Typecast

by Kim Carmichael

  “I am going to make this easy, not for you but for Ivy.” Matt put his hand on her arm. “I am going to leave and let her live out whatever fantasy she has going on with you. Rest assured, I will be back the second she realizes where her future lies.”

  “Fantasies that seep their way into real life are the best ones.” Logan lowered his voice.

  “They are called fantasies for a reason.” Like before, Matt gave her a peck on the cheek. “No matter what, your parents are expecting you.”

  Both she and Logan stayed still and quiet until Matt started his car and drove away.

  “Ivy.” Logan broke the silence.

  Holding up her hand, she walked inside, placed the chocolate on the coffee table, but kept hold of her rose.

  “What are we doing?” After closing the door, he came up behind her.

  “I need to ask you something.” In an effort to collect her thoughts, she stared at the petals.

  “Anything.” He put his hands on her shoulders.

  “If I leave and go to my parents alone, are you going to follow me even if I tell you not to?”

  He turned her and stared into her eyes. “Absolutely.”

  Did she cheer at being left with her crush? Did she cry? Did she try to push Matt away because he was the real deal and she knew he wanted more? In the end, was Logan the safer choice because he was unattainable? Deep down she knew the truth, but couldn’t face it or herself. She lifted her phone and texted Matt. I’m sorry. “Then get my bag and let’s go.”

  HOLLYWOOD STARDUST

  CUT TO:

  INT. HOTEL ROOM — OKLAHOMA – DAY

  The four are getting ready to leave and head back on the road. CHARLES is in the car, antsy that they are not keeping the schedule. WILLIAM is on the phone.

  CUT TO:

  EXT. HOTEL PARKING - DAY

  STEVEN and ROXY lean on the car, waiting.

  ROXY

  Don’t you need to call home or anything?

  STEVEN

  I don’t see you running to the phone.

  STEVEN puts his sunglasses on.

  ROXY

  I think they were thrilled I found some friends to play (She makes air quotes) with.

  STEVEN

  Anytime you want to step into my sandbox, just say the word.

  ROXY shakes her head.

  ROXY

  Is there anyone you miss?

  STEVEN shrugs.

  STEVEN

  I don’t know. Maybe my grandparents, been a while since I saw them. They live in Arizona.

  ROXY

  Maybe you should call them.

  STEVEN

  If I had someone to introduce them to, maybe I would.

  Chapter Eleven

  A little oasis in the middle of the desert, Palm Springs always screamed vacation to Logan. The hotels built around the hot springs, the casinos, and the midcentury cool vibe of the town lent itself to a different sort of lifestyle, one more relaxed than Los Angeles.

  With little traffic, they made good time down the freeway. They barely spoke, but when he reached the twists and turns of part of the 60 freeway, at last Ivy smiled. He knew he had a little inner daredevil.

  From the time she ran off from the interview with Erin, to getting her to agree to let him tag along, he thought his chest was about to explode. He didn’t put up such a good performance in Hollywood Stardust, but he knew he had to buck tradition and, at least in this scene, end up with the girl. However, even though she didn’t voice it, her fears came through from her friend, the guy he wanted to punch across the jaw and tell to keep quiet. Deep down, she doubted him, but he was never more certain about anyone. He needed to figure out a way to prove his intentions.

  She directed him into the residential area, the kind once frequented by the more hip to the jive stars of yesteryear. They glided to a stop in front a single-story modern masterpiece with a palm tree in the front yard and Wilson’s car in the driveway.

  Wilson’s car?

  “What is my brother doing here?” He pulled in behind his brother’s truck.

  Ivy opened her mouth and faced him.

  Before he repeated his question, a gaggle of people, including Giselle, his brother, two people he assumed were her parents, and another couple with a baby, charged out the front door holding balloons and some sort of banner. As speechless as Ivy, he pointed.

  She turned back. “Oh my God! What does that thing say?”

  The wave of people thundered toward the car, but as if working with one collective mind, stopped.

  “I’m assuming they noticed a slight change in plans.” He squinted to read the metallic letters. “Happy Engagement.”

  “What do I do?” She didn’t move.

  Engagement? “Were you in some sort of relationship with that person?” He tightened his hold on the steering wheel.

  “What?” She spun around back to him.

  “What the hell am I, if you were on the verge of an engagement?” He spat the words at her. They were beyond some fun make-out sessions and exchanging entertaining quips.

  “You?” She put her hands over her eyes. “You?”

  He remained silent.

  “I don’t know! You are a cross between a fantasy and a nightmare. Most definitely you are the man who is going to stomp all over me, break my heart, and leave me a blubbering idiot on the side of the road.” She put her hands down and glared at him. “But if you think I was in some sort of relationship while I panted after you, then I want you to be the guy who drives away.”

  They stared at each other.

  While he wanted to either drive away or yell back, he took a breath and analyzed her words. Broken heart? Panting after him? With her outburst, she handed him the road map on how to prove himself to her. He only needed timing on his side. “You better go meet your public.” Chaos consumed the crowd. The parents motioned toward the car, and even with the windows rolled up, he heard the baby crying. Baby? He wasn’t even going there.

  She huffed and opened the door.

  “Ivy Raleigh Vermont!” A woman suspiciously resembling Ivy let go of her balloon, and it soared off into space. “What is going on?”

  Raleigh? Interesting. He got out of the car and walked around to Ivy’s side, holding out his hand. From this second on, no one, not Ivy, not the parents, not even the baby would question his intentions.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” She put her hand in his and used him for leverage to stand up.

  “Oh, God! It’s him!” Another woman, this one younger than the first, jumped up and down and dashed toward them.

  “Mom!” Ivy thrust herself as a human barrier between him and the woman.

  Thus far, he had done essentially nothing and Ivy had her back pressed to him—bonus.

  “Fern, calm down!” A stylish woman in a white button-down shirt, jeans, and boots shooed Fern back and turned to Ivy. “I ask again, what is going on?”

  “Yes, missy, please explain.” A tall man who appeared as if he were ready to put on a robe and smoke a pipe came over. “For someone who never liked improvisation, I have to say you have thrown us for a surprise.”

  Giselle came over. “This isn’t Matt. Um, we may be a bit premature on the engagement.”

  For once, Giselle said something that made sense. No, he wasn’t Matt, but nothing about him was premature. Nothing. Zero.

  “Matt was premature on the engagement. We weren’t even dating. We barely had sex!” Ivy stomped her foot. “Where did you get the idea he was proposing to me?”

  Her mother and sister both gasped. The man who he assumed to be the father hardened his jaw, the younger man holding the baby smiled, and Wilson gave him a thumbs-up.

  “I waited until our wedding night to have sex.” The one named Fern turned back to the guy with the kid.

  “Right, of course you did, which is why Rose was born at full term six months after your wedding.” Ivy practically growled. “Stop living in the movies with convenient math.”


  Laughter not an option, Logan bit the inside of his mouth.

  “Fern has always created her own reality.” The older man nodded.

  “Matthew told me he felt this was the perfect way to make you closer. That you would grow to love him once he committed himself to you.” Her mother shook her head.

  “I think by the time someone gets engaged they should already be in love.” Ivy softened her voice. “I always pictured that if someone asked me to marry them that by the time they did, I would be so anxious wanting that ring that I almost couldn’t function.”

  Her tone came out almost ethereal, dreamlike, and he fought the need to put his arms around her.

  “Oh, your Raleigh side is showing.” Her mother sighed. “Life isn’t a silver screen fantasy.”

  He held his breath. Not two minutes ago she’d called him a fantasy.

  “Why not?” Ivy shook her head. “Why would I want to grow to love someone? Don’t you think it just happens and sometimes there’s no explanation? You spent your life up on stage performing some of the most classic tales of love. Love is nuts and random, and it may grow, but I don’t think getting engaged in hope it takes root is the answer.”

  He exhaled. No better words were ever uttered on the subject. No, she wasn’t the type to get engaged because she wanted to be married. She wanted to be with the man she loved. Her actions made him want her all the more.

  “He was perfect for you,” her mother whispered.

  “He was perfect for you,” Ivy countered.

  He ran his fingers down her arm and let his hand settle in the perfect indent of her waist. The pieces fit into place, and he looked down at the top of Ivy’s head. They both had their doubts they needed to work through.

  “I just want you to be happy and have a stable life.” Her mother focused on his hand.

  Ivy shook her head. “Is anything really stable?”

  He needed to be the personification of stability.

  The women stared at each other.

  “Excuse me,” the sister practically yelled, jolting everyone out of the moment. “Love or not, engagement or not, I think we are all forgetting the sheer fact that Logan Alexander is standing on our driveway.”

  The entire entourage turned to him. He put his hands on Ivy’s shoulders.

  “And you didn’t believe me.” Giselle leaned over to Fern.

  “You didn’t believe this was an engagement party until you saw the cake.” Fern shook her head.

  “You didn’t tell me until I saw the cake.” Giselle pursed out her lower lip.

  “We should make the introductions.” The older man cleared his throat and ran his hand through his perfectly styled and swooped-back hair.

  “It’s just an amazing coincidence with how Ivy loved the movie.” The woman extended her hand. “Fern Vermont Paddock. Is it strange knowing she was such a huge fan?”

  Ivy stiffened.

  “No, it’s usually strange when people come barreling toward me yelling, ‘Oh, my God, it’s him.’” He kept his hands where they needed to be, on Ivy.

  Fern put her hand down and backed up toward the man with the baby. “This is my husband Robert and daughter Rose.”

  Fine, they had a little botanical theme going on.

  “Logan, this is my father, Dennis Vermont.” Ivy motioned toward him. “And my mother, Cecelia Vermont.”

  “I’ve watched your film. You were convincing.” The father held his hand out.

  Logan shook the man’s hand and put on his best smile. For the mother, he took her hand and bowed his head. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Did you ever study acting? Film? The dramatic arts?” She pulled her hand away.

  “Mother,” Ivy growled.

  “I can’t say that I have.” He had to give it to the woman for throwing him a zinger of a question first thing.

  “Are you still acting?” She crossed her arms.

  “Some would say everyone is acting.” He waited for a spotlight to be put on him and squeezed Ivy a bit tighter.

  “You still have an agent, right?” She pursed her lips.

  “Yes.”

  “I need to check the roast.” Her mother spun on her heel and stomped back into the house.

  All right, her mother wasn’t a fan of the actor, but didn’t Ivy say something about her parents being on stage?

  “I’m going to help.” Fern ran after her.

  “I’ll get our bags.” Logan didn’t expect such a tough audience.

  “I think this is about the time for some drinks.” The father nodded and walked away.

  “Give me that.” With her hands out, Ivy stomped over to the man with the baby.

  “I think she needs to be changed.” Robert handed over the baby.

  “I’m on it.” Ivy gave the baby two kisses and, with a quick glance in his direction, walked away. “Come on, Giselle.”

  “Play nice, boys.” Giselle wrinkled her nose and followed her friend.

  Logan popped the trunk open, but before grabbing their luggage, he took a breath and stared at the house. “I love this kind of architecture.”

  “You don’t know where you’re at, do you?” Robert approached.

  He supposed Palm Springs wasn’t the answer. “Enlighten me.”

  “This is Curtis Raleigh’s home.” Robert swiped his hand in front of him.

  “Raleigh.” Ivy’s middle name. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Robert. “He starred in some of my all-time favorite movies.” People prayed to be compared to Curtis Raleigh. He had it all, from the swagger, to the lines, to the looks.

  “Well, Cecelia is his daughter.” Robert reached inside the trunk and took out Ivy’s suitcase.

  He looked up to the desert sky. The stars plentiful. At some particularly dark times right after Hollywood Stardust wrapped and everything imploded, he used to study the stars. He pictured each flickering light as one of the many actors or actresses that left before their time. Curtis Raleigh was up there. A star that shined bright enough to go supernova, but exploded with the all too familiar story of fast fame, fun, and fortune. All the trappings and downfalls.

  “What do you do for a living?” The gears meshed and began to turn.

  “I teach drama and act.” Robert chuckled. “I’ll save you the trouble and fill in the rest. Fern works for a theater. Cecelia and Dennis are classically trained actors.”

  He nodded and lifted his duffel bag. Though he was racked with more questions, suddenly Ivy made complete sense. The attraction, the mystery, the choice of profession, even her mother’s reaction to him.

  “We should get inside. The faster we eat this dinner, the faster we can get to our own rooms.” Wilson came over and elbowed him. “I got the tour, brother. This house is incredible, and everything is nice and spread out.”

  “You are a traitor.” With newfound focus, he solidified his plan. He slammed the trunk shut and took the handle to Ivy’s suitcase. Before he worked on Ivy, he needed to work on her mother.

  The house was spectacular, truly and utterly spectacular. In fact, spectacular didn’t quite describe the home of Curtis Raleigh. Designed as a hexagon, each of the four bedrooms looked out into an amazing outdoor space with a hexagon-shaped pool and even a hexagon hot tub. Except for the modern electronics, every painting, every bit of furniture, every accent in every room was exactly right for the period, absolutely perfect and authentic, a decorator’s dream.

  Also, it was solid proof that an actor’s life could be a nightmare. Even with everything perfect on the surface, underneath the world could crumble. All around the home were little artifacts from Curtis Raleigh’s career intermixed with pictures of Ivy and her sister and the rest of the family, a sad reminder of what the grandfather had missed by leaving the world too early. No wonder her mother wanted a stable home.

  With Ivy and Giselle still gone with the baby and the mother and the sister tending to dinner, he had been relegated to sitting in the swank living room with the men talki
ng about sports, electronics, and video games, none of which he knew much about.

  “Here you are.” Dennis Vermont held out a glass to him. “Is it true you were discovered on a street corner?”

  “Something like that.” He lifted the drink, allowing the liquid to catch the light. Long ago did Curtis Raleigh drink from these glasses? Did one of those drinks lead to the downward spiral? Ivy already defied her mother once by not going with the stable man. Could she do it a second time by choosing him, the antithesis of what her mother wanted? Not needing to even give a hint he ever lived up to his reputation, he held his hand up. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a rain check and be right back.”

  “The bathroom is that way.” Mr. Vermont pointed.

  “Thank you.” Before he worked on Ivy, he needed to get Mrs. Vermont on his team. Stability could be illustrated in one simple act, and he took the opposite route and headed for the kitchen.

  “Oh!” Hunched over some clearly overcooked carrots, Fern straightened up as if she were part of a marching band.

  “I can’t seem to get any liquid from this pan to make the gravy.” Mrs. Vermont studied her roasting pan.

  “Mother, Logan is in the kitchen.” Fern pointed at him.

  Mrs. Vermont turned and motioned with her pot holder. “The bathroom is that way.”

  Well, he supposed eventually he would find that information useful. “I appreciate the map, but that’s not what you need.”

  “What is it you need?” The smile the woman tried to force on her face turned more into a line.

  “I’m fine. You need me.” He strolled through the kitchen, first pointing at Fern. “Stop touching the carrots. You’ve hurt them enough.”

  Fern backed up.

  “I don’t need anything.” Mrs. Vermont crossed her arms.

  “Yes, you do.” He joined her at the stove and inspected the shriveled piece of dried meat. After spying a few available necessities and scanning the area, he made a plan. “Please get me a decent bottle of red wine, some beef broth, flour, and butter.”

  Her mother stared at him.

  He rolled up his sleeves and chose a whisk from the canister of tools on the counter. “Look, I’m not going to make it worse.”