fic: like shattered glass (we never stood a chance)
like shattered glass (we never stood a chance)
rpf. mila kunis, andrew garfield, max irons, (natalie portman, emma stone and just the right amount of james franco). there's a film and then there's real life. sometimes they create parallels and other times shit just happens.
only for erica. and mag.
idk i blame these good looking people and their not so cute significant others ok?
oh and some lines from the "movie" were stolen from a film
CRITICS CHOICE MOVIE AWARDS, afterparty
It's Justin who introduces her as this is who kicked my ass in brick breaker during rehearsals.
Andrew shakes her hand. "Mila Kunis the legend, the stories I've heard about you."
"Don't even start, I don't want to know." She spent three weeks laying in bed with Justin, wearing nothing but pasties and a thong. She definitely doesn't want to know.
"You smoke?" He asks her.
"Do you? I thought super heroes were supposed to set examples for young kids."
Andrew's laughter carries her all the way outside.
This is how they meet and not at a table reading. This is important to know.
HOLLYWOOD
Awards Season ends and Mila doesn't get an award. Natalie sends an assortment of Coco Rouge as an apology for calling her sweet lips on national television. Justin takes her out to lunch and for a couple of seconds Us Weekly thinks they're a they.
Soon enough, people stop asking her about Panda Express and the paparazzi stop following her to the fucking gym.
Hollywood moves on to the next big thing.
Her agent calls twice a week to check up on the scripts she keeps sending.
Mila is too tired of reading the same nonsense rom-com boy meets girl scripts over and over again. Things were supposed to change after swan, better roles would come her way. Instead, Bradley fucking Cooper calls her twice to talk about that one pathetic movie of his and the one guest role she would be really good at. (see: stripper, lesbian)
Her agent laughs. "This is Hollywood Mila. What, you want to do a Cera movie now? I can make that happen."
Mila scoffs and eats the celery off her bloody mary. "Not even Cera wants to be in a Cera movie."
There's a young couple and an ex-lover that's come back to win the girl. The story is set in London and there are no stereotypical gay best friends involved.
Mila takes the role.
"Whatever happened with the Bradley comedy thing?" Natalie asks over the phone.
"There never was a Bradley thing. He probably just wanted a hookup, that's it."
"You know he got your number from Franco, right?"
Mila rolls her eyes and makes a mental note to punch him later on. "He needs to stop acting like my pimp. I'm not some art project he can pick up because he's bored with NYU."
Natalie laughs into the phone. "But you're-"
"Happy being single, that shouldn't mean I want to suck face with whatever Hollywood Bachelor Bob."
"He has a talented tongue or so I hear."
"Just because you went all Sienna Miller last time doesn't mean I'm looking to do the same. All that kale juice is making you delusional."
"You need to get laid, you're starting to sound like a bitch."
Mila laughs before saying goodbye and hanging up.
There's a table reading or, as the director calls it, a chemistry testing on a tuesday.
No good things happen on tuesdays, she's come to learn.
Two men sit on opposite ends of a big mahogany table. One with a hat and the other with blonde hair that's going in twelve different directions all at once.
"How fucking rude of you not to tell me I was supposed to wear plaid today." Mila says as she sits down between them.
"And here I was thinking you'd show up naked, Justin has some explaining to do." Andrew laughs and Mila hits him with the coffee stained script in her hands.
"You know, when they said the girl from black swan I thought Natalie was up, not you." Max says, sitting closer to her.
"Disappointed?"
He cracks a smile at her. "Definitely, never done a sex scene with a pregnant girl before."
They rehearse the same scene five times.
"How many glasses of wine did you have tonight?"
She looks up from the script. "Two, is that really your response?"
Andrew almost whispers his next line. "You had more than that."
"What are you, the drink patrol?"
"You know that moment when we go out and I ask you not to have another? This is why." He sounds more desperate than mad. Andrew is good. Andrew is actually kind of great.
Mila doesn't look at him anymore. "Without beer you'd be in a much shittier place."
Out of the corner of her eye, she see's Max smirking at her.
Two days before London, Natalie and Franco come over for dinner. They drink a pint of white wine sangria and eat sauteed shrimp.
Natalie eats a salad.
"I don't know Mila, Garfield? You can't really trust british men."
"Don't you listen to him, he's still bitter the spandex franchise is going on without him."
James shakes his head, his mouth curved into a mischievous grin. "What about the other one?"
Natalie takes a sip from her kale-apple smoothie. "Well with a dad like his, surely he knows a thing or two."
"You think we're talking about acting?"
"Give me some credit, Franco."
James looks over at Mila. "Why are you so quiet?"
"Isn't it obvious? Our dear Mila has a crush."
Call it defense mechanism, but Mila laughs hard.
"The question is, which one." James slurs as he pours sangria into his cup.
Mila picks up the plates while Natalie takes a call on the balcony. Benjamin likes to keep tabs on her whenever James Franco is involved.
"You never said which one. Trouble deciding?"
She takes one last sip from her cup before placing it on the sink. "Shut up, just shut up dude."
"I can help you decide. Let me be your doctor Phil."
"If you really want to help, how about you create a performance piece for me. Something like... Food as Dirt, juxtaposed with the cleansing ritual."
James laughs at her. "You just want me to do your dishes, but I'll oblige, because I love when you art-school talk dirty to me."
IN TRANSIT
There's a layover at JFK before she can get to LHR. She picks up a couple of magazines and a Dennis Cooper book at Hudson News.
Megan fox is the cover story and is urging women to channel their inner 15 year old boy and bone as much as they can. The first paragraph is enough to make her quickly turn the pages until she reaches a charity gala event. Natalie is the center of attention with her cerulean blue Marchesa gown. But Mila's not focused on that, there's a smaller insert with a happy couple. The caption reads Emily Browning and boyfriend Max Irons.
So there's that.
She falls asleep going over the script.
Her character kisses both men. Her character can't make up her mind.
LONDON
Shooting begins at dusk.
Her hair is pulled back and there is barely any kohl around her eyes, but the boots she is wearing are nice and this is London. At least she't not somewhere else trying to be the next Ana Kendrick, doing one shitty movie after another because she doesn't know what to do with her fame.
Andrew stares straight into her eyes before they yell rolling!
On camera, he says he's happy but his voice sounds empty and distant.
Off camera, he juggles with apples and oranges from craft services. He tells her he's excited about the movie. His voice sounds sincere.
It's Monday and they're taking an early lunch.
James sends a text that reads $1.75.
"Ever get a message from someone just to let you know how much it's costing you to receive it?"
Andrew looks up from his paper plate. "You really need new friends."
She takes a mouthful of fries, or as people in London would say: chips. "Franco is Natalie's friend, not mine. Although his slam poetry about her growing uterus has proven to be entertaining enough at night."
"You any good with a stick?"
"Excuse me?" Mila asks wryly.
"Pool. There's a table at the hotel bar. No reason for you to spend another night with beatnik Franco."
Mila feels a rush of blood to her cheeks and pulls a napkin to her mouth. "Ok, but you better bring your wallet because when I beat you, I'll demand lots of Jack."
Andrew smiles.
There's a shot of Jack Daniels waiting for her.
Andrew is there. So is Max.
Max does this thing, where he raises his eyebrows every time he looks at her and it makes Mila feel as if she's got something stuck between her teeth.
A game of pool becomes a game of Andrew kicking her ass, hitting one ball after another and putting them in all the right places.
"Two out of three." Mila tells him. It's not a question, it's a statement.
Andrew shakes his head and pulls the balls from the pockets.
"Go easy on the lady, she's got a couple of Jack shots ahead of you. That's one hell of a handicap, mate."
They're sitting on a booth, Max with his arm rested on the back, behind her. She's not focused on that. No, she's focused on sucking the salt off the rim of her glass. She's focused on Andrew as well, all long limbs and smiles as he chalks his stick and sings along to an Arcade Fire song. She knows it's his favorite because he told her months and months ago. Before movie script rehearsals and London. When they were just two up and coming actors sharing a cigarette.
Andrew hits the balls once and Max's arm shifts behind her, the heat from his palm much too close to her shoulder.
She doesn't mind. And she knows Max knows she doesn't, because Max starts to run his thumb over her shoulder in small circles. And the bar has crap light and loud music; the song stops abruptly and some whatever pop song comes on.
Andrew curses and Max laughs.
Mila doesn't. She doesn't get it.
There's a scene where her character tells one of them i love him, and i love you. but it's easier this way.
Mila underlined that during rehearsal.
She looses both games and tells Andrew there's no need for a third. No need to embarrass herself any longer. "It's not fair though, you keep showering me with gifts of alcohol I am too polite to say no to."
"Man up to failure Kunis. No need to make excuses."
She sticks her tongue out and sucks on a lime.
They film early tomorrow. They shouldn't be out drinking.
Mila should be sleeping by now so the ladies from the makeup department don't throw a fit about having a hard time concealing her dark circles. And she knows better than to piss of the people in charge of making her look ok.
"You-- are such a bad person, cheating on both of us."
Somewhere between doing tequila poppers and eating over-salted pretzels they start talking about the script. Or at least Mila thinks so, because Andrew and Max are talking about cheating and saying she is kind of a bitch. Mila is rarely a bitch.
Her character is a bitch.
Her character really believes she loves two men.
"So what, you never cheated on your... it's Shannon, right?"
Andrew shakes his head. "We broke up, but no."
And if that makes her readjust herself on the red leather booth, so Max has to move his hand a few inches away, then Mila will say it was a coincidence.
"What about you and Home Alone?" Max asks with a small smirk. Max is always smirking.
"Not relevant. We're not- not a we anymore."
Max stuff his mouth with a handful of pretzels. They leave white speckles all over his bottom lip. "That wasn't a no."
Mila purses her lips. She doesn't respond to that. "And Emily?"
"It's not like that."
"It looks like that."
"Wait, you googled me?" Max asks and he is smirking again. Full on smirking as he runs his tongue over his teeth.
"You googled him?"
Mila smiles. She's drunk. Drunk off Jack and Cuervo and smirks and smiles. "I don't need to google you, dude. It was in a magazine."
Max is still smirking.
"I was at the airport." She adds. Like it makes any difference.
It doesn't.
Her character believes she loves two men.
Andrew insists on paying the bill even though Mila lost and Max is only there because HBO was playing some Lady Gaga thing and not something with substance. Andrew insists on paying and after much back and forth Mila finally puts her hands up in defeat. He's persuasive and she decides she likes that about him.
He walks to the bar.
She walks to the bathroom, which is busy and Mila really needs to go. So much that she looks around and disappears into the men's room.
There's one stall and the door doesn't lock so she is quick.
When she pushes the door open, Max is there, by the sink.
Mila wants to punch the smug smirk off his face.
Or something.
"The men's toilet, have you grown a penis?"
"No, have you?"
She lathers her hands with soap and warm water and Max is still there.
"He doesn't get it."
She shakes her hands dry. "Doesn't get what?"
But Max doesn't respond. He ticks inside his mouth and moves out of the door.
There's a scene she dreads filming. A scene by the lake.
They film in the mornings and eat lunch on benches and Andrew tells her about football and Max laughs.
Andrew wears an Arsenal sweatshirt and Mila doesn't know shit about football. She knows about Miu Miu dresses and YSL pumps and diamond-peel facials.
She buys an overpriced bottle of Bordeaux from Berry Bros & Rudd that she downs by herself one night.
James texts her photos of cats and three different pairs of designer prescription glasses and she helps him pick out a tortoise frame. Emma asks questions about Andrew and filming and the weather.
She calls Natalie three days before she gives birth.
It's too late for Mila and early for Natalie but she says she doesn't mind. She doesn't get much sleep these days.
"I don't care about the locations or shopping trips to Harrod's, Mila. Tell me something to take my mind off my uterus being used as a water trampoline."
Mila scoffs.
"James came over last night."
"Are you sure your baby won't come out with a mustache and a sweet tooth for onion bagels?"
It makes Natalie laugh. "Did Culkin call you? Emma said--"
Mila doesn't want to talk about her ex boyfriend. Water under the bridge, no matter what Emma's big mouth says. "Emma doesn't want to spend Thanksgiving at casa de Culkin alone. That's all."
She can hear Natalie shuffle around her bed. "Fine. Justin said Andrew won't shut up about you, and I'm sure he's not talking about your acting skills."
"Hey screw you. I was nominated for a Golden Globe."
"So was Angelina."
Touche.
"He's single now."
Natalie laughs into the phone so hard that it makes Mila's ear sting a bit. She goes shhh for a bit and says something that sounds a lot like French.
"Hey we'll talk later, OK?"
"You're no fun now."
"You can have fun for me."
Mila smiles.
"I mean it."
She buys three different pacifiers and four pairs of baby blue socks. Then a tiny God Save the Queen shirt and a Marc Jacobs bag that's big and chic enough to hold diapers.
She's not gonna let Natalie become the next Real Housewife of Tempeh.
A lady packs everything nicely with silver ribbon and it gets FedExed to California.
There's more filming and Max is still smirking.
They finally kiss (on screen) and he tastes like raw garlic.
He doesn't shove his tongue down her throat but it still makes her feel like gagging.
They kiss once, three times, five times without stopping.
The director yells cut! and she pushes Max away.
Max just laughs like someone just told him the world's funniest joke.
She presses the back of her hand to her mouth, trying to wipe the taste away.
Max is still laughing. "Yeah, you liked that. Next time, I'm bitting an onion."
The week after, they film late at night on a rooftop.
Andrew holds her hand and kisses the top of her head. They drink apple and grape juice and smoke fake cigarettes.
Mila hates fake cigarettes.
Her character doesn't want to make up her mind.
There's a knock on her trailer and she realizes she left her script on the rooftop.
Andrew is there. He's holding her script.
"You're trailer's bigger than mine."
"I have a better agent."
He's already inside, going through bottles of Evian and white cardboard boxes that contain salted caramel cheesecake.
Mila hands him a plastic fork.
"Where did you get this from?" He licks the fork and for some reason it makes her smile.
"There's a bakery by the hotel."
"Tomorrow, you come watch the game with me and we'll get more of this."
He doesn't ask, he tells her.
It doesn't feel like a command though.
She agrees and they finish the cheesecake inside her trailer and share a cab back to the hotel.
A PHONE CALL. LONDON TO LOS ANGELES.
"You're an idiot." Emma says over the phone.
"Tell me something I don't know."
"You're the superhero, why is it that I'm the one always getting you out of shit?"
"You know of course, none of this would be happening if you'd agree to go out with me."
"Fuck you. Don't blame me for your Jolie Syndrome."
Andrew doesn't know what that means. He raises an eyebrow and scratches his scalp. He should have collect-called, or used his own mobile. International calls can't be cheap these days. But he's yet to make any extravagant requests, regardless of having been nominated for awards and labeled a Hot Young Hollywood- thing. Mediaset can afford a lousy call to America. "The fuck are you on about? You need to get out of LA. You need to come to London."
"You always fall for your co-stars." She grumbles.
He downs the last of his water and his mouth twists, as though contemplating what she just said. "Am I out of line here? Because it seems the feeling is mutual."
"I'm not gonna call and ask if she likes you. You're a big boy, figure shit on your own."
Andrew laughs. "If you were really my friend you would do this for me."
"On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being Keira and 10 being Eisenberg, how bent over backwards are you crushing on her?"
There's silence and then just a brief answer. "I really like her."
Arsenal plays against West Ham and Andrew buys her a red scarf from the vendors outside the stadium.
The seats are Ok. Close enough that she can tell which player is which but far enough so they don't turn left right right right left whenever someone passes the ball.
They drink too much beer and he teaches her fragments from chants.
She's tipsy but not drunk.
Van Persie scores and everyone yells. Andrew wraps his arms around her and it makes her feel dizzy. He looks so happy.
Beer lands all over her nude Lanvin shoe and Andrew shakes his head. She should've worn sneakers.
She didn't know better, because Mila knows shit about football. She's not even sure she likes football.
But she likes Andrew putting his arm around her and kissing her hair. She likes that Andrew smiles and drapes red scarves over her neck.
Lanvin probably makes sneakers.
"We should get going."
Mila is still tipsy. Her arm still intertwined with Andrew's. His coat is dark blue but there's red lint all over. They're little traces of hugs and cheers and smiles that last entirely too long. "Where?"
"My room." Andrew says. His eyes look drunk but he only blinks once.
She doesn't say anything. This isn't a date.
"I'm kidding. Cheesecake, remember?"
Yeah, Mila remembers.
Ramona's cheesecake slices are too big for one person. Let alone someone full from beer, chips and popcorn. So they share.
Mila pays and Andrew frowns. This isn't a date.
She has caramel and bits of salt hanging from her mouth that she licks in the most un-lady like manner. But this isn't a date, it doesn't matter.
SYNOPSIS FROM IMDB
Amanda (Mila Kunis) and Peter (Andrew Garfield) have hit a rut in their relationship. While neither accepts this reality Amanda runs into an old but never quite forgotten love, Alex (Max Irons). Set in London, the film tells a story about lost love and temptation.
Max's trailer is the smallest out of all three. This isn't Hollywood, last names don't mean shit. His dad can pretend to run the papal office but out here he's just an actor whose resume only includes a fairy tale remake that doubled as a bestiality soft porn (his words, not hers). Not that he minds, given that he spends most of his time smoking outside and apparently reading a Dennis Cooper book. The one with the pickle on the cover. The one Mila bought at the airport.
"Your taste in literature is seriously fucked, Mila." He looks up from the book and uses his free hand as a bookmark. "Really fucked up."
"I needed something to read at the airport."
"Thought you were busy reading about my personal life on the gossip rags."
It wasn't a gossip magazine, it was Cosmo and she bought it with the intent of knowing if mauve tops were in. She wants to tell him this but she doesn't. She knows it won't make a difference. "How did you get it anyways?"
"Your trailer."
"What are you doing in my trailer."
Max lifts his hand, there's a cigarette wedged between two fingers.
"What makes you think I smoke?"
"Mila, Mila, Mila, if you can't trust me with your filthy habits how can you trust I won't take a peak at your bits when we pretend-do the nasty?"
She snatches the cigarette from his hand and takes a long drag. "You so much as glance at my bits and I'll kick you on the shin."
He waggles his eyebrows and smirks at her. Always the fucking smirk. "My imagination will have to do then." He closes his eyes, still smirking.
"How's that working out for you?"
Max suddenly opens his eyes, he's blushing, like he had not expected her to ask him that. "I'll let you know tonight."
She really wants to kick him in the groin. Because he has a girlfriend and Mila knows some things are just all around bad. So she wants to kick him until he'll stop shamelessly flirting and making her head ache with something that's not quite guilt.
"Max!" One of the wardrobe girls yells out his name, fucker probably took another pair of glasses. "Emily's looking for you."
He stands up from his chair and Mila feels like someone punched her on the stomach. "Duty calls." She says, a goofy smile on her face.
He gives her book back. Their hands almost touch.
Almost.
"You should come with us, this band is playing."
"No way. It's your date."
"Not like that, even Garfield is coming." Max says casually.
The band is a guy with a keyboard and a microphone. A couple of guys back him up but this hardly qualify as a band.
They play electro-hipster-whatever music. She's not sure if she likes it so she takes a tequila shot with Andrew while they wait for their drinks. He pays first round but promises she can get the next one.
It's not a date.
Emily is there looking fragile underneath all her layers. She drapes her arms around Max and he sings along and kisses her nose.
Washed Out doesn't play dance music, but she still jumps around and lets the strobes paint her red blue red yellow red red blue.
Off the corner of her eye, she sees Max look like the devil when red light hits his face. He's smirking at her, while Emily looks wistfully lost in the music.
Andrew is all smiles and awkward dance moves that make Mila laugh. The crappy music keeps going and their faces look red blue red blue red.
"Wanna get out of here?" Andrew asks.
She grabs his hand.
She makes the first move.
Journalists like throwing out words like chemistry and spark and romance. Fifty percent of making a successful movie lies on how much an actor can pretend they want to shag their co-star in interviews and promotion tours. Or so Darren told her after the fortieth interviewer asked what it was like to kiss Natalie Portman and she rolled her eyes and told him about ballerina slippers.
Not that directors would ever encourage on-set romance or lust.
But Natalie was never sprawled all over the pages of People magazine holding hands or going out for lunch with Ashton Kutcher. And maybe that's why her movie flopped.
"You doing alright? " Max asks. He's leaning against the bar. A drink in each hand. One for him, one for Emily.
Mila doesn't know how to answer. "Where's your bird?"
"Off to the bathroom." He mutters.
"She's nice."
Max laughs and almost trips on himself. "Quit talking bollocks, you barely spoke two words to her."
In the cab, Andrew doesn't hold her hand or sits too close. They keep their distance. They're both professionals.
Her window is open and she smokes a cigarette. The driver doesn't mind.
This is London. This isn't LA.
"You told me, you hated lucky strikes." Andrew says matter of factly.
It's not until then she realizes she has Max's cigarettes. Max who has a girlfriend. A girl Mila doesn't know enough to like or hate. But a girlfriend nonetheless.
"I still do." She says.
They don't have adjacent rooms or even share the same floor, but Mila presses number 21 in the elevator until it lights red.
Andrew pretends to look at his reflection.
With one swipe of a key, the door opens and Andrew grabs her arm.
She looks at him. He doesn't look anxious or drunk. There's no tension in his eyes and the silence doesn't feel empty. He's calm and only blinks once.
On screen, Andrew kisses her softly but with restraint.
Off screen, he pulls at her hair and tastes like lime and beer.
He's gone the next morning and the only evidence he was there at all is the faint smell of Lempika on the sheets.
She doesn't mind (that he's gone). Mila wasn't expecting breakfast in bed while they both watch re-runs of Doctor Who and kiss each other good morning.
"When he asks that you come with him, there's has to be doubt in your words, Mila." The director tells her after the fifth take of the same scene. "You shouldn't shut him off so soon."
"So she wants to take off with him?"
The director shakes his head. "Only part of her does." He walks behind the monitor and she takes her place again.
"Come on Kunis, pretend you want to run away with me." Max says between smirks.
"Rolling!"
Max grabs her wrist and looks into her eyes. "You can run away from this. From him."
She looks at him. Her character must feel torn between a man she loves and a man she once loved more. More than anyone she's ever loved. But she made her choice long ago. They all did. "I can't. I love him, and I love you. But it's easier this way."
Max pulls her and their mouths touch. His hands are on her face and she tries to pull apart. She tries to fight it until she gives in and her hands are tugging his shirt up. He smells like sweat and tastes strongly of oregano. He probably took a mouthful of that pasta Mila made a point of telling the crew she wasn't a fan of. She's not a fan of oregano. She's not.
Andrew waits inside her trailer and they go over lines before he's got her pinned down the small linen couch. He tastes like dates and balsamic vinegar.
Mila loves dates.
"Sorry I ran off this morning." Andrew says between kisses and bites of her collarbone. "I had an earlier call."
"Stop making excuses, it's fine." Her skirt rises up and his hands slide between her legs. Excuses or not, Mila is OK with it as long as he kisses her and moves his hands this way.
"But if you want me to stay-" He bites on her lip and Mila feels dizzy with lust.
She shakes her head. Because she wants it all. Not just the making out in trailers and drinking at soccer games. She wants him to read over the newspaper to her the next morning. And not just the funny parts.
"Say it. I want you to say it."
"I want-" Is all the manages to say because Andrew pushes deeper and she digs her nails into his shoulder blades. "All of it."
They film at gorgeous locations during sunset and do boring close-up shots inside a restaurant.
Andrew says i love you on screen and moans i want you late at night beneath the cotton sheets of her hotel room.
He takes her to another game and she wears sneakers this time.
She yells and flips off the ref and Andrew wraps his arms around her.
Arsenal looses 3-0 but none of them care. He still kisses her at the end.
They hold hands as they walk down the street and smoke Parliaments outside shitty restaurants.
Andrew tells her embarrassing stories about Emma that she will use as leverage when needed.
His teeth are stained with Rioja and she likes that he doesn't care.
"I really like you." He suddenly says into the silence of her room, a naked statement that feels all the more bare for the moans of moments before.
"I like you too."
Two weeks before filming wraps up she eats her salad outside her trailer.
Max Drops a magazine on her lap and sits next to her. "Flip to page seven."
She doesn't recognize the name on the cover but the photos are clear indicators that Max just brought her a gossip magazine. She flips to page seven and her heart sinks a bit.
There's two photographs next to each other and a small paragraph that goes along. The title reads: Kunis and Garfield, London affair.
She quickly goes over the text.
co-stars. hitting it off. recently single. loving embrace. dinner dates. insider says. undeniable chemistry. romance.
"Fuck me, I should've known you and Garfield were not just going over lines in your trailer."
Mila picks at her salad and eats a julianed carrot.
"Just don't moan out his name while we film today."
Right, Mila forgot they're to film by the lake.
Ask any actor and they'll all agree: there's nothing sexy about shooting a sex scene.
She's wearing nude bottoms under her robe and that's it.
Max is walking about barefoot making the DP laugh about something or another.
His hands are too cold and the director keeps yelling cut! They try different angles and she has to be careful so her arms will block certain bits.
"The problem with Garfield, is he wears reading glasses like there's nothing wrong."
Mila punches his shoulder. "Don't be such a baby, Irons. You never stood a chance."
"Liar." He mouths before they start rolling and she has to moan out a fake name.
"How'd it go?"
She went to Andrew's room right after filming was done.
"I've had better days." She says, picking at a leftover bowl of fruit, licking juice off her fingers.
She throws the magazine at him. There's a blue post-it sticking out of page seven. "He gave me this."
Andrew opens it up and carefully studies the photographs. They're not scandalous, just two people holding hands as they walk out of Ramona's with small white cardboard boxes and too-wide grins.
"And you're mad?"
Mila shrugs.
"You're mad he knows?"
It's not the first time she's all over a magazine. She's not mad people can/will speculate about her private life. Getting paid to play make believe has a price and she's always known that. "Don't be stupid."
"You sure? Because if you and him-."
"Don't be stupid, dude. Irons is a brat. The only thing we have in common is shared hostility."
Andrew still doesn't look up from the magazine. "You'd be surprised, actually."
"Look, he says tomato I say something mineral, animal, something definitely not vegetable."
Finally, he looks up. "They got your age wrong." He says.
It makes Mila smile.
"Secrest was talking about you last night." James says over the phone.
"You need to stop watching that crap. And don't bullshit me about how you're watching it for research purposes and doing a performance piece as a critique on modern society"
"Damn Mila, I just got a semi."
"Stop touching yourself."
There's a honk coming out of the other end of the receiver. "Don't get ahead of me man. Just wait 'til I'm at the drive-thru."
She checks her clock. It's early in LA. "What time is it, nine? And you're already running off to McDonalds."
James laughs in that borderline psycho way. "Don't judge. Micky D's before ten is like Katie Holmes before Tom Cruise."
It makes her laugh. It makes her miss LA.
"So I guess you didn't need my Dr. Phil-like abilities after all."
"When have I ever needed any ability of yours?"
"True. Emma says he won't shut up about you."
She bites the inside of her check. "Spending much time with her?"
James evades the question. "Put it this way: to say he thinks you hung the stars and the moon would be like saying The Beatles had a bit of success."
They play pool once again at a small bar near set.
Mila does better this time around because she's not drinking Jack and Andrew is too busy smiling at her.
Eight ball into left pocket and she wins the game.
Andrew hugs her from behind and he orders a round of Jagger.
"Told you I was good."
His chin rests on her shoulder. "You really are."
They're on the third round when Max and his Emily show up.
Mila sits next to Andrew who is in front of Emily who is next to Max. The booth is too small and they all drink Newcastle except for Emily. She drinks shirley temples because she only drinks on Sundays, or so she's told them. Mila decides she's too pretty for him. Too girly and shy. Too much the opposite of Max. Opposites attract, is what Natalie would say. Mila is more fond of two peas in a pod.
"You still doing the ballet?" Emily asks.
Mila's head shakes and her hair with it, long and flowy and not-blond.
"Don't lie to her, Kunis. You did that pirouette thing the other night." Max says with his beer in hand.
She drops her forehead against the table. "It was late and I was delusional from filming. Stop embarrassing me."
Below the table, his foot rubs against her bare calf.
There's a phonecall or something and Andrew goes outside.
Mila steps off to the bathroom. It's small and badly lit. But at least it doesn't smell and that's all she really needs from a bathroom.
Once she's done and opens the stall, she see's Max standing there. He's looking at her tiny skirt and taking a swig from his beer.
"Your girlfriend's outside."
He takes a step forward. Mila takes one backwards and stumbles on the wall. "Tell me something I don't already know." He says. Another step forward.
"This is a mistake."
Another step forward and she can smell the beer in his breath. "I get it."
"Get what?"
"All of it." He says. "You and me, we're not that different."
He tilts her face upward. His expression is too expectant, his eyes too sharp.
Max kisses her and for once, he doesn't taste like oregano or onions or garlic bread. His tongue brushes against her teeth and his mouth tastes like a mixture of beer and the cherries from Emily's shirley temple. Sweet on her tongue but burning with guilt. She holds onto the stall with one hand, it's filthy and carved with names of past lovers. It makes her wonder how many people have been there before her, in the exact situation she's in.
His kisses are all teeth and clashing mouths, rough and hard and unlike anything he's on screen. Unlike any kiss Andrew's ever given her.
She scratches the length of his neck and there's a rasp moan against her mouth. Mila swallows the sound and kisses him back.
There's a knock on the door.
"It's taken." Mila says and Max slides his hand along her bare thigh.
The sober, saner, better part of her brain knows this is wrong. But the part filled with lust and adrenaline says this feels good. This is Ok.
He kisses her neck and moans, mouth open against her throat. And her hands curl behind him.
His beer falls to the floor and lands with a heavy thud. It's like waking up from a bad dream.
"No, really. We can't." She looks him straight in the eye, before his hand can dig deeper.
"Because of Garfield?"
Her voice drops just a little. "No, because of me."
Max takes a step back. His pupils are blown and his lips are swollen pink. "Liar." He says with a smirk.
She slaps his left cheek and he grabs her hand. She tries to break loose and all he does is kiss her again before letting go. It feels more like a see you later than a goodbye.
Mila comes back to the booth and Emily is there by herself. She's twirling her straw and checking her phone.
"You seen Max?" She asks, her voice too sweet and fragile.
She shakes her head. "And Andrew?"
"Still outside I suppose."
They leave without saying goodbye. Mila fakes a headache and Andrew holds onto her purse.
Andrew talks about Carey and the plans he's made for them to grab lunch once filming wraps up and they get back to LA. She's doing some teather thing for the summer with actors Mila's not sure she knows. But she still nods when he asks if she'd like to go see her.
She's not paying attention. She's still thinking about that see you later kiss and wondering when later is.
Her character makes up her mind after she cheats on her boyfriend.
Max waits inside her trailer. He's reading her book once again, and eating her fruit and yogurt.
"What the fuck, are you doing here?"
He raises an eyebrow at her. "It's my last day."
"So you're here to say goodbye?"
"You sad?"
"Relieved." She hisses.
He stands up and walks closer to her. "It's one thing if you want to lie to me, but lying to yourself? You should know better, Kunis."
She kisses him once and just once.
"Whatever happened last night, happened. But let's move on, get back to reality."
He tries to kiss her again and she steps aside this time.
"If there was no Emily?"
"There is."
"I know."
"Just leave, Max."
IN TRANSIT
Filming wraps up and Mila packs her bags.
She takes a plane to LA.
Andrew sits next to her and they fall asleep watching Failure to Launch. Bradley Cooper is a shit actor.
The last ten minutes of the film, is where the heart lies.
Her character says goodbye to her old flame. There's a driving montage set to a barely there M83 melody.
She writes a letter she leaves in a mailbox along with a small seafoamy green box.
Her boyfriend looks at it with tears in his eyes.
She drives away and the credits roll.
Her character chooses neither.
Mila is not her character.
CRITICS CHOICE MOVIE AWARDS, afterparty
He lit her cigarette for her after she made a snide comment about his packet of Lucky Strikes.
Their hands touched and her dress was too bare on the back.
"I love this song." Andrew said between clouds of smoke and smiles. "It's my favorite."
It was then she decided she liked him. She liked his honesty.
"You filming anything else this summer?"
"Still reading scripts, you?"
She inhaled from her cigarette twice. "I think I might do this film with Bradley."
"Cooper?"
She nodded, almost embarrassed.
They finished their cigarettes and Armie came out looking for Andrew. Someone wanted a photo.
He shook her hand goodbye and kissed her cheek. "I hope you don't do that film. I'm sure something worth your while will come your way."
END.
rpf. mila kunis, andrew garfield, max irons, (natalie portman, emma stone and just the right amount of james franco). there's a film and then there's real life. sometimes they create parallels and other times shit just happens.
only for erica. and mag.
idk i blame these good looking people and their not so cute significant others ok?
oh and some lines from the "movie" were stolen from a film
CRITICS CHOICE MOVIE AWARDS, afterparty
It's Justin who introduces her as this is who kicked my ass in brick breaker during rehearsals.
Andrew shakes her hand. "Mila Kunis the legend, the stories I've heard about you."
"Don't even start, I don't want to know." She spent three weeks laying in bed with Justin, wearing nothing but pasties and a thong. She definitely doesn't want to know.
"You smoke?" He asks her.
"Do you? I thought super heroes were supposed to set examples for young kids."
Andrew's laughter carries her all the way outside.
This is how they meet and not at a table reading. This is important to know.
HOLLYWOOD
Awards Season ends and Mila doesn't get an award. Natalie sends an assortment of Coco Rouge as an apology for calling her sweet lips on national television. Justin takes her out to lunch and for a couple of seconds Us Weekly thinks they're a they.
Soon enough, people stop asking her about Panda Express and the paparazzi stop following her to the fucking gym.
Hollywood moves on to the next big thing.
Her agent calls twice a week to check up on the scripts she keeps sending.
Mila is too tired of reading the same nonsense rom-com boy meets girl scripts over and over again. Things were supposed to change after swan, better roles would come her way. Instead, Bradley fucking Cooper calls her twice to talk about that one pathetic movie of his and the one guest role she would be really good at. (see: stripper, lesbian)
Her agent laughs. "This is Hollywood Mila. What, you want to do a Cera movie now? I can make that happen."
Mila scoffs and eats the celery off her bloody mary. "Not even Cera wants to be in a Cera movie."
There's a young couple and an ex-lover that's come back to win the girl. The story is set in London and there are no stereotypical gay best friends involved.
Mila takes the role.
"Whatever happened with the Bradley comedy thing?" Natalie asks over the phone.
"There never was a Bradley thing. He probably just wanted a hookup, that's it."
"You know he got your number from Franco, right?"
Mila rolls her eyes and makes a mental note to punch him later on. "He needs to stop acting like my pimp. I'm not some art project he can pick up because he's bored with NYU."
Natalie laughs into the phone. "But you're-"
"Happy being single, that shouldn't mean I want to suck face with whatever Hollywood Bachelor Bob."
"He has a talented tongue or so I hear."
"Just because you went all Sienna Miller last time doesn't mean I'm looking to do the same. All that kale juice is making you delusional."
"You need to get laid, you're starting to sound like a bitch."
Mila laughs before saying goodbye and hanging up.
There's a table reading or, as the director calls it, a chemistry testing on a tuesday.
No good things happen on tuesdays, she's come to learn.
Two men sit on opposite ends of a big mahogany table. One with a hat and the other with blonde hair that's going in twelve different directions all at once.
"How fucking rude of you not to tell me I was supposed to wear plaid today." Mila says as she sits down between them.
"And here I was thinking you'd show up naked, Justin has some explaining to do." Andrew laughs and Mila hits him with the coffee stained script in her hands.
"You know, when they said the girl from black swan I thought Natalie was up, not you." Max says, sitting closer to her.
"Disappointed?"
He cracks a smile at her. "Definitely, never done a sex scene with a pregnant girl before."
They rehearse the same scene five times.
"How many glasses of wine did you have tonight?"
She looks up from the script. "Two, is that really your response?"
Andrew almost whispers his next line. "You had more than that."
"What are you, the drink patrol?"
"You know that moment when we go out and I ask you not to have another? This is why." He sounds more desperate than mad. Andrew is good. Andrew is actually kind of great.
Mila doesn't look at him anymore. "Without beer you'd be in a much shittier place."
Out of the corner of her eye, she see's Max smirking at her.
Two days before London, Natalie and Franco come over for dinner. They drink a pint of white wine sangria and eat sauteed shrimp.
Natalie eats a salad.
"I don't know Mila, Garfield? You can't really trust british men."
"Don't you listen to him, he's still bitter the spandex franchise is going on without him."
James shakes his head, his mouth curved into a mischievous grin. "What about the other one?"
Natalie takes a sip from her kale-apple smoothie. "Well with a dad like his, surely he knows a thing or two."
"You think we're talking about acting?"
"Give me some credit, Franco."
James looks over at Mila. "Why are you so quiet?"
"Isn't it obvious? Our dear Mila has a crush."
Call it defense mechanism, but Mila laughs hard.
"The question is, which one." James slurs as he pours sangria into his cup.
Mila picks up the plates while Natalie takes a call on the balcony. Benjamin likes to keep tabs on her whenever James Franco is involved.
"You never said which one. Trouble deciding?"
She takes one last sip from her cup before placing it on the sink. "Shut up, just shut up dude."
"I can help you decide. Let me be your doctor Phil."
"If you really want to help, how about you create a performance piece for me. Something like... Food as Dirt, juxtaposed with the cleansing ritual."
James laughs at her. "You just want me to do your dishes, but I'll oblige, because I love when you art-school talk dirty to me."
IN TRANSIT
There's a layover at JFK before she can get to LHR. She picks up a couple of magazines and a Dennis Cooper book at Hudson News.
Megan fox is the cover story and is urging women to channel their inner 15 year old boy and bone as much as they can. The first paragraph is enough to make her quickly turn the pages until she reaches a charity gala event. Natalie is the center of attention with her cerulean blue Marchesa gown. But Mila's not focused on that, there's a smaller insert with a happy couple. The caption reads Emily Browning and boyfriend Max Irons.
So there's that.
She falls asleep going over the script.
Her character kisses both men. Her character can't make up her mind.
LONDON
Shooting begins at dusk.
Her hair is pulled back and there is barely any kohl around her eyes, but the boots she is wearing are nice and this is London. At least she't not somewhere else trying to be the next Ana Kendrick, doing one shitty movie after another because she doesn't know what to do with her fame.
Andrew stares straight into her eyes before they yell rolling!
On camera, he says he's happy but his voice sounds empty and distant.
Off camera, he juggles with apples and oranges from craft services. He tells her he's excited about the movie. His voice sounds sincere.
It's Monday and they're taking an early lunch.
James sends a text that reads $1.75.
"Ever get a message from someone just to let you know how much it's costing you to receive it?"
Andrew looks up from his paper plate. "You really need new friends."
She takes a mouthful of fries, or as people in London would say: chips. "Franco is Natalie's friend, not mine. Although his slam poetry about her growing uterus has proven to be entertaining enough at night."
"You any good with a stick?"
"Excuse me?" Mila asks wryly.
"Pool. There's a table at the hotel bar. No reason for you to spend another night with beatnik Franco."
Mila feels a rush of blood to her cheeks and pulls a napkin to her mouth. "Ok, but you better bring your wallet because when I beat you, I'll demand lots of Jack."
Andrew smiles.
There's a shot of Jack Daniels waiting for her.
Andrew is there. So is Max.
Max does this thing, where he raises his eyebrows every time he looks at her and it makes Mila feel as if she's got something stuck between her teeth.
A game of pool becomes a game of Andrew kicking her ass, hitting one ball after another and putting them in all the right places.
"Two out of three." Mila tells him. It's not a question, it's a statement.
Andrew shakes his head and pulls the balls from the pockets.
"Go easy on the lady, she's got a couple of Jack shots ahead of you. That's one hell of a handicap, mate."
They're sitting on a booth, Max with his arm rested on the back, behind her. She's not focused on that. No, she's focused on sucking the salt off the rim of her glass. She's focused on Andrew as well, all long limbs and smiles as he chalks his stick and sings along to an Arcade Fire song. She knows it's his favorite because he told her months and months ago. Before movie script rehearsals and London. When they were just two up and coming actors sharing a cigarette.
Andrew hits the balls once and Max's arm shifts behind her, the heat from his palm much too close to her shoulder.
She doesn't mind. And she knows Max knows she doesn't, because Max starts to run his thumb over her shoulder in small circles. And the bar has crap light and loud music; the song stops abruptly and some whatever pop song comes on.
Andrew curses and Max laughs.
Mila doesn't. She doesn't get it.
There's a scene where her character tells one of them i love him, and i love you. but it's easier this way.
Mila underlined that during rehearsal.
She looses both games and tells Andrew there's no need for a third. No need to embarrass herself any longer. "It's not fair though, you keep showering me with gifts of alcohol I am too polite to say no to."
"Man up to failure Kunis. No need to make excuses."
She sticks her tongue out and sucks on a lime.
They film early tomorrow. They shouldn't be out drinking.
Mila should be sleeping by now so the ladies from the makeup department don't throw a fit about having a hard time concealing her dark circles. And she knows better than to piss of the people in charge of making her look ok.
"You-- are such a bad person, cheating on both of us."
Somewhere between doing tequila poppers and eating over-salted pretzels they start talking about the script. Or at least Mila thinks so, because Andrew and Max are talking about cheating and saying she is kind of a bitch. Mila is rarely a bitch.
Her character is a bitch.
Her character really believes she loves two men.
"So what, you never cheated on your... it's Shannon, right?"
Andrew shakes his head. "We broke up, but no."
And if that makes her readjust herself on the red leather booth, so Max has to move his hand a few inches away, then Mila will say it was a coincidence.
"What about you and Home Alone?" Max asks with a small smirk. Max is always smirking.
"Not relevant. We're not- not a we anymore."
Max stuff his mouth with a handful of pretzels. They leave white speckles all over his bottom lip. "That wasn't a no."
Mila purses her lips. She doesn't respond to that. "And Emily?"
"It's not like that."
"It looks like that."
"Wait, you googled me?" Max asks and he is smirking again. Full on smirking as he runs his tongue over his teeth.
"You googled him?"
Mila smiles. She's drunk. Drunk off Jack and Cuervo and smirks and smiles. "I don't need to google you, dude. It was in a magazine."
Max is still smirking.
"I was at the airport." She adds. Like it makes any difference.
It doesn't.
Her character believes she loves two men.
Andrew insists on paying the bill even though Mila lost and Max is only there because HBO was playing some Lady Gaga thing and not something with substance. Andrew insists on paying and after much back and forth Mila finally puts her hands up in defeat. He's persuasive and she decides she likes that about him.
He walks to the bar.
She walks to the bathroom, which is busy and Mila really needs to go. So much that she looks around and disappears into the men's room.
There's one stall and the door doesn't lock so she is quick.
When she pushes the door open, Max is there, by the sink.
Mila wants to punch the smug smirk off his face.
Or something.
"The men's toilet, have you grown a penis?"
"No, have you?"
She lathers her hands with soap and warm water and Max is still there.
"He doesn't get it."
She shakes her hands dry. "Doesn't get what?"
But Max doesn't respond. He ticks inside his mouth and moves out of the door.
There's a scene she dreads filming. A scene by the lake.
They film in the mornings and eat lunch on benches and Andrew tells her about football and Max laughs.
Andrew wears an Arsenal sweatshirt and Mila doesn't know shit about football. She knows about Miu Miu dresses and YSL pumps and diamond-peel facials.
She buys an overpriced bottle of Bordeaux from Berry Bros & Rudd that she downs by herself one night.
James texts her photos of cats and three different pairs of designer prescription glasses and she helps him pick out a tortoise frame. Emma asks questions about Andrew and filming and the weather.
She calls Natalie three days before she gives birth.
It's too late for Mila and early for Natalie but she says she doesn't mind. She doesn't get much sleep these days.
"I don't care about the locations or shopping trips to Harrod's, Mila. Tell me something to take my mind off my uterus being used as a water trampoline."
Mila scoffs.
"James came over last night."
"Are you sure your baby won't come out with a mustache and a sweet tooth for onion bagels?"
It makes Natalie laugh. "Did Culkin call you? Emma said--"
Mila doesn't want to talk about her ex boyfriend. Water under the bridge, no matter what Emma's big mouth says. "Emma doesn't want to spend Thanksgiving at casa de Culkin alone. That's all."
She can hear Natalie shuffle around her bed. "Fine. Justin said Andrew won't shut up about you, and I'm sure he's not talking about your acting skills."
"Hey screw you. I was nominated for a Golden Globe."
"So was Angelina."
Touche.
"He's single now."
Natalie laughs into the phone so hard that it makes Mila's ear sting a bit. She goes shhh for a bit and says something that sounds a lot like French.
"Hey we'll talk later, OK?"
"You're no fun now."
"You can have fun for me."
Mila smiles.
"I mean it."
She buys three different pacifiers and four pairs of baby blue socks. Then a tiny God Save the Queen shirt and a Marc Jacobs bag that's big and chic enough to hold diapers.
She's not gonna let Natalie become the next Real Housewife of Tempeh.
A lady packs everything nicely with silver ribbon and it gets FedExed to California.
There's more filming and Max is still smirking.
They finally kiss (on screen) and he tastes like raw garlic.
He doesn't shove his tongue down her throat but it still makes her feel like gagging.
They kiss once, three times, five times without stopping.
The director yells cut! and she pushes Max away.
Max just laughs like someone just told him the world's funniest joke.
She presses the back of her hand to her mouth, trying to wipe the taste away.
Max is still laughing. "Yeah, you liked that. Next time, I'm bitting an onion."
The week after, they film late at night on a rooftop.
Andrew holds her hand and kisses the top of her head. They drink apple and grape juice and smoke fake cigarettes.
Mila hates fake cigarettes.
Her character doesn't want to make up her mind.
There's a knock on her trailer and she realizes she left her script on the rooftop.
Andrew is there. He's holding her script.
"You're trailer's bigger than mine."
"I have a better agent."
He's already inside, going through bottles of Evian and white cardboard boxes that contain salted caramel cheesecake.
Mila hands him a plastic fork.
"Where did you get this from?" He licks the fork and for some reason it makes her smile.
"There's a bakery by the hotel."
"Tomorrow, you come watch the game with me and we'll get more of this."
He doesn't ask, he tells her.
It doesn't feel like a command though.
She agrees and they finish the cheesecake inside her trailer and share a cab back to the hotel.
A PHONE CALL. LONDON TO LOS ANGELES.
"You're an idiot." Emma says over the phone.
"Tell me something I don't know."
"You're the superhero, why is it that I'm the one always getting you out of shit?"
"You know of course, none of this would be happening if you'd agree to go out with me."
"Fuck you. Don't blame me for your Jolie Syndrome."
Andrew doesn't know what that means. He raises an eyebrow and scratches his scalp. He should have collect-called, or used his own mobile. International calls can't be cheap these days. But he's yet to make any extravagant requests, regardless of having been nominated for awards and labeled a Hot Young Hollywood- thing. Mediaset can afford a lousy call to America. "The fuck are you on about? You need to get out of LA. You need to come to London."
"You always fall for your co-stars." She grumbles.
He downs the last of his water and his mouth twists, as though contemplating what she just said. "Am I out of line here? Because it seems the feeling is mutual."
"I'm not gonna call and ask if she likes you. You're a big boy, figure shit on your own."
Andrew laughs. "If you were really my friend you would do this for me."
"On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being Keira and 10 being Eisenberg, how bent over backwards are you crushing on her?"
There's silence and then just a brief answer. "I really like her."
Arsenal plays against West Ham and Andrew buys her a red scarf from the vendors outside the stadium.
The seats are Ok. Close enough that she can tell which player is which but far enough so they don't turn left right right right left whenever someone passes the ball.
They drink too much beer and he teaches her fragments from chants.
She's tipsy but not drunk.
Van Persie scores and everyone yells. Andrew wraps his arms around her and it makes her feel dizzy. He looks so happy.
Beer lands all over her nude Lanvin shoe and Andrew shakes his head. She should've worn sneakers.
She didn't know better, because Mila knows shit about football. She's not even sure she likes football.
But she likes Andrew putting his arm around her and kissing her hair. She likes that Andrew smiles and drapes red scarves over her neck.
Lanvin probably makes sneakers.
"We should get going."
Mila is still tipsy. Her arm still intertwined with Andrew's. His coat is dark blue but there's red lint all over. They're little traces of hugs and cheers and smiles that last entirely too long. "Where?"
"My room." Andrew says. His eyes look drunk but he only blinks once.
She doesn't say anything. This isn't a date.
"I'm kidding. Cheesecake, remember?"
Yeah, Mila remembers.
Ramona's cheesecake slices are too big for one person. Let alone someone full from beer, chips and popcorn. So they share.
Mila pays and Andrew frowns. This isn't a date.
She has caramel and bits of salt hanging from her mouth that she licks in the most un-lady like manner. But this isn't a date, it doesn't matter.
SYNOPSIS FROM IMDB
Amanda (Mila Kunis) and Peter (Andrew Garfield) have hit a rut in their relationship. While neither accepts this reality Amanda runs into an old but never quite forgotten love, Alex (Max Irons). Set in London, the film tells a story about lost love and temptation.
Max's trailer is the smallest out of all three. This isn't Hollywood, last names don't mean shit. His dad can pretend to run the papal office but out here he's just an actor whose resume only includes a fairy tale remake that doubled as a bestiality soft porn (his words, not hers). Not that he minds, given that he spends most of his time smoking outside and apparently reading a Dennis Cooper book. The one with the pickle on the cover. The one Mila bought at the airport.
"Your taste in literature is seriously fucked, Mila." He looks up from the book and uses his free hand as a bookmark. "Really fucked up."
"I needed something to read at the airport."
"Thought you were busy reading about my personal life on the gossip rags."
It wasn't a gossip magazine, it was Cosmo and she bought it with the intent of knowing if mauve tops were in. She wants to tell him this but she doesn't. She knows it won't make a difference. "How did you get it anyways?"
"Your trailer."
"What are you doing in my trailer."
Max lifts his hand, there's a cigarette wedged between two fingers.
"What makes you think I smoke?"
"Mila, Mila, Mila, if you can't trust me with your filthy habits how can you trust I won't take a peak at your bits when we pretend-do the nasty?"
She snatches the cigarette from his hand and takes a long drag. "You so much as glance at my bits and I'll kick you on the shin."
He waggles his eyebrows and smirks at her. Always the fucking smirk. "My imagination will have to do then." He closes his eyes, still smirking.
"How's that working out for you?"
Max suddenly opens his eyes, he's blushing, like he had not expected her to ask him that. "I'll let you know tonight."
She really wants to kick him in the groin. Because he has a girlfriend and Mila knows some things are just all around bad. So she wants to kick him until he'll stop shamelessly flirting and making her head ache with something that's not quite guilt.
"Max!" One of the wardrobe girls yells out his name, fucker probably took another pair of glasses. "Emily's looking for you."
He stands up from his chair and Mila feels like someone punched her on the stomach. "Duty calls." She says, a goofy smile on her face.
He gives her book back. Their hands almost touch.
Almost.
"You should come with us, this band is playing."
"No way. It's your date."
"Not like that, even Garfield is coming." Max says casually.
The band is a guy with a keyboard and a microphone. A couple of guys back him up but this hardly qualify as a band.
They play electro-hipster-whatever music. She's not sure if she likes it so she takes a tequila shot with Andrew while they wait for their drinks. He pays first round but promises she can get the next one.
It's not a date.
Emily is there looking fragile underneath all her layers. She drapes her arms around Max and he sings along and kisses her nose.
Washed Out doesn't play dance music, but she still jumps around and lets the strobes paint her red blue red yellow red red blue.
Off the corner of her eye, she sees Max look like the devil when red light hits his face. He's smirking at her, while Emily looks wistfully lost in the music.
Andrew is all smiles and awkward dance moves that make Mila laugh. The crappy music keeps going and their faces look red blue red blue red.
"Wanna get out of here?" Andrew asks.
She grabs his hand.
She makes the first move.
Journalists like throwing out words like chemistry and spark and romance. Fifty percent of making a successful movie lies on how much an actor can pretend they want to shag their co-star in interviews and promotion tours. Or so Darren told her after the fortieth interviewer asked what it was like to kiss Natalie Portman and she rolled her eyes and told him about ballerina slippers.
Not that directors would ever encourage on-set romance or lust.
But Natalie was never sprawled all over the pages of People magazine holding hands or going out for lunch with Ashton Kutcher. And maybe that's why her movie flopped.
"You doing alright? " Max asks. He's leaning against the bar. A drink in each hand. One for him, one for Emily.
Mila doesn't know how to answer. "Where's your bird?"
"Off to the bathroom." He mutters.
"She's nice."
Max laughs and almost trips on himself. "Quit talking bollocks, you barely spoke two words to her."
In the cab, Andrew doesn't hold her hand or sits too close. They keep their distance. They're both professionals.
Her window is open and she smokes a cigarette. The driver doesn't mind.
This is London. This isn't LA.
"You told me, you hated lucky strikes." Andrew says matter of factly.
It's not until then she realizes she has Max's cigarettes. Max who has a girlfriend. A girl Mila doesn't know enough to like or hate. But a girlfriend nonetheless.
"I still do." She says.
They don't have adjacent rooms or even share the same floor, but Mila presses number 21 in the elevator until it lights red.
Andrew pretends to look at his reflection.
With one swipe of a key, the door opens and Andrew grabs her arm.
She looks at him. He doesn't look anxious or drunk. There's no tension in his eyes and the silence doesn't feel empty. He's calm and only blinks once.
On screen, Andrew kisses her softly but with restraint.
Off screen, he pulls at her hair and tastes like lime and beer.
He's gone the next morning and the only evidence he was there at all is the faint smell of Lempika on the sheets.
She doesn't mind (that he's gone). Mila wasn't expecting breakfast in bed while they both watch re-runs of Doctor Who and kiss each other good morning.
"When he asks that you come with him, there's has to be doubt in your words, Mila." The director tells her after the fifth take of the same scene. "You shouldn't shut him off so soon."
"So she wants to take off with him?"
The director shakes his head. "Only part of her does." He walks behind the monitor and she takes her place again.
"Come on Kunis, pretend you want to run away with me." Max says between smirks.
"Rolling!"
Max grabs her wrist and looks into her eyes. "You can run away from this. From him."
She looks at him. Her character must feel torn between a man she loves and a man she once loved more. More than anyone she's ever loved. But she made her choice long ago. They all did. "I can't. I love him, and I love you. But it's easier this way."
Max pulls her and their mouths touch. His hands are on her face and she tries to pull apart. She tries to fight it until she gives in and her hands are tugging his shirt up. He smells like sweat and tastes strongly of oregano. He probably took a mouthful of that pasta Mila made a point of telling the crew she wasn't a fan of. She's not a fan of oregano. She's not.
Andrew waits inside her trailer and they go over lines before he's got her pinned down the small linen couch. He tastes like dates and balsamic vinegar.
Mila loves dates.
"Sorry I ran off this morning." Andrew says between kisses and bites of her collarbone. "I had an earlier call."
"Stop making excuses, it's fine." Her skirt rises up and his hands slide between her legs. Excuses or not, Mila is OK with it as long as he kisses her and moves his hands this way.
"But if you want me to stay-" He bites on her lip and Mila feels dizzy with lust.
She shakes her head. Because she wants it all. Not just the making out in trailers and drinking at soccer games. She wants him to read over the newspaper to her the next morning. And not just the funny parts.
"Say it. I want you to say it."
"I want-" Is all the manages to say because Andrew pushes deeper and she digs her nails into his shoulder blades. "All of it."
They film at gorgeous locations during sunset and do boring close-up shots inside a restaurant.
Andrew says i love you on screen and moans i want you late at night beneath the cotton sheets of her hotel room.
He takes her to another game and she wears sneakers this time.
She yells and flips off the ref and Andrew wraps his arms around her.
Arsenal looses 3-0 but none of them care. He still kisses her at the end.
They hold hands as they walk down the street and smoke Parliaments outside shitty restaurants.
Andrew tells her embarrassing stories about Emma that she will use as leverage when needed.
His teeth are stained with Rioja and she likes that he doesn't care.
"I really like you." He suddenly says into the silence of her room, a naked statement that feels all the more bare for the moans of moments before.
"I like you too."
Two weeks before filming wraps up she eats her salad outside her trailer.
Max Drops a magazine on her lap and sits next to her. "Flip to page seven."
She doesn't recognize the name on the cover but the photos are clear indicators that Max just brought her a gossip magazine. She flips to page seven and her heart sinks a bit.
There's two photographs next to each other and a small paragraph that goes along. The title reads: Kunis and Garfield, London affair.
She quickly goes over the text.
co-stars. hitting it off. recently single. loving embrace. dinner dates. insider says. undeniable chemistry. romance.
"Fuck me, I should've known you and Garfield were not just going over lines in your trailer."
Mila picks at her salad and eats a julianed carrot.
"Just don't moan out his name while we film today."
Right, Mila forgot they're to film by the lake.
Ask any actor and they'll all agree: there's nothing sexy about shooting a sex scene.
She's wearing nude bottoms under her robe and that's it.
Max is walking about barefoot making the DP laugh about something or another.
His hands are too cold and the director keeps yelling cut! They try different angles and she has to be careful so her arms will block certain bits.
"The problem with Garfield, is he wears reading glasses like there's nothing wrong."
Mila punches his shoulder. "Don't be such a baby, Irons. You never stood a chance."
"Liar." He mouths before they start rolling and she has to moan out a fake name.
"How'd it go?"
She went to Andrew's room right after filming was done.
"I've had better days." She says, picking at a leftover bowl of fruit, licking juice off her fingers.
She throws the magazine at him. There's a blue post-it sticking out of page seven. "He gave me this."
Andrew opens it up and carefully studies the photographs. They're not scandalous, just two people holding hands as they walk out of Ramona's with small white cardboard boxes and too-wide grins.
"And you're mad?"
Mila shrugs.
"You're mad he knows?"
It's not the first time she's all over a magazine. She's not mad people can/will speculate about her private life. Getting paid to play make believe has a price and she's always known that. "Don't be stupid."
"You sure? Because if you and him-."
"Don't be stupid, dude. Irons is a brat. The only thing we have in common is shared hostility."
Andrew still doesn't look up from the magazine. "You'd be surprised, actually."
"Look, he says tomato I say something mineral, animal, something definitely not vegetable."
Finally, he looks up. "They got your age wrong." He says.
It makes Mila smile.
"Secrest was talking about you last night." James says over the phone.
"You need to stop watching that crap. And don't bullshit me about how you're watching it for research purposes and doing a performance piece as a critique on modern society"
"Damn Mila, I just got a semi."
"Stop touching yourself."
There's a honk coming out of the other end of the receiver. "Don't get ahead of me man. Just wait 'til I'm at the drive-thru."
She checks her clock. It's early in LA. "What time is it, nine? And you're already running off to McDonalds."
James laughs in that borderline psycho way. "Don't judge. Micky D's before ten is like Katie Holmes before Tom Cruise."
It makes her laugh. It makes her miss LA.
"So I guess you didn't need my Dr. Phil-like abilities after all."
"When have I ever needed any ability of yours?"
"True. Emma says he won't shut up about you."
She bites the inside of her check. "Spending much time with her?"
James evades the question. "Put it this way: to say he thinks you hung the stars and the moon would be like saying The Beatles had a bit of success."
They play pool once again at a small bar near set.
Mila does better this time around because she's not drinking Jack and Andrew is too busy smiling at her.
Eight ball into left pocket and she wins the game.
Andrew hugs her from behind and he orders a round of Jagger.
"Told you I was good."
His chin rests on her shoulder. "You really are."
They're on the third round when Max and his Emily show up.
Mila sits next to Andrew who is in front of Emily who is next to Max. The booth is too small and they all drink Newcastle except for Emily. She drinks shirley temples because she only drinks on Sundays, or so she's told them. Mila decides she's too pretty for him. Too girly and shy. Too much the opposite of Max. Opposites attract, is what Natalie would say. Mila is more fond of two peas in a pod.
"You still doing the ballet?" Emily asks.
Mila's head shakes and her hair with it, long and flowy and not-blond.
"Don't lie to her, Kunis. You did that pirouette thing the other night." Max says with his beer in hand.
She drops her forehead against the table. "It was late and I was delusional from filming. Stop embarrassing me."
Below the table, his foot rubs against her bare calf.
There's a phonecall or something and Andrew goes outside.
Mila steps off to the bathroom. It's small and badly lit. But at least it doesn't smell and that's all she really needs from a bathroom.
Once she's done and opens the stall, she see's Max standing there. He's looking at her tiny skirt and taking a swig from his beer.
"Your girlfriend's outside."
He takes a step forward. Mila takes one backwards and stumbles on the wall. "Tell me something I don't already know." He says. Another step forward.
"This is a mistake."
Another step forward and she can smell the beer in his breath. "I get it."
"Get what?"
"All of it." He says. "You and me, we're not that different."
He tilts her face upward. His expression is too expectant, his eyes too sharp.
Max kisses her and for once, he doesn't taste like oregano or onions or garlic bread. His tongue brushes against her teeth and his mouth tastes like a mixture of beer and the cherries from Emily's shirley temple. Sweet on her tongue but burning with guilt. She holds onto the stall with one hand, it's filthy and carved with names of past lovers. It makes her wonder how many people have been there before her, in the exact situation she's in.
His kisses are all teeth and clashing mouths, rough and hard and unlike anything he's on screen. Unlike any kiss Andrew's ever given her.
She scratches the length of his neck and there's a rasp moan against her mouth. Mila swallows the sound and kisses him back.
There's a knock on the door.
"It's taken." Mila says and Max slides his hand along her bare thigh.
The sober, saner, better part of her brain knows this is wrong. But the part filled with lust and adrenaline says this feels good. This is Ok.
He kisses her neck and moans, mouth open against her throat. And her hands curl behind him.
His beer falls to the floor and lands with a heavy thud. It's like waking up from a bad dream.
"No, really. We can't." She looks him straight in the eye, before his hand can dig deeper.
"Because of Garfield?"
Her voice drops just a little. "No, because of me."
Max takes a step back. His pupils are blown and his lips are swollen pink. "Liar." He says with a smirk.
She slaps his left cheek and he grabs her hand. She tries to break loose and all he does is kiss her again before letting go. It feels more like a see you later than a goodbye.
Mila comes back to the booth and Emily is there by herself. She's twirling her straw and checking her phone.
"You seen Max?" She asks, her voice too sweet and fragile.
She shakes her head. "And Andrew?"
"Still outside I suppose."
They leave without saying goodbye. Mila fakes a headache and Andrew holds onto her purse.
Andrew talks about Carey and the plans he's made for them to grab lunch once filming wraps up and they get back to LA. She's doing some teather thing for the summer with actors Mila's not sure she knows. But she still nods when he asks if she'd like to go see her.
She's not paying attention. She's still thinking about that see you later kiss and wondering when later is.
Her character makes up her mind after she cheats on her boyfriend.
Max waits inside her trailer. He's reading her book once again, and eating her fruit and yogurt.
"What the fuck, are you doing here?"
He raises an eyebrow at her. "It's my last day."
"So you're here to say goodbye?"
"You sad?"
"Relieved." She hisses.
He stands up and walks closer to her. "It's one thing if you want to lie to me, but lying to yourself? You should know better, Kunis."
She kisses him once and just once.
"Whatever happened last night, happened. But let's move on, get back to reality."
He tries to kiss her again and she steps aside this time.
"If there was no Emily?"
"There is."
"I know."
"Just leave, Max."
IN TRANSIT
Filming wraps up and Mila packs her bags.
She takes a plane to LA.
Andrew sits next to her and they fall asleep watching Failure to Launch. Bradley Cooper is a shit actor.
The last ten minutes of the film, is where the heart lies.
Her character says goodbye to her old flame. There's a driving montage set to a barely there M83 melody.
She writes a letter she leaves in a mailbox along with a small seafoamy green box.
Her boyfriend looks at it with tears in his eyes.
She drives away and the credits roll.
Her character chooses neither.
Mila is not her character.
CRITICS CHOICE MOVIE AWARDS, afterparty
He lit her cigarette for her after she made a snide comment about his packet of Lucky Strikes.
Their hands touched and her dress was too bare on the back.
"I love this song." Andrew said between clouds of smoke and smiles. "It's my favorite."
It was then she decided she liked him. She liked his honesty.
"You filming anything else this summer?"
"Still reading scripts, you?"
She inhaled from her cigarette twice. "I think I might do this film with Bradley."
"Cooper?"
She nodded, almost embarrassed.
They finished their cigarettes and Armie came out looking for Andrew. Someone wanted a photo.
He shook her hand goodbye and kissed her cheek. "I hope you don't do that film. I'm sure something worth your while will come your way."
END.