by Lee Winter
Relief flooded Summer. Everyone thought her line had been a challenge? Some cynical play to get more scenes? Was that how Ravitz saw it too? No wonder he’d smirked.
Tori seemed to be waiting for some sort of response, so Summer gave her a half grin. “Well, it’ll be interesting to see what crazy stuff they hurl at us next.”
“Oh yep. This show’s certifiable. And don’t start me on the gobbledegook. Would it be too much for ‘internal bleeding’ to be just called that?”
“Ha. Tell me about it.” Summer’s expression faded when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elizabeth enter with one of the executive producers, and then line up to collect food from the craft services table. Her posture was painfully erect, yet her movements were graceful and languid.
“Cold fish, isn’t she?” Tori followed her gaze. “Doesn’t hang out with any of the other actors. Doesn’t go for drinks. Doesn’t make friends on set. And I’ll bet that’s a business lunch.” She pointed at the producer with her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile.”
I bet she has a gorgeous smile.
“Earth to Summer?”
“Hmm?” She turned back to Tori.
“You checked out.” Tori grabbed a fry and dunked it in ketchup.
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
“A bunch of us are going for drinks after work on Friday. Wanna come? Some of the guys asked for you specifically, if you know what I’m sayin’.” Tori’s eyes twinkled.
“Not this week, sorry,” she said with a polite smile. “I’m busy. Maybe next time.” She wasn’t busy. It was just easier this way. Spending time with cocky men who thought their looks and charms could overcome her lack of interest was exhausting. Maybe she’d go in a month when everyone had paired off.
“Sure.” Tori nodded. “Next time.”
Elizabeth and the producer headed their way, bearing trays of food. Well, if a small bowl of soup for Elizabeth counted as food. The man she was with was monologuing beside her.
Was Elizabeth even needed in that conversation?
She neared them, and Tori’s fingers tensed around her coffee cup, gaze suddenly fixed on the table. However, Elizabeth didn’t even falter, continuing past them to a distant, empty table.
“Oh thank God.” Tori clapped a hand over her heart. “For a minute there, I thought she was gonna chow down with us.”
“Would that have been so bad?” Summer asked, forking a lettuce leaf and inspecting it. It looked as sad close up as it did on her plate.
“You say that now, oh innocent one, but I heard she had an assistant fired for bringing her a coffee instead of a tea.” Tori shuddered. “I don’t know how the EP does it.” She tilted her head at Elizabeth’s lunching companion. “How does anyone talk to her?”
“No clue,” Summer murmured.
But I’d love to know.
Chapter 4
After seven weeks with Choosing Hope, Summer now had a good idea as to who was who. She knew the names of the security guard’s twin boys, when the craft services caterers had birthdays and how sarcastic and amusing Elizabeth’s on-set assistant was. A round, owlish Scottish woman in her early forties, Finola had large turquoise glasses, shrewd eyes, and an accent few could penetrate. Summer won herself brownie points for easily picking through it.
She occasionally sent tea sachets via the assistant, who was only too pleased to pass them along, telling Summer her gifts had been putting a smile on her mercurial boss’s face for the first time in months.
Well, that was good to know, since Elizabeth so far had made no comment to her at all. Then again, their schedules hadn’t aligned too often. That was a shame, because Summer had begun to crave seeing the angular face on set, and that slow, watchful gaze that seemed to unglue every bit player with an instant case of forgotten lines.
Summer hadn’t meant to share her precious tea stash regularly, but she hadn’t been able to get Elizabeth’s euphoric look out of her mind.
Tonight she encountered Finola rushing out of Elizabeth’s trailer. Glancing at the yellow guayusa cacao box in Summer’s hand, she stopped in her tracks.
“Oh, Summer! Just pop it inside, and be sure to close the door when you leave. Sorry, I can’t stop and talk. My husband’s car has broken down again.” She rushed off.
Summer entered the empty trailer, and realized she was alone in the place Elizabeth took solace. It was hard to blame her for hiding in here. Over the past seven weeks, Summer had heard a lot about what people thought of Elizabeth. The most common view was that her lack of friendliness was a sign she thought she was better than everyone else and the show.
Even if that were true, they had no right to judge her. This show was beneath Elizabeth Thornton. Hell, if Summer could act that well, she’d also have a hard time hiding her derision for what they churned out here.
Summer slid the tea box onto the small kitchen counter, straightening it so one line of the cube was perfectly parallel with the wall. Immediately she turned to leave, aware of the trust Finola had put in her by granting her this access.
Colors caught her eye, making her pause. A picture of Elizabeth out to dinner with some people was stuck to a wall near the microwave. Summer studied it. She recognized Amrit first. Elizabeth’s boyfriend looked his usual suave self. Another man was bending over, his face obscured. Her gaze flitted to a petite redheaded woman with watchful eyes.
Elizabeth’s arm was casually around her waist, her other arm looped loosely around the shoulder of a taller, elegant woman with an otherworldly quality about her. This woman was all high cheekbones, elegant nose, and porcelain skin. Oh wow. Grace Christie-Oberon.
Back in London, Grace had been like royalty. Summer saw her face on posters and buses everywhere. So she and Elizabeth were friends?
Her eye darted back to Elizabeth, drawn to the happiness radiating from her face. It was nothing Summer had ever witnessed around here, where she kept a stiff, professional mask welded on all day.
A pity. Summer would love to meet this relaxed woman whose eyes sparkled with mirth.
Suddenly it felt like an intrusion to even glimpse a side of Elizabeth that she didn’t readily share. Guilt bit into Summer, so she quickly turned to go.
The door opened. Summer almost tripped to a stop.
Elizabeth filled the frame, staring back at her. She was in pure Hunt mode, from her tight, imposing bun to her polished black heels. Her expression of annoyance fell away as she caught sight of the yellow box on the counter. “Ah, my ninja tea deliverer strikes again.”
Summer smiled tentatively as she held up her hands in mock surrender. “I guess the gig’s up.”
“I don’t think it’d shock you to know you were my prime suspect.” Elizabeth hung up her white doctor’s coat on a hook behind the door and released her hair from its bun. Running her fingers through it to straighten it out, she glanced back at a mesmerized Summer. “I did wonder how the tea arrived whenever I wasn’t around. Would I be right in thinking you had a short Scottish accomplice?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Summer hid her grin. “You have a Scottish assistant?”
“Who mentioned an assistant?”
Oh. Oops.
“You won’t win an Emmy with that innocent look.” Dry amusement flitted across Elizabeth’s face as she seated herself in front of the vanity near one end of her trailer, turning on the lights that ringed the mirror. After reaching for a small bag of supplies, she began to wipe her make-up off with proficiency.
Hunt gradually morphed into Elizabeth, austereness disappearing into softer lines. “Finola must be slipping if I caught you breaking and entering.” She met Summer’s eye in the mirror. “And thank you, by the way.” Her eyes crinkled as she waved toward the tea box. “I should have said it weeks ago, but work’s been frantic.”
Summer smiled. “I’m
glad to do it. I’ve never met anyone who likes my tea as much as me.”
“Now you have.” Elizabeth regarded her. “You smile a lot, don’t you?”
“I can’t help it. I know some people think it’s annoying.”
“It is.”
Summer’s expression fell.
“Usually. However, dare I say, it suits you. Besides, girl-next-door types who don’t smile don’t get jobs, do they?”
“I guess not. Although I don’t want to do those roles forever. I’d rather be diverse, like you.”
“Me.” Elizabeth studied her. “I’d have thought you’d been told by now to avoid me.” Her tone slid into playful. “Aren’t I supposed to be clubbing seals in my downtime or something? I’m sure I read that somewhere.”
Bursting out laughing, Summer said, “Can’t picture it. Hunt, maybe…on a bad day.”
Elizabeth gave her an inscrutable half-smile. “You laugh a lot, too. Careful. People will think you’re a pushover.” Her expression darkened. “Although the only thing worse than that is actually being pushed over. You don’t want that. Trust me.”
“Another reason to be more like you.”
“Isn’t that a risk? You don’t know which rumors about me are true. To quote Oscar Wilde, ‘It is perfectly monstrous the way people go about nowadays saying things behind one’s back that are absolutely and entirely true’.” Elizabeth reached for the top button on her blouse and began to unbutton it.
Summer’s gaze swan-dived into the rapidly appearing soft, white skin.
Pausing at button four, as though suddenly aware she couldn’t complete her ritual with Summer there, Elizabeth gave her a pointed look.
“Oh, sorry! I’ll leave you to change.” Summer spun around, feeling the tips of her ears burning. As her hand reached the door, she glanced back. “You know, you talk a good game, but I don’t believe the rumors about you for a second. To quote Bertrand Russell, ‘No one gossips about other people’s secret virtues’.” She turned back to leave.
Behind her came a soft snort.
Smiling from ear to ear, Summer exited.
Elizabeth lay on her deck chair in the blackness, unwilling to turn on a light and ruin the feeling of being adrift in the stars. Her fingers clasped a clanking glass of ice cubes and Hendrick’s gin. An indulgence she’d come to lean on of late.
Her eyes followed the blinking lights of a plane far above, escaping somewhere else, away from the vapidness of this bizarre bubble into which she’d injected herself.
Delvine had yet to confirm a date for lunch with Jean-Claude, who was out of cell-phone reach in Kings Canyon National Park readying his production. The set apparently comprised of one writing shack. That was it. How much prep work did the man need?
Waiting only magnified her dissatisfaction. Little things that she used to ignore or laugh at annoyed her now. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. She ran her thumb over the condensation on her glass. When you got to that stage in a job or a relationship, when nothing’s funny and all you see are flaws, it’s time to leave. Accepting a new, lower normal was never wise. But that’s all she’d been doing lately. Having little say in all of it was enraging. Not to mention a little frightening, given how easily it had happened.
A shiver stole through her. Elizabeth put down her drink and rubbed her arms.
She’d only signed a seven-year option because she’d believed Choosing Hope would run three seasons at most. And she’d believed in the show back then.
No one could have predicted its meteoric rise in ratings, largely due to Dr. Mendez and his love life. A love life that had, for two seasons, involved her character. And been followed by the systematic dismantling of every virtue in Iris Hunt, until the chief was a black hole of bitterness that sucked in anything good or decent.
At the thought of good and decent things, Summer Hayes’s face drifted into mind. Elizabeth sighed. The woman was like a niceness plague, eating away at her eternally bad mood. Sometimes, like tonight, she just wanted to wallow in her dark thoughts after yet another day of suppressing her emotions. But despite her best efforts…
Since she’d caught Summer in her trailer, the engaging young woman had begun stopping by for a brief word now and then, no longer just leaving her tea with Finola. She’d drop in quotes from philosophers or satirists, which Elizabeth easily parried with her own. Summer was surprisingly well-read. Or well-Googled. Still, she was curious for someone LA born-and-bred, dipped from birth in this shallow puddle of egos and ambitions.
But that was just it: Summer wasn’t like the rest. Elizabeth had become used to conversing with two groups of people. There were her friends—acerbic, clever, and convoluted. And then there were the detached, professional interactions she had with colleagues and associates. Having someone who fit neither box, who was so upfront and open, well-read and well-travelled, and who seemed genuinely pleased to see her, was…unsettling. It ran counter to the way she liked things—everyone and everything ordered into boxes of personal and professional.
But nothing—not Summer’s blitzkriegs of sunshine and tea, nor her own therapeutic wallowing in bad moods—seemed to make a dent in Elizabeth’s overall state. Stress, boredom, tiredness, and irritation infected her daily, given her character had the emotional depth of a cardboard cut-out.
How could she endure one more season if she was so close to throwing in the towel already? At least hiatus was coming up. If she could swing Badour’s new film in her break, it might be enough to get her through. Her brain needed the intellectual kick start.
What if she didn’t get the part, though? Would she snap one day and tell the egotistical showrunner a few home truths? Would she be blacklisted as “too difficult”?
It was such a first-world, Hollywood problem—detesting the very job that made her rich and successful. But still, unhappiness was unhappiness, no matter how nice the car you drove.
Elizabeth wondered what Grace would say to any of this.
She’d probably simply look at Elizabeth, wait a dramatic beat, and ask what she wanted. Really wanted.
She always did that.
Sighing, Elizabeth grabbed her phone, scrolling through the news alerts. She liked to know what the lies were before she could be blindsided by fans on the street.
Hollywood Gossip Zone had been hounding her non-stop since Chief Hunt became a Mendez-hurting villain. Their latest bent was to accuse her of all sorts of onset atrocities, quoting anonymous sources. Apparently she could get extras fired for looking her in the eye. If only that were true—it would imply she actually had some power on set.
She kept scrolling. Alex’s global warming film scored a mention in Variety as “one to watch”. Good for her. Elizabeth flicked her an email with the link.
Rowan’s new comedy show was getting rave reviews. She smirked at one of the headlines.
“Saddest man in LA too funny to ignore”
No point emailing that to him; he’d have bought twenty copies of the magazine already and be sending Brian out for more in the morning.
“Former child star bullied on hospital drama set”
She froze as she saw an unflattering photo of herself dressed as Hunt, looking mid-rant, and an inset picture of Summer as Joey Carter.
Sighing, she clicked on the story. Something about sources reporting a shocking accident that had disfigured Summer’s hands, turning them green, and how Elizabeth had grabbed them and mocked the injuries to the crew.
Of course she had. Because that’s what an evil bitch would do. She read on.
Hayes is a popular three-time winner of the Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Award for Favorite Female TV star. She is best known for her role as Punky Power, a junior secret agent in the popular hit Teen Spy Camp.
There was another photo of Summer at the end of the story, looking young and bright. She’d have been about t
welve? Impossibly cute.
Elizabeth drained the rest of her gin and finally reached for the latest Hope script. She was too wired to sleep so she may as well learn some lines.
Just another day in paradise.
Summer sat in her favorite quiet, out of sight corner of set—she hated feeling closed in by her trailer walls if she could avoid it—and waded through her text messages. Chloe’s selfie from the shampoo ad set was hilarious. There were flowers in her hair, a coconut bra, and some sort of jungle backdrop. She was sticking out her tongue and crossing her eyes.
Chloe was due back tomorrow from “Outer Woop Woop,” which was good, because the house was way too quiet without her. She kept Summer feeling normal and sociable. Without her, it was easy to get too focused on work, her world shrinking into just Choosing Hope. Even her photography hobby had gone by the wayside lately.
As her sister kept reminding her, “This is your first adult role that the whole country will be watching. Don’t screw it up. Well, again.”
A Google alert popped up for her name and she clicked on it.
Wait, what? Elizabeth was now bullying her? She read on. Someone at Choosing Hope was leaking this crap. Was Elizabeth really hated that much by their colleagues?
Fury rising, she called her sister. “Have you seen HGZ today?” Summer demanded the moment Autumn answered. “I want you to call them up and ream them a new one.”
“Well, hello to you, too, little sis,” Autumn replied with a snort. “Yes, I’ve seen it. And America’s favorite girl-next-door doesn’t ream anything or anyone. Ever.”
She had a point, but still. This was wrong. “So we’re making no comment at all?” Summer asked incredulously. “What about what Mom always told us? Always do what’s right. No excuses. The rest will take care of itself in the end.”
