Starcrossed Hearts

by Star Crossed Hearts (lit)

  He laughed. "Good. Don’t ever do them. How did you get into Bellerive?"

  "Fate. My friend, Jackie, was signed, but she broke her leg last weekend and…here I am." He didn’t need to know her agent had performed some quick footwork. "It’s not like I had a lot of lines to learn, you know, and I would have given almost anything to be in it anyway."

  Damn, why is he listening so close just when I’m rambling on and on…and besides, he’s too nosy.

  "You have an agent?"

  "Well, sort of…he’s a friend, he’s new in the business too."

  "I see." Pierce’s gaze lingered on her for several more moments, then he looked at his watch and sighed. "Well, I think the boss must be on his way back." He stood up and brushed the grass from his trousers.

  Somewhat relieved, Jessica stood also.

  Pierce walked around the little car with appraising eyes. "Four cylinder?"

  "Yeah, but it’s got plenty of power."

  "I could tell by the way you tore up this hill. Get many tickets?"

  "A few," she lied. She’d never even been stopped. "And what do you drive?"

  "Right now, a Porsche 911 Targa. It’s in the shop. I just bought a monster SUV for Rita, my wife, and I have a Mercedes 9…million or something. I love cars, although I’m afraid I don’t spend much time taking care of mine. Would you mind?" He was opening the driver’s door.

  Jessica grimaced, then handed him the keys to the Miata. "It’s nothing like a 911."

  "We’ll see about that." Gingerly he threaded his legs under the steering wheel, and again adjusted the seat. "You must be a midget."

  "Five-four, thank you," she replied, tightening her seat belt and wondering if her insurance was paid up as Pierce raced the little car around the grassy hillside, war-whooping as they went.

  Back at Studio B, Jessica slipped behind the wheel as her companion shook out his legs. "Great car¾ just needs to be a foot longer," he complained, laughing, and started to walk to the door.

  "Mr. Pierce?" she called, and he returned to the car. "Whatever was bothering you before, did it go away?" She allowed herself one flirtatious smile.

  "The only thing bothering me right now is your calling me Mr. Pierce." He tugged on a lock of her hair. "See you around, Miz Scahlett."

  ~ * ~

  The following day, Jessica received a package of papers from Pierce Productions. She ripped it open in anticipation, and found it to be the forms and agreement actually substituting her into Jackie’s role. As always, there was the requisite employment application, union forms, waivers and limits of liability…she knew the forms well. Hastily she sat down to complete them, for she had no hope of getting paid until they were returned.

  Jessica Lynne Taylor; 28; Divorced.

  Four years, was it? She looked down, twisting the wedding ring now worn on her right hand. She wondered what Wesley would think of her finally getting a speaking part; so what if it was a one-liner?

  "References" was the easy part. Roxanne Boudreau had been her confidante and partner-in-crime for more than half their lives, and although she already held an MBA degree, Roxie’s biggest ambition was to become a dress designer. She heartily supported Jessica’s efforts to become a successful actress, and had already created several lovely gowns for her.

  Putting down her pen, Jessica picked up her open copy of Variety and reached for the phone and dialed.

  "Rox! There’s an open audition on Friday. Want to come?"

  "You know I have to work. The boss has already warned us about taking off too much time. The rainy season is our busiest time. People wreck their cars, they call us." Roxie laughed. "Insurance is so glamorous! But thanks for asking."

  "You could have a part in a minute. I keep telling you--"

  "You keep telling me, but I’m not into acting. I’m gutless, Jess. I’d fall apart."

  "You are so beautiful, all you’d have to do is stand there."

  "Yeah. Me ‘n Tom Cruise. Good luck, though. I hope you get it. Call me?"

  ~ * ~

  She had only read for television once before. It was a depressing experience, a cattle call for young heifers like herself hoping to get a break as somebody’s next door neighbor’s girlfriend on a mindless sit-com. It was such a downer she had shied away from TV until Teddy, her agent, had pleaded with her to try just once more.

  The show was as yet untitled but was tentatively called Countdown, a sci-fi episodic already in production for a September premiere. She wasn’t sure of the role, only that she should look space-age, whatever that was.

  Friday morning found Jessica up at dawn, painstakingly twisting her hair into Princess Leia braids and winding them into mounds over her ears. She grimaced at her reflection, but stuck a couple of extra hairpins in before cementing the whole creation with hair lacquer.

  Castle Studios was in Burbank, not far from NBC. She parked in the lot and got out, taking a moment to straighten the white, rectangular tunic she wore over black leggings and boots. A wide, black, elastic belt finished what she hoped would seem a "futuristic" look.

  Once inside, she was surprised to find an empty waiting room. A woman sat behind a reception counter, and she looked up with a warm, if amused, smile. The clock on the wall behind her chimed nine-thirty; maybe she was just early for the ten o’clock call.

  "I’m here for the audition," Jessica said softly.

  "I’m sorry?"

  "Audition?" she repeated, her voice cracking. Jessica attempted to clear her throat, now feeling horribly awkward.

  The woman looked confused and began rummaging through the papers on her desk.

  "Well, let’s see…"

  It was at that moment that a side door opened and a man strode briskly into the area behind the receptionist, pausing to retrieve a small stack of messages from the corner of the counter. Quickly he perused them, crumpling some and pocketing others. He raised his eyes, briefly meeting Jessica’s before turning his attention back to the pink slips.

  "Mac, this young lady says we have an open audition for today. You know anything about it?" the receptionist asked, still pawing through her desk.

  The man again looked at Jessica, this time taking in the braids, the unusual attire and her growing discomfort. He walked around the counter and into the waiting area to meet her.

  "We do have a couple of women coming in to read for a part this afternoon, but…something tells me that’s not the role you came in here looking for."

  Jessica felt herself blushing, looking up at the tall stranger who was so graciously trying not to laugh.

  "Is it the braids? I can lose the braids really fast." Quickly her fingers found and began pulling out the hairpins on one side, dropping the braid to her shoulder where she then unbound and shook it free.

  Now the man called Mac did laugh.

  "No, no, it’s not that at all." Self consciously he ran his fingers through his own light brown hair, which was cut long and layered in the back and was summer streaked a golden ochre. "The role we’re filling is for a more…mature lady."

  "I can do mature. I’ve done forty, forty-five…" Jessica said hastily, still trying to unravel the braid.

  Mac shook his head, still chuckling.

  "Seventy. Can you ‘do’ seventy?"

  "Oh." Despite her disappointment, Jessica took only a moment to compose herself before smiling shyly. "I guess there was some kind of mix up. I apologize for taking your time."

  "No problem at all. I wish we could use you." His smile was genuine, as was the sincerity in his brown eyes.

  "Well, thanks." Jessica took her time putting away the hairpins, shifting her portfolio and handbag in her grasp, wondering what to do next. Behind her, she could hear him comment to the receptionist.

  "I’ve just gotta get cleaned up and grab a bite, in case anyone’s looking for me. Be back in about an hour."

  He was only a few yards behind her as she got into her car and snatched the scrap of paper from the console of the Miata.

/>   "Castle. It says Castle! Damn!"

  The top was down, and she was startled by the sudden shadow crossing her lap.

  "Can I help you somehow?"

  He looked even taller standing beside her miniature car. Perhaps sensing the distance, he squatted down beside her door and grasped the top of it with his hands.

  "Oh, I just…is there another Castle, by any chance?" She was looking back at the note in her hand, and he leaned closer to read it also.

  "That says Castle Productions. This is Castle Studios…wait. I’ll bet that’s Cassel - C-A-S-S-E-L, Richard Cassel Productions, and they’re over on Alameda. They do space flicks, Star Trek type stuff."

  Could this get any worse? Jessica thought fleetingly. She couldn’t think of what to say, so complete was her embarrassment.

  Mac looked at his watch. "If it’s at ten, you can still make it. It’s just left at the corner, down a block and over on the right."

  She looked at him now in gratitude. He was wearing a dark blue T-shirt and jeans, and was covered with dust, she noticed. Yet the fingers grasping the black vinyl of her door were slender and well manicured, and for a moment she found it hard to tear her eyes away.

  "Sorry for the dirt," he said. "I’ve been out there since 7 a.m. mending fences and chasing sheep."

  Jessica nodded, still tongue-tied. She pushed her key into the ignition and smiled.

  "You should have your agent send over your stills. Maybe we could use you someday," he said, standing up and backing away.

  "Thanks," Jessica finally managed before fleeing the parking lot, tires squealing.

  ~ * ~

  "It was, undoubtedly, the most mortifying thing that has ever happened to me!" Jessica spun around in her bedroom, falling back onto the bed with the phone still against her ear. "How could you do that to me?" Her tone was more comical than accusing as she lambasted her agent that afternoon.

  "Jessie, pumpkin, I’m sorry! I said Cassel. You wrote C-A-S-T-L-E. What can I say? Jeesh. But you think you have a chance?"

  "Oh Teddy, it was so weird. They loved my hair half-done, and there were girls there with silver spiked hair, girls with no hair, girls who were really boys…"

  "Oooh, why didn’t you call me?"

  "Teddy…How can I get you dates when I can’t even get me dates?" Jessica laughed. "Anyway, I made the first cut. We’ll see. They want me back next Friday. But God I was embarrassed at Castle. The guy there was soooo cute, too. Figures."

  "Castle makes Doctor Jim. It wasn’t Cory MacKendall you met, by any chance?"

  "Cory? No, that wasn’t his name. It was…Bud, or, Rex, or something like that. Jack? Anyway, he was so nice to me. I think he might be a grip, or something. He mentioned something about working on fences or tending sheep, could that be? What’s Doctor Jim?"

  "Only NBC’s number three show. Don’t you ever watch the tube?"

  "Not if I can help it."

  "It’s about a country doctor who solves crimes. Kind of a Murder She Wrote Meets James Herriot, on Friday nights. You’d like it. The guy’s a real stud muffin."

  "I quit watching TV when George Clooney left ER."

  ~ * ~

  One week to the day later, the production crew of Bellerive began some of the miscellaneous outdoor scenes on an empty, grassy back lot, where a small forest had been constructed overnight to represent the entrance to a pirate’s lair. Except for the half day she’d taken for the audition, Jessica had not missed a minute of filming and tried to find ways she could melt into the many clutches of professionals allowed on the set. This day found her quietly tagging along in jeans and T-shirt, her hair haphazardly tied at the top of her head in ribbons and a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose. She carried a clipboard and a script and tried to look like she belonged, her expired set pass dangling from her neck.

  Today’s segment was especially exciting, although she knew she wouldn’t be seeing Dane Pierce perform. Certainly his stunt double was highly visible as the scene involved a great deal of skilled horsemanship. She wished she had brought a small set of binoculars so she could get a better view of the action.

  At around noon, a grip tapped her on the shoulder. Startled, she turned quickly and the glasses flew from her face. The crew member picked them up. "You Jessica Taylor?"

  Now I’m busted for sure. She’d heard about the tight security on this, a "closed" set.

  "Yes." She couldn’t very well lie at this point. In the distance she could see the blue Miata and she wished it was closer. How humiliating to be kicked off the set.

  "Boss wants to see you," the man said, handing her the glasses.

  "The boss? Mr. Pierce?" Oh God, she thought, this is worse than I thought. "Where do I find him?"

  "That trailer over there." He pointed to a large motor home parked several yards away.

  Jessica straightened up, put the glasses in her purse and walked purposefully toward the trailer. She tapped lightly on the door, and entered at his acknowledgment.

  "You wanted to see me?"

  He was sitting at a small desk, studying set designs and scratching changes on them with a pencil. Looking up, he focused on her through gold rimmed glasses, then removed them and smiled. "Why Miz Scahlett…how nice of you to drop by."

  There was no hiding her blush this time, and the relief that he wasn’t angry was so great she let out a sigh that almost turned into a giggle.

  "You know, I make it a point not to eat during the first half of the filming. My angst is just too great¾ eating makes me sick. I know things are winding down when I begin to get hungry. And this morning, tearing around out there on that damned horse, I saw a vision--a vision of this little blue car away in the distance--and I took that vision to be my meal ticket to lunch."

  She stared at him in surprise and confusion. "Are you asking…to borrow my car?" This man’s ego never quit. How dare he?

  At this, he roared, his laughter filling the small trailer. "I’m asking you to lunch, lady." Dane grinned at her, a warm, personal smile that caused her to tremble slightly inside. Hiding her embarrassment, she feigned a boldness she didn’t feel.

  "I thought you’d never ask."

  They drove to a nearby cafe in the Valley where Dane lately dined unnoticed. They entered through the kitchen.

  "I have to change haunts every few days. People find out. God, I hate losing my privacy."

  "I have to ask you--what did you mean earlier about the horse?"

  "On this morning’s shoot. Didn’t you see me?" He leaned forward in mock chagrin.

  "That was you?" she asked, clearly astonished.

  "I love horses. I ride better than my double, anyway." There was no trace of pomposity in his voice, only conviction. Jessica was once again taken by surprise.

  They talked at length about the film, his satisfactions and disappointments, and ultimately, plans for his next film. "It’s called Lost Season, about two aristocrats shipwrecked in the early 1800’s on a desert island. I know, I know…it’s been done, but not by me."

  "You’ll star, of course," she responded.

  "Of course. I’m seeking the rest of the cast right now."

  "Don’t you have casting people?" she wondered aloud.

  "Yes--but with certain roles, I need to be involved in the decision." The perfectionist in him was opulent. "I have to have the right sense about my leads--even supporting cast members are extremely, critically important," he said levelly. She nodded, wondering if she dared to ask a question lurking in her mind for some time. She decided she would.

  "Dane," she began, the formation of his first name on her tongue tickling her somehow, "I’ve heard you often work with unknowns. Women, that is…they say you hate being upstaged. How can any woman upstage someone of your talent, your popularity…"

  "Talent? Moi?" His eyes took on a whimsical smile. "They say that, do they? Hmmm…" Then, more seriously, "I usually have nothing to say about it. But when I do, I just look for the best person for each role. I do try to fin
d people who aren’t spoiled by previous roles, haven’t been stereotyped, you know. People I can work with. Shit--what was it W.C. Fields used to say, ‘never work with animals or babies’? I’ve done both." Now he laughed. "Actually, it doesn’t take much to upstage me."

  "I find that rather hard to believe," Jessica said, wondering if maybe there was a humble bone or two in his body.

  ~ * ~

  At day’s end, Jessica drove to the modest yellow clapboard house she rented, not far from the studios. It was an odd, custom-built flat on a hilly residential street. Pulling the Miata into the garage, she wished she could afford to buy the house, for although it was small she had come to love its coziness and charm. Entering through a door from the garage, she stepped into the small, apartment-style kitchen. A brief dinette area, living room, two bedrooms and baths completed the home. French doors from the master bedroom led down a wooded path to a large pool and Jacuzzi, shared by two adjacent homes on the hillside. An unusual arrangement, she had thought originally, but unique and convenient. Especially attractive was the view from a small balcony, through sliding doors off the kitchen’s dining area.

  Checking her answering machine, she sighed; no messages. Lying back on her bed, Jessica stared at the white ceiling and replayed her incredible lunch with Dane Pierce. Every word was repeated, each gesture and movement relived in her mind. She giggled like a child, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. "I can’t believe it!" she whispered to herself.

  Her smile faded as she reminded herself of whom she was thinking. Despite his apparent charm, charisma, and the magnetism he exuded, Dane Pierce was still the sexist womanizer she’d always believed him to be. The watchman in her heart was flashing the yellow light: proceed with caution.

  ~ * ~

  Jessica was beginning to see her message machine in a new light: either no one called, or the wrong people called. There was no word yet on Countdown, not a good sign. She was expecting a call from the bank; her car payment was late. She was reluctantly considering going back to Costello Insurance to work with Roxanne.

  She hated giving up. She had promised herself a year, but it didn’t look like her finances would hold out that long. The money she had scrimped and saved the last two years, living with Roxie, working at the insurance company, was nearly gone. She knew it was her own fault, she shouldn’t have rented the house and bought the car.