DANI
I’m disappointed by the real Lukas Keith.
When I signed on to this made-for-TV-movie production as personal driver for the guy—as in the Lukas Keith, aka the actor famous for his role as Joey in Our House—it wasn’t like I expected him to be exactly like his character.
You know, cheeky but adorable, beloved by all.
I’ve been driving for movies and TV shows here in Wallington for a few years now. I’ve had plenty of opportuni- ties to be disenchanted by famous people. I get that an actor’s personality is likely to be very different from the roles they play .
I’m still disappointed by the real Lukas Keith.
Maybe, because Lukas was Joey right there in our living room for most of my childhood, I felt like I knew him already. Maybe, because my friend Violet—a casting assistant on the movie—told me Lukas would be playing a role just like Joey, I assumed he always plays himself.
Or maybe it’s because he’s even better-looking in person.
It’s not that he’s been obnoxious. He hasn’t hit on me, or asked me to buy him drugs, or thrown up in the car—all things that have happened with previous clients. He’s just been borderline rude. Every single day it’s the same. He gets in the car, mumbles a greeting without making eye contact, and then slumps down in the back seat to bury his nose in a script.
When we arrive at his destination, he mutters a thank you and practically runs away from the car. Like I’ve got the plague or something. He never says anything else, not even to arrange the next pickup. The second AD does it for him.
I don’t know what is up with the guy, but the tension he carries around with him is exhausting. So, even though I’ll miss the extra income, I have to say I’m relieved as I pull into the driveway of his rental house for the final pickup. Once I drop the guy off at the Wallington airport, I’ll never have to deal with him again.
When I arrive at his rental house, I turn off the stereo, Smashmouth’s “Walkin’ on the Sun” still ringing in my ears. I don’t play music unless clients request it, and he never has. He appears at the top of the stairs as soon as I park and insists on loading his own bags into the trunk, but after I shut the passenger door behind him, he hides behind a script again.
His body language made it clear from the very first day of this gig that conversation between us is not welcome. But he can’t be learning lines now. The movie wrapped yesterday.
“Already preparing for the next role?” I ask, against my better judgment.
“Yep.”
He pops the P at the end of the word so aggressively, I know I should just let it go, but instead, I poke the bear. “Is it any good?”
He doesn’t answer, and when I glance in the rearview mirror, he’s white-knuckling the script. Reminding myself that my only job is to get him to the airport, I keep my mouth shut for the rest of the drive.
After I park under the Departures sign, I pop the trunk and paste on a professional smile, counting the seconds until this job is over.
He’s out of the car and dealing with the Skycap by the time I turn off the ignition, and I debate whether I should even get out. It’s not like the time when I drove the actress who shared every detail of her mother’s battle with cancer, who cried as she hugged me before she went through those doors. Or even the aging British cinematographer, who told me so many hilarious stories that I wanted to adopt him as my grandpa. Who invited me to visit anytime I was “over the pond.”
I’m not even sure Lukas Keith knows my full name, and I’ll be doing my best to forget him once those sliding doors close behind his very fine ass. He proves the truism: not all pretty faces have personalities to match.
“Danielle?”
The pretty face in question, dominated by soulful blue eyes framed by chestnut brown brows, suddenly appears in the open passenger side window. He’s never looked at me directly when he says my name, and the force of his attention pins me to my seat.
“Sir?” a man calls. “Your baggage claim ticket?”
“Can you wait a sec, Danielle?” he asks me. “I have something for you.”
He jogs away, and it’s like the sun disappearing behind a cloud. Everything dims a little bit for a few moments. When he returns, sliding into the front seat and turning that intense gaze back on me, I’m not only blinded by its force, but I suddenly don’t know what to do with my hands.
Meanwhile, my heart’s like the rabbit my dog Skye chased around the backyard last week, desperate to get away, racing from one side of my chest to the other. I don’t know whether it’s his movie star presence, or what, but the blood pumping through my veins is so loud, I have to lean closer to hear what he’s saying. This puts me in range of his intoxicating scent, which riles up parts of me that have been dormant so long I thought they’d expired.
I’m not sure how long he’s been holding out the wrapped package before I take it from him, but once my eyes have something else to focus on, I can at least breathe again.
“You can open it.” His hushed tone wraps around my shoulders like a favorite sweater on the first chilly day of autumn, making me want to snuggle closer.
“If you want. You don’t have to,” he continues, almost like he’s nervous. “I usually get my driver a nice bottle of booze or something, but I don’t know. I thought you might appreciate these. I actually had fun hunting them down.”
My cheeks could set fire to an ice cube, but curiosity is going to kill this cat if I don’t open the gift, so I just rip into the paper. When I see what’s inside, I literally gasp.
“I hope you like them.” His voice now tentative, he leans closer to lift the collection of neon sticky notes from the box, only to reveal another in pastels.
“Wow,” is the only response I seem capable of uttering.
“Maybe it’s dumb.” He sounds so vulnerable that my gaze shifts to his face, where his expression is equally unsure. “But I noticed how you use sticky notes to organize your planner, and I thought the different colors would be useful.”
He’s waiting for a response, I know he is, but I’m afraid if I say anything I might cry. I mean, it’s just paper, but it’s like the guy sees me. The guy who I thought didn’t even know my name has peered into my heart, examined my soul, and given me the perfect gift.
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