Love Lies Bleeding

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His hand skimmed her bare leg, coming to rest on the tender place behind her knee. It lingered there for a moment or two, caressing, teasing, before travelling further along her thigh. It was the first time she’d done this, and she was very tense. As he reached down with his other hand to unfasten himself, she braced herself for a count of five - hoping she could bear the weight of him on her at this awkwardly contrived angle - then exhaled in relief as the director barked, ‘Cut! Thanks, Rory. Thanks, er – ’ a glance at his clipboard ‘ Corinna.’

Her silk petticoats made a rustling noise as Rory McDonagh disengaged himself and rolled off her. ‘Did you hear about the cowboy who wore a hat, waistcoat and chaps all made of paper?’ he asked, looking down at her with wicked green eyes.

‘No.’

‘He’s wanted for rustling,’ said Rory.

Shrugging into the robe that the wardrobe girl was holding out for her, she managed her first genuine smile of the day.

‘That’s better,’ he told her. ‘You’re beginning to relax.’

‘I’m sorry. I never dreamed I’d feel so self-conscious.’

‘You’re bound to feel self-conscious, darling. I’ve done this many, many times, but it doesn’t get any easier.’

‘I’ve done it, too. Well – not this, not exactly. But I have got my kit off for life drawing classes in Art College. I thought I’d be well able to do it in front of a camera, but it’s so not the same thing.’

‘That’s because it’s skin on skin. People find it hard to believe, but simulating sex is one of the most terrifying aspects of an actor’s job.’ Swinging his legs off the bed, Rory slanted her a look of enquiry. ‘So you’re an art student?’

‘Yes. A typical impoverished one. That’s why I have to take jobs like this.’

‘What branch?’

‘Painting, at NCAD. I love it.’

‘I do a bit of collecting. Maybe one day I’ll own a painting by the world renowned artist, Corinna Connelly.’

‘Corinna Connelly isn’t my real name,’ she confessed.

‘I guessed it might be makey-uppy. What made you choose it?’

‘I didn’t want my real name to go on the credits.’

‘No, I meant what made you choose the name Corinna?’ He was small-talking, she knew, trying to put her at ease.

‘My cousin came up with it.’ She pulled the collar of her robe up to her chin, and hugged her knees for comfort. ‘She’s dead cultured. Apparently it’s a diminutive of the Greek word cora, which means “girl”. And that’s all I am in this film. I’m just the girl who stands in for the real star.’

The make-up assistant approached with her powder brush. ‘The real star is lucky to have you as her body double,’ she observed. ‘You’ve a fabulous figure.’

‘Get away! Thank you for the lovely compliment, but it’s nowhere near as fab –’

‘Hair in the gate!’ came the call from the studio floor. ‘We’ll have to go again.’

Rory laid a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ he told her. ‘You’re doing great. Just close your eyes and think of the moolah.’

Think of the moolah, she repeated like a mantra, as she unknotted the sash of her robe with clumsy fingers. Just close your eyes and think of the moolah. What I'm doing isn’t porn, it’s not prostitution, it’s not pole-dancing. And it’s paying me many more euros than posing for life drawing classes ever could...

The camera assistant took a fresh reading, the make-up girl applied a little more body shimmer, and Rory McDonagh positioned himself on top of her, keeping his weight on his elbows like the gentleman he was.

For more information about Kate and her other novels, please go to www.kate-thompson.com

© Kate Thompson 2008