Hours and hundreds of auditions later, Howard called it quits. Without any warning, he simply stood and said to no one in particular, “Have callbacks here tomorrow at ten a.m. sharp!” then turned to me, “Let’s go. Time for you to experience Pittsburgh; we’ll start with food.”
Forty-five minutes later, Brent stopped so that we could get out. Howard had referred to the road, or rather, the area, as The Strip.
Howard hopped out first, reached for my hand, then pulled me in his wake, right through two narrow wood doors, beneath a lighted blue Primanti Bros. sign. He’d referred to the restaurant as Primanti’s earlier, leaving off the Bros. when he’d said that it was a must-visit institution of Pittsburgh.
Instead of choosing a table, Howard slid onto a barstool adjacent the bar.
One of the waitresses behind the counter hustled over to us, but only after grumbling to one customer, “You serious? I’ll be back when you’re ready.” She nodded at Howard, then shook her head. “Jagoff o’er there wanted a Philly.”
I couldn’t help but smile, wishing I could have said that just once to a customer when I was waiting tables twenty years ago. The woman didn’t sound mean, though, just busy.
“We’ll have two of your second-best sellers,” Howard said, and the woman took off again. Howard leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Never order a Philly cheesesteak in Pittsburgh. It’s just a cheesesteak.”
“Oh, yeah. I seemed to remember my father saying that.” I frowned. “Hey … Why not the number-one bestseller? Aren’t I worth the best?”
Howard wrapped his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “You’re worth more than all the bestsellers in the world, Jana, but the number-one bestseller at Primanti’s is Iron City beer. Would you like one? I was under the impression you only liked wine.”
“A draft sounds good.” Was I so transparent in my book that Howard guessed what I liked by what my protagonist liked?
“Two number ones,” Howard shouted after the waitress.
“Where’s the ladies’ room?” I asked as an excuse to pull away from Howard’s arm. I’d noticed in movie bloopers that Hollywood didn’t seem to have any rules about sexual harassment. Not that wrapping his arm around my shoulders would be classified as harassment, I just didn’t feel comfortable with men whom I wasn’t in relationships with touching me. And to think I’d actually thought that I might have been able to have a one-night stand the previous evening. Who was I kidding?
My thoughts traveled back to Adrian, how he always asked if I was sure or if it was okay to pick me up. My heart ached immediately. I really wish he had just told me the truth.
The number-two bestseller turned out to be a ground beef patty topped with french fries, cheese, coleslaw, and tomato, all sandwiched between two slices of thick Italian bread.
Stuffed, I eased myself into the Town Car. For the first time in months, I was thankful that I was accustomed to wearing yoga pants, as the waistband of my favorite skinny jeans would have been cutting into my sides after that meal.
I collapsed back in the leather seat. “Oh, why, Howard? Why did you do this to me?”
Howard laughed. “I didn’t make you eat the whole thing.”
“I hadn’t eaten anything today except for the crackers Anna gave me,” I confessed. “And the sandwich was so good.”
“Don’t worry about offending me. I love a woman who has a healthy appetite.”
Humph!
Howard raised an eyebrow.
Oops. Had I made an audible humph?
“You question my integrity?” Howard asked.
“Well, you do tend to escort human walkingsticks to all the award shows.”
He waved his hand. “That’s only because people expect that of me.” Howard tapped Brent’s shoulder. “Take us to Jana’s hotel.”
Oh, no. Had I insulted him? I wouldn’t have thought that it was possible to offend a man like him. The last thing I wanted to do was tick off the man who was giving me one of my dreams.
Howard patted my knee. “I was going to take you to a few places I like, but your hotel has one of the coziest clubs around.”
Coziest? “Yeah, the Speakeasy is nice, though not too much fun when you get stood up.”
“Sorry about that, Jana. Couldn’t be avoided. I would have preferred to spend the evening with you, believe me.”
My phone buzzed at the perfect time. I wasn’t comfortable with the familiar way Howard spoke to me. I peeked down at the missed calls, noticing the last one was from Adrian. Howard glanced at my phone too.
“Three missed calls? Adrian?” Howard asked. “Don’t have time to return the calls, or don’t want to?”
“Both,” I said honestly.
“Do you need to return the call now? I won’t listen.”
“Uh, no …” I laughed. “That probably wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Ahh … Adrian is a guy, I take it? Since you never use names when you refer to your family on social media, I was hoping Adrian was the cousin you always talk about.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Always talk about. Are you stalking me, Howard?”
He shrugged. “I stalk all my investments. If people only knew how many opportunities they’ve missed because of social media. I’m investing plenty in your name, Jana. The last thing I need is a scandal. I pay good money to do background checks. But the personal stuff I picked up on my own. After all, your Facebook fan page is public.”
“Hmm … I guess I can’t blame you.”
The car stopped, and Howard escorted me directly to the Speakeasy. The same seat where I’d sat last night was vacant, so I headed for it. Guilt-ridden, I glanced around the bar, hoping the guy from last night, Jack, wasn’t here again. Based on our conversation, it sounded as though he only spent one night at the hotel. Obviously I had no reason to feel guilty, but he’d been so kind, I sort of did.
Howard glided past me, then pulled out the heavy wingback chair so I could sit. He scooted around the table, pushed his chair closer to mine, then sat down and reached for the tiny menu.
“What would you like?” he asked.
“Well, I had my fill of whiskey sours last night, so I think I’ll stick with water tonight.”
“Sorry about that, Jana.” Howard shook his head as he chuckled softly. “Usually women start drinking after they meet me, not before.”
I stifled a laugh. “Really? What do you do that causes women to start drinking?”
Howard shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not quite sure. Maybe you can enlighten me.”
“I doubt that,” I said. “I can’t even tell you what I did in my own marriage to cause my husband to start carousing.”
“Jana,” Howard shook his head, “don’t think for a second that you were to blame for your husband cheating on you. Men are just pigs.”
“Wow! I never thought I’d get a man to admit that.”
“Well, it’s true,” he said. “I’m not saying that all men are pigs, or that all women are perfect, but I’d bet on average that men do the majority of the cheating.”
I tilted my head. “Why do you think that is?”
Howard pursed his lips, as though weighing the reasons. “If I had to guess, I’d say the number-one reason is power. Sex is the ultimate challenge. It’s the one thing that a man can’t buy. Well, not that men can’t buy sex, but it’s the women who can’t be bought that men want. That’s where the power lies, I believe.”
“That’s sick.”
“But it’s as old as mankind. Even in the Bible, the majority of men who fell from God’s grace usually failed because a woman was involved. Adam and Eve; David and Bathsheba; Samson and Delilah, just to name a few.”
“You know the Bible, I see.”
“Eighteen years of Catholic school.”
Howard ordered a whiskey sour and insisted that I have at least one drink with him, so I gave in. But not wanting to talk about cheating husbands, I decided to get back to work.
Attempting to portray my best bu
siness look, I sat back in the deep chair and crossed my legs. “So why didn’t that brunette I liked, Suzi, get the part?”
Mirroring my actions, Howard reclined back too. “She just wasn’t the right fit.”
“Ugh! I hate the words right fit. Do you know how many times I heard that while I was submitting my book? To me, that just meant that my book wasn’t good enough for them.”
“Ahh … but that’s where you’re wrong, Jana.” Howard reached over and brushed my hair over my shoulder. The act wasn’t extremely personal, but it was a little too personal for a man I’d technically only met hours ago, especially after I’d purposely put myself out of his reach.
I re-adjusted myself in the chair, further out of the reach of his large but extremely well-manicured hands. “Those agents didn’t pick me up. So how am I wrong?”
“I know this might sound cliché, but they were probably telling you the truth. You can write the best book in the world, but if an agent doesn’t know how or where to sell it, it could sit in her drawer for years. You wrote a woman’s fiction/romantic comedy. Not a lot of agents know how to sell that. They’re used to romance or mystery, romantic comedy or erotica. Give them a book or movie that falls within more than one genre, and they don’t know who to sell it to.”
“But if it’s a good story —”
“You have to sell it on its own merit,” Howard finished my sentence or cut me off; I wasn’t quite sure which. “You have to write one hell of a book description,” he continued, “and hope that it resonates with women, and that men will want to know what the women love about it.”
Howard leaned back in his chair again, then actually pushed off from the center of the table, wobbling on the back two legs of his chair. The sight reminded me of when I’d nearly toppled over backward in front of my friend Seth, a man I hadn’t seen since he’d moved to New York four years ago.
“So … what does all that have to do with the actress auditioning?” I asked.
Howard brought the chair back down on all fours and rested his folded hands on the table in front of him. “When I read a book or script — if the writer does a good job — I visualize the characters. Before the prospective actors even walk on stage, I already know what I’m looking for. All they have to do is be able to act. If an actor’s personality and energy match the way I envisioned the character, I can almost always work with him or her. I’ve passed on many actors I loved, simply because they didn’t match the character I imagined.”
Curious, I raised an eyebrow. “So … what did you visualize the female protagonist would look like?”
Howard leaned across the table again. “You.”
“Me?” I gulped, surprised that both he and the actress at the audition today had said the same thing. “I didn’t describe my protagonist to look anything like myself.”
“That didn’t keep me from picturing you, Jana.”
I squared my shoulders. “Then why don’t I get the part?”
Howard smiled. “I already told you why. Because I want you beside me, watching everything we do.”
“Umm … I can’t stay here through the entire filming, Howard. I have my life to get back to in Florida.”
“I understand …”
His tone didn’t sound like he understood at all. It sounded more like: We’ll see about that. And Howard seemed like the type of man who was accustomed to getting his way.
What had I gotten myself into?
Chapter 32 – Even HELL Wants Something
Determined to show Howard that I wasn’t one of his stick-figure bimbos, I emptied my drink and wished him a good night at the bar, answering all of his questions swiftly with no room to barter.
No, but thank you, I can find my way back to my room. I know you’re a busy man.
Yes, I’ll be there tomorrow at ten a.m. sharp, even if I didn’t make callbacks.
And then I held out my hand when he stepped forward to give me a kiss. I turned and walked off without even a peek over my shoulder. Something told me that Howard would be looking to see if all his comments and physical approaches had affected me.
Call me prudish or practical — I knew most women would — but I just wasn’t the type of woman who swooned over a billionaire playboy. No matter how down-to-earth Howard appeared today, his track record screamed his real nature.
Howard wanted something from me, I was certain. Maybe it was just show business. Get me in the limelight so his movie would sell.
Well, that wasn’t in my contract. As a matter of fact, it had been crystal clear that I had no say in anything when it came to the producing and filming of the movie.
And I wasn’t for sale.
I’d lived with and without money, and I’d found that the only thing that changed was that my stuff got bigger. When I was broke, working as a cocktail waitress to put myself through college, I still had a roof over my head, food on the table, and a vehicle to drive. After I got married and my husband started to make more money, we got larger houses, fancier food, and vehicles with more gadgets. But those things were still just houses, food, and cars.
I pulled my iPhone out of my purse and scrolled through the missed calls and texts. Adrian only called and texted occasionally, enough to show me he cared, without looking like a stalker. I appreciated the fact that he wasn’t harassing me for a decision. He’d just been trying to apologize. I wondered how long he’d wait for me if I never returned a call or text, though.
It was late, but I decided it wasn’t right to keep putting him off. It would be stupid of me not to let him know that I wasn’t completely finished with him, which I wasn’t. No matter how much I hurt inside, I knew I’d hurt that much more without him in my life. No, we’d never made a commitment to be exclusive or to take our relationship to the next level, but I still felt betrayed.
Just give me some time, okay? I texted him.
In seconds, he returned the text. Thank you. And, Jana, just so you know, since you wouldn’t let me say it, I really do love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.
A tear slipped down my cheek. I wasn’t sure if Adrian meant that he was sorry he didn’t tell me he loved me earlier, or sorry that he didn’t tell me he was married. Maybe both. As much as I wanted to tell Adrian I loved him too, I set the phone on the nightstand and headed to the bathroom.
At ten a.m. sharp the next day, Brent escorted me inside the theater this time. Howard had probably given him strict orders not to let me out of his sight.
“Over here, love.” Howard waved me to the edge of the stage, where several men and women gathered around him. Some sat on the edge of the platform or on the adjacent steps. Others leaned against the stage or just stood. All of them held paper cups, which I assumed held coffee. I had asked Brent to stop at Starbucks on the way here, but I could use another cup.
I nodded at several of the people who made eye contact with me, noticing that one woman, a tall blonde with an athletic body, didn’t look happy to see me. The woman hadn’t done anything specific. A woman just knew when another woman didn’t like her.
Oh, well, she’s not the first, and she surely won’t be the last. Even several of the women who’d worked with my ex-husband had eyed me contemptuously when I showed up at the dealership. For some reason, it seemed many women viewed other women as threats, even if the territory — like my husband at the time — didn’t belong to them. Then again, no telling what Dick had said about me, or what he might have done with them.
As with most men, Howard must have been oblivious to whatever feelings the blonde had for him, since he wrapped his arm around my waist again. “Now, I know we all thought Jana gave the best performance yesterday, but we have to pick someone else. I refuse to throw her to the wolves, and casting her as the leading role would do exactly that.”
Not that I had any desire to act, but I still looked up at Howard with narrowed eyes, simply because I didn’t want anyone to get the idea that I needed to be protected from wolves. I’d received my share of
poor reviews and vicious character attacks for no reason other than the fact that I’d written a book. Some people were just mean. Thankfully, the number of wonderful readers exceeded the nasty ones by a landslide.
“Trust me,” Howard said in response to my glare.
“Oh, I trust that you know what you’re doing. But for the record, I had no intention of auditioning. The lady up front did that, so obviously she recognized that I might be right for the part. I have no desire to act, but I’m certainly not a helpless sheep that needs protecting.”
The circle erupted in laughter, and for the first time, I saw a crinkle in Howard’s flawless exterior.
Howard waved off the group. “Let’s get going. We have a long day ahead of us.” The group scattered, and Howard peered down at me, looking as though he might fuss at me. “Let’s get some coffee.”
Surprised, I didn’t even notice at first when Howard took my hand and led me to the courtyard adjacent the theater. It was cool outside, but not quite as blustery as the day I’d arrived. The sunny day made it feel closer to seventy than the fifty-three degrees I’d read on the dashboard of the Town Car.
Howard stopped at a buffet table set with every type of breakfast breads and pastries I could think of, as well as bowls of fresh fruit, cheeses and spreads, and several varieties of mini quiches. Three tall chrome urns sat at the end of the table with labels identifying different flavors and roasts of coffee. Howard filled two paper cups with the dark roast, grabbed several creamers and sugar packets, then walked toward a cast-iron table at the far end of the courtyard, away from the street.
Murmurs echoed across the stone patio.
That’s him, a high-pitched voice squealed. That’s Howard Edwards.
Who’s the woman? another female voice asked in an almost secretive tone, as though she and her friends had discovered some juicy Hollywood secret.
That’s the author, the owner of the high-pitched tone offered. Jana something.
Embers. That’s Jana Embers, a lisping voice offered. I wasn’t quite sure if it was male or female, but I couldn’t help but smile. At least a few people recognized me.
[What's Luck Got to Do With It 01.0] Some Lucky Woman: Jana's Story Page 22