Stars Collide

by H. P. Munro

  As Freya approached, she pushed her sunglasses up onto her head. “So I found it okay,” she grinned, stepping into the hug offered by Jordan.

  “I’m so pleased. I was worried that I had sent you in the wrong direction.”

  Jordan stepped back. Struck by how green Freya’s eyes looked words fell unbidden from her mouth, “Wow your eyes are amazing.”

  “Thanks, I grew them myself,” Freya laughed. “It’s the sweater. Apparently it makes my eyes pop.” She silently added and my boobs go boo, as Jordan’s gaze swept down to her sweater.

  “Well they’re definitely popping today. So are you ready for this?” Jordan asked, as she led them towards the entrance.

  “Absolutely, just tell me what I need to do.”

  “Well, we all start out in the main hall and then we break out into smaller groups. We have musicians, singers, actors and dancers here and all are hosting small workshops. I thought you could stay with me, I’m taking the singing.”

  They moved into the hall and Freya was surprised to see over a hundred kids of all ages sitting patiently waiting on the day beginning. The hall echoed with excited chatter.

  “Grab a seat, I have to go up front for a bit,” Jordan said, pointing over to a plastic chair set against the wall.

  Freya wandered over, smiling at the other adults lining the walls.

  “Hi,” Jordan called. The noise continued for a moment before she spoke again and silenced the room, “Hi, it’s great to see you all here today. My name is Jordan Ellis and I’m one of the founders of the Future Arts Foundation. I know many of you will have heard how our foundation came about but there are some newbies here today, so suck it up ’cause you’re gonna hear it again.”

  Jordan let the laughter wash over her before starting to speak again, “I was always the tall kid in class, I tried to make myself smaller, tried to hide so no one would notice me, tried anything to be just like everyone else. I was called all sorts of names and had all manner of comments made about my height. I lost confidence and I became so painfully shy that even putting my hand up in class to answer a question would make me break out in a sweat.”

  Jordan paused, letting her gaze sweep around the room and disconcertingly finding two green eyes easily within the sea of faces looking at her; two eyes that seemed to be taking in the very essence of her. She coughed and regained her composure, “I used to sing when I was alone and then, when I was twelve, I had a music teacher who encouraged me to sing publicly. Through her, and through music, I found my confidence. I found my voice and I started to walk tall. We are all different, we are all special and you are safe here today to express who you are, to walk tall, to be whoever you want to be. You will be respected and you will treat others in that same way. So please have fun today and make some loud, joyful, noise.”

  The hall filled with the noise of chairs scraping on the floor as children stood and headed off to their relevant stations that were based on the sticker color they had been given on arrival.

  Jordan walked back towards a solemn looking Freya.

  “You didn’t mention that it was your charity,” Freya said quietly. “This is amazing, I’m in awe.”

  “You may not feel quite so in awe after a couple of hours. Notice I said joyful noise, not tuneful,” Jordan joked, trying to deflect Freya’s compliments. She had not yet reconciled the feeling she’d had when their eyes had met during her speech, the feeling that somehow Freya was able to effortlessly move beyond the façade that she presented to the world at large.

  ***

  Three hours later and Freya realized what Jordan meant. She had listened to several groups start off murdering songs that previously she had liked, then through gentle coaching from Jordan and the other singing teachers, herself included, end with respectable renditions.

  As the newest group finished their first attempt, Jordan stepped forward to give them the same instruction their predecessors had received.

  “That was a great first attempt. Now can anyone tell me what a clarinet needs to makes music?”

  Several arms thrust into the air and Jordan selected a small girl at the front.

  “Air, you need to blow into it,” the girl said shyly.

  “Yes you do and your voice is the same. The more air you get to your voice the better it will be. It protects your vocal cords and gives more power to your voice. So the first thing we’re going to do it learn how to breathe.”

  “Pretty sure I’ve been doing that my whole life.”

  Jordan’s eyes scanned the group looking for whoever had spoken. Unable to work out who exactly had the smart mouth she carried on, “You may have been, however, what we’re going to do is learn how to breathe properly.” Feeling the need for some moral support up front, she turned to her group of coaches who were standing to the side, “Freya can you come help me?”

  Freya propelled herself off the wall she had been slouching against and joined Jordan, “What do you need me to do?”

  “Can you sing an A and breathe up into your chest.”

  What appeared to be a simple request had Freya flummoxed for a moment. When you grow up with Anna Conor as your grandmother, there is no such thing as breathing up into your chest.

  Freya concentrated as she took a breath in, feeling relief as her chest and shoulders rose. She opened her mouth and let out a steady note, which quickly lost steam.

  “Okay, how was that?” Jordan asked the group, who gave murmurs of approval.

  “Don’t knock yourselves out too much guys,” Freya said, frowning comically.

  “Did you notice what happened when Freya took a breath?”

  “Her boobs got bigger,” the same voice from the earlier smart comment replied.

  Jordan flushed at the comment, her brain seemed stuck on pause, as whoever had added that little nugget to the conversation had spoken the truth; Freya’s already ample cleavage had increased impressively. She threw Freya an apologetic glance.

  “Apart from my fabulous décolletage, and thank you by the way, did anyone notice anything else?” Freya asked.

  “Your shoulders lifted,” another voice interjected.

  Relieved that they were back on subject Jordan took over again, “Yes they did. This time Freya, can you breathe properly.”

  Freya took a breath. Feeling her diaphragm expand fully, this time when she sang the note came out with more power and she was able to hold it for longer.

  “So what was different this time?” Jordan asked, smiling as she received the answers from the group. “Okay, so let’s look at how Freya did it.” She moved to stand beside Freya. “Could you turn side on?” she whispered.

  Moving as instructed, Freya found herself holding her breath as Jordan stood closely beside her. She could feel Jordan’s breath fanning her hair as she spoke to the group about posture. She realized that she had not been listening when a warm hand rested on her abdomen and she twitched in surprise at the contact.

  “You should feel your breath push your stomach out. If you’re doing it correctly your chest shouldn’t move at all,” Jordan smiled to the group, her hand still placed on Freya’s stomach. Idle thoughts of how soft the cashmere felt in comparison to the taut muscle she could feel beneath the surface, and how many crunches Freya must do, was replaced by the realization that Freya’s stomach wasn’t moving. She leaned closer to whisper in her ear, her nose filled with the subtle scent of coconut from Freya’s hair, “Are you holding your breath?”

  Freya jumped slightly. “Sorry,” she gulped and took a deep inhalation, pushing Jordan’s hand out in demonstration.

  Stepping back, Jordan clasped her hands together to hide the fact that they were trembling slightly. She forced a smile onto her face then clapped her hands loudly, “So everyone have a practice at breathing and then we’ll have another go at the song.”

  July 2011

  Freya walked into the large room, today had a ‘first day of school’ feel to it as she heard the laughter and banter of the actors
as they grabbed bagels and coffee from the Craft Services table before taking their place at the table read. She smiled an acknowledgement at a few of the regulars that she’d had scenes with before the show’s hiatus. The male lead on the show was goofing around with Greg Burnett who played the show’s lothario Major James Love.

  “So I hear you and Ellis are going to be the hospital’s Ellen and Portia?”

  Freya turned towards Dianne Cruz, who played Anthea Waters one of the commanding officers on the show, the actress’s eyes twinkled with humor as she sipped her coffee.

  “Erm yeah I guess,” Freya mumbled turning her attention to the plate of pastries.

  “You get fans for life you know,” Dianne grinned. “The gay ladies are nothing if not loyal. I played gay years ago and I still get voted onto sexy lists and sent mail.”

  Freya made a non-committal noise as she poured her coffee into the paper cup and lifted it to her lips to take a careful sip.

  “So have you done the vagina monologues before, Jordan?” Dianne asked as the tall blonde appeared, causing Freya to spurt coffee.

  Jordan opened her mouth to answer but was stopped as Eleanor clapped her hands, calling them around the table.

  Freya smiled to herself as she watched the cast slip into the same seats as they had been in when she had first joined the cast. The most predictable thing about working on this show was the cast’s seating habits at table reads. She sat down in her seat listening as Eleanor gave the cast a pep talk on creating a legacy on TV. Finally, they opened their scripts and waited to see what life they would breathe into their characters in the season premiere.

  Jordan quickly scanned the script for any Georgia dialogue. Comfortable that she had a couple of pages before she would have to speak, she took her time listening to her colleagues’ voices as they spoke their characters’ words for the first time before allowing her mind to drift towards Freya who was sitting following the script intently as she always did.

  Jordan had noticed, during the previous season, that Freya would twirl her hair as she concentrated. She had found herself thinking about the green-eyed woman several times over the two weeks since the charity workshop. She had been impressed with how natural Freya had been with the children, patiently working with them and always ready with a smile and praise. She shook herself as her mind wandered back to the breathing exercises and the feel of Freya’s firm stomach, which seemed completely at odds with the soft curves of her breasts. Recognizing a line said by Greg, Jordan looked at her script frantically, casting aside all thoughts in order to find the exchange between their characters in time to read her line out.

  Freya raised her head out of her script at the sound of Jordan’s voice and she joined the laughter around the table as Jordan nailed the comic timing of her line at the first read. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind how good Jordan was at her job. She had a real talent for comedy but with the same breath could have you tearing up at the depth of sadness she could bring. Even at the table reads, where most were just marking their lines out and getting used to the feel of the words in their mouths before exploring their character’s motivations and feelings, Jordan was already imprinting aspects of her final performance into the scenes. Freya snapped out of her reverie as she heard her cue. Reading her line she was pleased when her delivery elicited laughter around the table. She had spotted Jordan’s distinctive chuckle amongst the laughter and the thought that she had made Jordan laugh made her smile.

  At the end of the read Freya was disappointed that she and Jordan still didn’t have any dialogue together, but at least they would be in a couple of ensemble scenes. Eleanor was not lying when she said that they were taking it slow, Freya thought to herself as she gathered her script together, not noticing her co-star standing directly behind her.

  “I guess at this rate we might be speaking by episode three, in love by episode four, broken up in episode five and back together in episode six,” Jordan leaned forward and whispered.

  Freya bit her top lip to stop herself from laughing.

  Eleanor’s voice gave them pause as she reminded everyone about her annual Fourth of July party on Monday. There was a collective response before everyone returned to his, or her, conversations.

  “I was just thinking it might even be next season before we speak,” Freya whispered back as they walked towards the exit.

  Jordan snorted, “Eleanor’s idea of taking it slow usually lines up with sweeps week, so you should probably get ready to pucker up soon. I have a wardrobe call in five, where are you off to?”

  “Wardrobe,” Freya grinned. “I love this part of the job.”

  Jordan looked at her quizzically.

  “The scrubs and BDU pants. I have a friend in London who’s shooting a period drama, she says the costumes are torture; corsets and a million layers.”

  “I’d love to do something like that,” Jordan mused as they walked amicably together. “I mean corsets are hot.”

  Freya cleared her throat trying to rid her brain of the thought of Jordan in a corset, “My friend says they’re more uncomfortable than hot. She got pissed at me when I sent her pictures of me in scrubs. She says it’s unfair that she’s trussed up and I’m working in what she calls PJ’s and sneakers.”

  “Actors, we’re never happy,” Jordan sang as she opened the door to wardrobe and motioned for Freya to enter.

  Freya’s clothing range had grown since last season. As she looked along the rack of clothing identified for Emily she noticed some civilian wear amongst her costumes. For the first time she would get to see more of her character’s personality out of work being exposed and exposed was exactly the right word for it as she pulled the short ‘Daisy Dukes’ and tank top that Emily would wear in her own time off the rack.

  “Well hotdamn,” Jordan said softly. “Emily’s got game,” she added nodding at the clothing in Freya’s hand.

  “Emily’s going to have her ass hanging out, is what Emily’s going to have,” Freya mused, frowning at the denim shorts.

  “Well I’m sure that you have a lovely ass,” Jordan’s eyes widened in horror as she realized what she had said. “And on that note I’m going to leave you to get on.”

  Freya smiled at the blush that was now gracing Jordan’s cheeks. “Me and my ass thank you,” she grinned waving her shorts in goodbye.

  After an hour of trying on the outfits that would appear during the season, Freya was back in her own clothes when Jordan reappeared beside her after her own costume fitting.

  “So I’ll see you on Monday?” Jordan asked, referring to Eleanor’s Fourth of July soiree.

  Freya hesitated, “I was probably not going to go. I’m not really big on parties.”

  Jordan looked at her aghast, “You’re kidding right?”

  Looking confused Freya shook her head slowly, “No…why is there something that I should know?”

  Pulling her to the side to make sure they couldn’t be overheard Jordan lowered her voice, “Eleanor is kinda big on us being one big happy family. Not to go to the party at her house on Monday would be a mistake.”

  “How big of a mistake?”

  “Well the last person not to go to a party of Eleanor’s was Spencer Harris.”

  Nodding slowly Freya started to see where this was going, “Her character was blown up by a grenade launcher.”

  “Exactly. Now I’m not saying the two things were related but…” Jordan shrugged. “Do you want to be the one to test the theory out?”

  “Ask me again.”

  Jordan grinned, “So I’ll see you on Monday at the party?”

  “Absofrigginglutely,” Freya replied mirroring Jordan’s grin.

  They walked along the corridor together in silence until Freya laughed softly, “Thank you for looking out for me.”

  “Well what kind of fictional girlfriend-to-be would I be if I let you fend for yourself and make the social faux pas of the century?”

  “Indeed! You have started strongly in the fic
tional girlfriend stakes, so far you’re number one on the list.”

  “There’s a list? How big is this list?” Jordan asked, throwing open a set of double doors and squinting as bright sunlight hit them. She held her hand to her chest in mock horror as Freya held her hands a foot apart and shrugged nonchalantly.

  “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with my fictional girlfriend being such a slut,” Jordan huffed, as they paused, before giving Freya a prod in the side as she turned to walk away. “You can ponder on how to make that up to me later…first on the list indeed,” Jordan tossed over her shoulder.

  “Poke me like that again and you’ll drop to second,” Freya shouted, her eyes widening as she considered how a sentence like that could be misconstrued. “What a filthy mind you have there, Freya Easter,” she said to herself in a fair impression of her grandfather’s Irish brogue.

  ***

  The party appeared to be in full swing by the time Freya arrived fashionably, although not deliberately, late. Her tardiness was due to Anna insisting on showing her the newly digitally enhanced version of Monday Girl; the film that had resulted in her first Oscar for Best Actress. Freya had to admit her grandmother could act and her distinctive voice sounded better than ever on the re-mastered edition. Freya had grown up not just with the recordings of her grandmother’s voice; almost weekly she would hear one of the many songs her grandmother had recorded on the TV or radio, but also with the songs that she would sing to Freya as they played together. Anna always made time for Freya during her childhood and Freya knew that somewhere beyond the gin-soaked diva she portrayed to the world at large, Anna was also still the woman who had sat for hours teaching her granddaughter to play piano and rummy. Her relationship with her grandmother was as complicated as Anna herself.