Stars Collide

by H. P. Munro

  Stars Collide

  by

  H.P. Munro

  About the Book

  It’s tough growing up in the spotlight and Freya Easter has had to do just that. Being part of the Conor family, who are Hollywood acting royalty, has meant that every aspect of her family’s life has been played out in the spotlight. Despite her own fame Freya has managed to keep one aspect of her life out of the public eye. However, a new job on the hit show Front Line, and a storyline that pairs her with the gorgeous Jordan Elllis, may mean that Freya’s secret is about to come out.

  In a world of glitz and glamor Jordan Ellis has come to the conclusion that all that glitters is not gold. She has become disillusioned with relationships and, longing for a deeper connection, she is surprised when it comes in the form of a most unexpected package.

  Whilst their on screen counterparts begin a romantic journey, Freya and Jordan also find themselves on a pathway towards each other.

  Stars Collide is a Red Besom book

  www.red-besom-books.com

  ebooks are non-transferable.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Copyright@2014, H.P. Munro.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means electrical or mechanical, including photocopy, without permission in writing from the author.

  ISBN-13: 978-1499357776

  All characters within this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  I love to write about strong, funny women and I’m fortunate that in my life I am surrounded by a plethora of them, who have provided support, laughter and unwittingly one-liners, situations, characteristics or names to my writing. So

  thanks goes to them.

  Special thanks goes to my mum and sisters, Jackie and Lorraine, who never in their wildest imaginations ever thought they’d be avidly reading lesbian fiction. It’s a family hobby now!

  Thanks also to Karin for ideas, Soricha for the fruit inspiration and Cathy for the final read.

  As ever a huge thank you to my wife for reading countless versions and trying to fix the numerous errors I make while writing.

  For Jane

  Contents

  About the Book

  Acknowledgements

  Contents

  May 2011

  June 2011

  July 2011

  August 2011

  September 2011

  October 2011

  November 2011

  December 2011

  February 2012

  March 2012

  April 2012

  May 2012

  June 2012

  July 2012

  August 2012

  October 2012

  November 2012

  December 2012

  January 2013

  February 2013

  March 2013

  April 2013

  May 2013

  June 2013

  December 2013

  January 2014

  February 2014

  August 2014

  Other Titles by Author

  About the Author

  May 2011

  “What time is Daniel getting here?”

  It was a struggle but Freya Easter managed not to roll her eyes at her grandmother’s query.

  “He should be here soon.”

  She was pleasantly surprised that she managed to make her tone even and not laced with the frustration that was bubbling under the surface of her wooden smile. She could predict the route this conversation was about to take as her grandmother was nothing if not predictable when it came to her life. She waited for the inevitable ‘I don’t understand why you couldn’t just stay together.’

  “You know I’ve never understood why you two couldn’t just stay together.”

  Freya turned to watch her grandmother drain her second, or was it her third, martini. Freya did a mental count, it was her second. The third usually moved the critique of Freya’s life onto her career choices. Specifically, how her acting career was yet to reach the family’s standard level of success. She couldn’t be sure but Freya thought that she spotted a mischievous glint in her grandmother’s eye when she spoke, or it could just be the gin she’d imbibed.

  “Anna, you know perfectly well why Dan and I aren’t still married.”

  It never struck Freya as odd that when growing up she called her grandmother by her first name; but when you grow up as part of Hollywood royalty, normal is subjective. Freya had been eight before she realized that it wasn’t that her parents and grandparents knew a lot of people, it was that a lot of people knew them and that not every child spent their days playing on movie sets.

  “I know Mom, I’ll behave,” Freya said with resignation as she pulled ingredients from the large fridge. She smiled as her mother placed a kiss on her shoulder as she passed.

  Small in height compared to her daughter, Francesca Conor was still a stunning looking woman. As a result she had managed to do something that was a rarity these days in Hollywood; her career had never faltered as she aged and she was still able to attract movie roles which younger actresses would give their capped teeth for. She was also something of an oddity, still happily married after thirty-five years to her leading man from her Oscar winning breakout film.

  Despite Dan’s assertions about her grace and elegance, Freya had inherited her mother’s high cheekbones, dimples and dark hair. Her height, lean athletic frame and striking green eyes were all Conor traits, passed from her grandfather to her father. Whilst she was the only one of their clan without an Oscar, TONY, BAFTA or any other type of award – although tempted, she didn’t count the cup she won playing Ping-Pong at summer camp – she was undeniably a Conor. Regardless of her using Easter as her surname, one look at her beside her parents and her heritage was obvious.

  “So Dan, how’re things with you? I haven’t seen you since New Year’s,” Francesca remarked, as she seemed to glide around the large kitchen, performing an intricate dance with their cook who was enduring the family’s intrusion of the kitchen with thinly veiled tolerance. “I’m assuming that your absence was due to a boyfriend?”

  Smoothly straining the cocktail into the glass Dan winced, “It was but, alas I find myself yet again on the shelf.”

  Freya turned around, her mouth open in surprise, “Oh Dan I’m sorry, when did that happen?”

  “Yesterday,” Dan shrugged as he popped an olive into the glass and tossed another into the air catching it deftly between his teeth. “It’s okay, what’s for you does not go by you,” he said lifting the glass. “Now if you’ll excuse me I am off to spend time with my favorite Hollywood legend and spirit animal.”

  Both mother and daughter watched his exit with thoughtful expressions.

  “I don’t want either of you any other way,” Francesca mused. “But sometimes I do wish that your marriage had been real for both your sakes.”

  “Mom,” Freya replied in a warning tone.

  Francesca held her hands up defensively, “Only because you’re both lousy at love.”

  “Harsh, Mom.”

  “True, Freya.”

  Freya huffed as she mixed the mayonnaise into the potatoes, jumping as her mother’s arms wound around her stomach.

  “She’s out there just waiting for my baby to come along and sweep her off her feet,” Francesca said softly, squeezing Freya gently.

  “Who is?”

  “The one Freya, your one.”

  ***

  “So has Freya told you her good news?”

  Shooting her best friend daggers, Freya looked around at her family gathered around the outside dining table.
>
  “It was a phase and she’s not really gay?” Anna asked with a hopeful look on her face.

  “Mom,” Dylan Conor placed a hand on his mother’s arm, “stop that.”

  “What? I was kidding,” Anna shrugged theatrically.

  “What’s your news sweetheart?” Francesca asked after glowering towards her mother-in-law. Anna had the good grace to look sheepish as she sipped her drink.

  “I’ve got a job,” Freya shook her head while mentally breaking several bones in Dan’s body. “They’ve picked up my option on Front Line.”

  The celebratory noises and barrage of questions coming from her parents and grandmother drowned out the last part of her announcement and she shot another glare at Dan.

  “Mom, Dad, Anna, please, it’s really not a big thing.”

  Dylan rose from the table, “Of course it is honey, we must celebrate.” He disappeared back towards the house to locate some champagne.

  “So tell us all about it,” Anna said, beckoning Freya with her hand. “Who’s directing?”

  Dan gave her an apologetic smile as she ground her teeth. The conversation they were about to have was exactly why she had no intention of making an announcement today. From experience this sort of thing was better proclaimed over the phone, preferably whilst in another state, if not country.

  “It’s not a movie Anna, it’s a TV show. I was on as a guest at the end of last season and I’m going to be a regular next season.”

  Anyone watching would have thought that Freya had announced that she was planning to shave her head and ride a goat down Santa Monica Boulevard or proclaim her membership of the Republican Party. Anna’s mouth gaped open and she clutched her chest as if she had been shot. It was the exact pose that she had used in no less than twelve of her movies over the years, the only difference was that now an ill-advised face lift twenty years earlier had lessened her expression range.

  “Not a movie!” Anna rasped.

  Dylan reappeared with a bottle of champagne and tray of glasses.

  “Put it away, don’t waste it,” his mother waved her hands above her head as if trying to ward off evil spirits. “She’s doing the devil’s work.”

  Putting down his load, Dylan pulled his daughter into a hug, “I think it’s great. Mom, don’t be such a snob.”

  “Your grandfather will be turning in his grave,” Anna sniffed, quaffing an almost half-full martini glass.

  “We cremated him Anna,” Francesca said dryly towards her mother-in-law. “And Finn would be happy that Freya had got work.”

  Freya appreciated the effort but her mother was blowing smoke up her ass and they both knew it. In the Conor family there was a pecking order. For her grandfather, theatre came first. He had shared billing with most of the greatest thespians to have graced a stage and performed some of the biggest roles. His Hamlet was still regarded as amongst the best ever. Lured from the UK to Hollywood by the promise of financial gain, the highly regarded Shakespearean actor was dedicated to his craft on stage, but the canny Irishman in him also wanted to earn a bob or two. His intention was always to do a couple of films, bleed as much cash as he could out of the experience, then return to his beloved stage. However, he had not reckoned on Anna Murphy.

  Anna came out of the womb tap dancing. Both her parents had been vaudevillian performers and as soon as she could walk, and talk, she joined the family act before being picked up by a film studio and turned into a child star, all before the age of six. Her career carried on like a relentless juggernaut and she grew into a box office banker with her musical hits. She was twenty-one when Finn Conor came to America and she had him whisked up the aisle practically before the ink was dry on his passport stamp. To Anna, the movie was god. Theatre was okay – as long as it was musical theatre, she had never shared her husband’s love of the Bard.

  Two more vastly different characters you could not have imagined, and yet it worked. They drove each other insane right up until Finn’s death almost ten years previous, but they had one thing in common.

  They both hated TV.

  Freya’s parents had a more balanced view towards roles, although neither had ‘slummed’ it on TV as Anna was often heard to remark when a former movie star appeared on the small screen. They both knew that it was tough out there and that Freya was determined to carve out her own career without interference or assistance from them.

  It had been a surprise to the family that she had turned to acting at all. Growing up she had always maintained that she did not intend to join the family business. In fact, she had fought kicking and screaming against all aspects of her family’s legacy in Hollywood, deciding to study overseas in England to distance herself. This was to be her undoing as while studying at Cambridge, and under the allure of a girl, she agreed to join the drama society. Whilst her passion for the girl waned after a few months, the love of acting grew and before she knew it, after completing her degree, she had applied and was accepted to The Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts. That her grandfather got to see her graduate from the prestigious school was still a source of pride for Freya.

  Had it not been for a health scare with Anna she would not have packed up her life in New York a year ago. She left behind theatres and plays to return to the city that she had professed to hate while growing up to move into her grandmother’s guesthouse to keep an eye on her. She didn’t like to point out to her grandmother that, albeit inadvertently, she had sown the seeds of her granddaughter’s eternal damnation, since the theatre scene in LA was not as vibrant as New York. However, if there was one more comment she might forget her reticence.

  Dan, determined to clean up the mess that he had created, chipped back into the conversation. “I think it’s fabulous, it’s only the biggest show on network primetime,” he said proudly, lifting the glass of champagne that Dylan had poured him.

  She flashed Dan a grateful smile.

  “At least it’s network, which means she’ll keep her clothes on this time,” Anna muttered into her glass. “I’m still recovering from seeing something no grandmother should see when she appeared on that cable show.”

  While peeved at her grandmother’s comment there was also a small sense of pleasure that at least Anna had made the effort to watch her in something. Which was news to Freya.

  “So what part of the show will you be on this time?” her mother enquired as she poured more champagne in Anna’s glass hoping the alcohol would keep her occupied or the effects would eventually shut her up completely.

  The show was set in part in an US Army Hospital in Germany, the other half of the show featured a Combat Support Hospital in Afghanistan. During Freya’s initial appearance she had been in the Combat Support Hospital, which required a lot of location work out in the deserts surrounding Los Angeles.

  “I think I’m going to be based on the German set, but I’m meeting with the producer next month to find out more. Like I said, it’s no big deal,” she shrugged.

  “And she gets to work with the delectable Jordan Ellis,” Dan said, sipping his champagne, his eyes wide with innocence.

  “Why do I know that name?” Anna asked, staring off towards the swimming pool as her still sharp mind, which belied her years, rattled through her mental ‘who’s who’ list. A look of recognition flooded her features. “I know, blonde girl, big brown eyes like a deer, won the TONY award the year they gave me the ‘good Lord she’s still alive, we’d better give her something before she buys it’ award. We saw her show Freya, she has a good set of pipes on her,” Anna continued, nodding to Dan as he held the champagne bottle at her glass.

  “Oh Freya’s all about the pipes,” Dan smiled, managing to move his arm in time to take the impact out of Freya’s punch as he poured Anna a fresh glass.

  “Well congratulations, I’m proud of you,” Dylan said holding his glass up. “A toast. To the hope that you have a stunning season and that it takes you where you want to go.”

  Freya was fairly sure her grandmother muttered something abou
t ‘going to Hell in a hand basket’ under her breath. However, she ignored it as she was happy to bask in the tiny bit of pride that securing the role had given her.

  “So she’s on the show, Jordan Ellis?” Anna asked.

  “Yes, she plays another doctor,” Freya answered, wondering if the raised eyebrow of her grandmother meant that the show had gone up in her estimation or Jordan had gone down.

  ***

  Jordan carefully balanced the holder with two cardboard coffee cups and the bag of bagels in one hand before pressing the doorbell and hearing the two-tone sound resonate through the modern open plan home as it bounced off the tiled floors. A moment later she heard the sound of dogs barking and muffled swearing. Locks clunked and eventually the door opened to display a frazzled looking Sabrina Morales. The body that had graced the covers of many magazines was currently wrapped in a silk dressing gown. Her dark brown hair, usually so perfectly styled, had been pulled into a messy knot at the back of her head and her skin, the color of which matched the latte held in Jordan’s hand, was annoyingly as perfect without make-up as it was with.

  “I knew I should have bought something with a gate to keep the riff raff away,” Sabrina huffed, before breaking into a wide smile. “Welcome home, you’re looking well despite the fact that you have the audacity to show up on my doorstep all jetlaggy.”

  Jordan followed Sabrina into the house, stepping carefully to avoid the two Chihuahuas who seemed determined to destroy her so far successful attempt to keep the coffee in the cups.

  “What makes you think I’m all jetlaggy?”

  “It’s eight a.m. on a Sunday morning, I’m guessing you’re still on New York time.”

  “I bring gifts,” Jordan said smiling, lifting the cup holder up.

  “Whatcha brought me?” Sabrina asked, wafting into the kitchen and pulling down two large mugs from a cupboard.

  “Coffee the way you like it and bagels.”