Facade

by Kim Carmichael

  “Hollywood Stardust was the typical love triangle.” Julia raised her chin. “Today’s teen movies are better developed than movies decades ago.”

  “Oh, that reference to my age really does pain me.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “Tell me, did the villains of your era wear pompadours and leather jackets, or perhaps suits of armor?”

  In an effort to stifle a laugh, Ivy bit the side of her mouth. There was something to be said for the villain getting their comeuppance, and she didn’t mean Mr. Alexander.

  Julia narrowed her eyes and spun toward Craig. “I am not playing her game of bait and switch. If Miss Details loves villains so much, Miss Details can do the interview. Call me when you get a real star.” She stormed out.

  “Well, that is one thing your runaway hostess and I agree on.” Mr. Alexander’s smile revealed a perfect set of Hollywood teeth.

  “What would that be?” Craig wiped his brow.

  “Miss Details should do the interview.” In a swoon-worthy move, Mr. Alexander bowed to her.

  The spotlight shined down on her and the same stage fright she battled every second of her life took a strong hold over her body, made worse by being presented with her teen idol in the flesh. “Craig.” How she managed to utter even one word was beyond her, but she took it as a good sign.

  “Oh, no. No, that won’t do at all.” Craig shook his head. The first and only time she was on camera at Chargge.com, she ended up running off set and throwing up in a trash can. “I am sure Julia will be right back.”

  “Don’t bring her back on my account. I’m Team Details all the way.” Logan raised his fist as if he were about to begin cheering and, with a wink, lifted his chin in her direction. “She is clearly an expert on the movie and knows story structure.”

  His gesture, though probably insignificant to him, served to ignite her courage as well as her body. She chose to ignore them both. All she needed was to throw up on one of the Hollywood Stardust stars.

  Craig cupped his hand over his mouth. “She is an expert on every movie.”

  Yes, fine, but she was mostly an expert on Hollywood Stardust. She remained silent.

  “I refuse to be interviewed by anyone who is not an expert in cinema.” Mr. Alexander picked up one of her note cards, gave it a quick scan, and sauntered over to her. Yes, it was a total saunter. His walk may have also included a bit of a swagger as well. “Miss Details is the only one for me. It seems she has found something to talk about other than drugs, Drew, and sequels, since I won’t answer those questions anyway.”

  She fought the need to hug her prepubescent crush, bury her face in his chest, and breathe in what could only be the smell of cologne and cookies. Later, they could go back to her apartment, and she would confess she used to write his name in her notebook and practice kissing him on the back of her hand. In her dreams, she could interview him and then they’d conquer the world together. In reality, she knew he was only playing a role and she would never be able to utter a sentence. Dumb reality.

  “Either she interviews me or you can call the company that owns not only Hollywood Stardust, but your website as well, and tell them the video blog they expect to make waves won’t air today. I’ll be in the lounge not lighting my cigarette.” He handed her the card and walked out the door.

  She leaned forward, bracing herself on her knees. “Oh God, I want to do this.”

  Her boss paced across the floor. “You would be the perfect person if you could just learn to calm down. It’s what we hired you for.”

  Though Craig never admitted it, she was the bane of his existence. He hired her as a favor to her father, and they gave her the job as a reporter. Technically, her current job as fact-checker and scheduler didn’t even exist. The reporters were supposed to do their own research, but Julia sort of snatched her up as a personal assistant. Both her parents who possessed multiple acting awards between them, looked at her with wide eyes and pity every time they discussed her career. Even they weren’t good enough actors to hide their disappointment.

  She crumpled the note card in her fist and straightened up. “I’ll do it. I will interview Logan Alexander.” Part of her expected a spotlight to shine down on her signifying her strength of conviction. The other part was thrilled she didn’t live in a world where spotlights randomly illuminated at key life-changing moments. She would end up living in the bathroom with the lights off, shaking.

  Craig shook his head. His skin had turned the most unusual shade of red.

  “This is the movie of a generation, the one that spoke to that specific time. The story should be told by someone who truly loves everything it represents.” For once, she needed to be her own spotlight. “This is the movie that pushed the boundaries, didn’t rely on the happily ever after, asked the questions.” Maybe the movie that meant the world to her could also cure her.

  “We need this story, Ivy.” He crossed his arms. “Seriously, we need the story. Other sites are competing with us. We need something to go viral. The advertising dollars are not coming in as they should, and you know what that means.”

  Yes, it meant cuts, starting with the person who technically didn’t have a title. She might as well go big or go home, literally.

  “Do the interview, but make sure you ask about Drew Fulton and the arrest and the sequel.”

  “He said he wouldn’t answer those questions.” The swirl of anxiety circled around her stomach.

  “Ivy.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “You can do this. You were made for this. Go to wardrobe, ask them for something more contemporary and fashionable, and ask the questions. We need you.”

  For once she wouldn’t disappoint. She stopped herself from saluting and gave him a strong nod. “I got this.” As she walked out, she made a mental note to have a trash can put near the set.

  On the Dotted Line

  Amazon

  A signature can change everything…

  Rather than silver, Randolph Van Ayers III was born with a platinum spoon in his mouth and plenty of strings attached. Faced with a list of specific goals he must achieve in order to earn control of his family’s banking empire, he’s accomplished each task and triumphed. One item remains on his list. He must marry by his thirty-third birthday and stay married for one year. However, when his so-called fiancée leaves him on the courtroom steps only hours before his deadline, he realizes he might lose for the first time in his life, and a Van Ayers never fails.

  Taught to rely on the universe for answers, Willow Day has always struggled in the material world, specifically her lack of material. With her small holistic store near foreclosure and without a home, she must do anything within her power to make the business work and take care of the woman who raised her. When the rude, yet gorgeous, Randolph the Third offers to fix all her troubles in exchange for one year of her life, she opens her mind and takes a chance.

  It’s the battle of the mystical over the money. Between a hidden pet who looks more like a cotton ball, performance artists with wings, and a woman who spouts advice like a living fortune cookie, everything from restaurant reservations to a trip to celebrate the winter solstice create clashes for the couple as they learn how to fit into each other’s worlds.

  With both their futures at stake, they must learn to accept reality, what the fates have dealt them and the consequences of falling in love from the moment they decided to sign on the dotted line.

  An Excerpt

  Chapter One

  “Don’t get married for love.” Randolph Van Ayers III pressed two fingers to his left temple. The throbbing in his head reverberated throughout his body. Though he wanted to go home and lie down, if he came home with anything his mother considered an ailment, he would end up quarantined in one wing of the house no matter how many times he told the woman headaches weren’t contagious. The Mitchell Art Gallery presented him with a definite upgrade to being a medical pariah.

  “Maybe you should look inside yourself for love.” The owner of the gallery, Slate Mitc
hell, stopped in front of a photograph of the back of a man’s head staring out into space. “However, I am still reeling that I didn’t get an invitation to your wedding, love or not.”

  “Don’t spew your rhetoric at me.” It took all his effort to shake his head at the oversized, overdone image. The print wouldn’t be worth anything in his lifetime. “I didn’t even want to attend, not that it matters since I didn’t get married today for love or otherwise. However, I do thank you for the party in my honor.”

  “Nothing like an impromptu birthday party to blunt being left on the courthouse steps with no bride.” Slate patted him on the back.

  “I appreciate how you’ve kept this low key as I asked.” His life had been reduced to a frat party in an art gallery. Earlier a keg was delivered.

  “It’s only small if the police don’t get called. I have some better ones over here.” Slate guided him through the wide-open space designed to be a showcase of the latest local artists. Anyone in the city with seven figures behind their name wanted to be the next person to discover the artist of the second, and the gallery was in the perfect spot in LA to make waves without the cost per square foot of more trendy or upscale areas.

  They stopped in front of another wall of photographs. “These would go with the sculpture of the birds you bought last month. Different artist, but similar feel. I can get you a discount for your special day.”

  He assessed the black and white photograph of a little bit of nature left in the Greater Los Angeles area. Mountains, clouds and birds in perfect juxtaposition of smog and the city. “A discount. Happy birthday to me.”

  “Well, it’s the least I can do for the man whose bank made it possible for me to become the new go-to gallery for poor little rich boys such as yourself.” Slate motioned toward the next photograph.

  “Remember until you pay off your mortgage, my bank owns you.” Randolph took a breath in an attempt to focus on the potential of the picture. “Maybe you should default on the loan, after midnight tonight it will no longer be my bank and I will no longer be rich.” While he considered Slate one of his better friends, he knew once the money ran out the friendship would follow.

  “Come on, that story you tell is just a pick up line. You can stop now.” Slate stopped and motioned toward the next piece of art, namely his girlfriend, Jade. “And here is a masterpiece.”

  “The story is totally true. Randolph told me the story when we were dating, it’s incredible, and true.” Dressed in a nude body suit with a hat made up of flowers Jade uncoiled her body, stretching her arms out and taking her time standing up. She came over, kissed them both on the cheek and hooked her arm in Slate’s. “I’m blooming.”

  “Baby, it’s a story designed to make girls have the expression on their face you have right now. You didn’t really date him, you only went as his plus one to that finance event when he was desperate.” Slate chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “You make a beautiful flower.”

  Randolph met the little piece of living art a few years ago at a financial conference when she donned her other persona as a property manager. Her parents owned some select buildings throughout Los Angeles and she took care of them when they retired. He invited her to accompany him to an event, but rather than a kiss goodnight he ended up with a friendship instead. However, the slight blush and smile on her face spoke volumes. Women loved his pathetic all too true story.

  If only it were a story.

  “Unless he got married by his thirty-third birthday and stayed married for a year, he would lose his inheritance.” Jade pressed her hands to her chest. “He signed a contract and everything.”

  Both he and Slate groaned.

  Jade let go of her boyfriend and flung her arms around him. “I’m so sorry. I would help you if I could.”

  “Can I borrow you for twelve months?” A plus one was better than nothing. He needed to face the fact he was never going to have a relationship for anything other than money. Hell, he probably got left at the courthouse for a man with a larger trust fund.

  “No, you may not. She is not on loan.” Slate pulled her away. “Plus, he doesn’t want to get married for love.”‘

  “Well, he may not want to get married for love, but getting married for money isn’t working for him either.” Jade returned to Slate and wrinkled her nose.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s over unless a bride drops into my lap in the next five minutes.” Since he created the situation, he would live with the repercussions. In the end, his father’s entire scheme had been built around his failure. At least for once he would prove the man right.

  “Can we study the art?” Slate walked backward, corralling them to the next piece.

  “I need to finish getting ready for the party and Willow’s here. She said she wanted to talk to me so I invited her.” She waved her arm. “Come here and say happy birthday to Randolph.”

  An ethereal cloud of yellow and white swirls materialized out of the corner of his eye.

  He tightened his jaw and finally did Slate the favor of staring at the next work. Maybe Willow Day would vanish if he didn’t look directly at her. Everyone knew ignoring the problem made it go away.

  “It’s Randolph’s birthday?” she asked.

  Her voice brushed over him, as soft and supple as her name. If only the rest of her matched. A new tenant in one of Jade’s buildings down the street from the gallery, he crossed paths with her a few times in the last couple of months, but the encounters were always the same. No, pretending a problem didn’t exist never made it go away. He squeezed his hand into a fist.

  “We’re having a party for him.” Jade dragged her over.

  With the woman standing directly in his line of sight, he needed to look. The way she gazed at him always made him think she was intrigued or interested. Again, her appearance didn’t match her attitude. Long, straight blonde hair literally floated around her as if she managed to get someone with a fan to follow her around. Unlike most women in Los Angeles, she wore little makeup, only enough to enhance her light blue eyes, petite features and glowing skin. He suspected she had a nice little body under all the flowing layers of clothes. She didn’t stuff herself into her wardrobe leaving little to the imagination. Someone would have to really search and discover. No, nothing on her was man made or artificial, everything natural. A rare find.

  “Well, Happy Birthday.” She graced him with a smile.

  The same smile sucked him in the first time he met her. Though it lit up her face, he sensed something beneath her upturned lips, something he wanted to get to know until he actually spoke more than two sentences to her. “Thank you.”

  “Scorpio.” She tilted her head. “I should have guessed.”

  Case in point. He swallowed. “I hardly think a bizarre alignment of planets and stars millions of light years away from me on the day of my birth have anything to do with my personality. Wouldn’t that mean anyone born on my birthday should be exactly like me?”

  “Let’s hope not.” While her voice came out soft and sweet, her words were hard and cutting. She gave Jade one of her multi-layered smiles. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll meet you back in Slate’s office.” Jade pointed.

  Without any more well wishes, Willow walked through the gallery.

  Jade glared at him. “I’ll be back for your party.” She spun on the ball of her bare foot and left.

  “What’s your poison?” Slate motioned toward the photo.

  “I want something different, something with some bite.” Everything presented to him seemed trite, done before. He longed for something unexpected.

  “I think you have enough bite for everyone.” Slate shook his head. “Especially Willow.”

  He exhaled. “She called me a Scorpio.”

  “How dare she call you your own astrological sign?” Slate tucked his notepad back into his pocket. “She’s such a meanie.”

  “It was the way she said it.” He stopped in front of the next photo. The ar
tist quite literally took a picture of nothing. A big black square hung on the wall, creating a hole in the middle of the show. With a bit of metallic paint it might have potential, as long as the artist had the vision.

  “Aw, did Randy get his feelings hurt?” Slate raised his voice as if he were talking to a baby. “She’s having a hard time.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” He stared into the nothing. Maybe the artist was trying to depict potential rather than emptiness.

  “Everyone goes through ups and downs, some downs are just lower than others.”

  Damn it. He glanced at his friend. The few times he met her, their encounters were always the same. She would materialize, he would try to speak, something strange would come out of her mouth, leaving him no choice but to comment and she would walk away. “She’s back in your office, meeting with Jade.” In his distraction with his own situation, he neglected to pick up on the significance of the Jade meeting, especially if Jade was interrupting one of her art performances.

  “Yeah, Jade, her landlord. Go grovel, it will do you some good.”

  Money woes, one of the world’s great equalizers. “I’ll take this one. It speaks to me.” He strode through the gallery, stopping short outside Slate’s office at the sound of her voice.

  “I don’t have any money left, and you can’t keep extending my rent payment,” Willow whispered. “It’s not right, everything is off balance.”

  He put his back to the wall to listen.

  “Don’t worry about the rent, it’s fine.” Jade’s tone was one of compassion and authority. “Right now we are working on the barter system. Just keep me in products and tea and we are fine.”

  “I can’t do that. I just need to sell a little more at the shop.” Her voice was broken but not destroyed. “I did a little research.”

  At the rustling of papers he inched toward the doorjamb trying to spy what she would produce.

  “What’s this?” Jade raised one of the documents.