by Lee Winter
Elizabeth loaded the next video. A compilation of all the Joey/Hunt scenes overlaid with romantic music. It had over a million views. A million! She hit Play.
Fifteen minutes later, her jaw hurt from hanging open. When played back to back, their scenes were like a love letter between two women. The ache in Summer’s expression was unsettling.
At the time she’d thought Summer had been furious with her. How had she never noticed the awareness in the woman’s eyes? The contemplation? The curiosity? The clear interest? When had that started?
Scrolling back to the beginning of the video, she watched their first interaction. No. Nothing. What had changed? She moved the slider forward again, to their most recent scene. A frozen image of Carter and Hunt, standing toe to toe, filled the screen. Carter’s eyes were on Hunt’s lips.
Subtle.
Her own mouth was curled into an amused, barely there smile. Christ. She was as bad as Summer.
Her phone rang. Elizabeth almost didn’t answer until she saw the caller’s name.
Then she flung herself at the device. “Grace!”
“Darling! You’re back!” Grace’s beautifully modulated tones drifted down the receiver making Elizabeth miss her all the more. Then she hated herself for missing someone who’d disappeared without a thought or word.
“Yes, I’m back, but where are you?”
“Somewhere wonderful and surprising. Sweetie, I’m couriering you over a plane ticket for this afternoon. Meet me. You must come and see.”
“I can’t. I have a new script to read before next week and…”
“Of course you can. You’re not back at work for days and days. Bring your script, learn it on the plane. Catch you this afternoon. Soon, darling!”
What? Where? “Grace?”
The phone had gone dead. The buzzer from the security monitor on her driveway gates sounded. She flipped the comm panel on. “Yes?”
“Delivery for Elizabeth Thornton,” came a bored voice. “Top priority.”
Palm Springs, California, was neither wonderful nor surprising, despite Grace’s hard sell, and it was too damned hot for Elizabeth’s tastes. All of which Grace had to know, yet she’d dragged her out here anyway. They were beside the pool, stretched out on deck chairs under umbrellas, sipping fruity drinks as fawning waitresses attended them.
“Why am I here?” Elizabeth asked. It sounded existential.
Grace smiled. “Because I like having you with me. Your face always puts me in a good mood. Now, here, tell me what you think before you get too far gone on over-priced mai tais.” She tossed a script to Elizabeth.
Oh. She was just here for a script assessment? Elizabeth squelched her disappointment.
After studying the writer’s name—an unknown—and the title, TBD, she flicked through the pages. It seemed fairly unspectacular, not much different from the dozens of other scripts Grace had rejected since coming to America. It was a romance with a hint of drama, lots of longing looks set against swaying palm trees.
“A little predictable,” she suggested diplomatically, handing the script back. “It’s not exactly Merchant Ivory Productions. Not a corset or bonnet in sight.”
“I’m breaking my mold, darling,” Grace said breezily. “I’ve decided to take a chance on an up-and-coming film-maker.” Her face broke into a smile as a good-looking, deeply tanned man in his early thirties ambled over and kissed her cheek.
“Roger, darling, this is my friend, Bess. Bess, this is Roger Plympton, producer of Loving Under Palms.”
Dear God, was that its name?
“A working title,” he said smoothly, “And it beats Best Fronds Forever.” He chuckled.
Grace joined in with a high, supercilious laugh.
“Delighted to meet you.” Plympton reached for Elizabeth’s hand and gave it an ostentatious kiss that set her teeth on edge. “Let me introduce you to Jackie Benton, the director.” He waved a woman over, and then, as his phone jangled to life, moved away to take the call.
A squarish woman with cropped ebony hair, in a T-shirt, jeans, and boots, sauntered into view, her eyes wandering Elizabeth’s form with interest.
“Jax,” she corrected, firmly shaking Elizabeth’s hand. “The script’s not much yet, but we plan to make it into something wonderful for your friend.” She held the handshake a little too long.
Elizabeth murmured something neutral in reply. Her gaze flicked to Grace, who was sipping her mai tai and watching them in amusement.
“I’ll let you two catch up. We’ll see you both at dinner.” Jax’s smile lingered before she left.
Wait. Dinner? Elizabeth turned to see that her mentor at least had the good grace to look a little sheepish at having apparently volunteered her for schmoozing duties this evening.
“Anything you want to tell me?” she asked.
“Well, imagine my surprise when I discovered my director-to-be was a huge Hunt fan. Astonishing anyone could like that bitter drop of acid, but there it is.”
Bitter drop of acid? Hunt wasn’t that bad. Especially not lately. Well, not in Carter’s vicinity, at least.
Grace prodded the drink with her straw a few times. “I didn’t think you’d mind lending me a little support tonight. I want this role.”
In all their years, Grace had never asked her for anything. Elizabeth had never been sure whether it was because she didn’t need help or hated to ask for it. This was a seismic shift in their relationship, yet all Grace did was poke at her drink, looking bored.
Plympton returned, pocketing his phone. “I have to go. Until dinner tonight, darling.” He air-kissed Grace’s cheek, and the faintest tip of his finger trailed across her shoulder.
“Yes, bye, Roger.”
Elizabeth stared at Grace, mutely asking about the wandering touch as the man departed.
“Goodness, this sun! So much of it.” Grace fanned herself with her hand. “Let’s head over to my suite. We’ll talk properly. Come.”
Elizabeth followed Grace back to her suite, which turned out to be an enormous room with a whumping wooden fan churning around the stultifying air. Green potted plants in each corner may or may not have been fake. It was far too luxurious to be delegated to any unsigned lead, despite Grace’s name.
“Your producer’s suite?”
“He lets me stay, yes,” Grace dropped the script on an end table and shrugged off her lightweight white blouse. Underneath was a clingy crimson tank top that did her a great many favors. “He has another one as well.”
“You’re dating him?”
“Roger’s interested in me and I’m letting him think he has a chance. Well, until the ink’s dry on my contract. Then? Who knows? You know how it is.”
She knew how it was in principle. It was surprising that Grace would lower herself to the flirting game over a lackluster role from a pair of unknowns.
“Will you excuse me while I get changed?” Grace asked. “It’s simply too hot out here today. Help yourself to a drink.” She waved at the bar. “I’ve made sure there’s Hendrick’s.” Her smile was so dazzling it was unsettling.
Elizabeth blinked. She’d never been so actively charmed by her friend before, although she’d seen her deliberately bewitch many an unsuspecting soul. And Grace had stocked Elizabeth’s brand of gin? That felt uncharacteristically considerate.
Reaching for a glass, Elizabeth added ice cubes, and poured in a finger of her favorite label. She swallowed and relaxed at its familiar, soothing essence. Well, perhaps this trip wasn’t a total write-off: Grace was in an expansive mood and the drinks were excellent.
Grabbing the script, she sauntered over to the balcony door, passed through billowing, filmy white curtains, and stepped outside. The heat hit her again, like a stifling, fat wall, but at least there was a little wind this high up.
Leaning on the railing, Elizabeth
cast her gaze over this dusty, orange, desert town-turned-oasis. It was a favored haunt of Hollywood executives and, at least once a year, lesbians. Not that she’d dare go to a Dinah Shore weekend. Fastest way to out herself in human history. She shuddered at the thought.
Sipping her drink, Elizabeth focused on what was uppermost on her mind. Why was she really here? Grace didn’t need Elizabeth’s help to get any role. She was gifted in bending anyone to her will, and that included already-smitten producers and lesbian directors with a taste for TV villains. Besides, didn’t Rachel sort out the basic schmoozing required for scoring Grace’s roles or auditions? Or, failing Rachel, Grace’s manager? All of this was odd.
Elizabeth settled into one of the cane chairs, a weathered construct that squeaked in protest, and turned her attention back to the script. Maybe she’d missed something pivotal on her first flick-through?
Ten minutes later she gave up on finding what wasn’t there. The story of a woman in Palm Springs waiting for her divorce to be final was so predictable that Elizabeth flipped to the end. Okay. She finds love at the resort with an equally miserable man. It just lacked the violins and… she turned the page.
CUE: RISING VIOLINS.
Jesus.
Footsteps alerted her to Grace’s return. She glanced back to find her friend looking…oh.
Grace was wearing a long, see-through white over-shirt, under which was a sinfully tight, tiny, white bikini. She was stunning. When wasn’t she? But Elizabeth had never expected to see quite so much of her. Elizabeth was shocked to discover she even owned a bikini. Grace always protected her blemish-free skin from the elements at all costs.
Her creamy-white long legs were as glorious as Elizabeth had fantasized about for years, her stomach taut and flat. Decades with a daily personal trainer had done wonders. The woman could pass as years younger than forty-four.
With a soft intake of breath, Elizabeth turned back to the view, afraid to be caught staring. Her mind raced. Was this for Roger’s benefit later? Had Grace decided that this dinner in her room would be a rewarding experience for him?
Surely Grace wasn’t that desperate to get a part? Or was she? And if she was, what had changed? She used to sneer at young starlets thrusting their cleavage forward at producers’ meetings.
“Enjoying the view?”
Elizabeth gazed down at the pool. “It’s quite nice.” If you like cookie-cutter hotel pools.
“Hmm.” Grace’s drink clanged, indicating she’d upgraded to spirits with ice. “Good.”
Elizabeth turned to face her. “Why am I here?”
“I already told you. I enjoy your company. I missed you.”
“And to secure you a part? I’m here to dazzle Jax?”
Shrugging, Grace said, “A bit of value-adding, yes. Why not? We all network to get ahead, don’t we?”
Elizabeth supposed that was true. “What did Rachel think of this part?”
Grace gave an indifferent wave. “Who cares?”
Who cares? Something was very wrong. “Grace—”
“I’ve let Cho go. She’s not been as useful as I thought. I’m making my own way now.”
Elizabeth sat up abruptly. “You fired Rachel? Hollywood’s top agent?”
“I most certainly did. And I fail to see how she’s top at anything. What fabulous parts has she found for me? Where are all the movie leads? I played Queen Victoria five years ago, and since then, virtually nothing!”
“Because you keep turning down everything she sends. And you said a flat no to TV.”
“Of course I did. It lowers my brand. TV is the clearing house of acting. Without a reputation, I’m nothing.” Grace glowered. “I can’t say yes to that. I’m not…”
“Me?” Charming.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You thought it.”
Grace twirled her drink. “Perhaps,” she conceded. “Sorry if it offends, but the truth is, I’m better than American television. So are you.”
Her snobbery hadn’t changed then, even though film no longer had a monopoly on the best writers. Grace had always refused to see it.
“Why this role then?” Elizabeth asked. “Because I’m afraid I can’t see what’s special about it.”
“The team behind it is special.”
“Those two?” Seriously?
“Don’t let appearances fool you. Yes, I know the role is weak. It’ll get fixed. But it’s about looking to the future. I’m getting in on the ground floor with Jax and Roger. They might be indie now, but they’re going places. And when they break through, they’ll want me for bigger projects; projects that will be fabulous.”
What? Nothing in that script had indicated inspiring minds at work. And since when did Grace back unknowns? “Grace,” she asked carefully, “how do you know they’re good?”
The ping ping ping of Grace’s bright red talon sounded against her glass. “They will be.” She exhaled. “They have to be.” Her lips thinned and she threw back the rest of her drink, clunking the empty glass onto the round cane table in front of them. “Fine. That bitch Cho dumped me.”
Ouch. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not even going to ask why?” Grace peered at her. “Just…sorry? Did you know she was going to?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Well, me either.” She laughed bitterly. “I’m getting another drink. Want one?”
Elizabeth shook her head and watched Grace go in a swirl of thin cotton and minuscule bikini. This was surreal. All of it.
When Grace reappeared, she pinned Elizabeth with a fierce look. “So after Cho…dispensed with me, Roger and Jax sent me this script. They promised me the world, and said they’d make me a star in America, if not on this project, then definitely the next. They’ve seen all my UK productions. Loved them. I’m not a dime-a-dozen actress to them. It’s me they want. I’m their muse. Do you hear? They appreciate talent.”
“Of course they want you. You’re gifted.”
“Exactly! Why in the hell can’t this backwards place see it?”
Worry filled Elizabeth. Grace’s veneer was slipping. To see the epitome of dignity snarling at her overlooked worth was unsettling…and new.
“I didn’t start out considering Roger’s proposal, you know,” Grace said suddenly. “I asked around first. Feelers out, that sort of thing. I even asked Alex for a role. In that climate-change atrocity.”
Astonishment coursed through her. Although a respected indie film-maker, Alex had little weight in Hollywood. “What did she say?”
“That the integrity of the project must be her priority. That I wasn’t right for it, but that she’d consider me for future projects. Not right for it? My God, I can act circles around the mediocre talent she employs. She said she was sorry, but her film comes first.”
Oh hell. Elizabeth hunted around for something to say that wouldn’t add salt to the wound.
“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?” Grace asked. Her eyes, pale blue and sharp, met Elizabeth’s. Grace’s hand came over to pat hers and then stayed.
Tingles shot through Elizabeth’s fingers at the connection; she hated herself for it. Her constant awareness of this woman was exhausting. She sought desperately for a distraction. “How’s Amrit?”
Something indecipherable flashed across Grace’s face. “Same as ever,” she said. “Although he’s still flitting about with that boy. Christopher.”
Oh. Right. The bartender. Amrit’s latest beautiful person of the minute. Well, month actually. “Is it serious?” Elizabeth asked.
The hand on hers tightened until both sets of their fingers turned white. Grace’s thumb tapped Elizabeth’s hand. “He seems to think so.”
“Really? What did he say?”
“A great many things, but never mind. Forget him. You’re here. Loyal, lovely Bess. Yo
u wouldn’t desert me the way the others have, would you?”
And suddenly it all became clear: Grace was feeling abandoned. First by Rachel, now Alex, and Amrit.
“Haven’t I always been around?” Elizabeth asked quietly. “Ever since we met, haven’t I been in your corner?”
“You have.” She offered Elizabeth another stunning smile and squeezed her hand before letting it go. “It’s good you’re here now. I can do something for you. You need my guidance.”
“Guidance? But I don’t need any—”
“Hunter.” Grace’s lip curled in disdain. “I can be of use with that messy business. One queer film to show you’re edgy and open-minded is perfectly fine. But that, followed up by the lesbians claiming your TV character? No, no. Don’t allow it. Stop it before it gets out of hand. I’m surprised Cho hasn’t shut it down for you already.”
“Rachel couldn’t if she tried. The producers are making my character an item with Summer’s.”
Distaste crossed Grace’s features. “You…agreed?”
“We didn’t have a lot of choice. Saying no would have resulted in Summer being fired. She’s far too good to be kicked to the curb.”
Grace eyed her. “So you’re protecting her. You’re allowing this farcical storyline for her.” She tsked. “Didn’t I drill into you, again and again, how to be a success? Don’t get used. If anything, be the user. Lion not the zebra. Remember that.”
Her words set Elizabeth’s teeth on edge. “I see you practice what you preach. What producer lets an actress stay in his luxury suite without strings attached?”
“A generous one.”
“He wants to sleep with you.”
“I’m aware.”
“Will you?”
“I haven’t decided how much I like him yet. Either way, it’s none of your business.”
“Yet Summer’s yours?”
“You are my business. Haven’t I always looked out for you? Didn’t I get you your start here? Who was beside you on those nights when we talked about the actress you wanted to be? Bess, listen to me when I say this: You are being taken advantage of.”
“The network wants—”