by E A Price
Francine forced herself not to fidget under their sneering glares. “Well, Shakespeare is a challenge. And if an actor can do Shakespeare they can…”
“Do anything?” he supplied, wryly.
She seriously doubted she was getting anywhere with these people. Their expressions were downright sour, so she gave up on trying to impress them. “Well, yes. Shakespeare’s really the gold standard when it comes to acting.”
“You think Shakespeare’s work is better than mine?” asked Michael, pouting slightly.
Francine bit her tongue to stop herself from bursting into laughter, but her flamingo flapped about in gleeful disbelief. Who the hell did this guy think he was? He couldn’t even compare to the screenwriter for Mannequin, never mind Shakespeare! His inexplicably popular films were just that – inexplicably popular! They weren’t that good; they were probably more celebrated for their use of ‘unflinching realism’ – as some dozy critic put it - when it came to violence and disturbing imagery. Seeing a pregnant teenager being beaten up by her drug dealer was downright awful!
“Well, yes,” she admitted after a few moments. What else was she going to say?
The two producers, Bambi and she presumed the male was called Thumper, looked thunderous, but Michael merely chuckled. “A bit of honesty, that’s what I like to see. The previous audition had never heard of Shakespeare. But she did say my work was much better than the Leonardo Dicaprio film, Romy and Julia. She says that at least I use proper words.” He lets his eyes wander over Francine’s body. “I’m not sure you’re right for this film; I’m not sure you’re the right type to play a junkie call girl.” Bambi snickered but was silenced by a sharp look by Michael. “But I’ll certainly keep you in mind for my next project.” His eyes dipped to her hips and then slowly made tracks up past her breasts. “Yes, I’ll definitely be in touch.”
She was left standing rooted to the spot for a few moments before Bambi called out a very pointed thank you, and she scurried away.
Francine grabbed her bag and hurried out into the stifling sunshine. Ah, it felt great on her skin. She almost wished she was in her flamingo form, and it could beat down on her feathers. Instinctively she tried to ruffle them and laughed at herself. She breathed in and out a few times before walking to the bus stop.
Okay, so she wasn’t going to get this role, but at least Michael seemed interested in her for another role. Too interested intoned her flamingo with a squawk. No, she hadn’t liked the way he had virtually eye molested her. It wasn’t the first time directors or producers had leered at her, but it felt a little worse when he did it. Maybe it was because he was a hyena shifter. She was always a little antsy around predators who showed her interest. And Michael was just a little too interested for her to be comfortable.
Maybe he would just forget all about her. He might make that promise to all actresses. It might be just a way to get rid of them without saying, ‘there’s no way I want you in one of my films’. Well, that was okay with her. Myra would be pissed, but if Francine needed the money she’d sign up to be an extra in CSU: Playa Lunar again. She’d already played a corpse three times, a prostitute twice and a waitress in that show. She was happy to do any of those things again. They weren’t fun or glamorous roles – hours in make up to give you a deathly pallor was not exciting, but they paid better than stage roles.
Maybe Myra would come through with a new audition. She was just off the back of a successful stage production of Beauty and the Beast, there was bound to be something. In the meantime, she checked her current make up as she waited for the bus – no deathly pallor today.
Chapter Three
Stone sighed contentedly and slipped out of bed. His rhino stirred and chuffed a good morning to him. He carefully stretched before donning a fresh pair of sweat pants and a shirt. It was 6 am; sunlight was pouring into his bedroom, and it was cracking up to be a glorious day.
He smiled at the rise and fall of the warm body still slumbering in his bed. Yeah, he’d worn her out. Caitlyn had barely waited an hour before calling his number. She hadn’t even made any pretense about why she was calling him. He swung by after dropping off the ferret and picked her up. She could barely keep her hands to herself and he almost had to pull over, but he made it back to his place, and they enjoyed a very energetic night together. He rubbed his fingers over some of the scratch marks on his arms and snickered. Mountain lions sure were feisty.
He left her a quick note on his pillow and grabbed his running shoes. His usual routine was a run, a health food shake at the deli around the corner from his apartment. Then he’d allow that to settle before hitting the gym in the basement. He saw no reason to change his normal routine. He rarely did when he had overnight guests. The only exception was Kiki, his ex who was a flight attendant – she had a long layover, and they wanted to spend as much time together as possible. He just doubled his workout the following day for her. She married an airplane captain or something. Nice woman.
Stone wasn’t fond of the messy morning afters of hookups, but he knew they were a necessary evil. When he spent the night at a woman’s house, he always left as soon as possible. He didn’t want to be a bastard about it – and he had never kicked a woman out of his apartment. But he would rather forgo the morning after where neither party had the luxury of alcohol to dull their embarrassment.
If he were lucky, Caitlyn would be gone, by the time he got back to home. Yeah, that might have sounded heartless, but the truth was, he wasn’t looking for anything long-term, and he made no bones about that. Before he ever took a woman to bed, he gave them a patent speech about how it would only be for one night and he couldn’t give them anything more. He was kind and nice about it, and completely understanding if they changed their minds. Hell, if that happened, he backed off and even paid for their cabs home. See - he wasn’t a total dick.
So, he left Caitlyn a note warning her about the sticky faucet in the bathroom, inviting her to eat and drink anything she could find in his kitchen and offering her cab money in case she needed it. He kept it in a ceramic hen in the kitchen – just like his grandma did. Although, hers had been grocery money, she never used it to get one-night-stands home. Although, she might have – how was he to know? Grandmas have secrets, too.
After his run, Stone dropped by the deli and guzzled a pumpkin, carrot, orange and chia seeds smoothie. He chatted up Willow the cashier and headed back home.
Elderly women occupied most of the apartments in the building, so he tended to have the run of the gym. He preferred it that way. As nice as they all were, and as much as he flirted with them, he never felt compelled to seduce any of them. If he started hooking up with women he lived near, there would be awkward eye avoidance every time he stepped into the elevator. Also, he was often called on to help his neighbors by moving furniture, carrying their groceries and what have you. But he looked on it as exercise and in return they bought him fresh fruit whenever they went to the market. They’d tried to bake him cookies at first, but he tended to avoid sugar, so they soon learned.
After a quick workout and a little harmless flirting with the Misses Applebaum in the elevator – twins, matching blue rinses and in their eighties – he made his way back to his apartment.
He walked in with no hesitation but stopped dead as the sweet smell of baked goods hit him full force. Not just any baked goods – it smelled just like his grandma’s apple pie. She was a devil for baking and always had Stone taste test everything she made. No wonder he was enormous when he was young.
His rhino grunted in familiar delight and propelled him forward to the kitchen. For a second he actually expected to see his grandma standing there. Although, if she had been there, he might have actually let out a less than manly scream - she died eight years ago.
No, instead he met with something a heck of a lot scarier. A woman was in his kitchen, and she was cooking. Okay, so maybe that didn’t sound like it should be alarming – but it was. Women did not spend a lot of time at his apartm
ent. Women did not vacuum his carpets, plump his pillows, and they definitely did not cook. With the exception of Kiki, his longest relationship to date at two months - which only lasted that long because she lived in Paris – no woman had used his kitchen for more than grabbing a bottle of water out the refrigerator. And even Kiki only used his toaster once. He didn’t have anything against a woman using his kitchen per se, but it spoke of intimacy – intimacy that he never cultivated with a woman. You start letting that get out of hand and the next thing was she’d be telling you what to wear, redecorating your apartment and then stealing all your money to run off with your next-door neighbor and open a yoga retreat. No fucking way was he letting that happen.
And here was Caitlyn, wearing his hilarious ‘rhinos are horny twenty-four/seven’ apron and cooking in his kitchen. He approached her warily as his rhino grumbled. “Hey.”
“Hey! Did you enjoy your run?”
“Uh, yeah.” She pulled something from the oven, and he almost drooled at the intense apple and cinnamon smell that flooded the kitchen. Even his pacing rhino stopped to drink it in.
“Great!” Caitlyn beamed at him. She bounced around the kitchen with rosy red cheeks, sparkling blue eyes and far more energy than he expected from anyone who’d spent hours in his company the night before. Huh.
Damn, she’d even set the table for him and somehow managed to find a vase and put flowers in it. He didn’t even know he owned a freaking vase! His rhino huffed uneasily. “What’s all this?”
“I remember you saying last night that you like to work out, and you’re picky about what you eat.”
Stone frowned. Had he said that?
“Well, maybe you didn’t say it exactly like that, but I got the message. So when I woke up this morning, I figured it would be a nice gesture if I made you my patent freshly baked, low-fat, sugar-free apple pancake. Ta da!” She whipped the cover of a giant pancake and placed it in the middle of the table. And yeah, it looked damn freaking good. It was a giant, fat, browned pancake with crisp slices of apple peeking through the batter. Involuntarily, and in spite of his animal’s objections, Stone licked his bottom lip.
Caitlyn saw and winked. “If you think it smells good, wait until you taste it. Seriously, there’s no sugar in it – and I used low fat cream cheese to make it so plump.”
“I didn’t have any of the ingredients…”
She nodded and her blonde curls bobbed, making them look like a halo. “I bought everything this morning while you were out running. Come, sit down, eat.”
He hesitated, but only for a second. He didn’t want to seem rude. She had gone to a lot of trouble, and it smelled so good. Giving in, he hefted half of it onto his plate and dug in. She took a dainty sliver of pancake and proceeded to eat it slowly and thoughtfully. “You didn’t have to do this,” he mumbled between mammoth bites.
Caitlyn waved her fork. “It’s my pleasure. I wanted to thank you for last night.”
“Oh, ah, sure.” This was new. Okay, he knew he was good but he didn’t usually get this reaction. Some women were pretty blasé about the whole thing and told him they had fun while they walked out the door. Some avoided him completely and left while he was out. Others blushed, ferociously while avoiding his eyes. He had a feeling women in the latter category were married or in a relationship. On the other hand, Caitlyn seemed disturbingly chirpy.
“Anyway,” she started as she cleared her plate away. She’d only eaten half of her portion. “I have to get to work.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned down to kiss his cheek. His rhino rumbled, warily, but Stone was too busy cramming pancake into his mouth to care. What? It was low fat and full of healthy fruit. Besides, what could one kiss hurt?
“Bye Stone,” she cooed and blew him a kiss.
He gave her a genuine smile. “Bye.”
Stone had to admit it; he was a little impressed by her attitude. There was no embarrassment. She was a female version of him. The warning signs of her cooking and, yes, even cleaning – she had plumped his couch pillows – meant nothing. She probably just had OCD or something. His rhino snorted and Stone chuckled..
Stone was a lucky shifter. He couldn’t deny it. He felt it on a daily basis. Okay, so he wasn’t rich, but with two jobs that he loved, he had plenty of money for his needs. And his family weren’t exactly the Wilsons (they were from a TV show and were a loving family of rabbit shifters – think the Waltons but with more carrots), but he loved his dad. And he wasn’t exactly what you’d call handsome, not movie star, pretty boy handsome, but he was rugged and blessed with a physique that would make gods weep with envy. An ex came up with that, and he never forgot it – the phrase appealed to his ego, naturally.
And he was lucky to have been born a rhino. Not just because they happened to be the greatest animal ever created, in his opinion at least. He had an animal who truly was the other part of his soul. He knew other shifters who fought for control with their animals, usually with bloody outcomes. But, for Stone, shifting and deferring to his beast was as easy as breathing. They were best buddies. It was kind of like that 80’s movie Innerspace, except instead of Dennis Quaid, he had a rhino inside of him who didn’t actually talk, more like communicated ideas and thoughts to him. And he didn’t imagine that Dennis Quaid was actually Martin Short’s best buddy. The point is, they enjoyed a harmonious existence. Maybe it had something to do with being a herbivore. Although white rhinos were enormous and dangerous mammals, second only to elephants, they were still herbivores. Other herbivores were pretty in sync with their animals, too. Mia at work never had trouble with her inner rabbit. Although, how much damage could a rabbit do? But Jackson, a fellow bounty hunter and wolf shifter, had to wrestle his beast into submission on a regular basis. And he says vegetarians are pussies. Maybe if he tried changing his diet, he might be a little more in control of his beast.
As far as he was concerned, he led a charmed life. But as in sync as he was with his beast, the subject of women was where their paths branched in different directions. His beast wasn’t as satisfied with his interaction with Caitlyn as Stone. The rhino was pawing the metaphorical ground and huffing. As to why, the rhino couldn’t put a hoof on it, but the beast wasn’t happy. But then, the rhino didn’t tend to have high opinions of any woman Stone met. It wasn’t that his beast disliked any of the women; he just didn’t often voice an opinion of them. Stone guessed that to his animal they were all the same.
He whistled as he made his way to the shower. He had a brief moment of panic, and to prove a point he mussed up his couch cushions as he passed them, but today was turning out to be just as great as yesterday. His rhino shrugged and went back to sleep.
Chapter Four
“Mi mi mi mi mi mi mi miiiiiiiiii!” Francine practiced her breathing exercises before running through a few scales. It was clichéd, maybe, but her drama instructor had been pretty clichéd. The woman turned up for classes in a cape and beret. Francine always pretended that she couldn’t tell Madame Noir’s French accent was fake. Or that she knew the Madame worked a day job making sandwiches at The Pickle King. Admitting either of those things would have ruined the illusion.
After a few more warm-ups, Francine practiced her lines again in front of the mirror. If she were to give advice to any up and coming young actors, she’d advise them to get a full-length mirror. It was an absolute necessity. That and maybe some acting lessons and a good agent, but the mirror also helped.
She tried reading the lines without the script and only stuttered slightly when loud reggae music blared through the wall. Her flamingo fluttered in irritation. She banged her fist on the wall and told the occupants of the apartment next to her to keep it down. Jeez, only 5.30 pm and Curtis was already getting stoned.
Francine didn’t exactly live in a great neighborhood. Jobbing actors weren’t exactly rolling in money. And what little money Francine earned went to her wardrobe, make up and various beauty products that all promised to make her look younger. They never worked
, but Francine lived in hope. And at least she wasn’t so desperate as to resort to a little magical interference. A friend of hers, Mindy did that, virtually selling her soul to look ten years younger. It didn’t end well. Her friend refused to pay up to the witch, and she aged ten years. It was mortifying. Her friend retired, got married and moved to the suburbs, so she was kind of happy in the end. Bitter at the end of her career, but kind of happy.
As for the wardrobe, she was happy to report that she had every outfit to suit every occasion. That included an outfit for ballroom dancing and one for go-go dancing. It paid to be prepared. Over the years, she had starred in some amateur productions where the budget didn’t stretch as far as wardrobe, and the actors were hired based on whether they could provide their own costumes. Francine always made sure she was prepared in this respect.
She was also adept at stage make up and could actually create some passable fake wounds. She kept a supply of make up just for that purpose. She didn’t know whether she would be called on to create her own wounds if money were tight.
Francine lived in a tiny apartment next to Curtis, a drug dealing sloth shifter on one side, and a drag artist gorilla shifter called Twinky on the other. They were actually pretty good neighbors and looked out for her. As Twinky said, girls had to stick together. Twinky was six-foot-four and built like a linebacker, but Francine dearly appreciated the sentiment.
Curtis only dealt marijuana, he wouldn’t go in for the hard drugs, he said. Francine had even joined one of his parties once or twice or ten times. They involved him and his friends sitting around, getting stoned and eating fried chicken. She only stopped because inevitably they ended with her making out with a camel shifter, who only bathed once a week, and because she heard that marijuana smoke caused wrinkles.