Starlit: A Novel

by Lisa Rinna

  Tally knew this should have been one of the happiest times of her life. Her career was catching fire, her dear friend was getting married, and she had just moved into her dream home.

  But she had no one with whom to share it, which made the void seem even bigger.

  The band, which was called Andree Belle, was a jazz-salsa combo with a sultry female lead singer. Sadie and Josh had heard them one night at Nic’s Martini Lounge in Beverly Hills and had booked them on the spot. The song they were playing, “The Look of Love,” brought the tempo of the big tent right to where it should be, now that the meal had been eaten and the toasts had been given. Wedding guests were on their feet and in each other’s arms.

  From across the room, Mac Carlton, the film producer, watched the waitress from the Vanity Fair party make her way around the room. As memorable as winning his first Oscar had been that night, she had left a bigger impression. Try as he might, from that night on, he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

  Of course, now he knew her name, and he’d followed her meteoric success: Tally Jones, primetime television star and first-time Emmy nominee. He’d also seen those gossipy tidbits about her and the actor who had kissed her that night, Gabriel McNamara, a B-list television actor who had more media savvy than talent.

  But McNamara wasn’t here now. And if the tabloids were to be believed, it was over between the two of them. It was time for Mac finally to introduce himself, and this time, he planned on succeeding in that task.

  Intent on asking her to dance, he was halfway across the room when he felt Josh slapping him on the back. He smiled genially at the groom; congratulated him on his beautiful bride; passed on Josh’s offer to be introduced to the porn star Taylor Made, who seemed to have captured the attention of every guy in the room over seventeen and under seventy (possibly a few over that age, too); and tried to bring the conversation around to Tally Jones by complimenting Josh on recognizing her talent and placing her on the fast track. By the time he’d gotten Josh caught up on his new project—he was in preproduction on Cloistered, a film that was to start shooting soon on location in Paris, with Jean-Claude Dumont directing—the beautiful Tally Jones was nowhere to be found.

  He finally spotted her, outside on the terrace overlooking the cliffs and the ocean below. It was dark outside, but her silver dress shimmered in the soft light of the full moon. The wind had kicked up, and the gusts made her long skirt sway like a bell.

  Mac had made it out of the tent and was just about to stroll over when he saw someone came out of the shadows and approach her. She didn’t see the man at first, because she was looking out to sea. To get her attention, the man nuzzled her neck. Mac recognized him immediately, even in profile: McNamara.

  She looked up at him, and although Mac couldn’t see her face, he could tell by the way her body stiffened that she was fighting the impulse to embrace him. When a second later she gave in and fell into McNamara’s arms, Mac knew it was game over, even before he’d had a chance to suit up.

  He left before Josh and Sadie cut the cake. The next day was Monday, and he and Dumont had a long day ahead of them. Although their film was to start shooting next month, they were still playing musical chairs with their leads, and he needed to be well rested and sharp. At least, that was the excuse he told himself as he headed home alone.

  “I guess I’m too late,” Gabriel murmured into Tally’s ear just when she thought she’d put him out of her mind for the evening.

  But there he was, right next to her, asking her forgiveness. He swore up and down that the girl from the hot tub had just been a one-night stand and that he regretted that he hadn’t chased after Tally when she stalked out that night.

  Looking into her eyes, he told her that he couldn’t stand being apart from her another moment. “Please, Tally. Forgive me. It was stupid. I know that now. But that’s no reason to hate me forever.” He reached to stroke the back of her neck, and when she felt his hand there, she did exactly what she’d done the first time they met: gave in to him.

  Chapter 18

  BY THE FOLLOWING week, they were the golden couple again: Tally and Gabriel, rising from their limo together and walking, hand in hand, down the red carpet in front of the Nokia Theatre at the Emmys. The clicks of the cameras were accompanied by the shouts to look here, there, everywhere. Tally looked fantastic in her red form fitting Dolce & Gabbana with a plunging backline, her hair upswept in an elegant chignon. It was a great night—her night—but she kept Gabriel front and center with her the entire time.

  Once inside, the drinks kept coming. She could feel herself getting tipsy, and she enjoyed every second of the show—even when her category was announced and she didn’t win after all. When the cameras panned to her to catch her reaction, Gabriel kissed her long and hard.

  Eventually, Gabriel wandered off to mingle with the celebrated crowd, which was OK with her, because she wanted to schmooze, too. Right after the ceremony, they’d meet up and head over to the Governors Ball, before slipping out to the HBO party and finally winding up at the Entertainment Tonight/People party—at least, that’s the way she imagined the evening would go.

  As she walked through the crowd that had gathered backstage in the Architectural Digest green room, the name of her financial manager—Tanner Bascom—could be heard in anxious whispers making their way through the room. She tapped another of Steve’s clients on the shoulder—one of the actors from Brothers & Sisters—then gave him a hug. “What were you saying about Tanner? Is everything all right?”

  The guy winced. “Hardly. At least, not if you’re one of his clients, and unfortunately, I fall into that category. Seems I’ve been scammed. And, as it turns out, I’m not the only one. He was arrested earlier today for securities fraud.”

  She grabbed him by the arm. “No! Tell me you’re kidding, please!”

  He shook his head. Watching the color drain from her face, he added, “Call your attorney tomorrow. Probably a third of the people in this room got taken for something, so the line of creditors will be long—if there’s anything left to recover.”

  Her savings. Her new house and its big fat mortgage. All of it had been managed by Tanner. Suddenly, the best day of her life became the worst. She stumbled out of the green room, looking for Gabriel, and found him flirting with one of the professional dancers from Dancing with the Stars.

  She tugged on his tux sleeve. “We’ve got to leave, now!”

  Gabriel smirked down on her. “Look, it’s just a little harmless flirting. Nothing to get upset over—”

  “No, Gabriel, you don’t understand: I’m broke. Tanner Bascom is in jail for embezzling! The place is buzzing about it.”

  Gabriel’s smile disappeared like a ghost in fog. Immediately, he grabbed his cell phone, but whatever number he punched rolled to voice mail. He slammed his fist on the bar in frustration. “Aw, hell! That son of a bitch!”

  The party was definitely over.

  “Damn it, Steve. I want some answers, now!” Tally glared at her manager from across the booth at the Polo Lounge. Josh, whom she’d asked to accompany her there as backup, sat silently, ready to jump in should she need help while firing Steve. The Tanner Bascom fiasco was the final straw.

  The confident gaze that had always been Steve’s hallmark was nowhere to be seen. In its place was defeat. He had fucked up royally, and he knew it.

  “Tally, I don’t know what to say. He fooled me, too. He fooled everyone.” Steve looked down into the depths of his wine glass, as if he’d find the answers he needed there.

  Tally teared up. “Listen, Steve, just level with me. What do I have left?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. I thought I was doing you a favor when I asked Burt Tillman to front-load the deal Josh made for you. Although you’ve still got three more episodes to film, unfortunately, you’ve been paid in advance for them.”

  In other words, Tally really was broke.

  Josh shoved his silverware to the side and leaned forward on his elbows.
“Thus far, accounting forensics shows that Tanner has not made a payment on your mortgage since you moved in,” he said quietly.

  Tally slumped back into her seat. “So I’m a deadbeat who can get locked out of my home at any time. Just … great.”

  Steve stood up. “Look, Tally, I know this is the end of the line for us. And I don’t blame you. Just know that—well, that working with you meant more to me than you’ll ever know.”

  She nodded to him, but she didn’t put out her hand to shake good-bye. She knew he’d want a kiss, anyway.

  As Steve made his way out of the dining room, Tally turned to Josh. “I need to take on another project. Is there any feature stuff out there that still hasn’t been cast?”

  Josh shrugged. “Sorry, kiddo. If you’re looking for something that shoots while you’re on hiatus from Dana Point, most productions are locked and loaded already.” His head tilted to one side. “Wait a minute, I just thought of something. I was talking to the producer of Jean-Claude Dumont’s upcoming feature—it’s an indie—and he mentioned they were still rounding out the cast. In fact, he hasn’t filled the role of the female lead. It starts shooting in Paris next month, around the time you should be wrapping your show for the season.”

  “Wow! It would be a dream to work with Dumont. Will he allow me to audition?”

  “Hell, I don’t think you’ll have to. The producer was pretty sold on you already. Let me call him up and see if they’ll bite.” He gulped down the rest of his martini, then added, “I’m guessing it’s going to be rough on you to be away from Gabriel for the ten or so weeks of the film shoot.”

  She clicked her glass to his. “Well, we’ll find out, won’t we?”

  “Dumont, eh?” Gabriel shrugged. It wasn’t exactly the reaction she expected from him. “Why don’t you ask Josh to look for something shooting here?”

  She turned over on the bed to face him. “I did. But I think it would be an honor to work with Dumont. And I certainly don’t mind working in Paris.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just bet you don’t.” He pulled her closer to him. “With your French director.”

  I’ve never made him jealous before, she thought. Maybe that’s the key to his heart.

  It wasn’t. As she turned to kiss him, he avoided her mouth. Instead, he flipped her onto her stomach and thrust into her with such savagery that she begged him to stop.

  He did, and then he turned his back to her.

  She picked up her clothes and left his house without a word.

  Chapter 19

  FOR TALLY, WORKING on Cloistered was a dream come true.

  She loved Paris. She enjoyed walking among the women in their sleek jeans, elegant blouses, and scarves. The street markets were laden with wonderful foods, antiques, and art. Apartment buildings were adorned with French doors that led out to wrought-iron terraces cascading with colorful flowers. The mansard roofs were topped with eye-catching gargoyles and angels. Cafés, bookstores, and boutiques filled in the picturesque neoclassical buildings on wide tree-lined avenues, making up the arrondissements that fanned out from the River Seine.

  She also loved the script. In the film, she played Emma, a former nun drawn into deadly intrigue based on her knowledge of a priest’s murder. Tally recognized immediately how fortunate she was that, in the right directional hands, the role would allow her to leave her mark on the screen. Plus, the two male leads already signed—an older French actor and a young Shakespearean-trained British star—were both veterans of the indie scene and well respected by the international film community.

  The first week, their scenes were all shot on a quaint Parisian side street, where a crowd gathered every day to watch. One man was constantly present. In his late thirties, adorably cute albeit scruffy, with a three-day beard and a rumpled jacket, he’d sit at a café across the street, an espresso in front of him, along with a cell phone and a copy of the International Herald Tribune.

  Very French, thought Tally. And he watches our takes with such intensity.

  Unfortunately, she was less enthralled with Jean-Claude Dumont, her temperamental director, who was take-crazy and always changing Cloistered’s script on a whim. On day six, when Dumont insisted that a difficult scene in which Tally had to be slapped by her costar be shot over and over, the mysterious man made his way over to the set. Although she didn’t know French, his heated discussion with Dumont, in which her name was mentioned, left little doubt that he was just as upset with the director’s treatment of her as she was. Already emotionally drained, Tally stared listlessly as the two men continued arguing until Dumont glared at her and stalked off.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here,” the stranger said to her. His perfect English astonished her, and it took her a moment to realize that he’d taken her hand and was leading her away from the set.

  Wondering what the hell was happening and if her paycheck had just gone up in smoke, she followed. The rest of the cast and crew seemed just as lost, but when the stranger snapped his fingers at them, the crew began the arduous process of packing up the set.

  Dumont had been complaining daily about France’s film workers union, and it occurred to Tally that the guy might be the local union boss. Under that very possible presumption, she pulled away from him. “What did you just say to Jean-Claude? Did you just get me fired?”

  “Seriously, Miss Jones, you’ve got nothing to worry about. As far as I’m concerned, it’s your movie, not Dumont’s. His foolishness was nothing more than a series of selfish indulgences—”

  “What do you mean, ‘as far as you’re concerned’? Who the hell are you, anyway?”

  He broke out into a surprised laugh. “Let’s just say I’m you’re biggest fan.”

  Oh, great, just what I need. A union boss who’s also a stalker, Tally thought.

  When she started to walk off again, he grabbed her wrist. “Hey, Tally, not so fast—”

  “Let go of me!” At times like this, the S&M maneuvers Mandy had taught her for putting a guy in his place paid off handsomely. A quick kick to the groin had him doubled over a moment later.

  When he gasped out, “I’m the producer of Cloistered,” she stopped midway through her second kick.

  Oops. So, the rumpled hunk was Mac Carlton, the renowned independent producer.

  Tally thought back to the pictures she had seen of him in Variety, Page Six, and The Hollywood Reporter, in which he was always clean-shaven, with his neatly trimmed hair combed into place, usually in black tie while walking the red carpet with the latest, greatest supermodel or celebutante on his arm.

  While his taste in women was certainly A-list, Tally was more impressed with his track record as a producer. Like this film, most of Carlton’s projects were known to keep audiences on the edges of their seats and to win over critics while also doing well at the box office, garnering decent numbers, if not blockbuster.

  Thinking she’d blown this opportunity, she stammered, “M-Mr. C-Carlton, please forgive me! I didn’t know who you were. I am so, so sorry—”

  Slowly, Mac rose to his feet, but he remained slightly bent over. He smiled wanly. “If I’m not an invalid for life, I’m sure I can think of a way you can make it up to me.”

  “I insist. Let me take you out to dinner. Please.”

  “It’s a deal. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  He showed up right on time at the cozy little flat that had been rented for her on the Left Bank. Tally invited him in and told him she had a surprise waiting for him: she had made them dinner.

  The apartment had a small but adequate galley kitchen and a great view of the Seine. The meal she prepared was simple: roasted chicken in wine sauce, sauteed vegetables, a fresh baguette, and, of course, a lovely French wine. She’d found the local ingredients at the closest outdoor market and picked up a few dessert tarts from the corner bakery as well.

  Throughout dinner, they talked shop. He asked her how she felt the shoot had been going overall and informed her that he had heard Dumont was a
busive from a few members in the cast. Dumont’s treatment of her had put the final nail in the coffin.

  Tally picked at her food while she tried to get up the courage to ask the question foremost in her mind. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “Now that Dumont has been fired, will the film be abandoned?”

  “Heck, no.” Mac took a generous bite of his coq au vin. “In fact, I’ve already put out feelers to Kent Whitman. I’d considered him initially for the project, but at the time, he had a scheduling conflict. Turns out he’s free now, and we should know something soon.” He smiled at her. “If you don’t mind hanging tight for a day or two until all of this gets ironed out, we might just pull off a miracle.”

  He spent the rest of the evening talking about his hopes for the film and answering all of the questions she threw his way. She hadn’t realized he was the son of the actress Elizabeth Carlton and that his father, Richard, was the head of Royalton Studios.

  “My show, Dana Point, is shot on Royalton’s lot,” she informed him.

  “I know. I’ve seen you there.” He colored somewhat. “In fact, I suggested to Jean-Claude that you’d be perfect for the role of Emma.”

  So, Mac Carlton really was her biggest fan!

  He continued, “I have my production offices at Royalton, too. For the first time since I became a producer, I’m working on a project with my father. After I left the company to do my own thing, we didn’t see each other for years. He was angry with me, but it was either that or keep making his kind of movies instead of mine. He’s a stubborn dictator, and he wouldn’t even discuss funding my films, let alone offer a distribution deal, so my last six movies were handled by Fine Line.” Mac took a sip of his wine. “That’s OK. I didn’t mind having to prove to him that I was a good bet. Like me, he flipped over the script for Cloistered, and I was shocked when Dad called me to suggest that we take a meeting for it.”