Emily offered to take a photo of me with my fan, this stranger who eagerly slung her arm around me and pressed her face to mine. I’m pretty sure I looked beyond freaked.
“Okay, we’ve gotta go now, thanks for watching,” Emily said, thrusting the phone into the girl’s hand, linking my arm through hers and propelling me out the door.
While I was reviewing lines in my room last night, my father and Chloe went out. When Chloe knocked on my door to tell me, I could see her to-the-shoulder earrings and full-throttle eyeliner through the peephole. Her outfit was more like a couple of wide belts than a legitimate top and bottom. They returned at 3 a.m., obviously wasted. I heard them trying to get their key card to open a neighboring door, then mine, and finally their own.
At the table this morning, my father is mute and Chloe wears sunglasses and nurses black coffee. She’s not thrilled about my table choice, adjacent to the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows with a view of the sunny blue sky on this rare non-hazy day; but it’s the perfect spot to people watch. Until Dan arrives to interrogate me about my audition for the enviable role of Lizbeth Bennet opposite Reid Alexander.
“In his last film, he all but named his costar.” Dan gestures animatedly with both hands, his elbows on the table. “The director was on the fence between two or three, and I heard that he said ‘I want Allyson’ and she was
in
.” I seriously doubt that even Reid Alexander has
that
sort of power, but I keep this thought to myself.
Dan eyes me closely, as he always does when he is about to make an Important Statement. “They’re looking for chemistry. This is ‘Darcy and Elizabeth,’ for chrissake.” All three of them stare at me.
Chemistry between the romantic leads. What a novel concept.
“Um, okay, I know.” I only just refrain from rolling my eyes. “I think it went well, but we’re either going to have chemistry or we aren’t, right? I assume they’ll do callbacks on several—”
“Richter has been directing for two decades. Big names, big films. He knows chemistry, and if the two of you have it, he’ll see it.” Is that not what I just said? “What—
specifically
—did he say when he stopped the scene?” He asked me this exact question five minutes ago. I don’t know if he thinks I’m lying or just carelessly omitting something significant.
My jaw clenches and I repeat, verbatim, the answer I gave five minutes ago. “He said, ‘Good, good,’ then thanked me, then said they’d be in touch.”
Dan pinches his chin between his perfectly manicured fingers, the face of his TAG Heuer watch peeking out from the cuff of his impeccable azure blue dress shirt. “He stopped you before the kiss was started, then,” he reiterates, “But he said, ‘Good, good,’ right after.”
Oh. My. God. “Yes.”
“This could work, this could be fine, possibly he wants to see buildup—I mean anyone can kiss.” If Dan actually believes
that
, I feel sorry for him. Even with my somewhat limited experience, I know that not everyone can kiss. If rumors are reliable, Reid Alexander will leave me in a puddle at his feet. I doubt the likelihood of this, though, because the best-looking guys aren’t always the best kissers, as backwards as that notion seems.
My first kiss was with a costar in the intergalactic explorer movie. We engaged in hours of private rehearsals after that while on location. But Justin lived in New Jersey, and once filming ended, we were too young to cross the distance between Newark and Sacramento. At the time, I thought I would die from heartbreak. Later, I was more depressed to discover that Justin had been a bright kissing light in a sea of dim bulbs.
Dan’s cell phone begins playing a late-80s rap song, and he unclips it from his belt and punches it, holding up one finger to shush the three of us, though no one is talking. “Dan Walters here. Yes, of course. Fabulous. Three o’clock, no prob. Thanks much, Daria.”
His expression is almost manic as he turns to me. “We’re on, baby. You and Reid are having another go, tomorrow.”
“Yay!” Chloe claps her fingers as though Dan is speaking to her. This is a fundamental Chloe move. She’s like a wind-up monkey that winds itself.
Dan shakes his head slightly (I know the feeling) and addresses my father. “Connor, have her there tomorrow by 2:50. Early enough to look interested, but not overly eager. I’ll start working on what we’re going to push for in terms of salary. I’ll be in touch, hopefully soon.” He lays a hand on my forearm. “Knock ’em dead.” One more gulp of coffee (no way Dan actually
needs
any sort of stimulant) and he’s gliding back through the restaurant and out the entrance.
Me: Got a callback. 3pm tomorrow. Probably kissing reid alexander. Wish me luck.
Em: Do you NEED LUCK?!? Sounds like you already HAVE IT, lol.
Chapter 6
REID
Emma Pierce is the fourth of five callbacks. In an attempt to be professional, I’ve focused on each of the three before her while we were running scenes, but all day I’m crackling with energy, humming with it, waiting for her.
When Daria shows her in, I feel as though I’ve been plugged into a socket. I study the sides though I could recite all of my lines
and
hers, delaying the moment when our eyes meet, knowing it will trigger a power surge between us when we speak the lines. We’re doing the same scene we did two days ago, but this time there will be no interruption from Richter.
He calls us to our places and she turns away, a shadow of confusion on her face, but ready. Richter calls action, and as I touch her shoulder, she turns to me, scowling, perfectly in character, and I wish we were filming on set right now because this will be as good as it gets. We run through the lines as though we’ve rehearsed this scene a dozen times, and when she says the last line, “What?” I grip her shoulders per the script direction and kiss her.
I know when I touch her that my hold on her isn’t going to be right and will seem antagonistic, but I’m following script direction. We’ll have to redo it, but that’s fine. The chemistry is undeniable. She sways a bit when I release her, the green in her gray eyes sparking. She feels it, too.
“Cut.” Richter is out of his chair, his lips pursed in thought. One hand taps against the side of his leg as he stares at us. He didn’t budge from his seated position during the last three callbacks. “Too aggressive, I think, Reid.” More lip-pursing and thigh-tapping. “Let’s go again from the beginning. More passion, less dominance on the kiss.” He’s letting me guide the scene physically—precisely how I work best. “Emma, a little more reaction—you’re starting to respond just before he pulls away.”
As the cameras are realigned, I smile down at her, whispering, “Don’t worry.”
She smiles back, still nervous, which is fine. All she has to do is follow my lead, which she’s doing flawlessly so far. This time, I pull her towards me, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other sliding down her arm, tugging her forward onto her toes, unbalancing her so that she leans into me as I kiss her. Hands curled into my chest, she’s a perfect illustration of Lizbeth Bennet’s surrender to Will Darcy’s passion.
“Excellent, spot on,” Richter says. He rubs his hands together.
Hell,
yeah
.
Daria shows Emma to the exit after we run another couple of scenes and Richter tells her he’ll be in touch. She nods and thanks him, glancing at me. My relaxed expression gives nothing away, but there’s no doubt in my mind—she’s Lizbeth.
*** *** ***
Emma
When I come home from the gym a week after the audition, my father and Chloe are popping a bottle of champagne. “You got the part!” he says as Chloe squeals and offers me a glass. I’ve been chosen to play Lizbeth Bennet in
School Pride
. The financial details were settled for more than I’ve earned in the past several years combined. Filming will start in mid-August, on location in Austin.
Dazed by the news, the salary, and the thought of working with Reid Alexander for three solid months, I do what any other girl would do. I grab my phone and text my best friend. Emily is at choir practice, but I’m hoping the threat of choir director ire won’t keep her from answering.
Me: I GOT IT
Em: OHMYGOD!!!
Me: I know! Holy SHIT.
Em: I have never been jealous of you before, but OMG REID ALEXANDER!?!!!!
Me: I’ll call you after the champagne celebration and chloe’s dance of glee. UGH.
Em: Ignore her. This is about YOU <3
Me: Will try, idk if ignoring her is possible, you have no idea.
Em: Oh trust me, i have an idea.
***
“I guess we might not be able to do this forever, huh?” Emily says, glancing around the mall food court, the straw of her smoothie never leaving her mouth. It’s late July. In less than a month, I’ll be departing for Austin to film my first wide-release movie.
“What, go out in public?” I recall the paparazzi-mobbed celeb I’d watched from the hotel restaurant in LA. “I don’t think I’ll be
that
well-known.”
“Well, we don’t know how famous you’ll be, do we? Don’t forget,” she leans closer and lowers her voice, “you’ll be kissing
Reid Alexander
, making you the object of loathing and hate mail for half the preteen girls from here to Canada.”
Any time I think of that kiss, I still feel it. What I said about hot guys not being the best kissers? Scratch. That.
“Crap.”
“Totally. Except the
kissing Reid Alexander
part.” Emily leers, waggling her eyebrows.
“Em,” I shake my head, “you have a one-track mind.”
“Whatev, babe. I’ve tried to warn you regarding the underbelly of the lives of the rich and famous—it isn’t pretty. Drugs, drinking, accidental porn…” She slurps the last of her smoothie.
“Emily, you know I don’t—okay wait, what the hell is
accidental
porn?”
“You know, the kind where you have no idea your innocently lascivious weekend was filmed through a teeny camera in the ceiling, until it’s too late and people are downloading it off the Internet like, well, online porn.” She swirls a fry through the pool of ketchup we’re sharing.
“Innocently lascivious?” I’m not sure if I should be insulted or jealous of this version of myself that Emily is painting.
“Hey, I’m not judging your sex life here, I’m just saying it like it is.”
“Emily Watson, you know better than anyone that I don’t
have
a sex life.”
“Hollywood changes things like that. It’s like a giant vortex of hedonism.” Clearly, Emily needs a break from her SAT prep books.
“And you’re the expert on all things Hollywood.”
“
Duh
. I read the
Globe, Sun, Star
and of course
The National Enquirer
. The facts are all there. It’s a seamy little business you’ve gotten yourself into.” Emily has inherited the online form of her mother’s inability to pass a juicy tabloid cover in the grocery line without buying it. On many occasions we’ve grabbed stacks of them on the way to the pool, where we challenge each other to unearth the wackiest story.
“I wish I could take you with me,” I tell her, meaning it. “You keep me sane.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll just have to keep doing it from afar. One of us is obligated to actually
attend
high school, while the other stars in a
movie
in which she attends high school. Irony. Gotta love it.”
Chapter 7
REID
No matter how rich or famous you are, you still have to pack when you go somewhere, and packing for a three-month absence is a pain in the ass.
Tadd Wyler is playing my character’s best friend, Charlie. We were introduced at a Grammy’s after-party a couple of years ago and have been friends since then, so this was uber cool news. He’s meeting me on the flight, and production is sending a bodyguard along with us, which is a first. Usually one delivers me to the flight and another meets me when I land. My last film came out two months ago and the recognition factor has gone through the roof since then. You haven’t lived until just standing near a pack of girls makes them
cry
. Insanity.
Bob the bodyguard arrives right on time, sweeping three months of luggage into his beefy paws and ferrying it out to the waiting limo in two trips. He’s a brick building shaped like a man. I can’t imagine anyone getting past this guy—not that I’m afraid of my fan base, but en masse, they can get a little out of hand. “I’ll be back for the rest of your luggage, and then I’ll wait in the car. We’ll leave in about fifteen minutes, if that’s good with you, Mr. Alexander.”
I need to get over the strangeness of grown men calling me Mr. Alexander. I feel like they can’t be talking to me. “Thanks, man. And call me Reid.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Reid.” He disappears into the dusk as Mom sidles up behind me.
“I’ll miss you.” Her voice is wobbly. She has a drink in her hand, so I don’t know if she’s overcome by emotion or she’s already sloshed. A little of both, perhaps.
“I’ve got a few minutes. Let’s sit.” I take her hand and lead her into the front parlor, sinking onto the sofa with her. She leans into me, still holding my hand, finishing her drink and setting the glass lopsidedly onto a coaster. This must be her third, at least. She doesn’t miss the coaster before that.
“I’ll be back for a weekend or two during filming. You’ll hardly notice I’m gone.” This isn’t quite true. Even if we don’t interact much, Mom and I are aware of each other in the house. I’ll be in Austin, working, playing… I think of Emma and my pulse spikes for a moment. Mom will be here, wandering the house like a ghost. “Don’t you have that breast cancer benefit to work on? That should keep you busy until I’m home, right?” I hate to think of her with nothing to do but drink. Alone.
She brightens. “Yes. Melinda and I are organizing a fundraiser for that.”
“See? You’ll be so busy you won’t miss me at all.” I put my arm around her.