El-geek, as she secretly thought of him, peppered her with “kind” questions. She was supposed to think he cared, but she saw right through him. In his mind, she was some runaway, a poor, pitiable soul who’d come to Hollywood looking for fame and fortune, falling instead into a life of drugs, prostitution, homelessness, hopelessness. A cliché.
If only they really knew.
She’d give the himbos from Michigan one thing: They were devoted to Sara. Whatever the tall, tawny Texan asked, they’d do. Like hauling a couch from the game room to the basement, clearing and cleaning an area for her to sleep.
Sara brought out the best in those boys.
And the worst in that Lindsay creature.
Around Sara, Lindsay was snotty, superficial, jealous, and bitchy. Putting her down at every opportunity. Lindsay was supposedly trying to mount a big “comeback,” but so far, she hadn’t gotten any acting parts. The only thing that cheered her was that Sara hadn’t either. Chuh! Even the homeless girls on the streets were more supportive of one another.
Sara had another audition coming up this week. Naomi had been helping her rehearse.
“You’re up for the role of who?” Lindsay’s loud question pierced the air. Instinct kicking in, Naomi stealthily made her way back into the den and opened the sliding doors so she could see what was going down. She wanted to be there, in case Lindsay’s claws came out. “How come I don’t know about this?” she charged. “Are we keeping secrets now?”
“Tomorrow I’m reading for a guest role in that new HBO drama. Didn’t I tell you?” Sara’s tone was even.
Boom! Crack! A thunder of fireworks split the sky, and Naomi flinched.
“How’d you even find out about it?” Lindsay wanted to know.
“Lionel, my agent, sent me up for it. It’s just a little bitty guest role, only two scenes. That’s probably why you didn’t get sent for it. It’s not important enough for you.”
Appeased, Lindsay relaxed, shrugged her bare shoulders.
Naomi’s eyes went wide. Lindsay bought that? Geez, she’s so high on herself, she can’t see through the bullshit clouds.
Sara should have left it at that. But she didn’t. “Got any tips for me?”
“Yeah.” Lindsay tilted her head back, poured a shot down her throat, and wiped her mouth with her arm. “Lose twenty pounds. You’ll never work in this town lugging around that much weight. Real women have curves, but there’s nothing real about Hollywood. Girls who get work in this town look like Nicole Richie at her boniest.”
Sara’s Body Works
The muscles in his stomach crunched tightly, then smoothed out again, tightened, then relaxed. Nick Maharis, lifting weights while doing knee bends in his bedroom, was almost more than Sara could stand. And yet that’s exactly what she was doing, standing in his doorway, afraid to breathe, watching those abs and quads tighten on the down motion, then biceps, triceps, and pecs stretch across his dark, hairless chest when he straightened up.
Breathing out as he pushed down, breathing in as he came up. Up, down, his gym shorts riding up his thigh, his biceps bulging. She was hypnotized.
The crunch of his muscles when he dipped down, the smooth pecs when he stood upright. Crunchy, then smooth. Like peanut butter. Licking it off his chest, how tasty would that be? That’s the ad campaign they should have gone with.
She gasped, clapped her hand over her mouth. How could she have thought that?
Nick flicked his dark eyes toward her. “What’s the matter?”
“No-nothing …” she stammered, swallowing hard.
“You made a noise like you saw something scary.”
In her head, she was hearing her boyfriend’s admonitions: “Don’t fall for any slick lines, Sara. All those guys out there want only one thing from you.”
“Anyway, welcome to my makeshift gym.” Nick grinned.
The night Lindsay made the rude comment about Sara’s weight, she’d been more startled than hurt, but it’d led to a shouting match. Eliot argued that Sara didn’t need to lose any weight; Jared agreed with Lindsay that maybe her “heft” wasn’t helping during her auditions.
“That’s crap,” Eliot had said heatedly.
“What do you know?” Lindsay had challenged. “Ever been an actress? I don’t think so.” She’d turned to Sara. “You have three choices. Starve yourself, throw up after every meal, or snort coke. Ask any model or actress—that’s how we roll in this town.”
“No way! Don’t you dare!” Eliot had been scandalized. “Either of you!”
Nick had genially offered to show Sara a workout routine. “To tone you, keep you in fighting form—that’s all you need.”
Too quickly, she’d said yes, please, and thank you.
Now that she was here? In sweatpants and her brother’s old cutoff T-shirt? Now that her eyes were glued to Nick’s glutes? Her thoughts sinful? Sara Calvin knew this was a bad idea.
She was going to do it anyway.
Nick’s workout equipment consisted of a set of weights, a barbell, ropes, and a huge red rubber ball that reminded Sara of a giant inflatable beach ball.
“Not exactly state of the art,” Nick conceded, “but it’ll have to do for now. Can’t afford membership in an L.A. gym.”
“Not yet. But when you’re up on a billboard modeling for those famous designers, you’ll be able to buy your own gym.”
When he laughed, his eyes crinkled up so all you could see were those long, thick black eyelashes. All she could feel was her tummy tumbling.
She should leave. Now would be a good time.
“So how do you want to begin? Stretching? Aerobics? Curls? Lunges? Weights?”
Donald’s voice popped into her head. “Once you start, it’s impossible to stop—you just keep falling down the well. Remember your purity pledge. Remember me. I’ll be waiting when you get back.”
She didn’t want to go back. She’d been in California over a month, and so far, though she’d only been on one failed audition, she loved her job, she loved the people she’d met, she was learning so much!
But she only had until the end of August. Then her mom’s money ran out, her job ended, she’d have to give up the house-share and move someplace cheaper. Or move back home, defeated. Back to Donald, who didn’t want her to succeed.
Her voice wavered. “Nick, do you think Lindsay’s right? If I don’t lose weight, I’ll never get any acting jobs?”
Nick shrugged. “I’ll tell you what I know. Those skanky types who starve themselves? Not hot.”
“Not attractive?”
“No way. Guys like girls with a little meat on their bones, you know? Working out isn’t about getting all skinny. Exercising helps shape and tone you. It’s good for your heart, lungs, everything. But if you wanted to lose weight—and I’m not sayin’ you should—anything that increases your heart rate burns calories.”
Could he not hear her heart racing? She could lose weight watching him.
“We’ll start with some simple stretches.” He bent over at the waist, so his fingertips touched the floor.
She watched.
“This is a great stretch for the back of your thighs, glutes, and lower back.”
She bent over, wondering what he thought of her glutes.
“Do you feel it?”
“I think so.” To tell him what she really felt would incriminate her.
Nick demonstrated stretches for the calves, inner and outer thigh muscles, arms, and shoulders. It was when he came up behind her, putting one arm gently around her waist, bending with her to show her an abs stretch, that Sara felt her legs turn to jelly.
He laughed. “Balance. That’s what half of working out is about.”
Next was weight lifting, for underarm toning. He demonstrated first.
“Okay, Sara, your turn.” He came up behind her and proffered two small barbells. “These are fifteen pounds. Might be a little heavy at first.”
He stood behind her. Very close behind. He lifted her
right arm and placed the barbell-shaped weight in her hand. “Here, curl your fingers around it. Take the other one. … Now pretend like you’re Popeye, showing off your muscles.”
She laughed nervously and did as told. Tried to, anyway. She couldn’t do it more than once; after that, the weights pulled her arms down to her sides.
From behind, Nick bolstered her arms. “Try again. Don’t be discouraged. Just do as many reps as you can. You’ll improve, you’ll see.”
He was so close, she could practically feel the beads of sweat transfer from his body to hers. She inhaled him. Sweat and soap: The combination was intoxicating. She had to do something. Say something. Conversation would take her mind off what her body was saying. “How’s your modeling going?”
“Slow,” he admitted. “Not exactly the way I thought it would.” He explained that he, too, had a deadline. Three months to make it before he had to concede defeat, go home. Just like her.
“When’s the audition?” he asked, demonstrating lunges.
“Friday.” She tried to follow, taking a long stride, bending her knee, stretching forward at the waist.
“Nervous?”
She was hyperventilating for other reasons entirely.
“Lunges are good for keeping your thighs taut and your butt tight,” he explained. He continued to demonstrate, unaware that his shorts rode up even higher with each stride.
Her tummy and butt tightened without her moving a muscle.
“Do you feel it in your thigh?”
When he cupped her quads, she jumped.
“So what exactly is the part in the drama?” he asked, amused at her nervousness.
“It’s for a girl named Victoria, a friend of the cheerleader’s, out to betray her.”
“A bad girl, huh?” He tilted his head and rubbed his chin. “Not exactly how I’d cast you.”
“You see me as the good girl.” She laughed uneasily.
“I guess I do. But that’s why they call it acting, right? You make the audience believe you’re something that you’re not.”
“You be a good girl,” Donald had reminded her. “Don’t let them change you out there. Don’t compromise your morals.”
Keep talking. Stop thinking. Stop feeling. Any topic would do. “Nick, do you remember that script written by the policeman who found my suitcase?”
“The one you rescued from the pool?”
“I’ve been reading it. I admit I don’t know much, but it’s every bit as interesting as the ones the stars talk about on Caught in the Act.”
“The cop’s is better? No kidding!” Nick seemed genuinely surprised.
She’d just about finished it, and was having Naomi read it too. It was called Hide in Plain Sight, and it was about a girl forced to go into witness protection with her mobster parents. She runs away, the bad guys go after her, and this young cop gets involved.
“Sounds cool,” Nick agreed. “Why not give it to Jared?”
“I’m not Jared’s favorite person right now, remember? He’d probably make fun of me. And really, what do I know?”
“As much as anyone, I’d think.”
“Maybe you want to read it?”
“I’m not much of a reader. If not for Eliot, I might not have made it through high school.”
“I don’t believe you. You ever think of acting?” Sara asked. “You’ve got the looks for it.”
“Me? I have no talent whatsoever—and I think you need more than looks to make it in this business. And someone like you, you’ve got both—you’re a knockout and a natural talent.”
She blushed. He thought she was a knockout? “There are so many beautiful people here, I’m nothing special.” He thought she was a knockout! “What I have is grit and determination.”
“And me.”
“You?” Sara’s heart went into serious flutter.
He grinned and rolled the huge ball toward her. “With the help of my rockin’ training, and this balance ball, you’ll snag the next role you’re up for.”
She laughed. “I was wondering what that ball was for.”
“It’s for stretching, pull-ups, and stomach curls. Come on, I’ll show you.” He rolled it into the center of the room. “Lay faceup on it.”
She giggled. “I’ll fall off.”
“I’ll hold you steady, don’t worry.”
That’s exactly what she was worried about.
Cautiously, she followed his instructions, draping her back on the ball, legs slightly apart, touching the floor.
“Arms straight out,” he said. “Now use your stomach muscles to pull yourself up, just enough to curl yourself.”
Nick stood over her.
She couldn’t move.
He took her hands. “Use me as resistance, and pull.”
She did as told. Maybe a little harder than he’d expected. Because she pulled him right down on top of her.
“I have good news, and bad news. Which do you want first?” Lionel, the sweetest man ever, Sara’s agent and friend, called her at work.
“Might as well be done with the bad news first.”
“You didn’t get the part on the HBO show.”
She swallowed nervously. “Is it because I was too … big?”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Not big enough of a name. They went with Nicole Richie.”
“I’m ready for the good news, Lionel.”
“You sitting down?”
“You know I’m not. Go ahead. Lay it on.”
“Just got word that they’re doing a remake of The Outsiders.”
Sara’s eyes widened; she squealed. “Oh, my gosh, I just love that movie!”
“It’s a classic,” Lionel agreed. “Made names for Tom Cruise, Matt Dillon, Ralph Macchio, Rob Lowe, Emilio Estevez—they all went on to bigger and better after that. There’s one important female role, Cherry Valance. It’s pivotal, it’s perfect, it’ll make a star out of whoever gets it.”
Sara flashed on a scene from that movie. “Cherry. Was that Diane Lane who played her in the original?”
“Good girl! You know your classic movie history. You have a week to prepare. This is a biggie.”
“You really think I have a shot? I haven’t gotten anything so far—not even that dang peanut butter commercial.”
“All the better, my smooth and crunchy one,” Lionel quipped, and Sara’s belly flip-flopped.
“They want an unopened jar. An unknown, a fresh, talented looker who’ll blow ’em away. In this case, not having any credits is a definite plus.”
“Just what we knew would happen,” her mama crowed when she called with the news. “See, I told you, Sara, every time you tried for something and didn’t get it? It’s because you’re bound for real stardom. I know this is the one.”
Lionel sent “the sides”—a few pages of the script with Cherry’s scenes—by messenger that afternoon. By evening, both she and Naomi had read it and had shared the news with Nick and Eliot.
Eliot was pumped. “That’s my favorite book from junior high! I’ll go online and order the original for you from Amazon.”
“It was a book?” Sara asked.
Eliot booted up his laptop. “Required reading.”
“In our school?” Nick scratched his head. “I don’t remember it.”
“That’s because I did your report.” Eliot was on the Amazon site. “You had to say if you’d rather be a greaser or a soc. You picked greaser.”
“S. E. Hinton,” Naomi murmured. “She wrote it when she was sixteen.”
Eliot complimented her. “That’s right.”
Naomi had offered up nothing about herself. Sara wasn’t sure the girl even had an education. “I guess it was required in your school too?”
Naomi shrugged. “I guess.”
Eliot was all about it. “You have to read it, Sara. You’ll understand the character better and ace the audition.”
“I’ll go out and get the DVD. We’ll help you rehearse,” Nick offered.
Sara was overcome with emotion. Everyone wanted to help her! She threw her arms around Eliot. “You have no idea how much this means to me. Y’all are … my best friends.” She started to cry, and Eliot stroked her back, holding her tightly. She wasn’t sure, because she was crying, but she thought Eliot whispered into her ear, “You smell sweet.”
Sara wept. Eliot grabbed a tissue and blew his nose. Even Nick, notorious noncrier, sniffled. They’d settled around the big oak coffee table in the living room, lit candles, ordered dinner in, and watched the DVD of The Outsiders.
“Johnny Cade gets to me every time,” Sara said between sobs. “His life was so sad, and he was a hero. And Ponyboy, you just can’t help loving him. …”
Nick leaned back on the couch, stretched his arms out. “Forget about them. It’s Dallas Winston—Dally—that Cherry is supposed to be in love with.”
“No she isn’t,” Eliot corrected. “She says she could love him—”
Naomi picked up the pages of the script from the coffee table. “Should we start helping Sara rehearse, while it’s fresh in our minds?”
Nick volunteered to read Dally’s lines, Eliot shoved his hands in his pockets, doing Johnny. Naomi played Ponyboy.
Sara alternately sat, stood, walked around—and eventually, after several readings, lay down on the carpet to stretch her back and her imagination. She wasn’t real happy with any of her readings, and wanted to try again.
“‘What’s a nice, smart kid like you running around with trash like that for?’” She sounded like a sweet, syrupy kindergarten teacher. That wasn’t right.
Naomi responded as Ponyboy: “‘I’m a greaser. Same as Dally. He’s my buddy.’”
Eliot clapped. “Naomi, that was good!”
Nick added, “Dude, if you were a guy, you could totally nail this.”
Naomi ducked her head down, embarrassed, and mumbled, “Let’s keep going. Sara? Do Cherry’s next line.”
She did, and tried it completely differently.
“That was better,” Eliot decided.
It was just okay. Cherry was a complicated girl—she could be sensitive and sweet, but also sarcastic and confrontational. She didn’t have that many scenes in the movie, but she made you remember them.
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