was a little dry."