Casting Lacey

by Elle Spencer

  “I’m a little jaded.” Lacey stared at Quinn intently, trying to read her expression. In other words, trying to figure out why the hell she was there. The house was empty. Dead quiet, except for some depressing classical music playing in the background. And so tidy, she wondered if anyone actually lived there.

  “I don’t blame you. Child actor. Smart. A bit of a has-been…”

  “Five minutes off camera and I’m a has-been?” God, this woman!

  Quinn offered Lacey a glass. “It’s been a year, hasn’t it?”

  “A hard year.” Lacey took a large sip of wine, almost emptying the glass. Then, she tilted her head and frowned. “And now I have to wonder how you know that. Surely you have better things to do than watch soaps all day.”

  “That was my mother. Still is, I’m sure.”

  “So, you didn’t grow up watching the soaps with your mom?”

  “I was too busy studying and playing the piano and trying to be the perfect daughter.”

  “Oh.” Lacey seemed to have hit a nerve. She could’ve commented on how Quinn had succeeded by the looks of it. She was perfectly dressed in her, what is that color called? Oh yeah, cornflower summer dress with matching sandals, sitting like such a lady with her hands clasped on legs crossed at the ankle. Instead, she leaned forward and held her glass out for a refill. “Nice wine.”

  “Glad you like it.” Quinn filled the glass and resumed her ladylike position.

  Lacey wondered if they still had finishing schools. If so, surely Quinn had been, you know, finished at one. She noticed a blush working its way up Quinn’s chest, probably due to the awkward silence that was, if Lacey had to guess, going on 45 seconds now. It looked as though Quinn was trying to come up with a good way to say what was really on her mind. Lacey didn’t have time for that. “Maybe we could talk about why I’m here?”

  Almost seeming relieved by the suggestion, Quinn’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Are you going to save my career?”

  “Maybe,” Quinn said. “Quite possibly. Most likely.” She gave a firm nod. “Yes.”

  Lacey didn’t hesitate. “All of those work for me.”

  “I can guarantee you’ll get a lot of publicity. What you do with it is completely up to you.”

  “Guess I didn’t need all that college to figure out Quinn Kincaid introducing herself at Starbucks probably wasn’t a random encounter.” Lacey tried to hide her smile by taking a sip of wine. Whatever this was, it was starting to get interesting.

  Their eyes met for a few seconds and then Quinn said, “Look, you were right. I don’t frequent West Hollywood or even Starbucks. I guess it’s just easier to make coffee with my…” She gestured toward the kitchen. “…Robospresso 3000 or whatever the hell it is.”

  Lacey looked over her shoulder and sure enough, there was a rather large stainless-steel espresso machine sitting on the kitchen counter. She tried not to let her envy show. “And it’s easier to pretend you’re straight when you’re not hanging out in West Hollywood?”

  “Nah, I just can’t deal with the traffic on La Cienega.” Quinn averted her eyes, killing her chances of selling the joke.

  Lacey stared intently until Quinn finally met her gaze. Oh. Good. God. She kept herself from squealing with pride at being right.

  “Are you willing to sign a non-disclosure before I make you an offer?” Quinn asked.

  And there it was. Lacey chuckled. “I’m not going to out you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Quinn slid the non-disclosure contract across the coffee table, along with a pen. Lacey took a look at it and rolled her eyes. With a big sigh, she leaned forward and quickly signed on the dotted line. Quinn looked at the signature and scowled. “Is that really how you sign your name? It looks like Larry... May… nerd.”

  “I never learned to spell,” Lacey quipped. “So, you’re gay?”

  Lacey immediately regretted asking the question. She could still hear her producers asking her the same thing with a look of horror on their faces. They blamed her firing on wanting to take the storyline in a different direction, but she knew better. She’d been fired for one reason and one reason only.

  “In about four months, I’m going to make a big announcement,” Quinn said.

  Lacey set her glass on the table. She eyed Quinn for a moment, trying to decide how much personal information she should divulge. “Can I give you some advice?” she asked, in a serious tone.

  “Only if it’s constructive.”

  “Stay in the closet.”

  Quinn stiffened at the suggestion. “I can’t. I want a life.”

  “That’s what I thought too, and then my producers decided I was no longer believable playing a straight woman. I’d been Sarah Fucking Covington since I was ten, and now all of a sudden, I’m no longer believable in that role?”

  “I know,” Quinn said. “Look…like I said before, this is a shitty business. But if you take this offer, maybe the jerks who fired you will regret it.”

  “The producers of that show were like my parents,” Lacey snapped back. “I grew up with them, and they turned their backs on me.” She took a deep breath, trying to fight back her emotions.

  Quinn gave her a sympathetic smile. “I know the feeling. It’s amazing how many people are brilliant at pretending they care about you.”

  “Right? And we’re supposed to be the actors.”

  Quinn leaned forward. “But one way or another, you’re going to need to move on.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to do. It’s the whole reason I’m in L.A.” Lacey was losing her patience, and the last thing she wanted to do was talk about all the hurt and anger she felt about losing her job. And she still didn’t know why she was there, for god’s sake. So Quinn Kincaid was gay. What the hell did that have to do with her? “What’s your offer?”

  “I’m not going to do this coming out thing willy-nilly. It’s going to be a finely tuned show that I control.”

  “Smart. Unlike me who went into work one day and said ‘Hey, this is my girlfriend. Aren’t you fucking delighted for me?’” Lacey dropped her gaze as she relived that awful moment, the fake smiles and the quick change of subject. One of the producers refused to even look her in the eye the rest of the day. It was the beginning of the end of everything. Her career, her relationship – all gone now.

  The last thing Lacey wanted to do was cry in front of Quinn Kincaid in her damn mansion. She might ruin the very soft rug under her feet that looked like it was made of cotton candy. It was pretty. Azure blue. Since when am I such an expert on shades of blue? And cornflower? Where the hell did that come from? Get a grip, Lace. Get a fucking grip.

  “My publicist thinks I have a believability issue,” Quinn said. “It’s his somewhat expert opinion that the media, and more importantly, the public, will be more sympathetic toward me if I have a girlfriend when I come out.”

  Lacey raised her head, a look of confusion written all over her face. “Wait. What?”

  “My publicist…”

  Lacey put up her hand. “No, I heard you.” She paused for approximately 400 years. Quinn couldn’t possibly be suggesting what Lacey thought she was suggesting. “You want me to pretend to be your…girlfriend?”

  “Yes,” Quinn said with a firm nod. “I would pay you, of course. We’d start with some photos of us out in public, not canoodling, just together having dinner or whatever. They’ll be of no interest until I come out. And then, according to Jack at least, they’ll be fascinating proof that we’ve been dating.”

  Lacey let a small laugh slip out of her gaping mouth. Was this woman insane? And did she seriously just use the word, canoodle? “Well,” Lacey cleared her throat and put up a finger. “There’s just one problem. You see, I don’t know if I could handle being out in public with the Quinn Kincaid and not canoodle.”

  Quinn blushed. “Come on. You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I know what you mean,” Lacey
said. “And I’m flattered, but I don’t think I can do what you’re suggesting.”

  Quinn’s shoulders straightened, looking surprised by the response. “I’m not asking for romance, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “And I’m not a prostitute, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Lacey threw her hands in the air. “Why don’t you just find the real thing? Start dating. Canoodle all you want.”

  “I can’t control that,” Quinn calmly stated. “Women are crazy, and a woman in love is even crazier. I don’t want any emotion from you. This is a job and I would expect you to treat it as such.”

  “Women are crazy? You must have met my ex!” Lacey couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. If anyone seemed crazy, it was Quinn Kincaid. She put her face in her hands and rubbed her forehead. Desperate for a paying gig, she tried to ignore how ludicrous the idea seemed to be. “What are the terms?”

  “Steady pay for a year,” Quinn said. “You be where I ask, when I ask. There’ll be some wardrobe considerations, of course. And anything you say publicly will be tightly controlled. Most importantly, you act. I hear you’re not half bad.”

  “You HEAR?” Feeling completely insulted, Lacey’s voice raised a couple of octaves. “You’ve never even seen my work and you’re offering me a job?”

  “I trust Jack’s opinion on that.”

  “Sure. Publicist. Casting director. What’s the difference, really?” Lacey had imagined any number of scenarios on the drive to the Palisades. This craziness wasn’t one of them.

  “Do you want the job or not?”

  This was insane. Did people really do this? Lacey grabbed her purse and stood up. “No, I don’t.”

  Quinn also stood up. “But…you need the work.”

  “Not this kind of work!” Lacey said, almost shouting.

  Quinn’s expression changed from confusion to anger. “You’re above this, is that it? Because being a soap star is so admirable?”

  “I’m an actor,” Lacey said, pointing at herself. “And on top of that, I’m well educated. She put her hand on her hip, furious she’d braved L.A. traffic for this nonsense. “This is just…bullshit!” she said, throwing that same hand in the air.

  Quinn remained calm, even though Lacey was practically yelling at her. “Bullshit? So tell me, Lacey, what was your last storyline before you got fired? No, let me guess. You were playing Sarah Fucking Covington and her long-lost evil twin?”

  Lacey held Quinn’s stare, her eyes full of anger. She was fuming and damn near burning Quinn with her glare. At least that’s how it felt until she burst out laughing. “Oh god. My TV husband couldn’t tell us apart. They had me doing so many love scenes with him, who knows? Maybe I really wasn’t that believable anymore. As if believability is what the writers were ever going for on that show.” She dropped her purse, sat back down and grabbed the bottle of wine, pouring the last of it into her glass. She took a sip, her hand shaking slightly.

  Quinn also sat down and picked up her glass. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, my mother would probably be thrilled if I brought you home. As my friend, of course.”

  Lacey looked up in surprise. “Your mom doesn’t know you’re gay?”

  “No, not yet.”

  God, what a mess! Lacey groaned at herself. She should’ve left the second Quinn revealed her intentions. So why the hell was she still sitting here? Sure, she needed the money, but not that badly. As for the fame, Lacey was no Quinn, but she still had her fans. Plenty of them. And yet, she was still here, actually considering this absurdity. “I take it I’ll be playing the part of the dumped girlfriend eventually?”

  “Yes. We’ll break up and we’ll both move on. Everyone will know your name and I’ll start dating. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll even find the real thing one day. It’s win-win.”

  “And what do we tell the people close to us?” Lacey asked.

  “You start now. You tell them you met me and I was super nice,” Quinn said with a smile.

  “So, I’d be acting right off the bat?”

  Quinn’s eyes widened in surprise. “Damn, you’re sassy!”

  Lacey set the wine glass back down. If she kept drinking, she wouldn’t be able to drive back down the steep, hair-pin curved road that brought her here. “Sorry. You caught me on a bad week and this whole thing just reeks of everything I hate about this business.”

  “They don’t call it show business for nothing,” Quinn gently quipped.

  Lacey looked at the ceiling and shook her head, unable to believe she was actually considering this. “If I take this job as you call it, where will I live?”

  “There’s a guesthouse out back. I’d prefer it if you stayed there, so we can control the paparazzi. My home is very secure. The backyard is private. There’s a side gate, so you can come and go as you please. I think you’d be quite comfortable here. The only thing I ask is that you don’t bring any guests here.”

  Lacey stood up and walked over to the world’s largest window. It was getting dark, but she could easily see a long, lighted pool that looked like it poured over a cliff and into the ocean. A sleek, modern-looking guesthouse sat off to one side, and a fire pit sat in the opposite corner. As for the neighbors – if there were any, you’d never know it. The property was lined with tall, narrow evergreens that created an impressive privacy hedge on each side. The whole scene called to mind exactly two words. Skinny. Dipping.

  Compared to her tiny hotel room in West Hollywood, this would feel like paradise. And Quinn hadn’t said Lacey couldn’t keep looking for real acting jobs. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? She could swallow her damn pride for once, couldn’t she?

  Lacey turned back around and folded her arms. “I want everything in writing. I want an early termination bonus in case you decide you don’t like me and change your mind. And I want to be able to keep auditioning.”

  Quinn stood up. “I already don’t like you, Lacey. You have that New York bullshit attitude that rubs me the wrong way, but my publicist tells me you’re a hell of an actress and that’s what I need on my arm. The fact that I would never consider dating you is probably a good thing.”

  Lacey went back over to the sofa and grabbed her purse. “Fuck you too. And tell your publicist I want an advance,” she said, walking to the door. “And a car! A nice one!” she shouted over her shoulder.

  Quinn followed Lacey to the front door. “Do you think I’d let my girlfriend drive a…” Quinn looked out at the driveway. “What is that? A Hyundai?”

  “It's a Sonata, thank you very much. The fancy kind of Hyundai.”

  Quinn laughed. “Uh huh.”

  Lacey gave her a sarcastic scowl. She stepped out of the house and glanced at the white Maserati sitting in the driveway. “I prefer black,” she said as she sauntered over to her rental car.

  “Of course you do,” Quinn muttered under her breath.

  “And watch my fucking show!” Lacey yelled as she climbed into her car and slammed the door. Quinn gave her a little wave, smiling like she hadn’t even heard that last request. Lacey put the key in the ignition and whispered, “What have I gotten myself into?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The following afternoon, everyone seemed on edge. Quinn kept finding excuses to leave the room and Lacey…well, Jack hadn’t figured Lacey out yet. She was nervous. He was sure about that much, since she kept bouncing her leg. He glanced under the table again. Yep. Still bouncing.

  “Shall we cover the rules?” Jack opened the folder and put his glasses on. “No nightclubs, unless you’re with Quinn. And definitely no gay clubs. No dating anyone else, obviously.” Jack paused, waiting for confirmation.

  Lacey shrugged. “No dating. Got it.”

  “In the beginning, Quinn will introduce you as her friend. You won’t show any affection in public.”

  “Or at all,” Lacey interrupted.

  “Until she comes out,” Jack clarified.

  “And then what will be required of me?”
<
br />   “Nothing you can’t handle,” Jack said with a smirk. “You’ve kissed a woman before, correct?”

  Lacey sighed in frustration. “Look. I don’t think I’ll throw up in my mouth if I have to kiss Quinn. I’m just asking how far we’ll be taking this little charade.”

  “Nothing inappropriate, considering you’re being paid. Just things like walking arm in arm, holding hands, maybe a light kiss, and sweet little looks for the paparazzi.”

  Lacey shrugged again. “I can do sweet.”

  “Prove it,” Jack mumbled as he eyed her over his reading glasses. After meeting Lacey in person, he had his doubts about her "sweet" factor. “Anyway, we’ll bring in a stylist and Quinn and I will decide on your look.”

  “My look?”

  “Yes, your look.” Jack took off his glasses. “Quinn’s a tastemaker. When she wears something out in public, the fashion world takes notice, photos are taken, and before you know it, everyone is copying her look. You need to complement that style without overpowering it.”

  Lacey looked down at herself. “I have style. I can be…stylish.”

  Again, Jack had his doubts. He glanced at her cropped jeans and V-neck t-shirt. There was no shortage of hotness, but she looked like a “Stars: They’re Just Like Us!” magazine spread featuring Jennifer Aniston’s Sunday morning trip to the Coffee Bean. And then there were the leather sandals. Or more accurately, the leather flip-flops. Sure, they were Tory Burch flip-flops, but flats? Really? At least her toenails were painted a pretty shade of pink.

  Jack chuckled to himself as he realized, not for the first time, why so many people assumed he was gay. “If you’re going to complain about a new wardrobe that you get to keep when the job is done, then maybe I was a bit hasty.”

  “Fine. I’ll take the clothes. But I want the Range Rover too. And why is it a Range Rover? Why not a sports car?”

  Jack huffed. “The last thing we need is you killing someone on PCH.”

  “But it’s ok if I kill someone on Sunset?” Jack narrowed his eyes at her. “Alright. Fine,” Lacey acquiesced. “No sports cars or vehicular homicide. You drive a hard bargain.”