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Authors: Arianne Richmonde
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practically ignoring the script or making it up it as they went along—letting their actors come up with ideas to shape the scenes.
Jake wasn’t looking at me when he asked, “You’re into the Method, I hear?”
I nodded. “It’s the only way I know how to work—to get into character. Except I can’t exactly go around killing people so I guess for Skye’s The Limit I’ll have to actually act and forget the Method.” I thought he’d laugh but he didn’t.
“There’s the sex scene,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “and I don’t know how we should go about shooting it. I’ve been worrying about it for days. Have you got any ideas, Star? Of Skye’s motivation in this scene?”
“It’s all about control,” I answered. Skye and I were so similar in many ways—I really identified with this part. “She wants to get her way so she’s using sex as a weapon.”
“You see, I don’t see it as black and white as that. I think she’s yearning for attention—to be loved. A need for love is driving this scene, not control. She’s using sex as a way to get close to men, as it’s the only way she knows. I think this scene is pivotal; its when the audience needs to realize how alone she is. It’s imperative that the audience fall in love with her at this point.” He looked up and his penetrating eyes locked with mine. I felt myself tingle all over. But I also wondered if there was some message—a personal one for me—buried in his words.
“You look cold, Star. I’ll turn off the air con.” As he said this, his eyes ran down to my breasts again. Double messages, dammit. Then he walked over to the wall switch and flicked off air con, meanwhile dimming the lights. A beam of late afternoon sunlight shot through a crack in the blinds leaving a golden ray across the dark wooden floor but apart from that we were in semi darkness. I was hoping he’d want to enact the scene from the movie with me, when I seduce the prison guard.
“Shall we do that scene?” I asked eagerly, “when I kiss the—”
“No kissing, Star. Just . . . let’s pretend you want to dance with me—you can take this scene in any direction you want; it doesn’t have to be dancing—that’s just an idea. But you need to persuade me—get my attention.” He sat down in a chair and picked up a book, ignoring me the way he had for the past few days. Get his attention? So far it had been impossible and I’d been working on it, practically around the clock.
How could I break him down this time? Get to him? My iPod was lying on the coffee table atop a pile of art and film books. I picked it up, scrolled through my playlist and chose “Drunk in Love” by Beyoncé. I padded over to him in my bare feet and stood before him. Nothing. No reaction. I began to swing my hips in time to the music, hovering my ass over his lap—yeah, I’d do a lap dance just for him. In my previous movie I’d played a stripper who had a child to support and a mom with Alzheimer’s—my character desperately needed the money. I’d trained enough to know what I was doing—spent weeks learning to pole dance. I was good.
I began to gyrate slowly, leaning in on him, with my ass brushing past his stomach. Did I feel a hard rod dig into me as I eased my butt in little circles? Or was it my imagination again? I bent down so he could get the full peachy view, my short skirt edging higher up my thighs so he could see my panties. I was moist down there—turned on by our proximity. I could hear his heavy breaths and he grabbed my hips. Hard. His fingers digging into my flesh, his grip firm, his thumbs pushing into each cheek as he steadied me so I couldn’t move an inch. His touch shot shivers down my spine—goose bumps crept all over me. I could feel myself moisten up even more. His hold on me was dominating. Raw.
“No, Star.” His grip was relentless. The music continued but I couldn’t move.
“What’s wrong?”
“I asked you to get me to
Jake wasn’t looking at me when he asked, “You’re into the Method, I hear?”
I nodded. “It’s the only way I know how to work—to get into character. Except I can’t exactly go around killing people so I guess for Skye’s The Limit I’ll have to actually act and forget the Method.” I thought he’d laugh but he didn’t.
“There’s the sex scene,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “and I don’t know how we should go about shooting it. I’ve been worrying about it for days. Have you got any ideas, Star? Of Skye’s motivation in this scene?”
“It’s all about control,” I answered. Skye and I were so similar in many ways—I really identified with this part. “She wants to get her way so she’s using sex as a weapon.”
“You see, I don’t see it as black and white as that. I think she’s yearning for attention—to be loved. A need for love is driving this scene, not control. She’s using sex as a way to get close to men, as it’s the only way she knows. I think this scene is pivotal; its when the audience needs to realize how alone she is. It’s imperative that the audience fall in love with her at this point.” He looked up and his penetrating eyes locked with mine. I felt myself tingle all over. But I also wondered if there was some message—a personal one for me—buried in his words.
“You look cold, Star. I’ll turn off the air con.” As he said this, his eyes ran down to my breasts again. Double messages, dammit. Then he walked over to the wall switch and flicked off air con, meanwhile dimming the lights. A beam of late afternoon sunlight shot through a crack in the blinds leaving a golden ray across the dark wooden floor but apart from that we were in semi darkness. I was hoping he’d want to enact the scene from the movie with me, when I seduce the prison guard.
“Shall we do that scene?” I asked eagerly, “when I kiss the—”
“No kissing, Star. Just . . . let’s pretend you want to dance with me—you can take this scene in any direction you want; it doesn’t have to be dancing—that’s just an idea. But you need to persuade me—get my attention.” He sat down in a chair and picked up a book, ignoring me the way he had for the past few days. Get his attention? So far it had been impossible and I’d been working on it, practically around the clock.
How could I break him down this time? Get to him? My iPod was lying on the coffee table atop a pile of art and film books. I picked it up, scrolled through my playlist and chose “Drunk in Love” by Beyoncé. I padded over to him in my bare feet and stood before him. Nothing. No reaction. I began to swing my hips in time to the music, hovering my ass over his lap—yeah, I’d do a lap dance just for him. In my previous movie I’d played a stripper who had a child to support and a mom with Alzheimer’s—my character desperately needed the money. I’d trained enough to know what I was doing—spent weeks learning to pole dance. I was good.
I began to gyrate slowly, leaning in on him, with my ass brushing past his stomach. Did I feel a hard rod dig into me as I eased my butt in little circles? Or was it my imagination again? I bent down so he could get the full peachy view, my short skirt edging higher up my thighs so he could see my panties. I was moist down there—turned on by our proximity. I could hear his heavy breaths and he grabbed my hips. Hard. His fingers digging into my flesh, his grip firm, his thumbs pushing into each cheek as he steadied me so I couldn’t move an inch. His touch shot shivers down my spine—goose bumps crept all over me. I could feel myself moisten up even more. His hold on me was dominating. Raw.
“No, Star.” His grip was relentless. The music continued but I couldn’t move.
“What’s wrong?”
“I asked you to get me to
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