Page 27 of False Start
“Next time,” I promised, softening the blow with another kiss before I slid out from underneath him.
The drive home was a blur, my mind vacillating between memories of our shared orgasms outside and self-flagellation at my cowardly retreat. He hadn’t been able to completely hide the disappointment on his face as I left his house.
I climbed the stairs to my apartment both physically and emotionally exhausted from the day. I needed eight to ten hours of sleep before I could come up with a plan to apologize for bouncing on Weston after a wonderful night.
My thoughts screeched to a halt as I reached my landing and found an overnight bag and an unwelcome visitor on my doorstep.
“You never answer your phone anymore, so I decided to come for a visit.”
“Hi, Mom.”
Gia
After a restless night’ssleep on my own sofa, because heaven forbid Angela Kennedy should have to sleep anywhere other than the best bed in the house, I woke to my phone vibrating across the table.
“Hey Lydia,” I grumbled, scrubbing a hand over my face. My palm came away smeared with foundation and mascara, and I mentally cursed myself for forgetting to do my skin care before bed. I couldn’t risk a breakout this close to starting withShifting Sands.
“Clear your calendar, we’re touring the set today. You’ll meet the cast and crew and officially sign the contract. Congratulations, you did it.”
My heart burst into a wild thunder as nerves and excitement battled it out in my stomach. I couldn’t believe it was happening today. My first instinct was to call Weston and tell him the news, but could I do that after how I’d left the night before? Would he even care? Parking the depressing thought, I concentrated on Lydia’s instructions and repeated them back to make sure I hadn’t misheard, then ended the call with a promise to be early.Moving faster than my racing thoughts, I threw myself into the shower, scrubbing and shaving until I sparkled, then slowed down to do my skin care and makeup. I needed to consider my outfit because first impressions mattered. Part of me wanted to wear the dress I’d had on when I met Weston because clearly it was good luck, but in the end I settled for a cream pantsuit. Professional and sophisticated.
“Where are we going?”
I paused in the process of pulling on my shoe as my mother appeared in the doorway, already dressed and ready for the day in a pencil skirt and blouse that was better suited to an office job than a weekend away visiting her daughter.
“I have a set tour to get to. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but maybe afterward we can go for lunch.” Uncomfortably aware of time ticking away, I edged toward the door. Mom mirrored my movements, and I had a sudden vision of making a break for the Uber. I could dive into the passenger seat as they rolled up to the curb, screamingGo! Go! Go!
“We’d better get a move on, then. What set is this for? Did you get another medication advertisement? Or was it clothing you did last?” She picked up her purse with an expectant look. Why couldn’t she take this kind of interest in Duckie? They could hang out and act superior far away from me. But no. She had chosen to invite herself into one of the most important weeks of my life.
I sighed, casting around for any excuse to keep her from tagging along for the day.
“I did a photo shoot for an athletic brand last week, but this is for a TV show.”
Her eyes lit up and I silently cursed myself for showing my hand. “A TV show? Well, aren’t you getting all the attention these days? Good thing you’re doing it now while you have your looks. You have to work with what you’ve got. Now, areyou driving? I slept terribly with all the paint fumes in that bedroom.”
I’d forgotten about my painting project. Oops.
My phone buzzed with an alert that my Uber had arrived while my mother stood in the doorway, set and determined to tag along.
“The Uber is downstairs. If you’re coming, I need you to be less… you.”
“What a stupid thing to say. Of course I’m me. Everyone loves me.”
I retrieved my purse with a sigh of defeat and led the way down to our waiting car.
“You know,my nickname was Angel when I was Gia’s age. She’s almost as pretty as I was. Shame she didn’t get my brains too, though. You know we always get asked if we’re sisters? It’s very flattering, but you couldn’t pay me to be in my late twenties again. Honestly, it’s such an awkward age.” Mom was in fine form, batting her eyelashes and advising anyone within hearing range of her disappointment in me as a human. The PA who had met us at the gate and acted as escort around the lot glanced at me with a grimace.
I know, buddy. Welcome to my life.
“Marty is filming offsite this morning, but he should be back before we finish here so you’ll have a chance to meet him,” he said, cutting in on Mom’s self-appreciation speech.
Marty Wiseman had been the director ofShifting Sandsfor the last fifteen years. He’d won so many daytime program awards that it was rumored he’d started donating the statues to the less fortunate. I wasn’t sure how true the story was becauseI was certain I’d read somewhere that the statues were only gold plated, but the fact remained that he was a legend at what he did, and I wasn’t just going to meet him, I was going to work with him. Despite the continued prattling beside me, my heart lifted as we moved through the lot and into one of the warehouse-sized buildings.
“Wow,” I whispered, looking around at the various interior sets. I could move from the study in Draven’s beach house, to his bar hideout, to Thane’s bedroom — where he made sweet, respectful love to the heroine of the week. In the far corner, a massive green screen was set up for the scenes requiring special effects.
“Pretty sweet, huh?” The PA, whose name I’d forgotten as soon as he told us because Mom was stressing me out too much to focus, sounded almost as awed as I was. Show business wasn’t for everyone, but I knew in my gut that it was for me.
We toured the sound stage, and the hair and makeup rooms before heading toward the trailers and dressing rooms for the cast. Being new, I didn’t expect much, so I wasn’t surprised when the room he showed me looked like a converted storage closet. I didn’t care, though. Because someone had already taped a sign with my name on it to the door. Without a second thought, I pulled out my cell, snapped a photo, and sent it to Weston. A reply came through almost immediately, and I smiled at his response.
