I nodded.
“I still think that producer should have offered to buy my life rights as well,” Betsy said.
“Of course you do. You’d kill to have a TV show based on you,” Elizabeth said.
“I wouldn’t say the word ‘kill’ in this town,” Betsy replied.
Elizabeth grimaced. “You’re right.”
“But I would love to be a TV star,” Betsy said.
“Oh, so you think you should have your own reality show?” Elizabeth asked.
“Tell me you wouldn’t watch that show like crazy,” Betsy said.
I raised my hand. “I would.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Look at you, encouraging her.”
“I’m just being honest. Grandma is the most entertaining person I know,” I said.
“Keep the compliments coming. I can’t get enough of them,” Betsy said.
“Isn’t that the truth?” Elizabeth joked.
“You should be more supportive of me. You could learn a little something from your daughter,” Betsy said.
“I think Sabrina massages your ego enough for the both of us,” Elizabeth said.
“An ego can never be massaged too much,” Betsy said. “Neither can a back. Or shoulders.”
“Or feet,” I added.
“Exactly. A full body massage is the best kind,” Betsy said.
“As long as it is deep tissue,” I said.
“Well, naturally,” Betsy said.
Elizabeth chuckled. “You two are really something else. Especially when you team up.”
Betsy’s eyebrows rose. “Speaking of, that’s a great idea.” She turned to me. “You should pitch a reality show to that TV producer centered on our quirky small-town lives.”
“I would, but he doesn’t produce reality shows,” I said.
“It’s never too late to start. Especially when The Betsy Daley Show can propel you to instant success,” Betsy said.
“Wait a minute. I thought Sabrina was going to be part of this show,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes. As my sidekick,” Betsy said.
Elizabeth gave me a quizzical look. “Sabrina, what do you have to say about that?”
“I would be Grandma’s second banana anytime. But that’s beside the point. Like I said, this producer doesn’t do reality shows,” I said.
Betsy scoffed. “That’s his loss.”
“Can we get back to real life for a second?” Elizabeth asked. “Sabrina, what’s the latest news on your TV show?”
“Get this. They are actually starting filming next week. That’s why Mr. Richman wants me to come to Hollywood. To visit the set,” I said.
“Wow. That’s incredible,” Elizabeth said.
“I know. It’s amazing to think that it is actually happening. And so quickly, too. The production company must really believe that this show can be a hit if they’re willing to film a pilot episode so soon after buying my life rights,” I said.
“Of course this show is going to do well. Who doesn’t love a good mystery?” Betsy said.
“By the way, who are they getting to play me?” Betsy asked.
“I don’t know, Grandma,” I said.
“I’ll be really curious to find out,” Betsy said. “It would be great if they got Jill Mixon.”
Elizabeth laughed.
Betsy looked offended. “What’s so funny?”
“Mom, she’s twenty years younger than you are,” Elizabeth said.
Betsy shrugged. “Why should that matter? Age is just a number.”
“Not in Hollywood, it isn’t. In La La Land, more often than not, age is everything,” I said.
“Well, I look twenty years younger than my actual age,” Betsy said.
“I can’t dispute that. But I don’t have a say in casting,” I replied.
“The way I see it, Jill Mixon would be lucky to play someone like me,” Betsy said.
“And the way I see it, I’m just thrilled that there’s going to be a TV show based on my life,” I said.
“I’m really excited for you. I hope you have a ball in Hollywood,” Elizabeth said.
I crossed my fingers. “I sure hope so. Pray that all goes well.”
Elizabeth nodded. “You know I will. I’m so happy for you, honey.”
Chapter Six
A week later
When my plane touched down in Los Angeles, I was nearly bursting with anticipation. Not even the ever-present smog that L.A. was notorious for could cloud my mind. All my life, I loved detective TV shows. Now there would be one about my life. It seemed too good to be true, but it was actually happening.
I got off the plane, spent a frustrating amount of time waiting to pick up my luggage at baggage claim, then headed toward the exit.
That was where a slew of chauffeurs and limo drivers stood, each holding signs with names written on them.
When I saw my name on one of the signs, I almost did a double-take.
William Richman, the producer of the TV show, told me someone would be waiting to pick me up at the airport, but I just figured it would be one of his assistants. Or maybe he would send a cab to get me. The possibility that a limo driver would be waiting had not entered my mind.
Yet, there one was, wearing a black suit, a white button-up shirt, a black tie, and a chauffeur hat.
I approached the tall, thin, blue-eyed, twenty-seven-year-old. “Excuse me. Are you waiting for Sabrina Carlson?”
The man nodded. “Yes. Are you her?”
“I am.”
“Allow me to get your luggage.”
“Oh. Sure.”
The man grabbed my baggage and headed toward the exit. “Please follow me.”
My feet felt like they were stuck in cement. When the limo driver saw that I wasn’t moving, a look of concern came to his face.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting a limo,” I said.
“Are you disappointed?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Just the opposite. I’ve just never thought of myself as limo material.”
“Mr. Richman clearly believes you are.”
“Apparently.”
“So, shall we be on our way?”
“Absolutely.”
The driver opened the back door of the limo for me and I got inside.
It had been a decade and a half since I had been inside a limousine. If I was remembering correctly, my senior prom was the last time I’d taken one anywhere. Back then, five of my closest friends and I had all rented one.
With this limo, I had the entire back area to myself. In addition, this was a much nicer vehicle. It had leather seats, a tinted partition between the front and back of the car, and a number of other features that I was too awestruck to focus on.
As the limo driver pulled out of the airport, a different type of shock came over me. One induced by absolute gridlock. The stereotype about Los Angeles was true. The traffic was absolutely horrendous. There was a staggering amount of cars on the road. It was such an intimidating sight. So much so that I was incredibly relieved that I wasn’t the one behind the wheel.
A few minutes went by without the limo moving more than just a few feet. I stared out at the unrelenting snag of traffic and knocked on the partition between the front and back of the limo.
A few seconds later, the partition lowered.
The driver briefly looked my way. “Yes, Mrs. Carlson.”
“You can just call me Sabrina.”
“Okay. Sabrina, is there something you need?
“A break in this traffic would be nice.”
He chuckled. “It sure would. But what I meant was, is there anything you need that I actually have control over?”
“You can start by telling me your name.”
“I’m Jacob Stewart.”
“Well, Jacob. I can’t help but ask, is the traffic always this bad?” I said.
He shook his head. “No. Sometimes it’s a lot worse.”
/> “I find that hard to believe.”
“Is this your first time in L.A.?” Jacob asked.
“Is it that obvious?” I said.
“Just a little.”
“Wow. I don’t know how you do it. If I lived here, I’d lose my mind.”
“Trust me, some of the locals have.”
“But not you?”
“No. This is just a regular Monday for me. Anyway, is there something else you need, Mrs. Carlson?”
“I told you before. You can call me Sabrina.”
“Right. Sabrina, is there anything else you need?”
“You sound like you’re in a hurry to end this conversation—”
He cut me off. “No. That’s not it.”
“Then why do I get that sense?” I asked.
“It’s just that clients don’t usually talk to me. They typically want me to give them their privacy.”
“Well, I’m not a typical client.”
“You certainly aren’t,” Jacob said.
“If you don’t mind, I have a few questions that I would like to ask you,” I said.
“Sure. Fire away,” he said.
“Just seeing how traffic is in this city, I can’t help but wonder, do you get tired of doing this every day?”
“Look. It’s not the best job in the world, but I’ve had worse.”
“Like what?”
“For six long months, I was a janitor,” he said.
My eyebrows rose. “You’re right. That is worse.”
“Would I like to do something different with my life? Absolutely. But right now, this is the only thing paying the bills.”
“I hear you. Unfortunately, bills don’t pay themselves.”
He laughed. “They sure don’t.”
While Jacob and I shared a chuckle, a car from a neighboring lane cut in front of the limo.
Jacob narrowly managed to apply the brakes in time.
I put my hand on my chest. “Wow, that was close.”
“That’s Los Angeles for you. This may be the City of Angels, but there are plenty of devilish drivers in this town.”
“I said it once, but I’ll say it again. I don’t know how you do this for a living. I’d lose my mind.”
“If all goes well, this will only be a temporary gig until I get my big break,” Jacob said.
“When you say big break, does that mean you’re trying to make it in Hollywood?”
He snickered. “Is there any other reason people come to L.A.?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t think so. Everyone I know wants to be a writer, actor, or director. Although, some want to be all three.”
“What do you want to be?” I asked.
“An actor,” Jacob said.
“Well, I hope it works out for you.”
“Thanks. It would be great if I caught a break soon. Rent isn’t getting any cheaper in this town.”
“I don’t doubt that.” I scratched my chin. “With a job like this, though, I assume you have a lot of rich and famous clients. Do you ever ask them to give you a shot?”
“Doing something like that could get me fired. My boss has made it very clear that I am not allowed to use my position as a driver to try to get auditions,” Jacob said. “Besides, like I said before, most of the clients sit in the back on their phones and don’t ever talk to me.”
“That must be so frustrating, being so close to someone in a position of power, and yet being so far away from catching a big break.”
“Living in L.A., there’s no shortage of frustrations to go around. But you learn not to let things get under your skin. Because if you do, they will eat you alive.”
Chapter Seven
It took over an hour, but we finally arrived at the studio. A security guard at the front gate checked Jacob in. From there, Jacob pulled the limo up in front of the offices of Richman-Terwilliger Productions. The production company was being run out of a historic bungalow that was located in the middle of the studio lot.
I got out of the limo, walked inside the building and told the blond receptionist at the front desk who I was and why I was there.
A placard was on the receptionist’s desk with the name Audrey Hill etched into it.
Audrey was a twenty-nine-year-old woman with a trim body and an angular face.
“Mr. Richman will be with you in a moment. He’s with someone right now,” Audrey said.
A little over a minute later, Noah Davidson stormed out of the office. Noah was a bespectacled short man in his late fifties. A few decades ago, he was one of the hottest actors in town. But after a string of failed shows, he had pretty much fallen off the map. I thought that he had retired. Apparently, I was wrong.
“This isn’t over,” Noah barked.
William Richman entered the doorway of his office and shot Noah a glare.
William was a goateed man in his late forties with a trim body and a square face. He wore a full navy-blue suit.
“That’s where you’re dead wrong, Davidson. It’s over for you,” William said. “You’re just not willing to admit it.”
“We’ll see about that,” Noah said.
“Get out of here,” William barked.
“Don’t you know who I am?” Noah said.
“Yeah. A washed-up has-been. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” William said.
Noah gave William another icy glare before storming out of the building.
Once Noah was gone, William shook his head and groaned.
William then went back inside his office and grabbed the door to close it behind him.
Before William was able to slam the door, Audrey spoke up. “Mr. Richman.”
He gave a brusque reply, “Yes.”
“Sabrina Carlson is here to see you,” Audrey said.
William spotted me in the waiting room and made a quick change to his demeanor. He slapped a smile on his face, straightened his tie, and pretended like that blowup hadn’t happened. “Mrs. Carlson, why don’t you step inside my office?”
Chapter Eight
I gingerly walked into Richman’s office, still stunned about what I had overheard. How was he able to put on such a good face after what had just happened? If I was in his position, I couldn’t pull it off.
William walked behind his glass desk and took a seat on a leather office chair. My eyes scanned the room. There was a spectacular view of the mountains outside his window. Framed posters lined the walls of his office, each commemorating a TV show he had produced. There was a bookcase in the corner, lined with TV scripts.
In contrast, there was very little on his desk—just a laptop, a phone, and a golden award statuette.
William outstretched his hand. “Take a seat.”
“Are you sure this isn’t a bad time?” I asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But after what just happened—”
He cut me off. “If anything, it’s a bad time for him. But I’m just fine.”
“Okay. I just don’t see how.”
“This is Hollywood,” he said. “Stuff like that happens all the time.”
My eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“In showbiz, everybody has an ax to grind. You get used to it after a while.”
“If you say so.”
“Enough about me,” he said. “You didn’t come all the way to Hollywood to hear about my problems, did you?”
“I suppose not,” I said. “What do you want to talk about then?”
“Did you have a good trip in from Treasure Bay?”
I corrected him. “Treasure Cove.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever.”
“My trip here was fine. I didn’t hit a single snag until I got a taste of L.A. traffic. The freeways here are unbelievable.”
“Yeah. Traffic is a real killer. Bet you don’t get that back home.”
I shook my head. “No. And I’m glad I don’t. I couldn’t take that level of traffic day in and da
y out.”
“There are a lot of people here who can’t take it either. That’s where the term road rage came from. I’m so glad I have my own personal driver.”
“Speaking of, thank you for hiring that limo company to pick me up.”
“That was nothing,” he said.
“Maybe to you. But to me, it was a life saver.”
“The way I see it, this TV show is going to make me millions. So hiring a limo to take you around town is the least I could do.”
“You seem pretty confident about this show.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? It has top ten smash hit written all over it.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said.
“I’m rarely wrong,” he said. “So, how does it feel, knowing there’s going to be a TV series based on your life?”
“Honestly, it’s pretty surreal.”
“I’ll bet. Just wait until you see the set. It’ll blow your mind.”
A balding tall fortysomething man with a lean body and glasses entered the doorway. “William, do you have time to go over some numbers with me?” he asked.
William looked at the door. “Isaac, I’m glad you’re here.”
Isaac stared at me. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were with someone.”
“Not just anyone. This is Sabrina Carlson,” William said.
Isaac’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“In the flesh,” William said.
Isaac outstretched his hand. “Isaac Terwilliger. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I shook his hand.
“Isaac runs the business side of the company,” William said.
“Yeah, I’m the numbers guy and William is the creative guy,” Isaac said.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” William said.
Isaac stared at me. “We have really high hopes for your show.”
“I’m just in awe that a television program is being made out of my life,” I said.
“Wait until you meet the cast,” Isaac said. He looked at William. “Has she met Hope yet?”
William shook his head. “No, she just got here. But that’s a good idea.”
William reached for the phone on his desk and pressed a button on it. “Steven, will you please come in here?”
Cupcakes with a Side of Murder Page 2