The Who - Short Fiction

Pictures of Lily - Pt. 1

As soon as Roger's fist connected with his co-star's jaw, he felt the skin of his knuckles tear open. The painful sting and the ooze of blood down his fingers was worth it, however, because the jackass on the receiving end of Roger's punch hit the ground hard enough to knock some sense into him. If he was going to be disrespectful of his female cast members, he'd have Roger Daltrey, who was known to be hot-headed and had never lost a fight, to contend with.

"'No' means no, Jim," Roger seethed, clenching his bleeding fist tightly at his side. "If you can't get that through your thick skull, we're going to keep having problems, mate." The man clutched his jaw, which was beginning to bruise an ugly black-purple. If I'm lucky, maybe he'll have to have it wired shut for a month, Roger thought. That ought to keep him from saying whatever perverted comment comes to his mind.

"What's happened here?" the film's director inquired, walking onto the set after having stepped away to make a phone call. When he saw one of the stars of his film on the floor, the director sighed heavily and lowered his face into his hands. "Daltrey..." he began, his voice sounding strained, "we've talked about this—"

"He was just looking out for me," Lily, the film's raven-haired, American leading lady defended. She stepped out from behind her security detail, who had been watching from the sidelines, but hadn't been quite close enough to hear the conversation in question. "Roger asked Jim to apologize for being inappropriate towards me, and Jim didn't take that so well."

"Told him to keep his fucking hands to 'imself," Roger corrected, feeling the blood rise in his face as he explained the situation. "That wanker made a pass at Miss DeLane, after she's repeatedly turned him down. He touched her arse, called her a tease, and said she shouldn't be wearing such a short skirt if she didn't want people to think she's a—" Roger stopped himself, not wanting to repeat the word and further insult his co-star. Lily stared at Jim, still cradling his jaw, with a look of disdain.

"A whore," she finished, pouting her ruby red lips. Roger's dark eyes met hers, his rage evident. Ever so slightly, Lily shook her head, asking him to stand down, just this once. Filming was already behind schedule, and all she wanted was to wrap the film so she could return to her home in Los Angeles for the holiday.

The director, who had absolutely had it with the testosterone-fuelled arguments that had been plaguing the cast, looked up towards the sky and said a silent prayer. His assistant, the young woman clutching a clipboard beside him, fished a cigarette from her bag and passed it, as well as a book of matches, to him.

"I swear to God, I'm going to recast this film if I see so much as another dirty look between you two," he warned, his eyes flickering between Roger and Jim, whose own assistant had finally helped him to his feet. "This is a Hollywood picture, not a pissing contest." The balding man lit the end of his cigarette and took a long drag before stomping off to deal with an issue the cameraman had brought to his attention. He had bigger issues to deal with than a dispute over a woman, even if that woman was Lily DeLane, the doe-eyed sweetheart who had entranced America over the past three years. No man could keep his eyes off her, and no woman could help but be jealous of her natural beauty and talent on screen. This made working with her a difficult task, one that even a skilled director could become frustrated by.

A lanky PA, likely the nephew of some producer, scurried onset with an ice pack for Jim, who accepted it with a nasty glare. As though the assistant were inconveniencing him with his presence, Jim shoved past the young man and barked at one of the PA's from the catering department with a request for a whisky sour. As soon as he was out of sight, Lily was at Roger's side.

"Rog, you didn't have to do that," she said gently, reaching for his injured hand. He yanked his arm away and stepped back, creating distance between their bodies. His intention hadn't been to reject her, but the look of hurt in her eyes made it clear that he had done so anyway.