Fat Funny Famous

Chapter 5

We're having a rare night off filming. Most of the crew have piled into an aging mini bus, headed for the local nightclub district, leaving the lush resort where we're all staying practically deserted.

In my bare feet, I pad along the smooth paths fringed with glossy palm fronds, headed for the pool. The hot tub is empty, the surface gently steaming, and I ease myself into the water, gasping at the temperature.

It's pure bliss. I lean my head back on the edge, gazing up at the stars. No music, no talking. After weeks of being surrounded by hair stylists, publicists, make up artists, sound technicians, producers – the silence is like aloe on freshly lasered skin.

A voice cuts through my tranquillity. "Do you want bubbles?"

I start upright. Erik stands beside the hot tub; even in board shorts, even shirtless, he's regal and intimidating.

I refuse to let him fluster me. I respond with extra sass. "Do you mean hot tub bubbles or prosecco bubbles? Because if you're offering to go on a drinks run, yes please. No to turning on the jets."

He crouches beside the hot tub. "Why no jets?"

"Bubbles are noisy, unpredictable. I don't need any more chaos in my life."

"I always thought bubbles were sexy." A grin pulls at his lips. "You don't think so?"

"I think lots of things are sexy. Vee neck tees, people who are financially responsible, freshly shaved legs."

"Well, remind me to shave my legs then."

"Mr Brear! Was that a joke, my dear?"

He shrugs, but I can sense he's pleased with himself. "I just thought smooth legs might help ahead of our sex scene next week."

"Ah, that." I swish the water between my fingers, trying to distract myself from the rising dread I felt. "Nothing sexier than wearing nude underwear and pretending to hump someone while a hundred people stare at you and give you notes on your orgasm face. 'Can you give us ten percent more ecstasy, please? And watch that side boob!'"

"Have you filmed a sex scene before?"

"Twice – both for the same indie film. You?"

He pauses. I know Erik's film credits are much more impressive than mine; I watch him count in his head. "Maybe fifteen? Or sixteen?"

"So, you're a pro! Teach me, oh wise one!"

It's dark by the hot tub, but I can see his pupils dilate as his eyes drop to my body, glistening under the surface of the water. "It helps if you have chemistry. Your body responds, even if your head is trying to get in the way."

"Chemistry?" I squirm where I sit, flushed with sudden heat that has nothing to do with the water temperature. "Right, I'll bring my Bunsen burner."

"You don't need it," he says. "I think we already know there's a reaction between us."

It would be so easy to chase this flirtation, see where it goes. I could slide along until I was seated between his legs, run my fingers down the strong planes of his thighs, lift up and reach for him. My body is calling the shots, moving before I realise I've even made a decision, drawn to him like stray hairs to lip gloss.

No. I force myself to pause and choose radical honesty. "Erik... I know what it's like to have people only see you as a sex object. I mean... look at me!" I gesture laughingly towards my pert breasts, my tiny waist, my long legs. I can't take any credit for my body – it's a product of genetics and youth rather than any kind of effort – but I do acknowledge its impact on people. "Tell me something... I can probably IMDB the people you've had fake sex with; I want to know about the people you've been with in real life. I mean, maybe not all of them, I need to get to bed before dawn, but like, the ones who were significant."