TO HAVE & HAVE NOT

32

Olivia

"Action!" Collin called from behind the camera, his voice echoing through the dimly lit set, filled with the anticipation of the scene we were about to shoot.

I stood there with my hand poised on the doorknob, the weight of the moment coursing through my veins, when my on-screen mother, a formidable presence with piercing eyes, halted my movements. "Where do you think you're going, Lauren?" she demanded, her voice sharp and laced with disapproval.

I spun around to meet her angry gaze, feeling the familiar mix of rebellion and desperation surge within me. "I love him, Mother," I implored, my heart racing as I defended my character's choices.

Her laughter was tinged with mockery and shot through me like ice. "You love him?" she scoffed, shaking her head as if the notion was a ridiculous joke. "That man is married, Lauren! You can't love a man who is married!"

The tension hung thick between us, an electric charge in the air as I tried to maintain my composure. At that moment, the camera's unblinking eye captured the frayed emotions on my face. I took a breath, recalling the passion I thought I felt for Johnny in those stolen moments of intimacy between scenes—sweet and aching moments that blurred the line between reality and performance.

My mind spun with the knowledge that the love I was trying to portray was fraught with complications, reflecting not just the script but a deeper truth about desire and longing that transcended the confines of our roles.

Finally, I opened the door and slipped out into the crisp evening air, the world around me coming alive with the sounds of the bustling set.

Johnny was impeccably dressed in his character's suit and tie, the fabric sharp against the fading light. He leaned casually against an older car, one of those classic models that seemed to hold stories of its own, a perfect prop in this unfolding narrative.

With a rush of adrenaline, I ran down the front steps, each stride echoing my eagerness, and in a heartbeat, I was in his arms. Johnny tossed his half-finished cigarette aside without a second thought, his focus entirely on me as I leaped into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and crashing my lips against his with an urgency that felt both thrilling and inevitable.

For that brief moment, the world melted away—the crew, the cameras, the demands of the script—as we shared a connection that felt profoundly real amid the artificiality of our surroundings.

"Cut!" Collin shouted, breaking the spell and bringing us back to the reality of the set.

With a reluctant pull, Johnny and I stepped back from one another, my heart racing, the chemistry still crackling in the space between us. We were being ushered away in different directions, starkly contrasting how tightly we had just been entwined.

Yet, even as we bowed to the demands of our roles, our eyes lingered, tethered by an unspoken bond that seemed to transcend the script and linger beyond the confines of the film, reminding us that sometimes, the lines between acting and genuine emotion can be beautifully blurred.

I opened the door to my dressing room and found Carlos sitting there on the couch, an expectant look on his face that strained against the casual bravado he usually wore so well. I brushed past him, deliberately ignoring his presence as if my refusal to acknowledge him would somehow erase the tensions that crackled in the room like static electricity.

"Are you just going to ignore me?" he called after me, his voice twisted with irritation and hurt.

I paused momentarily, wiping off the day's makeup with a wipe that felt like sandpaper against my skin, and shot back, "How did you get in here?"

My words dripped with sarcasm, discomfort clawing at my insides. "I'm Carlos Rodriguez," he replied, almost chuckling in annoyance as if that title should have been enough to explain his presence. "You're not any more famous than I am."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, barely murmuring, "I wouldn't go that far."

The air between us thickened, fraught with unspoken words and unresolved conflict. "Why haven't you answered my calls? I haven't seen you in weeks! You haven't called me in four weeks, Olivia!" he pressed, his tone mixing desperation with frustration.

"I've been busy," I said tersely, flicking the wipe across my face to signal my disinterest in this conversation.

"Busy with what? Better yet, with who?" I felt the weight of his gaze bore into my back, and his voice grew low and dangerous. "Johnny fucking Depp?" he growled as if saying the name would provoke a reaction from me.

"I'm shooting a movie, Carlos," I replied, my voice steady, but inside I felt my heart race.

"I know you want this to be over. You just can't say it," he remarked, and I sighed loudly, turning to meet his gaze head-on.

"I'm not stupid, Carlos," I retorted, striding closer to him, an electric charge sparking in the air. "I know what you've been doing in New York." My eyes darkened as I held his guilty gaze, watching as recognition dawned on him. "Better yet, I know who you've been doing," I added, the words slipping off my tongue like poison.

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, a mask of denial slipping over his features. "What are you talking about?" he stammered, clearly unnerved, as he realized he had been caught in the act of betrayal.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" I shouted back, unable to contain the anger that had been building for weeks. The dressing room walls felt like they were closing in on us, filled with tension that twisted and turned like a snake ready to strike.

The truth was complicated. I had never truly been in love with Carlos. In fact, if it hadn't been for his relentless pursuit of my affection, he wouldn't have even registered on my radar. The nature of our relationship was more transactional than romantic; he craved attention, and I, in turn, was a willing participant in that narrative. Carlos had once been part of a boy band, a group that had captured the hearts of many but ultimately disbanded, leaving him to navigate the turbulent waters of a solo career that had faltered before he met me. His connection with me, however, catapulted him to new heights of fame; nearly an entire album was dedicated to our seemingly passionate relationship. This strategic move transformed him into an instant celebrity, and I found myself increasingly aware of the power dynamics at play.

When the opportunity arose for me to shoot a new movie with Johnny, I took it, eager to explore my own career while trying to distance myself from the chaos of my life with Carlos. However, the brief escape didn't shield me from the scrutiny of the world around us. I received a call from Selena four weeks ago who revealed that she had seen Carlos out and about in New York City, but not alone. He was with a model and the rumors swirling between them suggested that they had been secretly dating for a while. As I processed this information, I found my emotional response lacking. Curiously, I felt a sense of relief rather than heartbreak. Here he was, moving on as easily as I was—if not more so—indicating that perhaps he had never been as invested in our relationship as I had thought.

In a way, it made me feel vindicated; Carlos didn't truly love me either if he was so quickly entangled with another woman. As I sifted through my feelings, I realized that I was developing a stronger emotional bond with Johnny. He was becoming more relevant to me by the day, while Carlos faded into the background. My heart began to lean toward Johnny, and I could sense that whatever remnants there were of my connection with Carlos were growing less significant by the moment. The reality was that I was ready to embrace something real, and Carlos was simply a stepping stone on my path to finding that.