In Development
From a young age, Cobie Galloway made a career of playing the girl-next-door on the silver screen. Only, she’s not a teenager anymore. Ready to challenge herself artistically and earn the part she’s always dreamed of, she’s forced to face the realization that in order to win the roles afforded to edgier actresses, she might first have to audition by playing someone edgier in her day-to-day life.
Pop star Lila Wilder built a multimedia empire by always having her finger on the pulse of what’s hot. However, as she struggles to produce her next smash hit record, she’s finding it hard to keep her name in the public eye, and a string of tumultuous relationships with Hollywood boy-toys no longer captivates anyone’s attention.
Both women tentatively agree to a headline-grabbing fauxmance, with two simple rules: Always stick to the script, and never forget that on the stage of public perception, nothing is real. Can two women find love in a world of carefully crafted illusions, or will a successful charade mean the potential for something more gets left on the cutting-room floor?
In Development
© 2018 by Rachel Spangler
This electronic original is published by Brisk Press,
Brielle, New Jersey, 08730
Substantive Edit by: Lynda Sandoval
Copy Edit by: Jonathan Crowley
Cover design by: TreeHouse Studio
Author Photo by: William Banks
Book layout and typesetting by: Kelly Smith
First printing: May 2018
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the author or the publisher.
I read that the traditional symbols of the twelfth anniversary are silk and linen to represent luxury and comfort. Susie, you have given me both in exactly the right portions to help me thrive. So, of course, number twelve is all your fault.
Acknowledgments
This book is a love story about two women living in a world most of us can only dream about, and I won’t deny part of its appeal draws heavily on our desire to live similar lives of fame and fortune. On a deeper level, however, it relies on my connection to a wonderfully familiar and diverse world filled with female artists. I am inspired every day by women who create and share and spread their knowledge and talents through a myriad of mediums. I have tried to imbue my characters with parts of that artistic passion. Of course, people who are looking will likely see the influence of the more famous figures whose words and experiences helped shape my characters, women like Ellen Page, Taylor Swift, Emma Watson, and my dear friend Diane Gaidry (Diane also deserves a lot of credit for helping me get some of the showbiz terms right.) But along the way, I’ve also been influenced by and drawn strength from countless other women writers, songstresses, filmmakers, writers, and storytellers. The women of the #MeToo and #Timesup movements have been particularly inspirational over the last few months, but so have many others stretching all the way back to my childhood. I hope as you read you see my admiration for women who face insurmountable odds and risk parts of themselves in order to create art and foster change in a world that is still very much stacked against them.
With that said, I’ve been blessed to work with some pretty inspiring women on this project as well. The first two of them I need to thank are Susan X. Meagher and Carolyn Norman of Brisk Press. When I first approached them about this book, it was to ask a favor. I wanted to release in the spring, less than a year out, and right between two other books I’d already scheduled with my full-time publisher. It was a time-shortened job, I had no idea what I was doing, and it created a bunch of extra work for them and their imprint, and yet neither of them hesitated. They have both been patient and fun to work with, and I have learned so much along the way.
And while this is a Brisk Press book, I couldn’t have done it without the support of my Bywater family. If an author had told most other publishers she wanted to publish a book on six months’ notice with a different press, the answer would generally be no, and in some cases lawyers would be called. With the awesome women of Bywater Books, it was more along the lines of “How can we help?” Salem West, Marianne K. Martin, Kelly Smith, and Ann McMan have all been wonderfully understanding. Kelly did the typeset of this book to make sure it was done to her high standards, and as I’m sure you can tell by looking at this amazing cover, it is the handiwork of Ann McMan, famous designer (and author). I’ve always referred to them as my team because we’re working together toward a common goal, but people who work beside you even when they don’t have anything to gain, that feels more like a family.
Speaking of family of choice, I am blessed to have a wide and diverse group of people I lean heavily on when trying to make sure everything I publish is the best it can be. I trust them with my work, my ego, my voice, my truth. As always, Barb Dallinger and Toni Whitaker were my first readers, my sounding boards, my cheerleaders who gave me the confidence to plow forward. Lynda Sandoval, editor and friend extraordinaire, helped me fly through new scenes and new insights. For the first time, with this book, I’m working with a new copy editor in Jon Crowley, but Jon is not new to my family of choice. We’ve known each other since we were both little rainbow Redbird babies, and I was proud to place my new baby into his very capable hands. Another friend from my ISU days, who has become so much more in so many ways, is responsible for my author photo. Thanks for being handy with the camera, Will Banks, aka B. Papi. I also have a wonderful crew of proof readers including, Marcie, Cara, Susan, and Ann who served as my powerful and final line of defense against the horror of typos in the final draft. I thank them all endlessly!
And last but certainly not least are those people whose contributions to my writing are harder to quantify, but whose contributions to my life are boundless. I have the best writing buddies who are also the best distraction buddies, and while those things might appear to be in opposition, they really aren’t, because Georgia Beers, Melissa Brayden, Nikki Smalls, and Lynda Sandoval’s constant support, humor, and kicks in the pants never let me forget I have the best job in the world. The same goes for every reader who has ever taken the time to read my books and send me feedback. Even on my worst, most insecure days, hearing your words of encouragement reminds me that every day I spend telling stories is a blessing.
And when it comes to blessings, no acknowledgment would be complete without at least attempting to acknowledge that some people mean more to me than all the words in the world could convey. Jackie boy, you are my light, my happy place, and my faith in the future. Susie, you are my rock, my foundation, and my sanctuary, come what may. The two of you make up the two halves of my heart.
Lastly, none of these blessings would be in my life without my loving creator, redeemer and sanctifier. Soli Deo Gloria.
Chapter One
The office of Levy and Levy was a whir of human energy vibrating off glass and steel. Everywhere phones rang or buzzed, and there wasn’t a surface that didn’t glisten or gleam. All the bustle and brightness made Cobie Galloway feel even more out of place than she had outside in Times Square. The lights there were brighter and the noises louder, but at least she’d blended into the crowd. As soon as the elevator doors had opened on the forty-second floor, every eye trained on her. Well, maybe not her so much as her clothes or her hair or perhaps the way she slouched and shuffled up to the desk.
Then again, maybe her demeanor made her stand out more than her low-slung jeans and plain cream waffle-weave shirt. She didn’t act like she owned the place, unlike e
very other sleek, suit-clad person bustling back and forth, talking on a myriad of devices: phones, tablets, Bluetooth earpieces. One guy even seemed to be chatting with his watch. She glanced down at the thick script in her hands and considered trying to have a conversation with it. Instead, she chose the old-fashioned approach and smiled at the receptionist with a severe up-do.
“Hi.”
“Yes?” the woman asked, drumming her jet-black fingernails on her frosted glass desk.
“I’m Stan’s eleven-thirty appointment.”
The receptionist pursed her lips in a way that suggested she highly doubted the truth of the statement but clicked open a document on her iPad. “Mr. Levy has an eleven-thirty appointment with . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she regarded Cobie with a little more interest. Gray eyes flicked over her attire and settled on her face, clearly searching for something to tip the scales of recognition. Cobie decided to make it easier on them both, so she shook her shoulder-length brunette hair from her face, then fluttered her eyelashes a little.
The receptionist’s entire demeanor changed. She leaned forward in her chair, showing a startling amount of cleavage, her cheeks flushing pink and her lips curving upward. “Oh, honey, you’re much taller than you look in all the movies.”
“It’s the angles they shoot from,” she said frankly. “Jeremy doesn’t like anyone to know how short he is.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “How short is he?”
Cobie smiled. “Five-seven on a good day. When I’m barefoot, I look him in the eye.”
“And is everything else about him . . .” She glanced around like she knew she shouldn’t ask but couldn’t pass up the chance. “Proportional?”
Cobie shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. He uses a body double for love scenes.”
The secretary’s mouth dropped, and Cobie felt the tiniest bit of guilt. She didn’t care a wit about protecting Jeremy’s fragile ego, but she didn’t want to do anything that might serve as tabloid fodder. She worked hard to protect her own life. She wouldn’t want to carelessly subject someone else to that kind of scrutiny, whether she particularly enjoyed their company or not. “That’s just between us though, okay?”
The woman pantomimed zipping her lips, locking them, and then depositing the imaginary key in a wastebasket under her translucent desk. The little display made Cobie realize the young woman likely had acting aspirations, which reminded her why she’d stopped by in the first place. “Is Stan in?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” The woman rose. “Right this way.”
Cobie followed her through a series of hallways reminiscent of a shiny anthill. She wondered if she should leave breadcrumbs to find her way back, but she was sure one of the starving actresses or musicians waiting in the wings would eat them before her meeting finished.
Finally, the last hallway dead-ended into a massive set of frosted glass doors accented in polished chrome. The receptionist pressed a button Cobie couldn’t see and whispered, “Cobie Galloway to see you.”
The doors swung open seemingly of their own volition, and the receptionist motioned for her to go inside, even though she didn’t cross the threshold herself.
“Thanks,” Cobie said, hesitating slightly, as though she’d been summoned by the great and powerful Oz. Then she remembered she’d called this meeting with her manager, who worked for her. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin and stepped purposefully inside.
“Hey, Stan.”
He smiled at her, holding up one finger and motioning to a cell phone against his ear, and turned to stare out the large windows. “I don’t care how much money he thinks the project is going to make. That’s a problem for the producers. I only care what my client makes, and if there’s not another zero on the next contract I get from you, we’ll go shopping.”
She should probably be glad he said things like that. Hell, maybe he’d said it for her benefit. He’d likely said it on her behalf several times in the last ten years, and judging from the view of Times Square from his office, he got the answer he wanted more often than not. That’s why she stayed with him, she reminded herself. He knew how to get what he wanted, which was what she wanted.
She took a seat in what she assumed was a chair, even though it was made entirely of chrome and angled in a way that kept her feet from touching the ground. Staring down at the script in her lap, she flipped it open and ran her fingers over the title.
Vigilant.
The word stood in bold print. When she closed her eyes, she could still see it. She’d dreamt about it last night. This was the project she’d waited a decade to be a part of, a project that could make, or rather remake, her career into something she could be proud of.
“Cobie.” Stan’s voice boomed from across the room as he tossed his phone onto the desk. “What a treat to see you in person. What brings you to the city?”
“I heard my manager works here.”
“He does. He works very hard here, makes the big deals too, but enough about me.” He flashed her a smile, showing teeth too bright not to have been enhanced somehow. “Tell me about you. Surely you didn’t fly in just to meet with me. You got a hot date?”
She shook her head. “No, I really wanted to talk to you about my next project.”
“Oh, yes. Let me see.” He tapped his temple, drawing attention to the fact that his dark, wavy hair had grayed considerably at the sides. “You just wrapped the last Nick Sparks adaptation, right? Hey, how’s Jeremy?”
“He’s Jeremy,” she said with a sigh. “So very . . . Jeremy.”
“Ah, I remember you two canoodling outside my office when you were just kids.”
She wanted to say she’d never canoodled. Not with Jeremy or anyone else, especially in his office. But she needed to stay focused.
“The time sure does fly, and now you’re practically all grown up, both of you.”
“Actually, that’s what I’m here to talk about,” Cobie cut in. “I have grown up, and I’m ready for the roles I take on to reflect my maturity.”
He stopped abruptly on his stroll down memory lane to look at her seriously for the first time.
“I was looking over the script for Vigilant last night.”
His eyes went wide, signaling she had his full attention now. “Vigilant is a New York Times bestseller. Where did you get the script?”
She shook her head, not wanting to go there. She couldn’t let the conversation become about her contacts versus his. “That doesn’t matter as much as the fact that it’s drafted and in my hands to negotiate with.”
“Negotiate?” He eyed the document like the Pope might look at a crucifix.
“A full treatment, script, screen writer, and female lead,” Cobie said in her most businesslike voice. “It’s a package deal. All or nothing.”
“Nothing is all or nothing,” he mumbled and began to pace. “I heard the author wasn’t willing to negotiate, or I’d have beaten down her door myself.”
“Yes. But would you have pitched me for the lead?”
“Uh, well.” He smoothed his thumb over his eyebrows. “The thing is this will be a very sought-after role.”
“So no, then?”
“It’s not that I don’t think you could handle the acting.” He started patronizing, and she gritted her teeth to stay calm long enough to see if he could turn it around. “But since so many people have read the book, they’re going to have an image in their heads for the character of Vale.”
“And I don’t fit the image?”
“No. But do you know who I spoke to last night?”
“Not a clue.”
“Christopher Columbus, the director, not the explorer.” He chuckled at his own joke.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he’s never heard that one before.”
“He’s doing Night at the Museum Four, and there’s going to be a love interest for the son this time.”
“The son that went to college in the last movie?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“So I’d play a college student?”
“Exactly, but there’ll be a few fun action scenes.”
She sighed and wiggled her way out of the awkward art chair. “I’m twenty-six years old, and I’ve never played a character over the age of nineteen.”
“Okay, well, Jeremy is in talks for one where he plays a city kid who gets offered a job on a dude ranch for the summer.”
“Target audience?” she asked drolly, already knowing the answer.
“Girls, twelve to eighteen.”
“I’m too old for teen movies,” she said flatly.
“Oh, honey, don’t talk about yourself that way. You could easily pass for a high school student. Did you know Olivia Newton-John was twenty-nine when she played the role of Sandy in Grease?”
“You’ve mentioned it before, but the thing is, I don’t want to pass for younger than I am.”
He opened his mouth but didn’t seem to know how to respond to the comment. “Say again?”
“I don’t want to be Olivia Newton-John. Don’t get me wrong. She killed that role, but I don’t want to be America’s sweetheart anymore. I don’t want to do teen flicks or musicals either for that matter.”
“But really you do sing, right?”
“Stan,” she said forcefully, “I want to do Vigilant.”
He shook his head slowly.
“I’ve got the skills. I’ve got the build. I’m in great shape.”
“All true, but you don’t have the image. The character is dark, morally ambiguous, a drinker, a fighter, a lesbian shit-kicker.”
“I’m a lesbian shit-kicker.”
“Are you?” he asked, his voice a little higher, like someone talking to a puppy or a child.
“Yes,” she said emphatically.
“Look.” He cut the patronizing tone. “I’m glad you want to branch out, but no one is going to buy you as a lesbian.”
In Development Page 1