Penelope waved an empty wine glass in the air. “People love the Jack Sloan movies, Arlena. There’s no way it’s going to flop. And if for some strange reason it did, you and Sam have a stronger connection than that. I can’t imagine you’d break up over a few bad reviews.”
Arlena nodded but a skeptical look remained on her face.
“The Sloan movies give the people what they love,” Max added. “Master spy Jack Sloan meets a beautiful woman...or three...and an evil mastermind is outsmarted and ultimately thwarted, after a half dozen car or boat chases. Then he rides off into the sunset with one of the helpful beauties after they save the world.”
“Until the next movie,” Arlena said. “Then there’s a new beautiful superspy.”
“Yeah,” Max said. “That’s the drill.”
“Didn’t you say getting this part would be really great for your career?” Penelope asked.
Arlena sighed. “Yes.” She stood up and hugged herself. “I’m over-thinking it. If I get it, that’s great. If I don’t, that’s fine too. It’s all meant to be.”
Max rolled his eyes at Penelope behind Arlena’s back.
Penelope gave him a small shrug. “It’s good you’re preparing yourself for either option,” she said encouragingly.
“Thanks. I’m starving. Let’s order a pizza,” Arlena said, abruptly changing the subject. “And watch a movie starring neither me nor my boyfriend.”
“Or me,” Max said, smiling. “Unless you want to watch the new episode of my show.”
“Not tonight, Mr. Reality TV Star,” Arlena teased. “I want to watch a film, not eavesdrop on the exploits of the young and famous of Lower Manhattan.”
“Fine.” Max tossed a throw pillow playfully at his older sister. “But no anchovies on the pizza this time, please.”
Chapter 2
The next morning, Penelope and Arlena sat at an outdoor table at Sonya’s Cafe, their favorite spot for brunch near the house they shared in Glendale, New Jersey. Penelope sipped a latte and Arlena dunked an herbal teabag languidly in a mug of hot water as she gazed at the menu. Two men passed and did a double-take when they saw Arlena, a look of recognition on their faces. Arlena gave them a small smile, then tugged on the bill of her baseball cap and ducked her chin. She was becoming quite well-known as an actress in her own right, in addition to being the eldest daughter of acting legend Randall Madison, and the girlfriend of action movie star Sam Cavanaugh.
“Glendale used to be such a sleepy suburb,” Arlena said, glancing back at the menu. “Can you imagine, I used to be bored here? Nowadays it’s like a mini big city.”
Penelope glanced knowingly at the men, who continued to stare at the top of Arlena’s cap as they passed by. Penelope edged her chair into the sunlight, out of the umbrella’s shade, the sun’s morning rays warming her shoulders.
Sonya, the owner of the cafe, appeared at their table wearing a pink t-shirt with the cafe’s logo stretched over her broad chest. Despite the cool breeze, the hair at her temples was damp and her brown cheeks glowed red. “Lovely to see you this morning, girls. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“You’re here by yourself?” Penelope asked, looking back toward the restaurant.
“My niece Mirabelle just showed up, thank goodness,” Sonya said dramatically. “I was in the weeds, for sure, but I asked her to stop by the house and let Gigi out.”
“Gigi?” Arlena asked.
“My little dog. She’s old, can’t hold it like she used to, and I’ve been in the kitchen since five this morning,” Sonya said. “Anyway, what can I do for you ladies?” She pulled an order pad from her black apron that had white flour handprints over her hips. Penelope ordered Eggs Benedict and Arlena chose the Lumberjack Special. “That’s not your usual,” Sonya chuckled as she scribbled, her thick forearms glistening in the sunlight. “You sure about that big breakfast, honey? Where you gonna put it all?” Sonya’s Jersey accent rounded the edges of her words.
“I could eat this table right now,” Arlena assured her.
“Okay, whatever you say,” Sonya said with a chuckle before shuffling away.
“You’ve got a big appetite this morning,” Penelope said. “Last night too. I’ve never seen you eat three slices of pizza before.”
“With anchovies. Max doesn’t know what he’s talking about. They’re amazing.” Arlena rubbed her palms together. “And now I’m craving bacon. Who knows what I’ll be allowed to eat on our new set. Playing a professional athlete, I’m assuming I’ll have to stick to some sort of regimen or another. I plan to enjoy my last few days of food freedom.”
“I can always slip you contraband from the kitchen,” Penelope said with a conspiring wink.
Arlena rolled her eyes. “I know you would, Pen,” Arlena said. “My agent told me they hired a nutritionist for the set. A historian, too.”
“A nutritionist? I suppose I’ll be working with whoever that is.”
Arlena craned her neck and looked toward the kitchen.
“The woman you’re portraying played tennis professionally in the thirties and forties, right?”
“Yep. Helen Wills, the greatest tennis player of her time.”
“What did women do to get in shape back then? They didn’t have Pilates classes or gyms like we do now, did they?”
“I’ve seen pictures of Marilyn Monroe lifting weights. I’m sure Helen Wills had to be in top form to achieve what she did on the court.” Arlena crossed her arms over her chest and squinted over the wrought iron fence that surrounded the patio. “Point is, whatever they say I need to do, I’m going to do. Biopics, when they’re good, often get looked at come award season.”
“Well, if they haven’t had you dieting or pre-training before filming begins, I assume they think you’re already pretty close to what they’re looking for physically,” Penelope said, tilting her face up to the sun.
Arlena’s phone pinged inside her purse that was perched against the leg of her patio chair. While Arlena answered her text, Penelope watched a few people amble by on the sidewalk. Some held canvas bags of produce from the nearby farmers market, some jogged by with buds plugging their ears, and some were headed in the direction of the commuter train depot. Penelope breathed in the warming air, smelling the aroma of bacon mixed with the floral scents from the hanging baskets suspended on poles around the patio.
A ding from Penelope’s own phone broke her reverie and she sighed before reaching down to grab it. “Nadia will be here soon,” Penelope said. “She asked me to order a black coffee and some yogurt with granola if they have it.”
Arlena’s nose crinkled with amusement. “I bet she’d like my breakfast better.”
Penelope shrugged. “With the amount of calories I imagine she burns playing tennis, I’d think she’d just eat whatever she wanted.”
“These are the kinds of things I’d love to hear more about so I can really get in the head of the character. I want to explore what it’s like to push your body to its limits,” Arlena said. “I hope Nadia can be friends with a bacon lover like me.”
“I’m sure she’ll like you,” Penelope said. “You’re both strong, successful women. You have lots in common when you think about it.”
Arlena rubbed her chin with her finger. “Sometimes that can work against you with female friends. An opera can only house one diva.”
Penelope watched out of the corner of her eye as Sonya’s niece Mirabelle, a younger version of Sonya with long dark hair and bronzed skin, showed a couple with two small children to a nearby table on the patio. The little girl fussed at a ribbon holding one of her white-blonde pigtails until her mother gently pulled her hand away, distracting her with a stuffed giraffe from the diaper bag she slipped off her shoulder. The patio had been nearly empty when Penelope and Arlena had gotten to the cafe, just them and an old man drinking coffee in the back corner, but more people were
entering the cafe and finding seats both inside and out.
“I think you and Nadia will get along fine,” Penelope said, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “I’ve known her a long time. I wouldn’t be friends with her if she wasn’t a kind person at heart.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?” Arlena asked, sliding down her sunglasses to gaze at the young family, still maneuvering into their chairs.
“Only once or twice since high school,” Penelope admitted. “We reconnected on Facebook several years ago. She’s always posting beautiful pictures of herself during tournaments. Paris, London, beaches everywhere.”
Sonya arrived with their breakfasts, setting their plates down on colorfully woven brocade placemats.
“Can I get anything else for you girls?” Sonya asked. She placed a hand lightly on Penelope’s shoulder.
Penelope recited Nadia’s order as Arlena dug in to her breakfast. The little boy at the next table let out a loud cry, unhappy his father wouldn’t let him pet the pigeon that had landed on the pavement near his chair.
“Get out of here,” Sonya said, clapping sharply at the bird. It reluctantly fluttered away, landing on the opposite side of the fence. “Those pigeons are worse than rats. Scavengers,” Sonya said as she headed back inside the restaurant.
“Penelope!” someone called from the sidewalk. She shielded her eyes and broke into a smile, waving at a tall woman jaywalking from across the avenue.
“Here comes Nadia now,” Penelope said under her breath.
Nadia Westin was long and lean, and her strides covered twice as much ground as Penelope’s. Her legs were wrapped in soft gray yoga pants and a rose-colored t-shirt hung from her hangar-like shoulders. An orange leather bag dangled from her fingers, bouncing lightly against the side of her knee. Oval sunglasses obscured most of Nadia’s face, but Penelope recognized her friend’s strong jaw and toothy grin immediately.
“It is so great to see you again, Penelope,” Nadia said, pausing on the other side of the railing.
“You too!” Penelope said. “Come on around.”
Nadia looked for a gate on the fence, then followed Penelope’s directions to go through the cafe’s main door. A few moments later, she emerged onto the patio. Penelope stood up and gave her a hug, and Arlena stuck out her hand for her to shake. “Nadia Westin, nice to meet you,” she said, shaking firmly with Arlena. The tendons on her tan wrist were as taut as piano wire.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Arlena said as Nadia and Penelope settled into their seats. Arlena picked up her fork and pressed the side of it into the pile of pancakes on her plate.
“My pleasure,” Nadia said. She adjusted her top and glanced around at the other diners as she placed her purse gently on the ground between her feet. Nadia slipped off her sunglasses to reveal almond-shaped eyes the color of roasted chestnuts. “I was so thrilled when Penny called. I’m a big fan of yours, Arlena. I’ve seen all of your movies.”
“Oh wow, thanks,” Arlena said after swallowing, blushing slightly. “And I’ve been watching you on the court the past couple of months. Quite impressive, especially this last Open.”
Nadia nodded. “I don’t know about you, but when I’m in the zone, playing tennis doesn’t feel like a job at all. It’s like I’m getting paid to do my favorite thing. Then I remember I’m at work when I’m getting ready for the season, all the training and mental preparation it takes. Sometimes I want to just sleep in and eat a bag of chips for dinner.”
Arlena chewed thoughtfully and waved her fork in the air. “Yes, I feel the same whenever I’m gearing up for a role. Like now.” She took another bite of pancake and swallowed. “Sorry, they just brought out the food.”
“Eat,” Nadia said. Mirabelle dropped off a black coffee and Nadia’s Greek yogurt and granola, gave them a quick once over, then moved to the family’s table to take their order.
“Penelope, say cheese.” Nadia put one long arm around Penelope’s shoulders and reached up her phone with her other, taking a picture of the two of them. She then pointed her phone at her breakfast and snapped a couple of pictures. Nadia slipped her phone back in her bag and took a sip of coffee. Penelope caught sight of a small stitched label under the top flap of her purse.
“That’s a beautiful handbag,” Penelope said, admiring the soft leather. A little silver lock dangled from the center.
“Thanks. My very own Birkin,” Nadia said, rubbing the soft leather lovingly. “I had to wait months to get it. I treated myself after I won my first divisional.”
“That’s a good system,” Penelope smiled. “Rewarding yourself for a job well done. You obviously have the discipline to wait.”
“Well,” Nadia said, “honestly I had no choice. I was on a waiting list for it. You can’t just buy one of them off the rack, you have to make it known you want one then be patient.” She brushed her fingers across the front of the bag then sat up again.
Penelope took a closer look at Nadia’s purse, resisting the urge to reach down and touch the leather.
“There aren’t many movie stars from Glendale, New Jersey,” Nadia said to Arlena, changing the subject.
Arlena shrugged. “Just me and my father, as far as I know.”
Nadia nodded vigorously. “That’s right! Randall Madison. I’ve seen him in a couple of things, but I was a fan of yours first. I looked him up because of you.”
Arlena’s shoulders straightened and she set her fork down. “It’s usually the other way around.”
Nadia dipped her spoon into her yogurt. “So, tell me about the movie.”
“It’s a historical piece. I’ll be playing Helen Wills, the famous tennis player.”
Nadia placed the back of her index finger over her upper lip, her spoon dangling from her slender fingers. “The name rings a bell but I can’t quite remember.”
“She was one of the first celebrity athletes,” Arlena said, picking up her mug. “A trailblazer, really, for women in sports. She had lots of famous friends...actors, artists, politicians.”
“Right,” Nadia said. “It’s beginning to sound familiar.”
“So the movie, Grand Slam, is the story of her life, beginning with her dominant years in tennis. Helen was quite amazing. She was at the top of the tennis game for a record number of years in her day, but she was also an artist, a poet and a writer. When she died at ninety-two, she bequeathed ten million dollars to Berkley for neuroscience research.”
“Wow, I had no idea,” Nadia said. “I’m going to have to find out more about this woman.”
Penelope took a bite of English muffin and watched a man stroll by, snatching glances at their table from behind his sunglasses. He had close cropped blond hair and a long beard, popular with the hipster crowd, more and more of whom had been moving into Glendale in greater numbers. A small smile played on his mouth, and Penelope caught sight of a purple stain on his lip. It was a little early in the day to be drinking red wine, she thought. Maybe he’d just had a blueberry smoothie. Penelope tried to picture Joey, her clean-cut boyfriend, with a hipster beard and laughed to herself.
“It’s great this movie is being made, that there’s broad interest in a female athlete,” Nadia said. She set her spoon down and leaned forward. “Who will be playing Helen in her later years? I assume it will be you for the rise to fame period, when she was young and beautiful, in her prime.”
“I’m playing her at all ages,” Arlena said.
“What? That’s amazing.” Nadia’s mouth hung open for a second as she studied Arlena’s face. “How is that possible?”
“Makeup, wigs, prosthetics,” Penelope said. “It will be a total transformation. It’s my first time attempting a broad character age range on a movie.”
Nadia kept her gaze on Arlena, eyeing her youthful skin and slender neck. “That’s something I’m really looking forward to seeing.”
> Arlena laughed. “Me too. I assume they’ll do work in post- production, use computer effects to smooth things over, make sure I look realistic.”
“That is something else,” Nadia said. “So you want to know what it’s like to be a tennis pro, and that’s where I come in.”
“Exactly,” Arlena said.
“Well, I can tell you all about my own experiences, but I’m not sure I can help with what Helen’s life was like. I’m not close to having ten million dollars to donate anywhere,” Nadia said, pulling her lip down in a half frown.
Arlena laughed. “I’ve been researching Helen’s life, and there’s going to be a historic consultant on set who will answer any time-period related questions. What I was hoping you could help with would be the physical part, the ins and outs of tennis, the mindset of an athlete, especially one who plays a singular sport as opposed to on a team. I’d love for you to provide any insight you can so I’m the most convincing. I’m really interested in any challenges you may have faced, how the victories feel. With your help, I think I can nail this.”
Nadia turned and put a hand on Penelope’s shoulder. “This is so exciting,” she whispered.
“I know,” Penelope said. “I’m glad you’re available to do it.”
“It’s good timing, my season is over,” Nadia said. “I have a few months off before I have to be back on the circuit.”
A pair of teenage boys walked by on the sidewalk, hockey sticks strapped to their backpacks, heading toward the community park. Penelope’s eyes moved over them as they walked quickly by—their forward leaning postures, their matching haircuts, one dark and one reddish-blond. Then her gaze came to rest on the bearded hipster she had noticed before. He was across the street leaning against a lamppost near the bus stop, staring down at his phone. He looked up suddenly, but his sunglasses prevented Penelope from seeing if he was looking at their table or just in their general direction.
Murder on the Rocks Page 2
