“Not really. This is purely social. That’s why it’s the perfect outing for you.”
“I don’t do sports.”
“I doubt we’ll be playing sports this evening.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Jazz, two athletes broke your heart. It doesn’t mean every man will, does it? Nor does it mean every man who plays a sport will. Trust me on this.”
“Fine, I’ll go with you.”
“Excellent. I should be back in time, but if not, I’ll meet you there.”
“What do you mean, meet me there? Where are you going?”
“Into the city. Veronica and I have a few clients to see, and I’m holding a look-see for potential clients. Dinner’s at six.” She gathered her laptop and cell phone from the table. “Don’t worry. I’ve known the Hayes family for years. Devon’s one of the good guys. He may come off a bit macho at times, but he’s definitely a nice guy. Here’s the address in case I’m running late.” She handed Jazz a piece of paper then looked at her watch. “It’s getting late. I had better get started. I’ll see you this evening.”
Jazz took a sip of her coffee. She let the hot liquid slip down her throat, warming her insides as it went. She’d told Melanie that she was ready to get back out into the world, but all of a sudden she wasn’t so sure anymore. Melanie was a matchmaker, and it was obvious what she was doing.
Last night’s party was a rude awakening. It didn’t bother her that she was at times stared at and even ogled; she was used to that. What bothered her was Devon. Her impulsiveness was so unlike her. She had never just walked up and kissed a man she didn’t know. Why she did it last night she had no idea. No, she did know. It wasn’t necessarily to help Devon, although she used that as an excuse. It was because she wanted to know what it felt like to kiss him. And then it wasn’t just a kiss. Now she’d be spending the evening with him. But thankfully Melanie would be there with her.
By the time afternoon came, the weather had turned dismal, overcast and drizzly. Jazz’s mood, not surprisingly, had turned with it. She spent most of the day in quiet meditation. That morning she sat out on the covered patio with a stack of scripts in front of her. Her agent, Simon Wells, had assured her she’d love them all. She read the first few. She didn’t.
Simon called with his usual end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it speech. “I’m headed to L.A. and meeting with the studio. Is there anything you want me to tell them?”
“Not particularly,” Jazz said nonchalantly.
He went on to extol the virtues of getting back to work and the fact that there were hundreds of young starlets clamoring for a chance to take her place on the set. Her response was simple. “Fine, let them.”
“I know you don’t mean that, so I’m gonna let it slide.”
Jazz smiled. Simon was so predictable. He used the same scare tactics every time. He would tell her about projects that had been put on hold and the studio could no longer afford to wait for her return. She had already lost a role she’d been interested in doing and was on the verge of losing another one. She told him to pass on both of them, much to his chagrin.
“Are you sure?” Simon asked in earnest.
“I’m sure, I’ll pass,” she said.
“Jazz, listen to me, this is possibly the role of a lifetime. It could do for you what Carmen Jones did for Dorothy Dandridge. You can’t keep turning these roles down. I spoke to Barbara, and she agrees.”
“You talked to Barbara?”
“Yesterday. We met for lunch. She’s concerned about you. We both are.”
“Wow, I must be in really bad shape,” she joked. Jazz shook her head at the reality of that comment. Barbara and Simon didn’t get along at all. They were like fire and water. As ex-husband and ex-wife they were civil, but as manager and agent they fought and constantly disagreed. So for them to meet and discuss her was monumental. They had to really be concerned.
Simon was a phenomenal agent. To those who didn’t know him, he was calculating, vicious, and ruthless. But to his clients, he was practically a saint. His stable was small, but most assuredly they were some of the best and most promising talents in the business. He was more or less bequeathed to her when her mother left the business years ago. Although at the time Simon didn’t represent child actors, he made an exception and they’d been together ever since. To say he had his finger on the pulse of Hollywood was putting it mildly—his fist wrapped around its throat was more accurate.
Barbara, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. She was kind and nurturing and an excellent manager. Her job was to anticipate drama before it happened. In that capacity she was brilliant. Her instincts kept her clients ahead of the typical business as usual Hollywood hurdles. Thanks to her insider knowledge and connections, she had managed some of the most successful clients in the business.
“Jazz, I just hate to see you pass on another one,” Simon said. “I read the script. It’s perfect for you. The thing is, it’s got a small window of opportunity. But if you want it, I can still get it for you. The studio really wants you for the lead.”
“No. There will be others, I’ll pass.”
Simon took a deep, exasperated breath. “What do I have to do to get you back here?”
“I’m coming back, Simon. I just need a little more time.”
“You said that three months ago and then again six months before that. Look, I don’t mean to sound thoughtless or insensitive, but I’m worried about you. We’re all worried about you.”
“Simon, I’m fine. Trust me. I’m coming back. I just need a little more time and the right project.”
“Okay, but are you absolutely positive you want to pass on this role?” he asked again.
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’ll tell the studio.”
“Thanks. Is that it?”
“Actually, I was told about another script. It’s very special. Barbara told me about it yesterday. It sounds wonderful. It’s yours, but there’s one small catch.”
“What’s the catch?” Jazz asked.
“Your father’s producing and directing it. That part’s set in stone.”
“Then I pass,” she said, barely letting him get the words out.
“Jazz, believe me, you’re not going to want to pass on this after reading the script. It’s not just good—it’s brilliant.”
“I pass,” she insisted.
“Jazz, just do me a favor and keep an open mind about this one. I’m going to try and get my hands on a copy and send it to you. You should really consider this one.”
“Fine, I’ll consider it.” She relented, knowing of course that anything her father was attached to, she wouldn’t be. Their relationship wasn’t toxic or volatile like the one he had with her brother, but that was only because she made a point of avoiding him completely. “Is that it?”
“Yes. I’m headed back to the Coast, so call me there. And please think about what I said. You need to come back.”
“Have a good flight. I’ll talk to you soon,” she said then closed her cell. She took a deep breath and held the phone to her chest. Agents and managers talking about her father were unavoidable. He was the Frank Richardson, movie mogul. He had three Oscars. He started out as an actor then went behind the camera to direct and produce. His production company was responsible for some of the most profound films in the past ten years. Still, the mention of his name infuriated her.
They hadn’t seen each other in over ten months, and they hadn’t spoken in nearly two years. The last time she spoke to him was at her mother’s funeral. The fact that he showed up caused the same madness each time their paths crossed. Newspapers, bloggers and tabloids never forgot the past. Each time they were in the same space, the past was dregged up in the tabloids.
As expected, the day after her mother’s funeral the media ran every story imaginable about them. If it wasn’t for her brother, Brian, she didn’t know what she’d have done.
Jazz spent the rest of the afternoon reading script
s. Every so often she’d look up at the clock, anxious about the evening. She considered cancelling, but she didn’t. When the time came she dressed in comfortable pants and a sweater and her usual dark sunglasses and large floppy hat. She waited until exactly six o’clock before going to his house. She still had no idea why she had agreed to go.
Chapter 5
INTERIOR—DEVON’S HOME
Curiosity made her go.
“Baby steps,” Jazz reminded herself as she walked up the path to the front door. It had been a long time since she’d gone to a man’s house. She took a deep breath, rang the bell and waited. “Okay, Jazelle, you’re on.” She straightened her back and smiled.
A few seconds later, a smiling Devon opened the front door. “Hey, hi, come on in,” he said, obviously happy to see her. At least his friendly demeanor put her at ease.
“Hi, thanks,” she said and walked in, hoping to see that Melanie had already arrived. She hadn’t. Jazz glanced at her watch. It was a little after six o’clock. Melanie was never, ever late for anything.
Jazz paused in the open airy foyer while Devon closed the door. One quick look around gave her a sense that nothing about Devon Hayes was what she expected. She looked up. Blue sky showed through skylights. The white marble floor sparkled and led to immaculately polished hardwood floors.
She looked up at the grand stairway leading to the second floor. It was stunning. Stately columns flanked the entrance along with lush green ficus and palm trees.
“I’m in the kitchen. Come, join me,” he said.
Jazz nodded and followed. Devon didn’t stomp or stroll, but he did walk with a definite swagger that looked as if it were rooted in extreme confidence. He was barefoot and wore a white button-down shirt and blue jeans. It was classic beach style yet still casual. She passed a mirror as they proceeded. She instantly regretted the outfit she’d chosen. But the extralarge knit sweater and wide-legged tan pants weren’t intended to be appealing. Neither were the dark sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat, both of which she hurriedly removed.
She smoothed her hair and changed focus. She watched, admiring the broadness of Devon’s shoulders as he walked. His waist was narrow, and the almost-tight jeans accented the firmness of his butt. She smiled. Seldom did she have the covert pleasure to so freely admire a man’s body. Instantly the thought of seeing him naked occurred to her. Her smile broadened. Kissing him the night before had planted a wayward seed of sexual interest she hadn’t realized was even there. She wondered what it would be like to feel him inside of her.
She knew he was interested in her. At least he was last night. She was right. The looks they gave each other across the room were pure heat. But seduction was never her forte. The assumption that she was her mother’s daughter couldn’t be further from the truth. Her mother was the seductress men couldn’t resist. She had her mother’s talent for singing and dancing and acting, but that was all. Anytime she tried to pull off sexy, she came off embarrassingly bad. There was no way she was going to hear another man ask her why she wasn’t more like her mother.
She pushed aside the sexual fantasy of being with Devon out of her mind. What could she possibly offer a man like him? “Melanie’s not here yet?” she asked as they continued down the wide-open hallway past what looked like the dining room and library.
“No, not yet. She called a while ago. She was running late. We’re on our own for a while. Is that okay?” He turned briefly and smiled as they entered the brightly lit kitchen.
That wayward fantasy she’d just tried to push aside came bursting back again. Her throat went dry. She needed a drink. “Sure, great,” she said, sounding more like a frog croaking than her real voice.
Brilliant sunshine streamed from the large picture windows and open sliding glass door in the kitchen. Jazz looked around slowly. Everything seemed pristine and new. The pale marble countertops glistened atop the solid white wood cabinetry. The brushed chrome appliances shone perfectly. She assumed he was like her and never cooked.
“Have a seat,” Devon instructed before he circled behind the center island counter and headed toward the glass door refrigerator. Jazz paused at the counter and placed her sunglasses and hat on one of the stools lined up. “I’ll get us a glass of wine.”
“Actually, something nonalcoholic would be preferable.”
“Sweetened iced tea okay?” he suggested.
“Yes, that sounds good, thank you.”
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a large glass pitcher. Ice cubes and lemon slices jingled around as he brought it back to the counter. He grabbed two glasses from a cabinet and poured their tea. After giving her a glass, he held his up to toast. “To my hero,” he said.
“Your hero?” she asked before sipping the tea.
“You saved me last night.”
“I wouldn’t say all that.”
“I would, you did and I thank you.” He nodded nobly.
She nodded as well. “In that case, you’re welcome.”
They each sipped the sweetened tea. “I’m glad you came, even if it wasn’t of your own volition,” Devon added as he set his glass down and turned back to the refrigerator. He began pulling items out and putting them in a large colander on the counter.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” she asked curiously.
He turned to her and smiled. “Yes, the thought had occurred to me. I’m sure it was a very real possibility, wasn’t it?” He glanced at her briefly then went back to what he was doing.
Jazz smiled and looked away. The fact that Devon knew she’d had second thoughts about coming tonight didn’t really surprise her. She assumed he knew she was a private person. “I’m more of an introvert. I don’t go out much.”
“Seriously, I would have never guessed that about you.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because you’re an actress and in show business. I would assume it would take an extrovert to accomplish everything you’ve done.”
“Performing is different. When I’m onstage or on set, I’m a different person. On set I’m the character I’m playing, and onstage I have an alter ego that takes over. I just do my job.”
“Really?” he asked. She nodded. “That’s interesting. So, is this the real you here tonight?” he asked, looking at her intently.
She had no reason to lie, so she told the truth. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Disappointed?” she asked.
“No, but someday I’d like to meet the real Jazelle.” They looked at each other as his words filled the room. He knew her letting go and just being herself was asking a lot. He was sure few people knew the real Jazz. But he hoped to be one of those people one day soon. “So, that pretty much means that the real you isn’t a performer. Who is she?”
Jazz considered his question. No one had ever asked her that before. Her family knew her, and Savannah knew her. Others just assumed they knew, but really didn’t. “A lot of things, but I guess I’m more like a bookworm.”
He laughed. “No way. I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true,” she said. “I read and write, and I…” She quickly stopped herself.
He turned. “And you what?” he asked. She went silent. “Come on, tell me.”
“It’s nothing.” He waited patiently. “I can’t believe I’m actually telling you this. Origami,” she finally confessed.
“Origami? You fold paper?” he asked.
She nodded. “Strange, right? I create my own pieces. I’ve done it for years. It’s very cathartic. I started with horrible scripts that I hated reading. It felt good to make them into something better.”
“Actually, that’s very interesting. I would imagine that it would take a lot of imagination and engineering skills to create origami.”
She looked at him, surprised. “Few people actually understand that part. Most think it’s just folding paper and that’s it.”
“No, I would imagine that it’s a lot like sculpting in a way,
but with only two-dimensional materials.”
“Yeah, it is,” she said.
“So, how do you go about it? Do you choose the paper then see what you’re going to make, or the other way around?”
“I choose the paper and work with it until something comes to me.”
“That sounds really interesting. I’d love to see some of your work.”
“We’ll see.” She stood and moved to the kitchen’s sliding glass doors and looked out at the view. The house was higher up on a bluff, so the view was far more extensive than Melanie’s. “Is Sag Harbor home for you all the time?” she asked.
“No, not all the time,” he said. “I have a place in L.A. I’m there most of the time. Speaking of which, how long have you been here?”
“In Sag Harbor?” she asked. He nodded. “About three weeks.”
“What do you think of it so far?”
“I haven’t really seen much of it. I’ve been kind of hiding out at Mel’s. I guess one of these days I’ll stop in town and have a look around.”
“So you haven’t seen any of the sights?” he asked. She shook her head. “You’re missing a unique experience. Sag Harbor isn’t just a playground for the wealthy and famous. It’s a cultural haven. Long Wharf Harbor, the place where celebrities dock their yachts, was once a major seaport in early America’s whaling business? As a matter of fact, Sag Harbor was actually the first Ellis Island.”
“Really,” she said, surprised by his knowledge.
“Eastville is considered the first purely African-American community. That’s where you’ll find several historical sites like the AME Zion Cemetery and St. David Church, which was actually a stop on the Underground Railroad before and during the Civil War.”
“Impressive,” she said.
“Yes, it is. You should check it out while you’re here.”
“I was talking about your knowledge of the area.”
“Was that a compliment?” he asked slyly.
“Just don’t let it go to your head,” she warned.
“I’ll try not to.” Devon took the glass pitcher, walked over and topped off her glass with iced tea. “I gather you don’t drink alcohol,” he said.
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