Screen Idol

by Elle Rush

  “I haven’t told her about that yet.”

  “What?”

  Chris waved his hand at Sydney, who looked up from her phone. Nothing to see here. We aren’t plotting against you or anything, honest. She went back to her call. Apparently she wasn’t completely immune to his charms. That was good to know. It was a shame he was lying.

  “She’ll say yes.”

  “I hope so. I hear Layla’s planning a big surprise for when you show up.”

  “Fantastic.” He didn’t need to hear that. The actress who played Hera would not hesitate to throw someone under the bus to gain more popularity points with the show’s audience. Layla Andrews was a grade-A bitch with the chops to get away with it because she was that good. However, good and well-liked were not always synonymous in this town. Right now he had a slight edge over her when it came to set politics, and he liked it that way. He didn’t know what she had planned, but if she managed to turn the tables on him by messing up this assignment it could be a very long thirteen episodes. Now not only did he absolutely have to get Sydney to the set and agree to do the shoot, he also had to watch her back and his own.

  “Okay.” Sydney patted the seat beside her. “You can meet my grandma. But she says no photos because her hair’s not done and she hasn’t put on her makeup yet.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They bounced a bit while the limo rolled over the speed bumps in the turnaround outside the seniors’ complex. It was a white stucco building about six stories high. It seemed nice and clean from the outside. It wasn’t expensive by any stretch. It looked comfortable, like so many things about Sydney’s life were.

  She waved to a faceless figure in one of the upper windows when he helped her out of the limo. Benny took a series of photos as they unloaded the trunk and headed into the building. Chris held the doors and the large stuffed cloth bags while Sydney balanced the smaller one holding the cakes. He was content to follow her lead as they took the elevator to the fourth floor. When she knocked on the apartment door, it opened almost immediately.

  An ancient Marilyn Monroe greeted him with, “Hello, you cheating son of a bitch.”

  Chapter 6

  Sydney slapped her hand over her eyes. She couldn’t watch this train wreck. Her grandmother had sounded okay when she’d explained the changes to this morning’s schedule. In fact, Nana had made all the right noises about being excited about Sydney winning the Olympus sweepstakes and about getting the chance to meet Zeus himself.

  She should have known the old lady had other motives.

  Her grandmother was an ardent television watcher. Her biggest expense was her monthly cable bill, since she got every specialty station available. In fact, it was Nana who had introduced her to Olympus in the first place. She adored the show. Sydney hadn’t expected her to blur the lines between television and reality.

  She snuck a peek at Chris. He stood stock-still outside the door. Sydney assumed it was because of the insult, but then she noticed he was trying to speak. He seemed to be stuttering over the letter “M”. Crap, she forgot to warn him about that part.

  “It’s not what you think,” she whispered to him.

  “Really? Because I’m thinking that the reason your grandmother doesn’t want to be photographed is because she doesn’t want people to know that Marilyn Monroe has been hiding in Glendale for the last fifty years.”

  “Nana, may I present Mr. Chris Peck, who plays ‘Zeus’ on the TV show Olympus. Chris, this is my grandmother, Helen Richardson, who was one of Marilyn’s unofficial publicity doubles from back in the day.”

  Chris set down a bag of groceries and stuck out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “I can’t believe you slept with Demeter. That actress who plays Hera is so lovely, all black hair and chocolate eyes. It’s not very gentlemanly of you to cheat.”

  Sydney refused to look up again. Her not-date was getting an ethics lesson from the woman who used to make a living pretending to be someone else.

  “In my defense, I am the king of the gods. Zeus sleeps with everyone. And she did try to kill me in episode nine.”

  Her grandmother gave this due consideration. “That might make me a little tetchy too. Cheating’s still not right.”

  “It never is, ma’am.”

  “Well, don’t stand in the hall. Come in,” she said. “Then you can tell me all the twists coming up this season.”

  Shoot me now, Sydney thought. She picked up the bag Chris left in the hall when her grandma grabbed his free hand and pulled him into her little living room. Sydney was relieved to see it was tidy with nothing embarrassing on display. The complex offered bi-weekly housekeeping so it never got completely out of hand. Tidy wasn’t the problem. There wasn’t a big enough bucket of brain bleach to get rid of the image of Nana’s apartment the day she had a lingerie party. The ladies attending were completely clothed, but even the idea of them in those clothes had turned Sydney off pushup bras for the duration.

  Chris shot her a confused look from the living room, but she ignored him. She hadn’t wanted him to come up in the first place. He’d insisted. Now he could deal with a feisty ninety-year-old while she unpacked the groceries in the kitchenette.

  The fridge was in good shape. Sydney tossed the few shriveling grapes from last week’s bag and put the new bunch in the crisper. There was no yogurt at all in the fridge, which meant that either Grandma’s calcium was up or that she left it on the counter and it went bad so she’d thrown it out. Sydney would have to ask what happened.

  “Nana, would you like some cake and coffee?” she called from the kitchen.

  “That would be lovely, sweetie. Mr. Peck, would you like to join us?”

  “He can’t,” Sydney said. She popped the lid off the cake and carried it into the living room. She set it on the coffee table and turned it so the holiday message was visible.

  “Sydney, don’t you think you are taking the ‘slave’ thing a little too far?” the old lady warned.

  “Yeah, Sydney,” Chris said. “I’m your slave. The least you could do is feed me.”

  “No cake for you. You can have coffee.”

  “Sydney!” Nana admonished.

  He was getting her in trouble with her own grandmother. She should have left him in the limo with Benny. “I let you walk the cat!” she said to Chris.

  “That’s probably not helping your argument at this point,” he replied with a smirk.

  “Nana, Chris is on a diet. He can’t have flour so he doesn’t get any cake. And if he keeps this up he’s not going to get any coffee either. Do you get me, Zeus?”

  Chris snickered, and Nana laughed out loud. Then she reached over and slapped Chris on the knee a couple times and squeezed. Chris froze when the old lady’s hand made contact with his thigh. Then Sydney started laughing. It served the Greek god right. She wasn’t allowed to touch per the “I Agree” button she’d clicked. Her grandmother hadn’t, so let him fight her off. She was so far past cougar she was probably a saber-toothed tiger.

  Sydney made a couple more trips and returned with two plates and forks and a tray of coffee and cups. She handed Chris’ coffee to him and took the opportunity to whisper in his ear. “Keep it up and you’ll be serving me, toga boy.” The blush on his face was worth the fact that she couldn’t breathe. Sydney couldn’t believe she’d said that. Hello, Miss Forward and Flirting. Nice to see you again.

  It felt pretty good too. She’d forgotten she even knew how.

  She listened to her grandma wheedle away unsuccessfully as Chris refused to give any hints on upcoming storylines for the show. Sydney loved her family, but it was hard being the one who came to visit and check up on her grandmother every week. It was easy to run out of things to talk about, especially considering the number of topics they couldn’t discuss.

  Sydney glanced at her watch. She wasn’t worried about falling behind since she had the limo at her disposal, but she did have another stop to make. She got up and began
moving the used dishes into the little stainless-steel sink. It was a matter of minutes to clean them up. She cracked open the cupboard door under the sink to hang the damp dish towel on the edge of it. The door was swinging closed when she caught it and opened it again.

  “Where’s your fire extinguisher, Nana?”

  “Under the sink, dear.”

  “No, it’s not.” A quick search revealed it was not under the sink, or in any of the cupboards or in the tiny broom closet. Sydney checked the hall closet and the bathroom, and there was still no sign of it. “Nana, where did you put it?”

  Sydney could hear the woman trailing around behind her. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s here somewhere.”

  “Somewhere is not going to help when you need it.”

  “Sydney, dear, I don’t even have a stove.”

  “Right, because that’s the only way fires start. Accidents happen to other people,” Sydney snapped. Jesus, they had this argument at least once a month. How hard was it to leave a fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink? Nana didn’t have to go under there for anything else. All she had to do was leave it under there in case there was an emergency. But no, that would make too much sense.

  Sydney pressed her lips together and held her breath. Her lungs fought against her restraint, but she absolutely refused to fall into another panic attack. The extinguisher was missing, but there wasn’t a fire. It wasn’t like that night in the house when Nana had put a grilled cheese sandwich in the pan and then went back into the living room and got caught up in the news broadcast.

  There was no fire.

  Chris caught her arm as she stormed into the bedroom. “Sydney, your grandmother is crying.”

  “Tears won’t put out a fire. Believe me. She needs to stop doing this.” She shrugged him off and dropped to the floor, looking under the bed skirt and behind the dresser. She found the red cylinder tucked inside a lone cowboy boot. Sydney hauled both of them out from under the bed and set them on the duvet. “Really, Grandma?”

  Nana’s watery eyes didn’t move her. They’d lost their effects after the first three times they’d played this game. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I needed to stretch out the leather at the ankle.”

  “Just leave it under the sink, Grandma. Please.”

  Sydney was tempted to push the extinguisher to the far corner, behind the elbow joint. But putting it out of reach would be counterproductive. Instead, she left it against the inside of the cupboard wall, inside just enough that the door could close without knocking it.

  She gathered up the now-empty grocery bag and put it back into her purse. She gathered up the second bag, and the one containing the other cake, and stepped up to her grandma. She bent over to give her a gentle hug. “I’ll see you next week. Thanks for entertaining Chris for me.”

  Chris bowed at the waist and kissed the old woman’s hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Richardson.”

  “You treat my grandbaby well, Zeus.”

  “I will.”

  The elevator ride down to the second floor was silent until Chris said, “She didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Let it go.”

  “I’m trying to help.”

  “Chris, have I given you any tips on how to act?”

  “No.”

  “Then do me the same courtesy.” So much for flirting. Sydney sighed.

  Chapter 7

  He was the slave. If she told him to shut up, he’d listen. How she treated her family was none of his business. “Where are we going next?”

  “Friend.”

  Great, now they were down to one word answers. This was going to impress the producers. He grabbed the grocery bag automatically when Sydney held it out to him. It seemed he still had a job to do.

  He recognized the head toss and shoulder roll as Sydney tried to shake off the episode with her grandmother. It was obvious she wasn’t an actress. Her body had released some of the tension he’d seen since she left the elderly woman’s apartment, but her smile was so fake it hurt to watch. The spat must have been worse than he knew. And he’d added to it. Now he felt bad.

  “Your friend?” he tried again.

  “Family friend. He knew Nana back in the day.”

  She knocked on the door of a corner suite and waited. Eventually, Chris heard some muffled shuffling. The chain slid off the steel runner with a rasp, then clunked against the doorframe. It opened to the heavily lined face of a gray-haired man whom he vaguely recognized, but he couldn’t put a name to him.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Dobson,” Sydney said.

  That was the name. Gary Dobson was a legend behind the camera. He’d directed the premiere episodes of eight of the top ten shows of the seventies. The fortunate few unknowns he’d replaced in minor roles on his shows had shot to immediate stardom on the big screen. Chris had heard some of the old timers on the lot say the man could tell if a show was going to win the night’s ratings just by reading the script. Gary Dobson had a golden touch. When he disappeared from the limelight in the eighties, the Writers Guild of America went on their longest strike in history, effectively crippling the entertainment industry. Of course, the strike wasn’t related to him leaving. That anyone could prove.

  Now Chris was trying to break out into movies, and he was standing in front of a man who had the knowledge to tell him how to do it. Unfortunately, the woman who could make it happen was pissed at him. This was not how karma was supposed to work. He was sure this day couldn’t get worse. He wasn’t certain how, but he was sure it was possible.

  “Good morning, Sydney. Who’s your friend?”

  Chris didn’t quite elbow Sydney out of his way in his eagerness to get an introduction. “Hello, Mr. Dobson, sir. My name is Chris Peck.”

  “Chris is an actor,” Sydney offered.

  “Yes, I gathered that,” the old man said. He let Chris pump his hand a few more times before he shook him off. “It’s nice to meet you, Chris. Won’t you come in?”

  The suite was larger and nicer than the last one. There was an extra door, which Chris presumed led to a second bedroom, and it had a full kitchen. He noticed a lack of Hollywood memorabilia, a distinct difference from Mrs. Richardson’s place. Her walls were covered with photos of her, or the real Marilyn Monroe, he couldn’t tell the difference, at various functions and with a number of who’s who from the era. The pictures here were of family and places that looked genuine. They lacked the gloss but had the reality.

  By the time he finished his inspection, Sydney and Mr. Dobson were in the kitchen. She was teasing him about the cake.

  “You did remember to get Mrs. D something, right? Flowers? Candy? A card?”

  “She’s got me. What else does she need?”

  “Flowers. Candy. A card,” Sydney teased. “Or a cake. Look, you’re all set!”

  “You are a sweetheart, Sydney. Would you like to say hi to Arlene? She’s in the bedroom.”

  Sydney left, and Chris was alone with the great Gary Dobson. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “I recognize you. From Olympus. Good show.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “How do you know our Sydney?”

  “She won the Olympus sweepstakes. I’m her slave for a day.”

  “I remember that promotion. Good idea. I thought they could have done more with it though. How did you end up as the slave? Surely there were others that could have done it.”

  Chris gulped. To lie, or not to lie. That was the question. “Originally I lost a bet but I realized I could make it work for me.”

  Mr. Dobson laughed. “You got lucky. Sydney is a doll. She won’t treat you too badly.” He pulled a glass from the cupboard. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No, thank you, sir. We had coffee upstairs.”

  The old man’s smile disappeared. “So you met Marilyn. Helen.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Drop the ‘sir’, would you?”

  “Okay, Mr. Dobson.”

  Chris flinc
hed under the glare. No wonder the man had a reputation of no messing around on set.

  “What did you think of our resident celebrity?”

  Now there was a setup. Mr. Dobson was looking for a specific answer. As an actor, Chris should be thinking professionally, and Helen/Marilyn had some serious power to consider. But then he had called Sydney “sweetheart”. “She and Sydney had an argument about a fire extinguisher.”

  “And you said something. That explains the tension between you.”

  “Her grandmother started crying.”

  Checking to make sure that Sydney had indeed gone into the bedroom, the elderly gentleman slapped Chris’ shoulder. “Without breaking any confidences, I can tell you that Helen and Sydney tried to live together for a time, but Helen needed more supervision than Sydney could provide. There’s a reason she’s in a suite with no stove.”

  Chris gulped. “Did she start a fire?” It was the only explanation he could think of that could have triggered Sydney’s freak out about the fire extinguisher. It also explained the glassed-in one in Sydney’s hall at her house.

  “A small one. But there were other near-misses. She had to move out for Sydney’s sake.” Mr. Dobson swung the door under the sink open. He had an identical extinguisher in exactly the same place Sydney had put her grandmother’s. “Our girl is nobody’s fool. The point of insurance is not to need it. Keeping that down there costs me nothing, gets me goodwill, and may save my family’s life one day. Why would I throw that away to prove that I had more control than a little girl trying to do the right thing?” He eased the door shut silently when he heard voices coming from the next room. “My wife is making an appearance. Would you like to meet her?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Dobson.” Crap. The frown was back.

  His wife was a little bit of a thing, bent with age and radiating frailty. Chris couldn’t say for certain if he even knew his hero was married. He did a quick review in his head. In every photo he could remember, Gary Dobson was alone or with his cast. He never appeared in public with his family, and nobody ever said anything about it. How the hell could nobody have said anything for thirty-some years?