Risk Taker by Sonia Stanizzo
Chapter 1
If Holly Ainsworth had a dollar every time someone yelled, “how much?” she’d have enough money to buy a first-class plane ticket to the Bahamas. But, instead of relaxing on a white sandy beach soaking up the balmy sunshine and sipping a strawberry daiquiri, she sat on a dirty bench at a Sydney train station, staring at the timetable board. The train to Melbourne was departing at 8 p.m., in forty-five minutes. The last thing she wanted to do was return home. There was a good reason she’d fled in the first place—demanding parents and her ex-fiancé’ Oliver’s, betrayal. But after five months living in Sydney, she was broke and, as of tonight, unemployed and homeless.
Gaining curious stares from commuters ambling past, she tugged down the faux leather miniskirt rising up her fishnet covered thighs. The flimsy material didn’t stretch far.
Defeat pressed against her chest and she sighed. How life had changed. She had no other choice but to go home. Because going back to Declan’s apartment where she rented a room, wasn’t an option. For months, he’d encouraged her to take their friendship further. Promised he wouldn’t hurt her or break her heart like Oliver had. She was still hurting from Oliver’s, affair and found it hard to trust again. Eventually, she grew the courage to start a relationship with Declan and she’d planned on telling him tonight after the fancy-dress party. But she’d left him alone for ten minutes, to grab a drink, only to find him sucking face with a slutty nun. Apparently, he was sick of waiting for her to make up her mind. His actions just cemented what she believed—men couldn’t be trusted.
Holly shivered in the cool, autumn evening. In her rush to leave the fancy-dress party, she’d forgotten her coat. Nor did she have her key to Declan’s house, so she could gather her things before racing to the station.
“I’ll give you fifty dollars for a quickie in the men’s bathroom.” Startled, Holly swung around to discover that a man with a thinning comb-over and silver-framed glasses and reeking of perspiration had sat too close to her, while she lost herself in thought.
“I’m not what you think I am.” Holly propelled herself from the seat, desperate to get out of the station and away from the creepy man hoping for a quickie. She crossed her arms over her middle trying to cover as much skin as her gold bra top would allow.
Nearby, she spotted a café. Hopefully, she could sit there safely while waiting for the train.
She needed to keep a sharp eye on the time because there wasn’t another train until the next morning. If she missed it, she’d have to figure out where to spend the night. She’d wiped out most of the money in her bank account on a train ticket. The cash in her purse wasn’t enough to get any decent accommodation. Unless she stayed at…
No. Her parents would hear about it and be on the phone asking questions. And then she’d have to listen to her mother gloat about how leaving the family business was a huge mistake.
The night air caused goose bumps to explode over her skin, and she longed for her coat. She tried finger-combing her teased hair into soft waves but her honey, brown locks looked more like just-had-sex hair and didn’t help to detract from the skimpy clothes. To top a bad night off, she wobbled on throbbing feet over the cracked, uneven footpath in six-inch stripper heels like she’d been working hard all night.
The café came into view. Before she ducked inside, bright lights up ahead and a bustling of activity caught her attention. Forgetting about her outfit, curiosity drove her to walk to the park to check out the commotion. Normally Rydon Park was a quiet place for people to sit and relax or walk through on their way to the train station. Now the green grass and landscaped gardens were filled with cameras, microphones, cables and other bits of equipment Holly didn’t recognise. A small version of train tracks cut through the park with a man sitting on a cart holding a camera on his shoulder. A cherry picker, with another man and a camera, hovered above the ground.
She’d wandered onto a movie set. How wonderful!
Movies had always fascinated her. Not so much the stories but the way makeup transformed actors. Good makeup turned a plain woman into a beauty queen or a beautiful woman into an unattractive mess. Makeup changed a person.
Much like what she’d done to herself for the party.
It wasn’t hard to cake on cosmetics, it was an artform to create yourself into a character. After hours of watching YouTube videos and using her sister and friends as guinea pigs, Holly had the knack for applying makeup.
Checking her watch, she still had twenty-five minutes before her train left. Enough time to catch a closer look at what and who they were filming.
At the edge of the park, a group of people corralled in an area to her left. They were shouting something. She moved closer. Then she caught the name, Ethan Doyle. Oh my God, the big blockbuster action hero was here? She wanted to catch a glimpse of him.
Thanks to her stripper heels, she could peek over some equipment blocking her view. She only saw men and women scurrying around with clipboards and wearing headphones shouting instructions to whoever listened on the device.
Maybe if she stood with the fans, she’d get a better view? With the number of people huddled together, she didn’t like her chances of squeezing herself through to the front. Luckily, so far no one had paid any attention to her lurking in the shadows; they were too busy telling the fans to, ‘please be quiet’. Now was her chance to move and score a better look. She spied a long white trailer of some sort she could hide behind it to get closer to the action.
With every step she took, she sank into the spongy grass and uneven ground stumbling like a drunk. Worried she’d twist an ankle, she slowed down. Before she made it to her intended hiding place, a crew member turned and headed her way. She was reading something from her clipboard, if she kept going, she’d run into Holly.
Holly swivelled her head left and right, looking for an escape, her heart pounding. Could she get arrested for trespassing? With a movie being filmed with huge Hollywood stars, she didn’t want to stick around to find out.
The closest thing to hide in was the trailer. Maybe it was some kind of office and hopefully empty. With her decision made, she took a step forward when the door to the trailer flung open.
“Well? Have you found her?” Ethan Doyle, Hollywood superstar and last year’s People’s sexiest man alive stood at the top of the steps asked clipboard woman who was heading their way. Dressed in a navy buttoned shirt rolled to the elbows and black pants, a gun belt hung low around his waist and a shiny silver pistol sat in its holster on his hip. His olive complexion was marred with a cut on his forehead. Blood dripped down to his manicured stubbled chin—the makeup done so well it looked real. Jet-black, tousled hair completed the bad-arsed look. And he was so much hotter in person. How was that possible?
Thankfully he didn’t notice Holly hiding in the shadows near the steps. Maybe she could still slink away.
Instead of fleeing, she froze on the spot too starstruck to move.
The woman Holly had been trying to avoid jogged over and stood next to her. Holly’s stomach dropped. Was she going to be thrown off set or worse, arrested? The woman clutched Holly’s arm and pulled her forward.
“Right here, Ethan. Hooker number three. If you’re done with makeup, you’re needed by the fountain.”
Wait, hooker number three? What the hell were they talking about?
Ethan Doyle glanced at Holly, giving her a hard, green-eyed stare. “The one that was missing?”
Then his gaze trailed over her from head to toe before nodding his head in greeting and ambling away. Warmth crept over her body, and for a moment, she was stunned that this famous actor had given her a second of his attention.
Then she recalled what Clipboard Woman had called her, and she said out loud, “Hooker number three?”
“Where were you twenty minutes ago when we were rehearsing the scene?”
“I…uh….”
“We’re shooting in fifteen minutes. Thank God you’re already in hair and makeup. Hurry and see Nancy for a touch-up.”
Holly stood there like a statue, mouth open, breathing erratic.
“Tell me you know your lines for your scene with Ethan?” Clipboard Woman demanded.
“My-my lines?” Holly squeaked.
Clipboard Woman pinched the bridge of her nose, then rustled through papers on her board. Handing over a sheet to Holly, she pointed out the dialogue. “Hooker number three. Practise and get on set ASAP.” With that, she scuttled away and disappeared into the busy activity around the park.
“You’d better get yourself in here, sweetie,” an older woman nearby said. In her sixties with dark, brown hair pulled into a low ponytail, she stood in the trailer’s doorway waving her hand for Holly to hurry. Gold and silver bangles around her wrist jangled at the movement. This must be Nancy. “You’re lucky they delayed filming because of some tech issue otherwise you’d be out on your arse.”
“Yeah, really lucky.” Like her feet had a mind of their own, Holly mounted the steps and entered the trailer. A wall of mirrors surrounded by naked bulbs lined one side of the room. Benches on the other. Tables with every kind of makeup product and brushes available. She spied her favourite eyeshadow palate she no longer could afford. White leather chairs sat empty in front of the bright lights. She turned in a circle to take in the room. This was heaven. She dreamed of working in a place like this. But family obligations had tied her down.
“Quick, sit. Trudy will have an aneurysm if her schedule gets pushed back further. Neither will Ethan be happy, if he’s kept waiting. He can be grumpy after a long day of shooting.” Nancy guided Holly to a chair and gently pushed her down on the seat. The sheet of paper scrunching in Holly’s hands.
After Nancy selected brushes and cosmetics, she placed a finger under Holly’s chin and tilted her face from side to side. “Whoever did your makeup did a fabulous job. The black wing eyeliner is perfect,” she said.
Holly looked down as Nancy brushed powder on her forehead, stunned to see the script held firmly in her sweaty hands. Waving the page in the air, she said, “I can’t do this.”
“Aww, sweetie, is this your first acting job? I’m sure you’ll be great and you only have two lines so it will be over in a flash,” Nancy soothed.
“No, no, no. I can’t do it because I’m not hooker number three. I’m not an actor. I’m just a regular person. Seeing Ethan Doyle made me mute. Next thing I know, I’m sitting in this makeup chair getting ready to shoot a scene!” She must sound and look like a crazy person, she didn’t care, she needed to leave. Now.
Instead of calling security and having her thrown out as Holly expected, Nancy tapped the side of her chin causing her bracelets to jangle like chiming bells.
“I know you’re nervous but you need to read those lines now and get your arse out there.”
There was no point reading the lines, because there was no way she was going on the set. “Were you not listening to a word I just said? I can’t do it. I’m not an actress and I have,” she flicked her wrist to check the time. “Six minutes to sprint to the station and catch a train to Melbourne.”
She frowned. Could she even make it now? She’d have to do it barefoot to give herself any chance.
“Look, if you don’t do this, filming will be delayed again, which will piss everyone off. We all just want to go home.”
“I’m sorry, but you all have homes to go to,” Holly responded softly, “I don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll be sleeping at the station with one eye open.”
She got out of the chair, preparing to leave.
“Aw, you poor thing. No shame in having rough times. Can’t you stay with family or a friend?” Nancy asked.
Too embarrassed to tell Nancy she had no one to ask for help in Sydney, Holly just shook her head.
Nancy nibbled at her bottom lip. “Here’s an idea. Do the scene, meet me back here after it’s over, and I’ll give you a room at my house for the night.”
“You don’t even know me,” she replied. Why would Nancy, a stranger, offer her a room?
“Maybe I’m a serial killer.”
“I’ll take my chances.” Nancy smirked, not looking like she believed Holly could kill anything bigger than a cockroach.
Now it was Holly’s turn to mull over her options. “What if you’re the serial killer?”
The woman laughed. “I’m Nancy Doyle and not a serial killer.”
“Doyle?”
“Yes, I’m the mother of the man who turned you mute.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, he has that effect on lots of women. If you’d like to message someone to tell them where and who you’re with to make you more comfortable, go right ahead.”
Nancy rattled off her address.
Who could Holly message? Definitely not Declan, he was probably performing the sins of the father between the slutty nun’s legs right about now. And any friends she’d made in Sydney were friends of his. There was no one to call.
Staying with Nancy might be a lot safer than sleeping on a hard bench at a train station. And she was the mother of a famous actor, so how evil could she be?
Without saying a word, Holly pulled out her phone and pretended to send someone Nancy’s details.
“Now that’s settled, go outside before Trudy hunts you down.” Nancy guided her to the door. She opened it, giving Holly a gentle nudge down the steps. As she reached the bottom with the script still clutched firmly in her hand, Holly read the lines.
What the hell?
She scanned the words again in case she’d read them wrong. She spun around to face Nancy still standing in the doorway. “They want me to say what?”