Mourning Commute

by Sam Cheever

  All my other friends from L.A. deserted me at the first sign of scandal. But not Gabe. Best friends since our moms had met on a cheesy soap opera in the late 90s, he was the type of friend who called me on my birthday and the anniversary of Mom’s death. Plus every few days in between.

  I grabbed his forearm, careful not to smear the fake blood applied to my hand. “I appreciate you pulling some strings and getting me on the set. Especially since I can’t be more than a few hours’ drive from Grammy. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  A smile worked away the worry on his face, but sympathy filled his brown eyes. “Have the police found any leads on your brother yet?”

  A hard sigh escaped my lips making the goo travel from my lip to my chin. How often did a twin turn out to be evil? There had to be a statistical study on this somewhere. And if that study paid a premium price I’d volunteer for it in a heartbeat. “I’m sure Victor’s in some non-extradition country. But I don’t want to think about him right now. I want to work. It feels good to be back.”

  I meant that. Even if this particular job meant dragging my left leg through pine needles and North Georgia tick-country as a zombie extra on a low-budget Sci-Fi flick. I loved acting and giving myself over to being another character. I loved being an actress and all the fun that came along with it. Well, used to come along with it. But I could get there again. After my chaotic life settled, I’d get back to L.A. and start over.

  A sound check guy came in and twisted wires through my bra and clamped a mic pack around my waist. He lingered a little too long with his hands beneath my tattered shirt, and I lowered my voice and added a bit more southern twang than usual. “You about done there, fella?”

  The guy mumbled something unintelligible from beneath a thick, unruly mustache and backed away.

  Gabe took a long sip out of a Styrofoam cup and winked at an extra getting her hair teased at the other end of the trailer.

  “You’re such a flirt.”

  “What can I say? The girls love my interesting choice of career.” He waited until the sound check guy moved on to the next zombie before he started with more questions. His breath smelled of vanilla flavored coffee. “So, we can’t talk about your brother?”

  I tugged my shirt back into place. “Nope.”

  “The lawsuits?”

  I shuddered. “Uh uh.”

  “Your living situation?”

  I tilted my head from side to side weighing my words carefully. “It’s bearable. You’d be surprised how easy it is to avoid someone who works shifts. I’d prefer you for a full-time roomie, though.”

  A P.A. leaned inside the trailer. “We’re doing a rehearsal and the director wants all the zombies on set.”

  I winked at Gabe and curtseyed. “Extend to me the most affectionate of well wishes, my good sir.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Don’t screw it up.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Nice.”

  I followed three other zombie extras through a maze of trailers to the marked filming location. The sun had yet to come up fully and a chorus of crickets and other nightly insects buzzed near the spotlights that cast a glow on a clearing between tall pine trees. The zombie next to me swatted a mosquito on his arm and the smack against the liquid latex made a squishy sucking sound.

  The anxiety of being on set again and the grossness of the costumes had my stomach tied into a knot. I closed my eyes and quietly began my vocal warm-ups to calm my nerves. “Mmmmmmmm Ah. Mmmmmmmm Ah. Mmmmmmmmm Ah.”

  The extra beside me nudged me with her elbow. “What are you doing?”

  I tried to smile through the latex. “Vocal warm-ups.”

  “Should I be doing those too?” Worry clouded her young eyes. She wore a scalp cap with shots of black hair sticking out in messy clumps, making her hair look like it’d been ripped out in chunks.

  “Not all actors use them. I like to because it helps keep me calm.”

  “Oh, okay. I’m so nervous. This is my first acting job and I don’t want to screw it up.” She fluttered her hands and took an exceedingly large breath. “Who knew that only this morning I’d been bagging down at the Piggly Wiggly, and now I’m in a real movie.”

  She began a litany of off-key hums but I interrupted her. “Bagging? You mean groceries?” I took a step back to get a good look at my new zombie friend. “You’re not a working actress?”

  Walk-on extras usually didn’t get the full special effects makeup application. And I should know. I’d spent my first entire year in Hollywood with walk on roles.

  The guy on the other side of me leaned in. His right arm had been tucked into his shirt to make him appear as if it had been eaten off. “None of us are. Some casting guy drove around town this morning and picked a few people he thought would make good zombies. Where they’d find you?”

  A question I did not want to answer. “Hmm.”

  The assistant director’s voice boomed over a loud speaker. “Rehearsal’s up.”

  “Rehearsal’s up.” The P.A. repeated the announcement and approached us. “Zombies on set. Line up, please.”

  The other extras and I lined up in a staggered position at the far end of the clearing. The August humidity surrounded us, and a natural fog layered the ground. Along with the tattered shirt I wore a skirt I’d pulled as far down as possible to cover the back of my thighs. A few drops of sweat formed on my upper lip and I hoped it wouldn’t dislodge the perfectly placed zombie makeup.

  I twisted my foot and locked my knee to give it a good drag-like quality. The director, last name Stephenson, who I’d been careful not to cross paths with since arriving, made a semi-circle around us. I’d never met him before, but I didn’t want to take the chance he’d read a few tabloids about Disaster Diva Rosalind.

  He backed away slowly, putting several feet between us. “Action,” he yelled.

  I started forward, my mouth hanging slack. “Argh, ugh.” Then I switched it up. “Ugh, argh.”

  The Piggly Wiggly bagger stayed frozen in place. I wanted to nudge her, but one of the many rules of acting dictated I do my job no matter what until the director yelled “cut.”

  It didn’t take long.

  “Cut!” Stephenson stormed past me to the frozen extra. “What is wrong with you?”

  His condescending tone bit through my anxiety and raised my hackles a bit. I glanced across the camera staging area and caught of a glimpse of Gabe. He slowly shook his head as if to say keep your head down and don’t get involved.

  Right. Think of Grammy. Think of the back due rent. Think of the paycheck at the end of the day.

  The girl squeaked out an apology. She held her arms out in front of her and woodenly took a few steps forward.

  “This isn’t Bride of Frankenstein nitwit. If you can’t walk in a straight line for five lousy minutes, then maybe you should head back to the trailer park where we found you.” The director’s voice echoed in the trees and someone behind me let out an uncomfortable cough.

  I glanced around again. No one was going to intervene on her behalf?

  I edged my way closer to the girl’s side. She sniffed and held her trembling lips together tightly. I could not abide bullies who made people cry. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Gabe waving his arms, but I chose to ignore him. An attempt to reason with the director couldn’t hurt. “Why don’t you give her another chance? She’s pretty new at this.”

  He cut his gaze at me but refocused on his target. “So now you’re crying, too.” He threw his arms wide. “I didn’t ask for crybaby zombies.”

  “Maybe if you’d hired professionals instead of cheaping out with the locals…” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I’d fluffed it up. Men like him hyped up the stereotypes that gave anyone associated with Hollywood a bad name. But actresses who argued with directors got the worst rap of them all. I should know this by now.

  Stephenson snapped his fingers at the assistant director. My gaze travelled over to Gabe who lifted one shou
lder in a half-shrug of defeat. We’d been around the business long enough to know what happened next. Extras who mouthed off got fired. Without pay.

  “Replace these two,” he said, pointing at me and the Piggly Wiggly bagger. “Now!”

  He turned his back to us, ending any further discussion. Good. I didn’t want to work for a jerk anyway. I wrapped an arm around Piggly Wiggly and guided her toward the makeup trailer. “Let’s get this junk off of us and go grab a few days’ worth of the food from the catering truck.”

  We plodded by Gabe and when he opened his mouth, I held up a hand. “Not a word.”

  Back at the trailer, I grabbed my phone while I waited in line for the makeup removal process. Gabe would stay on set to oversee the non-fired actors’ zombie goo.

  He’d sent me a text. Need gas money to get home?

  The three-and-a-half-hour drive had taken a chunk out of my limited funds put aside for job searching. I had needed this quick paycheck to help make rent this month. But I had a few dollars left in my pocket and I’d stretch them to the limit before I’d let Gabe loan me gas money.

  I’m good call me later, I texted back.

  Before I could put the cell phone in my pocket, it trilled with the ringtone I’d picked out for Grammy’s assisted living facility. They only called this early in the morning for one reason. I stepped out of the trailer to answer the call.

  “Hello, Miss Rosie?” The nurse called everyone by their first name and Miss, Mrs., or Mr. It didn’t matter that she was thirty years my senior and I should be the one addressing her that way.

  “Hi, Pearl. How are you this morning?”

  The sweet nurse appreciated pleasantries before getting down to assisted living facility business.

  “I am quite well, and I do appreciate you asking.” A short pause followed. “However, your sweet Grammy is refusing to have breakfast without a show. And you know how important it is to keep her blood sugar regulated.”

  I dipped my head in defeat. “Did she eat last night?”

  Another long pause. “One of our nursing assistants thinks dinner ended up in Burt Lancaster Jr.’s dog food bowl.”

  “I’m across the line in Georgia, but I’ll be there before y’all serve lunch. Thanks for calling.”

  So much for loading up on the free food before hitting the road. I changed out of the costume but didn’t wait for the zombie makeup removal. It would brighten my mood slightly if I could cause slight panic on the highway from unsuspecting motorists who happened to look over.

  I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror. There had to be a better way to make some fast cash.

  Want to keep reading? Head to www.sweetpromisepress.com/TheFuneralFakers to grab your copy now!

  What's our Sweet Promise? It's to deliver the heartwarming, entertaining, clean, and wholesome reads you love with every single book.

  From contemporary to historical romances to suspense and even cozy mysteries, all of our books are guaranteed to put a song in your heart and a smile on your face. That's our promise to you, and we can't wait to deliver upon it...

  We release one new book per week, which means the flow of sweet, relatable reads coming your way never ends. Make sure to save some space on your eReader!

  Check out our books in Kindle Unlimited at sweetpromisepress.com/Unlimited

  Pre-order upcoming series bundles to save at sweetpromisepress.com/Shop

  Join our reader discussion group, meet our authors, and make new friends at sweetpromisepress.com/Group

  Sign up for our weekly newsletter at sweetpromisepress.com/Subscribe

  And don’t forget to like us on Facebook at sweetpromisepress.com/FB

  Professional Mourning can be a deadly business. Luckily, these 6 out-of-work actresses are on the job!

  Mourning Routine by S.E. Babin

  Kitty Crawford reached for stardom and fell hard. Now, in desperate need of some way to make ends meet, she skulks back to her hometown of Asheville. Unfortunately, the employment offers are slim pickings for a has-been whose sole talent is being able to cry on cue.

  That is, until one odd turn leads to another, which leads to the little-known profession of Personal Mourning. Here, the better Kitty can fake it, the more dollars she’ll find stacked up in her bereft bank account. Talk about a role she was born to play!

  And townsfolk are just dying to hire her. Her first gig casts her as the bereaved girlfriend of one newly deceased Chase McCormick, someone she would never have dated in life. Still, Kitty will have to act like her life depends on it, because--OMG!--it does.

  Can she perform an investigation that could turn out to be murder before she gets her own curtain call? Find out whodunit in this hilarious mystery series filled with fake tears and a very real body count... Order your copy and start reading today!

  Get your copy at www.sweetpromisepress.com/TheFuneralFakers

  Mourning Commute by Sam Cheever

  May Ferth was born with stars in her eyes, but apparently not her future. Never able to break past the community theater, she’s overjoyed to finally land a role that comes with a paycheck: Professional Mourning for the win!

  And in her first performance, she shines as the fake girlfriend of a professional crime scene cleaner. Unfortunately, this time she shines just a bit too bright. Now everyone suspects that she might have played more than a bit part in her pretend boyfriend’s death!

  Luckily for her, May comes from a family of cops. And, despite her talent for acting, she has a lot more Detective in her than Diva. Unluckily, however, the threats become all too real as May gets closer to shining a spotlight on the real villain.

  Can May rewrite the ending of this staged play or will this be her final bow? Find out whodunit in this hilarious mystery series filled with fake tears and a very real body count... Order your copy and start reading today!

  Get your copy at www.sweetpromisepress.com/TheFuneralFakers

  Mourning Express by K.M. Waller

  C-list actress Rosie Collins’ name is making headlines… unfortunately it’s only with the tabloids. Now, with a freshly minted reputation for being a troublemaker, not even the local Dollar General store will hire her to twirl their sign.

  Problem is the job offers stop, but the bills don’t. Rosie needs cash fast, like, express-lane fast. Might Professional Mourning be the answer? Sure, yeah, whatever.

  Never one to mince words, her first job is to deliver the eulogy for the most hated man in all of Asheville. Now she’s got a new problem. Namely, that the newly deceased’s slip-and-fall accident seems like it may have been more of a push-and-fall murder.

  Will Rosie find a way to solve this deadly mystery, or will her next role be as Harold’s replacement in the coffin? Find out whodunit in this hilarious mystery series filled with fake tears and a very real body count... Order your copy and start reading today!

  Get your copy at www.sweetpromisepress.com/TheFuneralFakers

  Mourning After by Stephanie Damore

  Aspiring stage actress Maven Mackenzie tried to take a bite out of the Big Apple… and choked. Returning from NYC with her head down and ego shattered, she had no idea what to do next. Until the Funeral Fakers find her and offer her a role as a Professional Mourner. It isn’t the best gig she’s ever gone after, but, hey, it’s something.

  Her boring new life goes from 0 to 60, however, when a family friend winds up murdered. Now finding the killer lands squarely on Maven’s unprepared shoulders.

  But when the deceased was a real pistol, and everyone in town seems to have a motive, the killer could be anyone--and they could strike again at any moment.

  Can Maven uncover all the right clues to solve Asheville’s latest funeral fiasco? Find out whodunit in this hilarious mystery series filled with fake tears and a very real body count... Order your copy and start reading today!

  Get your copy at www.sweetpromisepress.com/TheFuneralFakers

  Mourning Star by Ava Mallory

  Telenovela starlet Vivia
na Romero had it all… until her husband stole it right out from under her nose. And gave it to another woman, no less! Angry, disgraced, and still very much in shock, Viviana goes into hiding.

  Taking cover as a Professional Mourner in Asheville, North Carolina, was supposed to help ease her embarrassment. Instead it puts her in direct contact with the real reason her money went missing--and it’s much, much worse than a cheating husband. Yikes!

  Drama like this was only supposed to happen in her telenovelas. Now the most far-fetched plot Viviana’s ever run across is one that’s live action and just might get her killed. Can Viviana remain safely hidden while solving the crime and regaining what’s rightfully hers?

  Here’s hoping she can manage to get out of this one alive… Find out whodunit in this hilarious mystery series filled with fake tears and a very real body count... Order your copy and start reading today!

  Get your copy at www.sweetpromisepress.com/TheFuneralFakers

  Mourning Crisis by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  Nothing will bring your acting career to a crashing halt like literally crashing through the stage floor. But that’s exactly what happened to Mayme Buckley. Now she just wishes she could turn back time. Unfortunately, doing so means moving back home with her 90stastic parents and taking whatever bit part the town of Asheville is willing to throw her way. Hopefully without any injuries this time!

  First up, the role of Professional Mourner, and this time her leading man is a dead guy. Despite a performance worthy of a Tony, Mayme’s captive audience have.... questions. Like how could the cantankerous supervisor of the town’s moving company land a hot fiancee like Mayme while he was alive? And was his death really an accident?