I'm Supposed To Love You

Oh God.

Stop freaking out!

I can't.

You'll be great, and you're totally gorgeous. Don't worry about a thing.

I look ridiculous.

Peter won't think so.

I've never done this before.

Experience doesn't mean a thing! Just do this, and it'll be over with. You can demand to stay away from any more of them.

But I can't do this.

You're not alone in this. Peter gave you support, and he's here.

That makes it even worse....

He's only here to give you pep talks in between takes.

I guess so....

It's been a long time since I've gotten any work from the studios. But, suddenly, I wasn't so sure about doing a love scene as I thought I was when I signed the contract. I thought it'd be no big deal. But it turns out the scene is for a rated R movie, and this isn't a regular love scene, if you catch my drift. As I was being prepped, I was hidden in a bath robe, but as I walked onto the set, the director Gregory Forestone told me the robe had to go. I've been standing next to the bed for about five minutes prepping myself. I didn't want to get too close to my partner in this scene, and I didn't have to start anytime soon since they had to clean the prop sheets because someone spilled their diet cola on the bed.

I hate Hollywood.

The intern who spilled it didn't look like she needed anything but food.

'Effing Hollywood and their diet cola. It makes me sick.

I hid my stomach behind my arms, which both found their way around me when the make-up artist kindly took my robe away from me, since I couldn't find out how to do it myself, thanks.

Bastards. Stupid Hollywood and their pushy... people!

You said it.

Breaking myself from my thoughts and self-consciousness, I forced myself to go to the make-up station to find my robe. I found it, put it on, and sat in one of the chairs. Then I looked in the mirror. I was hideous. All the eyeshadow and blush it took to make me a hooker was caked onto my face, layer by layer. I felt like just taking a long, hot shower. It was disgusting.

Oh, and playing a hooker isn't very much fun. Julia Roberts was oh-so wrong. Pretty Woman isn't anything like what Grace & Harmony is going to be like. My character won't have a happy ending. I get beaten up by a previous customer and left to die right next door to a police station. Filming that scene was not pretty. I had a wig on with chunks of hair torn out that weighed, like, five pounds. I was forced to wear hot red short shorts and a purple tube top with a black leather jacket. The fake blood they got to cover my face in did not taste good, and I had to wear a thick mask that made me look like... well... a mauled hooker. But it was a learning experience.

Stupid Hollywood and their pessimism.

I put my elbows on the table and rested my forehead in my hands while contemplating exactly how I'd get through this. Just then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I slowly turned to see who it was when they came down to meet my eye level. It was my co-star. The same guy who I'd have to force a pleasured face with in about half an hour. It was Orlando Bloom, and, as the hair and make-up department did so, his hair was sticking up in various different ways. He looked like a loveable fuck-up. "Are you alright?" He asked me with a concerned look, as though he's known me my entire life.

"Ummm... yeah," I said, shutting my eyes to gain focus. "I'm fine."

"You look like you're going to be sick," he pointed out.

"It's the make-up," I joked.

"No," he chuckled. "No, I mean like you don't want to do this."

"It's my job," I replied.

"That doesn't mean you have to do this," he stated.

"I signed the contract," I stated right back to him.

"It didn't stop you before," he teased.

I blushed and looked down. "You heard about that?"

"Everyone has," he answered, grinning.

I rolled my eyes up and leaned back into the chair. I brought my hands up to my face, hiding my embarrassment. I groaned. "Great."

"Well it's not like you're going to lose job offers," he said, trying to make me feel better. "Come on, everyone's going to need you in their film to get bigger at the box office!"

I laughed lightly and nodded my head. "You're right. I should put more spunk in my acting, anyway."

Orlando smiled encouragingly to me and received one from me in return. Then I saw his eyes dart past me toward the set. I looked to see where his line of vision went when someone covered my eyes.

-------------------------------------------

"Guess who?" The person asked in an unnaturally high voice. I laughed and thought of the one person who would actually do that.

"Pete?" I said.

It was silent for a second before the person said, "No." But I recognized the regular voice as Peter's. I giggled and took his hands from my eyes as he spun the chair around so that I faced him. Immediately, I jumped from the chair and tackled him, though he caught me easily. "I'm so glad you're here," I mumbled into his neck. Then I kissed him and the world seemed to stop. I hadn't seen Peter in about five days because of our schedules. He was writing songs for the band, but I was working non-stop on the set.

After our knee-weakening kiss, he breathed, "Me too." I giggled and kept my hands on the back of his neck as he gently put me down. Then I heard someone clear their throat and I remembered Orlando was still there. I blushed and bit my lip while turning Peter to face Orlando. Pete waved and Orlando smiled and put out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said.

Peter looked at me quickly before taking Orlando's hand and shaking it hesitantly. "Same here," he replied. "I know you. Not personally, but I've seen your movies. You're Orlando Bloom."

"Yes," Orlando smiled. "And you look familiar as well. Why do I feel like I know you?"

"I'm in a band," he said.

"Fall Out Boy," I bragged. I loved talking about Pete. It made my head feel light.

"Oh, Fall Out Boy!" Orlando's smile grew wider as did his eyes. "My girlfriend won't shut up about you guys."

"Girlfriend?" Peter asked curiously.

"Yeah," Orlando answered, a twinkle in his eye. "Katie. Kate Bosworth."

"Oh yeah!" I remembered. "I loved Win a Date With Tad Hamilton." I felt stupid for not knowing more of her movies, but it's not like I followed her around. I keep up with myself, and that's all I can ask for.

There was an awkward silence as Peter's grip on me was stiff and Orlando's feet shifted. I hadn't noticed before that he was only in his Calvin Klein briefs, but I didn't want to stare, for fear Peter might do something.

"Well," Orlando suddenly said. "It's about time I get on the set. They might be starting soon." He winked at me and darted his eyes to Peter and ran off. I giggled and shook my head whil turning back to Peter, my arms around him and his hands on my hips. "Are you nervous?" He asked me with a smile.

"To tell you the truth," I started. "Yeah. I'm hella scared. I really don't want to do this. And I really don't want to have sex with another guy. I don't want you to be hurt in anyway."

"It's your job," he grinned. "Do what you have to, babe. Did you cry when you saw the Thnks Fr Th Mmrs video?"

"A little," I teased.

He laughed. "Don't worry about me," he assured me.

"Pete," I sighed. "This is different. In your video, you had all your clothes on and you didn't do anything with her."

"You're an actress," he said proudly. "I'm a musician. Do you get suspicious when I'm not around?"

"I get scared when you're on tour," I said, nuzzling my head into his chest.

"Don't be," he said in a serious tone. "You're it for me, babe."

"Don't say that," I mumbled into his chest.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What if something goes horribly wrong?" I asked him as I took my head from his chest and looked up at him.

"Don't anticipate the bad. Live the happy moments while you can. It's the only way to keep from being miserable."

I put my head on his chest again and thought about what he said.