Breaking Character

by Lee Winter

  “I haven’t said yes yet.”

  Rachel laughed as though it was a foregone conclusion. She probably wasn’t wrong.

  Elizabeth said her goodbyes and hung up, feeling optimistic. Even so, she reminded herself, Badour had done a short film about sentient butterflies.

  She glanced at her sodden, stained Chief Hunt outfit where it hung on a rail. The reminder of what had transpired this evening—for hours—soured her mood. Anything she signed on for outside of this show had to be an improvement on the dreck they’d been dishing up in recent seasons. Three ambulances all crashed into each other? Right outside the hospital’s entrance? That made so much sense. Was she the only one who noticed this nonsense?

  A knock sounded on her trailer door.

  “Yes?” Tension flood back into her shoulders. Right about now was when the director would have reviewed the rushes and decided they needed reshoots. She wrenched open the door, pitying the minion with the job of passing along that news to the cast.

  “Um, hi?” A twenty-something woman with damp blond hair stood before her. She wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a strained look. “It’s Summer. Summer Hayes?”

  Was she asking or telling? Elizabeth peered at the young woman, waiting for something more. There was nothing forthcoming. Her eye fell to the hands clutching a steaming paper cup. The girl gazed at her with wide, innocent, regretful eyes.

  Recognition dawned. She did look slightly different with her hair out of its drenched ponytail.

  “We meet again.” Elizabeth arched her brow. “Here to douse me again? Round two? You know, usually it’s the newbie who gets hazed, not the veteran.”

  That came out a little snippier than she’d intended. It was hardly this girl’s fault how ageist this town could be. Thirty-seven years old and she was starting to feel the subtle shifts in attitude. It was grating on her. Back home, she’d be seen as just entering her prime. Here, it felt like they were almost ready to hand her her hat.

  “No, you’re safe this time,” Summer said with a bright grin. “May I come in? I bear gifts. And an apology.” She waggled the cup.

  “I don’t drink coffee, much less the American swill they serve on this set. So, if that’s all?” She began shutting the door in Summer’s face, too tired to go through the charade of civility.

  “Actually, it’s, um, tea. From England. I think you might like it.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “You can’t get what I like here.”

  “Oh, it’s possible.” Summer smiled, wide and radiant.

  Elizabeth pursed her lips and held out a hand for the cup, willing to test Summer’s claim out of curiosity if nothing else.

  Their fingers brushed as the cup exchanged custody, and Summer snatched her hand back as if bitten.

  Great. Was her reputation so awful that new cast members believed she was Attila the Hunt off screen, too?

  Then the tea’s heavenly scent reached her nose. Oh… there was no faking this aroma. It was utterly sinful. This wasn’t some random English tea the girl had plucked from the international aisle of Target.

  It was exactly Elizabeth’s brand and variety—an organic guayusa cacao blend with hints of mint and cinnamon, and several other sweet-smelling, exotic spices. It was a special mix from the small tea and art cafe around the corner from Cambridge University. Only Blackie’s Tea House made and sold this blend. How on earth was it here? Or maybe her nose was deceiving her?

  She drew the cup to her lips. Paused. And then sipped.

  Her taste buds exploded. The wash of flavors flowed through the perfectly hot tea—none of that lukewarm, overly sweet milk water the Americans rightly sneered at. She could have wept at the rush that filled her. Forcing herself to lower the intoxicating drink, Elizabeth looked at her expectant colleague in astonishment. It had been years since she’d been home to taste this. The thought that she could have it here, somehow, on hand, was overwhelming.

  “What is this? Where did you get it? I need the name of your local supplier.”

  The woman tilted her head back and laughed. “You make me sound like a crack dealer.”

  Elizabeth’s fingers tightened on the container and she sipped again. Which turned into a richly satisfying gulp.

  “Will you tell me?” She arranged her features to encouraging. “Since this is your big apology?” She gave a smile then, a genuine one she rarely bestowed on strangers—but desperate times called for desperate measures.

  It had anything but the desired effect. Summer’s gaze dropped to her feet as red crept up her neck and ears.

  How…odd. And that didn’t seem like fear. More like…self-consciousness?

  Summer looked up from under her lashes. “Um, my family lived in England for a few years. I found this odd little cafe one day, part art gallery, part tea house, and this was its signature blend. I loved it. Now I have my friends in London send it to me.” She shrugged. “I thought the odds were good you might like a taste of tea from home. Seems I was right.”

  Elizabeth blinked. It had never occurred to her to get her friends to supply her tea. Even now it seemed rude to impose—a national crime for the English, she noted ruefully. After draining the cup with one last, gratified sigh, Elizabeth tossed it in the trash. “Well, apology accepted.”

  She still felt out of sorts, and the beginning of a tiredness headache was threatening the edges of her temples. The young woman had given her a thoughtful gift and seemed genuine enough. Her eye fell to Summer’s generous chest, honeyed LA tan, and girlish, ever-widening smile. Jesus. She might be nice enough, but it was also clear exactly why she was hired. Ravitz had made no secret of it every time his eyes roamed over her.

  Elizabeth’s mouth hardened. It might not be Summer Hayes’s fault, but she was everything that was wrong with this show and Hollywood as a whole. Style over substance. Looks over depth. This…smiling, bouncy, Central Casting girl-next-door stereotype was the least suitable person to be on Choosing Hope, given its original mission statement. Yet, here she stood: shallowness in human form.

  “Well, thank you for the gift,” Elizabeth said, her voice a few degrees cooler. “But if you wouldn’t mind,” she looked pointedly at the doorway Summer was still standing in, “I haven’t had a chance to get dressed since tonight’s blood-spattered debacle.”

  Summer wilted. “S-sorry,” she said again.

  Elizabeth had a fierce urge to roll her eyes. The girl apparently had a limited vocabulary, too.

  She left much as she’d arrived, with a youthful energy and big, soulful eyes.

  Summer threw down her bag when she arrived home, exhausted and miserable. It was close to midnight. Everyone on set had been bitching about the delays, and by the time she’d apologized to the gaffer and all the grips, she’d decided to just suck it up and accept that she’d have to work extra hard to get back into people’s good graces. Not a very auspicious start to her time on Choosing Hope.

  She kicked off her boots and collapsed on the sofa. Staring at the walls of her Silver Lake bungalow seemed a much more manageable pastime than figuring her way to the shower, so she let her gaze slide over her framed black-and-white photos of LA’s most architecturally interesting streets. She’d taken them all herself and loved nothing more than finding some undiscovered street with quirky-looking homes from yesteryear.

  Footsteps approached. A flash of black hair appeared in her line of sight, followed by the light-brown face and penetrating gaze of Chloe Martin, a towering New Zealand actress she’d met eighteen months ago at a charity event where they’d immediately clicked. Summer loved Chloe’s unassuming nature and lack of pretension. She had a wide, toothy grin and a passion for basketball. Chloe was in her Footrot Flats cartoon dog pajama bottoms and a tank top.

  “Hey Smiley, wondered when you’d crawl in. Dyin’ to know how your first week of work panned out.” She sat on the wooden coffee table opposite. />
  Summer stared up at the ceiling and licked her lips. “Okay, let’s see. The table read was fine. Everyone seemed friendly. Except Elizabeth Thornton, who didn’t look up at me once, so it’s no wonder she didn’t recognize me later.”

  “Okay, then what? Why do you look like a constipated possum?”

  “Today we shot this really intense trauma scene. Three ambulances crashed in the hospital parking lot…”

  “Three! Choice, eh?” Chloe cackled. “That’s out there as hell.”

  Summer shook her head at her friend’s Kiwi-isms. “I don’t think they care if it’s stupid. The show keeps trying to top itself on being twisty.”

  “Good thing then.” Chloe lowered herself to the floor, lying flat on a rug. She began bending her knees up and down and flapping her arms. Dead cockroaches, she called them. Something to keep an old sports injury in check.

  “Right, then what?” Chloe asked between whooshing breaths. “Did you have to fall into some stud muffin’s lap or something? Cos that show’s getting crazy with all the bed-hopping.”

  “Way worse.” Summer screwed her eyes shut. “I was supposed to run past an emergency scene, drop a bunch of blood bags, and get my ear chewed off by Chief Hunt.”

  “But…?”

  “But I stepped on one and it exploded and shot fake blood all up into Thornton’s face. I don’t mean a little, either. It freaking coated her. It was in her hair, eyes, down her collar. It was so bad.”

  “Holy fuck.”

  “I know.” Summer opened her eyes and groaned.

  Chloe burst out laughing. “Oh, mate. She’s so scary. That’s, um…well, shit.”

  “Hey! I’m trying for denial here.” She frowned. “By the way, she’s not that bad…she can’t be. I screwed up so much, and she was snide but hardly ripped my head off.”

  “Uh-huh. Except my agent’s heard she’s a bitch on wheels.”

  Summer decided not to argue, but she wasn’t buying it. Someone as bad as Elizabeth was rumored to be would have skinned her alive.

  “Hell of a first impression, hey?” Chloe added. “You must like her, though, the way you defend her.”

  “How can I not? She’s brilliant. Even if she doesn’t seem too impressed with the show, when they call ‘Action’, she’s on. She gives it everything.”

  “Old school pro. I respect that.”

  “Me too.” Summer smiled.

  Chloe stopped her dead cockroaches. “So while you were busy provoking your new co-star, I have news.”

  Summer sat up. “Ooh! Your audition?”

  “Yup. Got a call back on the shampoo ad. Only problem is, it’s bein’ shot in Outer Woop-Woop somewhere. Pays a treat but.”

  “But what?”

  “But nothing. I got the job.” She gave the thumbs up.

  Oh right. Another Kiwi-ism. Summer leaned over and gave her a side-on hug. “Awesome.”

  “Thanks! I might even be able to make rent this month.” She winked. “But can you tell your mum I won’t be here for Sunday lunch?”

  “Sure.” Summer almost rolled her eyes. Come rain or shine, even when Summer was away, her mother always visited for “family” lunch on Sundays.

  “Okay, so you down for a basketball training sesh tomorrow?” Chloe asked. “You’re by far our most popular stats keeper— given you’re our only one.”

  Summer smiled. She was often roped into helping Chloe’s team on her rare days off work. Not helping in a “throwing the ball while staying upright” sense, of course. As tonight had proven yet again, Summer had exactly two left feet. “Can’t. I have to help this sweet, crazy woman.”

  “Ah. Gotcha. Doing some hippie-la-la thing with your mum?”

  She snorted. Suggesting that Skye Storm…her mother’s actual name…would be doing ‘some hippie-la-la thing’ was like suggesting cows mooed. When Skye wasn’t exploring her spiritual side, blessing her crystals, or demonstrating sewing techniques in the vlogs Summer helped her make, she was creating stunning costumes for movies. She might be eccentric, but she was also extraordinary, which explained the respect that tinged Chloe’s voice.

  “Yep. I’m producing Mom’s next vlog: Natural Tie-dying: Heavenly Homemade Dyes. Should be fun but messy.”

  “That is your forte, right? Blood baths and dye baths.”

  Summer winced at the reminder.

  Chloe prodded her in the ribs. “Hey, I just remembered, there’s a new girl on the team. Really cute. Dying to meet you. She loves your TV stuff, especially Teen Spy Camp.”

  Burying her face under a cushion, Summer said, “Another twenty-year-old groupie. Awesome.” A frightening thought struck. “At least tell me this one’s actually in her twenties?”

  “Just barely.” Chloe gave an evil laugh. “You do attract the young ones.”

  “Shit. I can’t help how young I look.”

  Chloe just laughed harder. “Stop bitchin’, Smiley. You’ll be working in Hollywood way longer than everyone else. I mean, right now you are easily pulling off a role five years younger than you actually are.”

  “That’s not as good as it sounds. Raif Benson called me ‘kid’. I get that all the time. Well, not from Thornton. She didn’t call me any name at all. Not even mine.”

  “Because you’re dead to her!” Chloe chuckled. “And that’s a good thing, remember. They say she had some extra fired for looking her directly in the eyes.”

  “They say a lot of things. Doesn’t make them true. It’s so easy to tear people down. But at the end of the day, they’ll still be jealous, and she’ll still have talent.” She closed her eyes, losing herself in the memory. “When I was a fifteen, my parents were working on this sci-fi trilogy in London. I’d sneak away from my tutor, catch the Tube, and see the matinees in the West End. The first play I ever saw was Elizabeth’s one-woman Shakespeare show. I saw it a dozen times before Dad finally noticed how much money I’d been spending.”

  “You saw Thornton in London?” Chloe asked quietly. “I heard she was amazing back in the day.”

  Amazing? That was one word for it.

  On a small London stage, Elizabeth Thornton had padded out barefoot in a formless, mid-length white sheath, then sat on a wooden stool. It was the only thing on the stage. She was in her mid-twenties back then, but her bearing was tall, confident, and regal.

  With the tone of her voice, the angling of her expressive, classically beautiful face, subtle shifts of the spotlight—highlighting her high cheek bones and full, curving lips—she became someone else.

  There were no costume changes. No music. No props. Elizabeth was as naked as an actress could be while still covered.

  Her voice was clear, strong, precise, as she twisted and curled herself into Beatrice, Desdemona, Juliet, Cordelia, Lady Macbeth, and more. Her anguish as she washed invisible blood from her hands was chilling.

  She looked up, once, just to the left of her audience, and it seemed to Summer that their eyes met. Summer’s breath caught and held as she soaked in the details—ivory skin, paler under the white spotlight, brown hair pulled back from her face and turned black by the contrasting shadows.

  Her heart bellowed in her ears as her gaze swallowed and pulled apart and reconstructed the elegant woman on stage. Making sense of her. Committing her to memory.

  “Will my hands never be clean?” Lady Macbeth’s eyes pleaded. Her voice, commanding and desperate, seemed both whisper and shout.

  Summer’s heart clenched at the aching tone. Her hands balled into fists. Elizabeth Thornton was the most beautiful human she’d ever seen—then or since.

  “Yes, she was amazing.” Summer her eyes. “Seeing her act made me fall in love with acting.”

  “So, this is a wicked coincidence you ending up on her show.”

  “True. My sister’s mainly excited I’m a series regular again. And Au
tumn sees it as vitally important for my career to finally play an adult. But for me, getting to work with the best actress I’ve ever seen really added to the allure.”

  “Oh, hon, be careful. You’ll get your heart broken.” Chloe shook her head slowly. “There is nothing worse than meeting your idol.”

  “Sure there is.” Summer studied her fingers, and pulled a miserable face. “Making them think you’re an idiot. That’s way worse.”

  “Ah. Right.” Sympathy edged Chloe’s eyes. “Well, as bad as you feel right now, just remember it’s beautiful that you once had a hero who showed you something you now care about so deeply. Sounds like an incredible experience. I envy you that.”

  It was. It was a gift, a memory she’d never swap for anything. She could still see the elegant tilt of the head. The eyes, profound and emotional, staring right at her. Into her.

  If only Summer hadn’t gone and ruined it all.

  Chapter 2

  Autumn Hayes leaned over the railing at Hollywood Mega Mall, taking position. “You ready?” she asked her sister, pushing her sunglasses onto the top of her head.

  “Yep.” Summer took a deep breath. She could do this.

  “Warmed up? Vocal cords? Know the words?”

  “Check, check, check.” Summer wiggled her shoulders. “Where’s my mark?”

  “Down there. Beside the trash can.”

  Summer laughed. “Upscale show then.”

  Autumn rolled her eyes. “For maximum effect, you have to be incognito until the big reveal.” She pointed to a man in a black jacket, walkie-talkie at his hip, roaming the mall floor. “That’s Doug. He’s aware of what’s about to happen. He’ll step in if things get out of hand, and he has more security on standby.”

  “Okay.” Summer squinted at the enormous guard. “Though I hardly think a few teenagers will be much of a match against him.”

  “Summer, the bulk of your Punky Power fan base is now in their early twenties and many still love you. That affection can get out of control in an instant. Remember Koreatown last year? No such thing as a simple meal. People text their friends and multiply out of nowhere. If we do this right, there’ll be two hundred excited, social-media-sharing fans thrilled to see you before it’s over. And try to angle your back to that poster as often as you can.” Autumn pointed at the colorful sign advertising Just Like Spies, the hottest new flick starring singing sensation Jemima Hart.