“Well, I’m only doing voice-overs. I’m too old to get into television.”
Frankie gave her an appraising look. “I think you’d be surprised. Getting a lead role could be tricky, but you’ve got that suburban mom look that a lot of shows are looking for right now. I know a few casting directors who would be all over you. Voice acting’s cool, too, but if you want some help putting together headshots and a show reel for TV auditions, let me know.”
Cecily's lips twitched into a nervous smile. Television was definitely not something she'd contemplated seriously before, but Frankie's assurances had piqued her interest. “Thanks! I’ll think about it.” A thunderous crack from outside made her jump. “That must be the fireworks. Shall we head outside?”
Rorie gathered up the discarded plates from the dining room, pausing to look at the leftover food on the buffet. Cecily had made enough to feed an army. I’ll be eating this for dinner for a week! On second thought, maybe she would box everything up and send it home with Cecily. She was looking thinner over the past few weeks, and Rorie was concerned she wasn’t eating enough. She knew Cecily’s new independent streak would never allow an offer to pay for groceries, but she wouldn’t turn down leftovers, would she?
Laughter erupted from outside and floated through the open patio door. Rorie smiled. It felt so right to have Cecily here, getting to know her friends. Rorie knew how nervous she’d been to meet them, but now they were all sitting outside toasting marshmallows over the fire pit as if they’d known each other for years. Cecily had won them over easily. Except for one, maybe.
The screen door slid open and Rorie turned at the sound of footsteps. Speak of the devil. “Rhonda. Do you need something?”
Rhonda shook her red tresses. “Nope. Just came in to chat. So, that’s the famous Cecily, huh?” She launched in. “Not exactly what I pictured. And the ex-husband thing…”
Rorie felt a sinking sensation in her chest, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. “Rhonda—”
“What?” Her voice was filled with mock-innocence. “It’s just, you said the two of you had dated in college, so I didn’t realize…”
Annoyance pricked the skin at the back of Rorie’s neck. Rhonda was a good friend, but she had her issues, and she enjoyed making them other peoples’, too. “It’s a long story, Rhonda. But it basically boils down to shit happens. You should know that better than most.”
“No, no. I do. Trust me, when it comes to the perils of dating poor, confused bisexuals, I know more than most.”
“Cecily is not a poor, confused bisexual.”
“Rorie, I think I can spot a confused bisexual.”
Rorie cocked an eyebrow. “Just because you’ve had a couple of girlfriends break up with you and start dating guys—”
“A couple? There was Lena, Stacy, Meg, Tina, Dorene—”
“Wait, Dorene, too? I thought you broke up with her.”
“Yeah, because I found out she was sleeping with her tennis instructor. Her male tennis instructor. I mean, does it get any more predictable than that? I told you, I’m an expert.”
Rorie's attempt to hold back her laughter ended in a reverberating snort. “I’m sorry, Rhonda. I know it isn’t funny. But have you ever considered that this isn’t so much a universal truth to be applied to all women as it is a reflection on the specific kind of women you date? Cecily isn’t like that. Trust me.”
There was a warning tone beneath Rorie’s joviality that Rhonda must have sensed because she backed down and tried a different approach. “Okay. So maybe she’s not confused. But you’re a pretty big deal, Rorie, with your nice house and your Academy Award. And she’s a divorced actress of a certain age, between gigs, and without an agent? Are you positive she isn’t just looking for someone to support her financially?”
Rorie laughed so hard she gasped for breath.
Rhonda’s eyes narrowed.. “Fine. Don’t heed my advice. I’m just looking out for you.”
Despite her annoyance, Rorie knew it was true. Rhonda could be rough around the edges sometimes, but she was a loyal friend who had Rorie’s best interests at heart. It’s just that, when it came to Cecily, Rorie knew that Rhonda couldn’t be more off base in her concerns. Rorie had worries of her own, but being used as a sugar mama or being dumped for some guy weren't even remotely on the list. The stack of agents' business cards in Cecily's pocket were another matter. Frankie's assessment was right on the money. Cecily was exactly the type of actress shows were looking for right now. It was the seductive lure of Hollywood that tied Rorie's stomach into knots. She'd been around long enough to know that fame came with a price, and the twinkle in Cecily's eyes as Frankie spoke with her tonight was causing Rorie some distress.
Pausing at the patio door, Rorie gazed at Cecily in the darkness, watching the glow of the fire dance across her animated face. The love she felt for Cecily surrounded her like the soothing water of a warm bath. There was no one else for her. They’d had more than a few obstacles in the past, and spent way too much time apart. Rorie believed they had a beautiful future ahead of them, but she fretted nonetheless.
Chapter 6
When her GPS led her away from the crowded business district toward the deserted streets of a residential neighborhood, Cecily wasn’t surprised. Having seen the studio at Stephanie’s house, she had a better understanding of what to expect from her new workplace and knew that it wouldn’t need to be large to produce professional results. But as the freshly painted houses and manicured lawns gave way to cracked pavement and overgrown lots, she felt a mounting unease. She dismissed it rapidly, sternly reminding herself that just because a neighborhood appeared a little rough didn’t mean there was anything wrong with it. Still, as she pulled into the parking lot of a shabby 1970s-era apartment complex, with faded tan stucco and rusty balcony railings, her nerves were jangling.
A middle-aged man came to the door when she rang and introduced himself as Phil. He wore a pink polo shirt and sported a thick mustache, the color of which gave the distinct impression that it, along with the thinning hair on his head, had been the recipient of a liberal dose of hair dye. This was a man who’d disembarked the fashion train circa 1981. Stop being so shallow, Cecily! It’s not like voice actors had to be good looking or stylish to have talent. If she was going to go into this new job with the right attitude, she needed to stop judging everything by its appearance. After all, as a forty year old woman with curvy hips and a full bust, she wasn’t exactly the poster child for the Hollywood ideal herself.
She followed Phil through an apartment furnished with dark wood and tweedy plaid upholstery. The paint on the walls was dulled with a yellow patina of nicotine, and Cecily’s nose twitched at the stale stench of old cigarettes that permeated the air. It was so drab and out of date that for a moment Cecily wondered if the studio would be filled with reel-to-reel recorders and 8-track tapes. Phil’s a professional, she reminded herself, and I need a paycheck. She could tell that this wouldn’t be her favorite job experience, but it was eye-opening to see how normal working people lived, and might give her a chance to correct her own snobbish tendencies. She was thankful because of that.
The studio was more modern than she had envisioned, but less than impressive. Instead of proper audio foam, the walls were covered with what appeared to be egg-crate mattress pads from a discount store, held up with industrial staples. Quilted moving blankets tacked along a cheap metal closet frame formed a recording booth. Had her first experience of a home studio been here instead of at Stephanie’s, Cecily had little doubt that her freelance voice acting career would have ended before it began. She’d learned enough since then to know that the methods employed here were legitimate, but the operation didn’t inspire confidence. Still, it was a job. Cecily had a clear enough picture of her employment prospects to appreciate what she had.
“Here are your scripts for the first project,” Phil said, setting a bundle of printed sheets in front of her once she was seated in the booth. �
��Take a minute to read them over if you’d like while I get everything set up.”
Cecily leafed through the pages, chewing her lower lip as she read. “So, this is a book?” She squinted at page after page of technical jargon.
“More of a training manual, technically.” Phil explained. “It’s for a corporate video series. I know it’s not the sexiest project, but they're a good client, and they pay on time.”
Well, it’s not Stephen King, that’s for certain. But paying on time was a definite selling point. “No, it’s fine,” she assured him.
“I’m expecting some audio books later in the week, though. Those should be more interesting for you.” He smiled as he said it, with a kind expression that thawed Cecily’s initial chilly impression of the man. I’m such a snooty suburbanite! Phil was a small business owner, after all, just trying to make an honest living in an industry that could be pretty mundane. He was probably a good guy, even if he did bear an unfortunate resemblance to a used car salesman. “After this, I’ve got an ad for a used car dealership for you to run through. I usually do them, but they want a lady’s voice this time.”
Cecily choked back a laugh. Of course you do used car commercials, Phil. Of course you do.
The training video wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. Once Cecily learned to pronounce the technical vocabulary, it was straightforward enough. She pitied the employees who would be forced to watch the thing, mostly because of the very unfortunate soundtrack of a ukulele playing Somewhere Over the Rainbow that repeated endlessly throughout. It would haunt her dreams that night for certain. She felt a pang of longing for the creative atmosphere of Grant Studios, but she tamped it down. This job was good enough, for now. It did make her wonder for the briefest of moments, though, what an agent might be able to do for her.
“Right,” Phil said, “I’ll just send that over to the client and we’ll get started on the ad. You can take a quick break if you’d like. There’s coffee and a bowl of fruit in the kitchen.”
Cecily stood and stretched, crackling noises echoing from her spine like the popping of a sheet of bubble wrap. Of the many amenities she had enjoyed in the other, fancier studios, it was the ergonomic chair that she currently missed the most. She shuffled to the kitchen and poured something that resembled coffee into a chipped mug—no wonder Stephanie had talked her ear off about how impressive the Grant Studio snacks were! An orange melamine bowl held one particularly tasteless-looking apple and two badly bruised bananas. I think I’ll pass. Her stomach rumbled in protest. She’d left the house without thinking to bring anything to tide her over until lunch, but she could wait. Only now did she realize how spoiled she’d been by that first job. I’ll get used to this, too.
“Here’s the car ad script.” Phil handed her a single sheet of paper, much to Cecily’s relief. This would be a quick one, after which they could break for an early lunch. “Just one warning about the last paragraph with the legal disclaimer.” Phil pointed to a dense block of text. “It needs to be fast. Six seconds, max. You’ve heard these types of commercials before, right?”
Cecily nodded. “Sure. The type where it sounds like it’s being read by an auctioneer?”
“Those are the ones. Just do it like that and you’ll be fine.”
The first portion of the ad went smoothly, and all that remained was to read the fine print. Cecily took a deep breath. “Monthly payment of four hundred and twelve dollars is based on a thirty-six month loan with thirty-six thousand dollars due at signing, plus taxes, title, options, and dealer freeze.”
“Whoa! Stop right there. You said freeze instead of fees.”
“I did?”
“And I think you said thirty-six thousand down instead of thirty-six hundred. I’m pretty sure Ed doesn’t have a single car on his lot that costs thirty-six thousand,” Phil said with a chuckle.
“Right. I’ll try again.” Cecily glanced at her watch. Quarter to twelve. She held the script in one hand and massaged her stomach with the other to soothe its rumbling. “Monthly payment of four hundred and twelve dollars is based on a thirty-six month loan with thirty-six hundred dollars due at signing, plus taxes, title, options, and dealer fees. Requires dealer contribution which could affect the final negotiated transaction. Dealer sets the actual price, and a higher MSRP may affect the percentage rate of the loan. Buyer is responsible for insurance. This is a limited time offer made by participating dealer and is valid only to qualified customers. Additional charges may apply, and supplies are limited.” Cecily gasped for air after the final sentence. “How was that?”
“Perfect. Only it took twelve seconds. You just need to double the speed.”
“Double?” Cecily’s tongue felt like sandpaper. She took a sip of coffee and felt her stomach rumble with increased persistence. “Okay, double it is.”
It took ninety minutes and seventeen takes before it was right. When Cecily stood from her chair, the room spun and her body swayed.
“Whoa, there. You okay?”
“Just hungry,” Cecily replied faintly.
“We’re a little behind schedule. Did you bring a lunch?”
“Uh, no.” Cecily winced as a hunger pain stabbed her gut. “I thought I’d run out and get something.” She’d passed a grocery store about five miles away that she was fairly certain offered a salad bar where she could get a fresh, healthy meal.
“There’s a burger place at the end of the block. Think you can grab something and be back in ten?”
Cecily suppressed a groan. “Yeah. That’ll work.” It wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind, but no sense making waves her first day on the job.
“Great! Have a good—ah, shit.” Phil looked at her apologetically. “Sorry, but I was just playing back that last take and there’s some sort of rumbling sound at the four second mark.”
Cecily’s stomach growled long and loud at this news, leaving little doubt what had caused the sound.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to do it one more time. And I’ve got an email back from the first client. They were mostly pleased, but there’s a portion they’d like redone with more ‘smile’ in it.”
More smile? It’s an audio recording. How could it possibly matter whether or not I’m smiling? But she knew that attitude wouldn’t get her anywhere, so she plastered the biggest smile she could across her face. “Right, I’ll give it a try.” The last thing she needed was the reputation of being a diva.
“It doesn’t leave a lot of time for lunch, though. There’s a banana in the kitchen,” Phil suggested helpfully.
There were few things Cecily found more disgusting than the smell of an overripe banana. For a moment she feared her stomach would revolt, but at the last minute it seemed to grasp the dire nature of the current food crisis and gave in, allowing her to finish the final bites without further protest. She poured herself another cup of tepid coffee, then trudged back down the hall with the grim determination to put more smile in her voice than she had ever smiled before. Once again, the prospect of calling an agent teased her mind, but it still made her too nervous to give it serious thought. This might not be an ideal job, but it was a sure thing and she knew with a little practice she could get it right. It would be good enough.
Everything aches.
Cecily stared at the empty bathtub, wishing it were full. Her hair smelled like cigarette smoke and it had made her queasy the whole drive home. She wanted nothing more than to rinse away this day, but her back cried out at the suggestion of bending to turn on the faucet, and her arms hurt far too much to twist the knob. She reached instead for the bottle of pain reliever on the bathroom vanity, washing two pills down with a paper cup of unfiltered water from the tap. Her cell phone buzzed and she winced as the action of reaching for it sent a stab of pain through her shoulder.
“Cici? How was your first day at work?”
Cecily smiled at the sound of Rorie’s voice on the other end of the phone, noting with silent thanksgiving that the act of curling her lips upward d
idn’t seem to cause her any additional bodily distress. After the amount of smile she’d put in her work this afternoon, she was half-convinced she’d pulled a muscle in her cheek.
“Honestly? I’m exhausted and I feel like I spent the day digging a ditch.”
“Oh, babe I’m sorry. Does he have more for you to do tomorrow?”
“Yes, I guess that’s the good news. He’s expecting a big batch of audio books that should give me work for weeks and be a nice change of pace creatively. In fact, I was supposed to get the files to start reading tonight, but they haven’t come yet, and I’m too tired at this point to read them if they do. I don’t even have the energy to run a bath!”
“Poor baby. Don’t worry. I’ll be over on Friday for dinner and I’ll run the bath for you. And help you with the shampoo and the soap. And get you all rinsed off after, if you’re really good.”
Despite her exhaustion, she shivered in anticipation at Rorie’s naughty tone and she eyed the bathtub saucily, memories of the last time they’d used it making her tingle all over. “And that’s going to help me get some rest, is it?”
“Umm…probably not. You might want to rest up now, while you can. Love you!”
“Love you, too.”
As she disconnected the call, the phone vibrated to alert her to a new email. She glanced at it just long enough to see that they were the book files from Phil, some sort of children’s book series, judging from the titles. She’d give them a closer look in the morning. Right now the only thing she had the strength for was sleep.
Wendy Does the Lost Boys?
Cecily’s eyes widened in alarm as she flipped through the list of files that Phil had sent her. Were these the same titles she’d looked at last night? What had appeared to be a children’s series based on classical works of literature the night before took on a much more lurid tone now that her brain was refreshed from a full night’s sleep and a cup of coffee.
Love's Encore Series (Books One and Two) Page 28