Hollywood Scream Play by Josie Brown Page A

against the defenseless. It ruins the lives of families who just want to get on with their daily, ordinary lives. They kill families in local shopping malls, and children on soccer fields. The average John and Jane Doe having lunch in a coffee shop may have the bad fortune of standing next to a suicide bomber when he blows sky high. I can tell you unequivocally that terrorism is not how you win friends and influence voters. If you want to make your case, you do it at the ballot box. Trust me, the terrorists know this.”
    Sebastian’s frown is evidence of his disbelief. “In your country, big business lobbies for what it needs. It also buys public opinion. What about John and Jane Doe then? Who looks after them?”
    “Sometimes, the task falls to me.” I tap the screenplay with my index finger. “You’ve got some of what we do right here. If only I were as gorgeous as Jennifer Garner.”
    Sebastian winces. “Or whomever.”
    I choke on my whiskey. “What do you mean by that?”
    “She dropped out, right after her husband pulled out of directing it.”
    “Let me guess—Cooper is out, too.”
    “Seems like it, unless Addison can coerce Jennifer Lawrence to take the role. When it comes to leads, those two are practically joined at the hip.” He taps the script, too. “After reading this, she’d be a fool to pass, if I do say so myself.”
    “I agree.” I try to stand up, but I’ll admit it—I’m a bit tipsy.
    Ever the gentleman, Sebastian puts his arm out to steady me.
    Instead, I end up in his lap.
    “Sorry! I guess I’ve had too much to drink.”
    “Not to worry,” he smiles, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that I’d end up there.
    As quickly as I can, I leap—okay, make that fall—out of his lap. He stands up in order to reach down to help me up—
    Instead he ends up on the floor beside me.
    We both laugh at this. At first, we exchange embarrassed chuckles, but soon we’re into full-blown snorting, to the point that we’re both rolling on the carpet.
    Face down, I gasp, “My God, I don’t remember the last time I just let loose like this!”
    I turn my head toward Sebastian to find him staring at my backside. When our eyes meet, he smiles. Picking up the whiskey bottle, he murmurs, “Bottoms up.”
    “Um…I don’t think I should drink anymore.”
    I rise to my knees, but slowly, because I’m woozy. I don’t want to throw up on the carpet. The dogs would think I’d left them a treat, and the next thing I know, I’d be cleaning up after them instead.
    Ugh. Can’t stand up. I settle back down onto my knees again. Sort of. More like yoga. Downward dog. Good, the blood is rushing to my head. Much better. Yes, exercise will do me good.
    No, vomit rushing there, too. I collapse into the cobra position: on my stomach, head and shoulders lifted.
    Sebastian is sitting on the bed, albeit he’s not half as looped. What’s he reading? Is that the Gideon’s Bible from the night table? “You like to journal, do you?”
    I’d try nodding, but in this position, I’d only be asking for trouble. I don’t want to pull a Linda Blair. “Yes. Old habit. It’s for my children…when they’re old enough to understand why I do…you know, my job.”
    “Totally understandable.” He flips the pages. “I’m old enough, though. You don’t mind, do you? It may help me find the key as to why I find you so beguiling.”
    He finds me beguiling?
    Hmmmm .
    But no. “No…” Sorry, I can’t let you read it, Sebastian. What I write is personal, and for my eyes only. My God, even Jack has never seen my journals.
    Not yet.
    Ouch! My head hurts…
    Closing my eyes makes it better.
    So. Does. Sleep.

    He’s kissing me.
    “Sebastian—no!” I smack him away.
    He nips my hand and growls. Talk about crossing the line—
    Only it’s not Sebastian. It’s Rin Tin Tin.
    I roll over to find Jack, staring down at me.
    I stumble to my feet. “Where’s…”
    “Sebastian? I have no idea. I’ve