by Penny Reid
“Hey. I don’t want to get in the middle of this.” Domino sounded anxious. “I’ve always got your back, but I have a good relationship with your agent.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to him.” Meaning, I’d have to think about firing him.
“And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Harrison. Have you talked to him?”
“No. Not recently.” It felt like a confession. Harrison and I usually touched base every few days. These past few weeks, even before staying with Sienna, I’d been avoiding him along with everyone else.
“Did you know he’s been lobbying for you to get the role back? He offered to attach himself to Gavin’s next project if they ‘corrected their grievous error.’ That’s what Gavin said.”
“No. I had no idea.”
That sweet, stupid, high-handed man. He drove me crazy, mostly because I had no idea if Harrison was actually trying to be helpful or if he was somehow using me as leverage to get something he wanted. Being on my own with my own thoughts made me realize that I couldn’t trust Harrison either.
I straightened from where I’d been leaning against the counter. “You know what though? Forget it. I don’t want the role, not if they’re giving it to me because of Harrison.”
“Gavin wants you back because he believes deeply in his soul’s soul that you’re the right person for the role and he wants to replace Ralph with Harrison. Gavin got more funding, and so now he’s rethinking the project. He thinks you as the Italian prostitute and Harrison as the military traitor would be magic. The parts are completely out of your wheelhouses, anti-typecasting, and now he’s obsessed.”
I frowned at the ceiling of the kitchen. “Domino—”
“I’m not finished. And this might explain why Gavin felt like he could call me. His new backers also love the idea, they’re also obsessed. You two haven’t done a film together since Tabitha Tomorrow. And—and don’t freak out—they’d like you and Harrison to get married during production.”
“What?!” Here I was, shouting in Sienna’s carriage house kitchen early in the morning. This was insane.
“They want the publicity for the movie. Their investment is a big one, and they think that if you and Harrison secretly-not-so-secretly tie the knot during filming, everyone will come out to see you two on the screen.”
“No. Nope. This is crazy. I don’t want to do this.”
“Don’t say no. Think about it. Talk to your boy.”
I shook my head even though Domino couldn’t see me. “I don’t need to talk to Harrison, and he’s not my boy.” I loved Harrison, but I could now see that even our friendship—such as it existed—hadn’t been healthy for me. “The answer is no.”
“Think about it.”
I laughed despite myself. “Domino, you are . . . assillante.” I said this last part under my breath. I must’ve been really mad even though the tenor of my voice was calm; I’d resorted to one of my mother’s Italian insults. “The answer is still no.”
I took a moment and thanked my lucky stars that I’d taken this trip. If this idea had been proposed two weeks ago, I likely would’ve agreed to it since I’d wanted that role so much. I still desperately wanted the part, but not enough to continue pretending with Harrison. I could see clearly now, I’d started to disappear—the real me—under the weight of other people’s expectations and demands.
“Just think about it.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait! Do you want the role? Can I call Gavin back?”
I jabbed a finger in the air. “I don’t care if Harrison takes the role or not, we are not getting married, do you understand? And I don’t want to start filming for another month.” Goodness. It was amazing what time away from LA and being Raquel Ezra had done for my assertiveness. I hadn’t felt this focused on what I wanted in ages.
“It’ll be September at the earliest. Maybe even October. Production is shut down, he pissed off the union.”
“Then you know I can’t take the part. I have that romantic comedy.” I hadn’t technically signed the contract yet, but now that I was feeling more focused, I decided I would sign it. My panicked thoughts about retiring from acting felt so distant and faraway.
“Funny you should mention that. I gave them a heads-up that they might need to film around you until November. And they’re both studio projects, so you’d be on the same lot if they really needed you for a scene.”
“I thought Gavin’s film was on location in Cuba?”
“It was. But like I said, he pissed everyone off.”
I closed my eyes, crossing an arm over my stomach, feeling overwhelmed. “Dom, this is a lot. I’ll need to see the script again before I’ll agree to anything. And I want to see production notes on the set changes.”
“I’ll have Gavin’s people send you all the details ASAP, and also send the new contract directly over to legal for their review, you just have to promise that you won’t tell your agent I was the one who did it. I don’t want him thinking I’m working around him with his clients.”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing.”
“Yes, you sexy Cleveland flower, but I’m only working around him because it’s what’s best for you. If he’d picked up Gavin’s call—because he knows how much that part meant to you—then I wouldn’t have to work around him.”
“Fine. Send it to legal. If they think it looks good, I’ll consider the role—but no wedding.” My agent had me convinced for years that I couldn’t negotiate my own contracts, but I wasn’t so sure anymore.
The thought made me feel like a traitor.
“And thank you for looking out for me,” I added. Even though Domino was pushy, he went around my agent because he knew this role had been important to me.
“You are so welcome. You know I always have your back. Now have fun in hillbilly town.”
“It’s not like that. It’s really nice here.”
“Oh no. Not you too. Please tell me you’re not going to marry a park ranger and move to Appalachia for good.”
I rolled my eyes. “If I did, you’d be the first to know.”
“What is in the water there? That all these gorgeous women can’t seem to leave once they’ve been mounted by a Mountie.”
“Wrong country. Mounties are in Canada.” I glanced at the clock above the stove, just after 7:00 AM. I still had time before I needed to be at Sienna’s. “Wait, Domino.”
“Yes?”
“What time are you going to sleep?”
“Maybe six.”
“Could you call Sasha before you do? Ask her to fly out here with—uh—Dave and Miguel?” Dave and Miguel were my favorite bodyguards. They made me laugh and never voiced opinions about what I wore or what I did unless they were teasing (the good kind of teasing).
Also, Dave used to be Sienna’s guard years and years ago. He knew the area better than anyone else on my team because he’d been here before. Yes, Dave and Miguel made the most sense as my traveling security team for now. “Tell her to bring clothes and things for me to stay another month.”
Being out here for another month without security would be just plain dumb. Two weeks, mostly anonymous, staying on Sienna’s property was one thing. But word of my location would be all over social media by now. All the crazies would know I was in Green Valley, and only two of my restraining order nuts were currently in jail.
“Yes. Sure. No problem. I’ll call Sasha.”
“But only after six your time. Don’t wake her up. And have Dave and Miguel pack for a stay of at least a month. Please.”
“You got it, boss. By the way,” I heard the smile in his voice, “you sound great. Clearheaded, focused. Like a badass. Whatever is in that Mountie water must be agreeing with you.”
I ended the call rolling my eyes at his silliness, but also grinning, and I marveled at the change in me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ended an industry call with a smile on my face. Perhaps the water in Green Vall
ey was magical.
Or maybe I was smiling because I had a second chance at that role I’d wanted so badly, assuming Gavin hadn’t substantively changed my character. My heart buoyed, and I felt like if I didn’t tell someone the good news, I might burst.
You should call Jackson!
The odd thought flashed through my mind, completely unbidden, and I dismissed it immediately. He wasn’t my . . . well, he wasn’t my anything. An acquaintance I really liked, a man I happened to admire and was breathlessly attracted to, but not the first person I should be thinking about when I had good news to share.
And, you know, he probably wasn’t in any mood to speak to me about anything at present.
Picking up my phone again, I called my mom. We didn’t talk often or with any regularity, just once every other a month or so. She often traveled for speaking engagements. Syncing our schedules had become difficult once my acting career had taken off.
The phone rang and rang, and I bit the inside of my lip. I hoped she wasn’t in Hawaii or Alaska or someplace like that, where the time difference meant it would be the middle of the night. Second-guessing myself, I was just about to hang up when she finally answered.
“Raquel! What a lovely surprise. Hello!”
“Hi, Mom.” I smiled. A surge of homesickness sent a stinging rush of moisture to my eyes, and I laughed at myself.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. It’s just so good to hear your voice.”
“You too. What’s up? Why are you calling your mother? Not that I’m complaining.” The sound of people speaking in a different language came through the line. It was muffled and distant, and I couldn’t quite place it.
“Where are you?”
“I’m in Italy.”
“What?” This was a surprise.
“For work. We’re in Rome.”
“Oh. Will you see—”
“It’s a work trip. They don’t know I’m here.”
“They” referred to her parents, my grandparents. I’d met them only a handful of times as they lived in a north Italian village that made Green Valley look like a metropolis. We’d visited for the last time when I was twelve and things had been tense. Since I didn’t speak Italian, I had to rely on my knowledge of Latin—which I’d never spoken, only read—to follow the heated conversations.
“Oh. Okay.” I didn’t want to talk about her parents with her. The only subject that made her angrier was my father. “Are you having a good time?”
“Yes. Very. But I want to hear about you. You sound great!”
“Thank you. I feel great.” I floated over to the couch and sat. “I took a vacation.”
“How wonderful! Good for you! You work too hard. No wonder you sound so relaxed. Did that Sasha come with you?”
“No. Actually, no one did.”
“Raquel, what about security?” A frightened edge entered her voice. “After that man last year—”
“It’s fine. For the last two weeks, I was on my own. I’m staying with a friend, Sienna Diaz. I don’t know if you’ve seen any of her movies.” My mother had no interest in film or television, preferring to debate the writings of people who’d been dead for three thousand years.
When I talked about modern remakes of the classics, she always assumed I meant the writings of Empedocles and Plotinus. This also meant she remained one of the three people on the planet who didn’t recognize Sienna Diaz by name.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know who that is. But you’re staying with your actress friend and it’s safe? She has guards too?”
“She basically lives in this huge compound,” I hedged, quickly adding, “And my security team is flying out tomorrow. Dave and Miguel will be staying with me for the next month while I’m here.”
“Where are you?”
“In Tennessee, but that’s not why I’m calling. I have good news.” I shifted forward on the couch until I sat on the edge of my seat, resting my elbow on my knee.
“Oh! I love your good news. Tell me.”
“You know that film part I told you about? The period piece about the prostitute?”
“Yes. You were very excited about the part. How is it going? Did filming start?” My mother sounded eager for information.
When I’d originally told her about the role, I’d been worried she would hate me playing a prostitute. She hadn’t. She’d loved the idea. She loved that I’d be playing a role about a woman who lived life on her own terms and exploited men’s desires to get what she wanted.
“Well, at the end of May, they called me and told me I’d been replaced by Lina.”
“What? Lina?” She sounded confused.
“You know, my friend from—”
“WHAT?!” she roared, and then started speaking in Italian. Rapid, angry Italian. I caught a few curse words and insults—cretino, coglione, che testa di cazzo—and I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing. My mother might’ve felt constricted by her upbringing, but when she was angry, she fully embraced her roots.
“Wait, wait. There’s good news.”
“There is? Please tell me you’ve cut that Lina out of your life. I never liked her. She . . . I feel she gives you Il Malocchio. She’s jealous. I hope her family is cursed with brittle teeth.” She muttered another insult or two.
Her vengefulness warmed my heart. I love my mom.
“My news is that they dropped her, and the director wants me back in the role. They started preproduction, but it wasn’t working out and he realized his mistake. So now the part is mine if I want it.”
She didn’t respond right away. I could almost hear her thinking. “Raquel.” She sounded hesitant. “You know you are wonderful, don’t you? You know you are a very good actress.”
“Thank you.” My mother rarely praised me for anything, least of all my job. But I knew where she was going with this, so I let her talk because I felt she needed to.
“Why do you let this man treat you this way? If he dropped you so easily before, what keeps him from doing it again?”
“We’re drawing up a new contract. It’ll be ironclad this time. I’m using just my lawyer. My agent won’t be part of the negotiations.”
“I remember you said that man, your agent, he didn’t want you to take the role.”
“He . . . it’s complicated. I don’t think he liked the idea of me playing a prostitute. He doesn’t want to jeopardize my marketability. He likes the parts I’m usually offered and likes that they make him money, and so he doesn’t want me acting in this movie.”
“But he works for you. And you want the part.”
“Exactly.”
“Ironic then, that he doesn’t want you to play a prostitute, because that’s how he’s treating you.”
I sucked in a breath, surprised by her retort. But in all honesty, I shouldn’t have been. I should’ve been used to it.
My mother was brilliant, she had a wickedly sharp mind and a tongue to match. We’d settled into a pretty good relationship, but she had no time for entitled, bossy men—or men she perceived as being bossy. Once, a visiting adjunct professor interjected while she’d been giving a lecture and tried to explain the significance of Socrates on Alexander the Great’s military campaigns. To her. In front of her class.
He was lucky he’d left the room with his balls intact; his pride had not fared as well.
I heard her release a loud sigh. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” I rubbed my forehead, trying to push past the initial sting of her words for the truth behind them.
“Sorry. I just—I don’t like that he works for you, and he’s telling you what to do. He is your subordinate. He treats you like you are there for his purpose, to make him money. This is not the right way. As Plato said, ‘The heaviest penalty for declining to rule is to be ruled by someone inferior to yourself.’ You are so good at managing people, I am surprised you would put up with this. He is there for your purpose, to make you money. You should fire him, find someone wh
o can take orders.”
Standing, I paced back to the kitchen. “It’s really okay. I understand what you meant.” I didn’t add that I’d had similar thoughts, just not quite as cutthroat. “It’s not a done deal yet. They’ve updated the script, and I want to see it before I sign or agree. But, anyway, I’m still really excited about the part.”
“If it makes you happy, it makes me happy.” She sounded far from convincing.
“It does make me happy. I’m excited.”
“When does filming start? Will you have to be on location, or will you be in LA?”
“It’ll mostly be shot in LA, but I might have to go to Cuba to do some pickups, and—”
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Cuba?”
“Yes. They moved the majority of filming to—”
“Raquel! Is this—are you playing a Cuban?”
Oh. Shit. My stomach lurched as I quickly pieced together what she must be thinking. “No, no,” I rushed to correct her misassumption. “I told you. The character is Italian.”
“Is this about your father?” she whispered harshly, sounding overheated and upset. “Is this about him?”
“What? No!”
“Is that why you want this part? Because I will tell you the truth, no matter what you do, no matter if you are the perfect daughter, embrace his values, he will never want to know you.”
“Mom.” I rubbed the center of my chest, her words like tiny knives being shoved into my heart. “I know. And this isn’t about Dad.”
“You should not call him Dad. He is a stranger, he is not a part of who you are, and that was his choice. Think of Plato. Think of the Republic. The family serves no purpose but to confuse and distract from our goals, to pull us in directions away from our purpose. That is who your father is. A destructive distraction so blinded by his traditional views on the world and himself as the center of it that he ruins everything he touches. If you think going to Cuba, trying to be Cuban, will make him want to—"
“Mom! Listen to yourself. It’s just a movie role. That’s it.” I tried to swallow but couldn’t, because her words had shaken something loose inside me, and I wasn’t finished though I didn’t know what I was about to say. “And I hate to break it to you, but I am Cuban. I’m just as much Cuban as I am Italian. And I’m an American. And I’m an Ohioan. If I want to go to Cuba and learn all about that side of myself, then I will. And if I want to go to Miami and meet my half-siblings, then I will.”