“Well,” I answer with a dramatic flourish of my arms, “Apparently, now I’m fat. She needs to order me a bigger swimsuit.”
Cindy gives me a critical once-over and I try not to flinch. “She’s a jealous bitch. Your suit is fine.” She stares at me a little longer, then smiles. “Except for that bride-to-be glow, you look the same as you did before you left.”
I swear, some days, Cindy is the only reason I haven’t walked off the set and quit. “Thank you.”
Marilyn might have said if I get the part on the new show, I can still be on this one, but there’s no way I’ll sign on to take more of this crap for another season. I don’t want to pin all my hopes on the new show—who knows, it could end up being worse—but I’m really looking forward to the audition.
Cindy pulls me out of my musings by waving a pan of makeup at me. “It’s the nice thick, waterproof stuff. You have a shower scene.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I say under my breath.
“Mallory!” she fake gasps. “This is a family show!”
I chuckle as I drop into my seat and wait for her to perform her magic.
Eight hours later, I don’t think even Cindy has enough magic to make me stay on this set another second.
“Is this going to be a problem, Mallory?” Sam asks, scowling at me so hard I want to melt into the floor.
Obviously, the director wasn’t looking for any input from me about the scene. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?
“No, it’s fine.” Grown women ask each other to help them shower all the time for no reason whatsoever. Totally normal.
Pamela rolls her eyes but I’m not sure if it’s at me or the director. Either way, she’ll have the privilege of soaping me up in the shower when we shoot the scene later in the week.
Now that I’ve been properly chastised in front of everyone, we’re dismissed for the day.
“Total jerk-off material,” Pamela whispers when the director turns his incendiary gaze on one of the show’s many writers. “You know our biggest demographic is single males in the thirty-five to fifty-four years of age range, right?”
“That explains so much.” I slap my hand over my mouth to keep myself from laughing.
She giggles and bumps my elbow. Except for running a few lines this morning, we haven’t spoken much. Certainly, not about anything personal. I’m not sure what to say. Given that she and Andrew just broke up, and the way it happened, I don’t want to rub her nose in my engagement.
“Congratulations, by the way.” She nods to my ring.
“Oh.” I smile down at my hand. “Thank you.”
“How’d he propose?”
Since she asked, I give her the details but try not to gush too much.
“Shucks, that’s sweet.” Her voice lacks the usual mocking and actually seems sincere. “When you planning on tyin’ the knot?”
Since I don’t want to explain that we’re saving the public wedding for when my father’s out of prison, I go with a non-committal, “When everything settles down.”
“Oh, sugar, there will never be a ‘right time.’ Best do it quick, so you’ll be entitled to those juicy publishing royalties when you catch him in bed with the maid or somethin’.”
And there it is.
I’m too tired to give her a lengthy speech about how Chaser and Andrew are nothing alike. “Thanks for the advice.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mallory
“Do I look like an innocent midwestern teenager?” I ask Chaser as I enter the living room.
He sets down his guitar and studies me. “Will you think I’m creepy if I say I totally would’ve tried to bang you in high school?” He adds an eyebrow wiggle that sets me off laughing.
“Maybe just a little.”
“Mallory,” he says more seriously. “You’re beautiful.”
“Beauty isn’t the point.”
He runs his gaze over me again. “Yes, I can see you playing a high school senior, no problem.”
“I probably haven’t worn these since I was a senior.” I run my hands over my yellow jeans. “You want to talk about being creepy, I drove by the high school last night just to see what kids are wearing these days.”
“Did you?” he chuckles.
“It was Marilyn’s suggestion. At least I have some character details. Half the time, I have no idea what the casting directors are looking for.” I bite my lip. “I still need to work on my Midwestern accent, though.”
“I doubt they’ll know the difference.”
“True. Marilyn just told me to talk “flat.” She seemed to assume the Midwest is one massive, uniform flatland of cornfields.”
He laughs even harder. “Sort of how everyone assumes if you’re from New York, you speak like a wise guy from Brooklyn?”
“Or tawk like you’re from Long Island,” I add in my best fast, hypernasal accent.
He shudders. “I’ve ridden through the Midwest and spent some time in a few states. Where’s your character supposed to be from?”
“Nebraska.”
“All right. From what I remember there’s no obvious pahk the cah kind of accent like Boston. It’s flat like she said. A more subtle merging of vowels in some words. Like cot and caught would sound the same. Stock and stalk. Dawn and Don.”
I softly repeat the examples to myself, getting a feel for what he’s describing.
“Honestly, though, if they’re Hollywood types who only spend time on either coast, they’ll never know the difference.” He holds his hands in the air. “That’s my totally unbiased, biker opinion.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Come here.” He holds his arms out and I happily wrap myself around him. He hugs me, slowly rocking us side to side. “You’re going to be great,” he assures me in a soothing rumble.
“Thank you,” I mumble against his shirt. “What are you working on today?”
He takes a long, deep breath before answering, so I can already guess what he’s going to say. “Andrew wants to get together and jam over at Vinnie’s. Alvin’s supposed to meet me there.”
“Good.”
“We’ll see. I’m sure he’s dying to pump me for information about Pamela.”
I open my mouth and he presses one finger against my lips. “Nope. The less I know, the better.”
“Well, she did warn me to get hitched quick so I can have a piece of all your publishing royalties when I catch you in bed with our maid.”
He rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake. He really breaks everything he touches, doesn’t he?”
“I have a feeling she was a little messed up before Andrew. Why else would any woman date him?”
“Good point.”
I poke him in the chest. “Aren’t we a perfectly smug couple?”
He leans down and rubs his nose against mine. “Smug as two bugs in luuuv,” he sings.
“Oh my God.” I slap my hand against his chest and snort with laughter.
When I can finally breathe again, he’s grinning at me. “I love making you laugh.”
I hug him tight again and he rubs his hand over my back. “Do you want me to drop you off?”
“No, I’m going straight to work after the audition. It’s at the studio. Everything is on the up and up.”
He releases me and grabs a notepad by the phone, jotting down a number. “That’s Vinnie’s house. Call me if you have any issues. If I’m not back by the time you get home, send a search party.”
“Very funny.”
My happy mood lasts all the way to the audition.
What am I doing here?
They specifically asked for me. I’m not showing up with a bunch of other random actresses vying for a part.
Once I’ve given myself a little pep-talk, I head inside.
The assistant to the casting director takes my headshot and resume. “We’re so happy you’re here, Mallory.”
“Thank you. I’m excited to learn more about the show.”
Settle down. Stop being a kiss-ass.
Thankfully, she doesn’t seem put off by my eagerness. She hands me a thick script and asks me to follow her, stopping in front of an unmarked white door. “We’ll give you some time to go over the script. Don’t worry about memorizing everything perfectly. Just get comfortable with the material.”
“Sure.”
She opens the door to a plain room with a table, a few chairs, and a couch against one wall. I curl up on the couch and dig into the script.
First day of school:
Brittany’s beat-up clunker tooling down the highway to school.
Brittany driving. Her brother Christopher in the passenger seat…
I read through the scene. Other than Brittany’s brother being an annoying pompous know-it-all, she seems to have a good life. I can do this. I can be Brittany from Nebraska. I showed up to Hollywood completely clueless too and now here I am reading for a Scout Southgate show.
In the next scene, Brittany waxes on about her love of cornfields to her new super-snobby friends. Seems like a strange thing for a teenage girl to be homesick about, but Nebraska is different than where I grew up, so I accept my character’s quirk and move on.
By the time I reach the end of the script, my heart’s thumping. I want this role. I flip back through it, considering how to deliver the lines. There’s limited direction in the script. What interpretation will impress the casting director?
The woman I met earlier returns. “What’d you think?”
“I love it.”
She smiles at me warmly. “Good. Scout wants you to read with Colby. Follow me.”
I swallow hard. I hadn’t expected to read in front of the executive producer today. I thought maybe they’d film the audition and show it to him later.
Mr. Southgate approaches and holds out his hand. I’m at least a few inches taller than him and almost have the urge to bend down so we’re at eye-level. “Thank you so much for coming in, Mallory.”
“Thank you. I’m really happy to be here.” I snap my mouth shut before I start gushing about how I’ve watched almost all of the shows he’s produced over the years. That they were some of my mother’s favorites. There’s plenty of time to make a fool of myself later.
The casting director and a few other people whose names and titles I immediately forget also introduce themselves.
The actor playing my brother, shakes my hand next. “Colby Bright. Love your work on Shallow End,” he says, and I don’t even think he’s mocking me.
“All right. Settle down,” someone yells.
A hush falls over the set.
“Go head,” Mr. Southgate says.
“Uh.” I stare at my script. “Are there any—”
“Nope. Let’s see how you interpret the role first, Mallory. We’ll go from there.”
Great.
Recalling how nervous I was my first few weeks in L.A. I don’t need direction or to have the lines memorized. I am Brittany, the fish out of water. The hopeful girl with a world of opportunity in front of her. The words come out easily and I only have to glance at the script a few times.
“Interesting interpretation,” Mr. Southgate says slowly. I can’t tell if that means he’s happy, impressed, or annoyed.
“Can you try the first scene with a little less of the tight-assed stiffness?” the casting agent calls out. “Looser. More sugar.”
Doesn’t sound like I impressed him.
Colby leans in closer. “He’s just testing you to see how well you take direction.”
We go through the scene and for some reason, I interpret “more sugar” as “southern belle” and end up doing my best Pamela impression—swaying hips, slow southern drawl, and all. And my character’s supposed to be from Nebraska.
Mr. Southgate and the casting agent are doubled-over laughing when we finish. My cheeks flame. Marilyn handed me an almost-guaranteed role and I blew it.
“That would have been perfect on Plantation, Mallory,” he says, naming one of his older shows. “Ignore Kurtis, darling. Your first interpretation of Brittany was divine.”
Kurtis side-eyes Mr. Southgate. “We’ll let you know, Mallory.”
Dismissed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mallory
The dull throb of exhaustion beats against my forehead as I slip my key into the front door lock. The last week of filming has been one sixteen-hour day after another. I’ve called Marilyn to ask about the Ocean Ave. audition so many times, I’m pretty sure she’s started dodging my calls.
Inside our house, Chaser’s rushing around the living room, stuffing his wallet in his pocket and searching the coffee table for something. All I’ve been looking forward to tonight is a nice, quiet evening home together, but he appears to have other plans.
He stops and smiles when he sees me. “Hey, how was your day?”
“Long. Where are you going?”
My clipped answer wipes the smile off his face. “We have a gig tonight.”
“What? Why? Where?” My voice rises in pitch with each question. I blow out a breath to calm myself. As we move closer to the date when Chaser has to leave to record the album, the more I resent any time we have to spend apart.
“Last minute thing Thom set up for us at the Cathouse. Supposed to be a big ‘surprise’ show.”
“Aren’t you guys too big to play the Cathouse now?”
He cocks his head. “The second I start thinking like that, is when this all goes away.”
“You know what I mean.” I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue with him. Obviously, this is a done deal. I can’t help the disappointment digging into my chest. “You just came off a huge tour. You’re about to leave to record an album and go on another tour.” Oh, I hate the bitter tone that crept into my voice on that last couple words.
Chaser notices it too. His face twists with annoyance. “We still need all the exposure we can get, Mallory.”
“I was looking forward to spending time with you tonight,” I admit. “That’s all.”
His face softens. “Me too. Believe me, I wasn’t thrilled when Thom called.”
Join the club. I’m never happy to hear from Thom. I keep that to myself as I walk down to the bedroom. Chaser follows and stands in the doorway, watching me undress.
“Thom also wants us to check out a band he thinks would be a good fit to open for us.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall.
“Why don’t you sound more excited about it?”
He shrugs.
“Who’s the band?”
“Iron Kiss. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of them.”
“The name sounds familiar. Are they not a good fit? Musically, I mean?”
“They’re all right. Their lead guitarist does some interesting stuff. Their image is similar enough to ours.”
“You still seem hesitant.”
He shrugs. “I’ll sound like a massive hypocrite.” His mouth twitches. “They have a big party reputation.”
“Ahhh, I see. You don’t want to be Shooting Fences, killing everyone’s fun with their sobriety coach.”
He doubles over laughing. “Jesus Christ, I hadn’t even thought of it that way, but yeah, I guess so.” Shaking his head, he wipes the smile off his face. “We could only be so lucky to have half the career Shooting Fences has had.”
“Did you talk to Thom about it?”
“They’re on our label, so they really want us to tour together.”
“So it’s a done deal?”
“Unless we really have a serious objection, it sounds like it. Thom says they’re excited about the tour and will behave, but—”
“Rock stars are so untrustworthy?” I tease.
He chuckles. “Exactly.”
“Did you have another band in mind?”
“Honestly, no. You know what an egomaniac I am. I’d play the whole three hours by myself.”
I snort. “Egomaniac sounds so harsh. More like, passionate about
your career.”
“Sure, that sounds better.”
“Give them a chance. Maybe they’ll impress you.”
“Come with me tonight.”
The thought of spending the next few hours jammed into a stuffy, smoky club and then waking up at the crack of dawn is so unappealing. “I have to be on set early tomorrow.”
His mouth curls into the devilish smile I can’t resist as he comes closer. “Come on,” he cajoles. “I’ll make you breakfast, and take you to work tomorrow so you can sleep in as late as possible.”
“You’ll be too tired.”
“I miss having you watch me play. You’ve missed all our rehearsals this week. I always sound better when you’re there.”
“That’s ridiculous. You sound amazing no matter what.”
“Nope. It’s a fact.”
“Says who?” My lips twitch. Cindy might have to dab on a lot more concealer under my eyes tomorrow—I’m seriously considering going.
“Me.” He captures me by the hips and yanks me toward him. “Please?”
“Okay.” I glance at my closet. The last thing I feel like doing is dressing up to go to a club.
“Throw on some jeans,” he suggests, reading my mind perfectly. “Nothing fancy. We don’t have a lot of time anyway.”
“Give me ten minutes?” I grab a pair of skintight purple-tinted acid wash jeans and a Kickstart tank top. A skinny red, studded belt drops to the floor and I scoop it up, wrapping it around my waist twice. I glance at the neat line of pretty heels stacked in my closet and my feet cry. Can’t do it. I grab a pair of black flats instead. My hair’s still teased and fluffy from filming today, but I gather it into a big, poofy ponytail to keep it out of my face, slick on some gloss and hurry out to the living room.
“Sexy.” Chaser runs his gaze over me and sets the phone down. “Do you mind if we take your car? I called the guys and told them they didn’t need to pick me up.”
“Not at all.”
He lugs his equipment out to the car and loads it up. Then we’re off.
The sidewalk in front of the club is clogged with people. We end up driving around the block a few times before finding a spot.
Wheels of Fire (Hollywood Demons Book 3) Page 17