Doug and Carlie's Love Conspiracy (Doug & Carlie Series Book 2)

by Lisa Smartt

  “Well, you’re crazier than I thought. Just don’t tell anyone about it, okay?”

  “Ooops!”

  “Carlie, you couldn’t have told anyone. It’s been like five minutes. How could you even have time to tell anyone?”

  “Well, Aunt Charlotte is over here and we’re makin’ pickles.”

  “Pickles? It’s winter. You’re not makin’ pickles in the winter, Carlie.”

  “Well, we sure are. Y’see, Aunt Charlotte buried this whole mess of cucumbers in the ground at the end of summer and put some kind of ‘secret’ preservative around them to see if they could be preserved. It was an experiment of sorts. She and Uncle Bart dug ‘em up this mornin’. Yes, ma’am. Crisp as the day they were buried. We’re makin’ pickles right here in my kitchen. And when I told Aunt Charlotte about the e-mail, well, of course, we ran to the computer and looked at it together. She said she’d even buy a new dress for the wedding, which is huge because she doesn’t shop, Clara. Really. But don’t worry. I’ll go with her. Aunt Charlotte can’t be trusted shopping for clothes by herself because she goes too bold on the color and too small on the size. Sorry, Aunt Charlotte!! But it’s true. You know it’s true!!”

  “I’m hanging up. Look, don’t start losing sleep over this, Carlie. Don’t you dare look at wedding invitations online or pick out dresses or go all crazy on me. It was a simple e-mail greeting. That’s all. I’m going to write a simple e-mail greeting back to him. Get back to your pickles. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Love you, Clara. Praying for you and Jake tonight…and for your tall redheaded future children.”

  “Bye.”

  I don’t know what Aunt Charlotte put on those cucumbers to keep them from rotting. But I fear those pickles are fermented. That e-mail meant nothing. He probably just felt like a burrito and thought he should e-mail me one time before my address got sent to the corporate office of Taco Bell. Jake Smith is not in love with me. At least, not yet.

  Chapter 18 CARLIE Two Weeks Later: CALIFORNIA CARLIE

  Airport security is hard for me for the same reason life is hard for me. Organization or the lack thereof. There were always business men who seemed at ease taking off their shoes, putting their computer in a tray and removing their watch all at the same time. Like it was one fluid motion. Beautiful. But not me. Nothing is one fluid motion for me. I always dropped things or spilled make-up or forgot that bottles of hairspray were considered contraband. Every time I went through security, something was confiscated. Hairspray or mousse or a bottle of Orange Fanta. Blessedly, Doug was often there to help me and make me feel at ease.

  “Honey, don’t worry. We can buy hairspray when we get there. Everyone forgets about an orange soda now and then. Really. No one thinks less of you.”

  Dave and Shannon enjoyed a good laugh. Dave said, “Carlie, I think you’re the only famous person in the world who grieves the loss of an orange soda like it was a family heirloom and who acts like they’ve never been through airport security. I died laughing when the woman behind you said, ‘This must be her first time to fly.’ I wanted to say, ‘Are you kidding? This woman is famous. She’s been on the Today Show and met Matt Lauer.’ But of course, she’d have never believed me.”

  “Of course not. No famous person would spill make-up all over the security personnel. Oh, and that whole ‘use your seat cushion as a flotation device’ propaganda? Not gonna happen. I can barely get my rear end out of the seat. I’ll be the only one floating in the ocean in an upright position with the arm rests still squeezing against my behind.”

  We all enjoyed a laugh at my expense. I didn’t mind. The truth of the matter is that I’m not famous. Famous people can’t go to Disney World because people chase them down. Famous people have private jets because the general public can’t handle their presence without making squealing noises. No one ever makes squealing noises around me. I have been on TV and my book has sold a lot of copies. But rarely do people recognize me and if they do recognize me, they don’t seem to care enough to squeal or chase me. They just make nice comments and move on with their lives. I doubt they even text their cousin in Mississippi with the news. And truthfully, I’m glad I don’t get chased through airports. I’m not a very fast runner.

  Doug smiled and put his arm around me. “I love you, Carlie.”

  “I love you too.”

  We arrived at LAX with no trouble. The studio sent a car to pick us up. I should have been happy but something about California made me nervous. The women were too beautiful and tan. The weather was too warm and perfect. Plus, I didn’t feel comfortable making decisions about the movie and I didn’t feel comfortable NOT making decisions about the movie either. That’s why Doug came. Doug was always the voice of reason in any given situation. He would help the negotiations go well because he was thoughtful and never seemed caught up in the glitz and glamour of any of it.

  At dinner, Dave and Shannon were almost giddy as they made plans for the next day. They were getting up super early to stand in line for The Price is Right. I envied them terribly. My grandma and I used to watch The Price is Right every day in the summer. I was probably the only kid in the fourth grade who knew that 60 oz. of Tide cost more than a Wonder Mop. I was the only one who knew that a trip around the world cost more than a brand new Ford Escort, even if it was red.

  I wanted to be going to The Price is Right instead of to the studio tomorrow morning. But I was on a mission, a mission to keep Angelina Jolie out of a movie about a funny, chubby, southern girl. And I had to charge that hill.

  Doug tried to sound enthusiastic. “It’ll be fine, Carlie. Really. We go to the meeting, speak our minds, shake hands, and that will be that. They respect you. They’ll listen. And if they don’t listen, well, we can always pull out. No one says there has to be a movie. If they don’t share our vision, we can just let it go. We haven’t signed a contract yet.”

  “The publishers will be livid. No, the movie deal has to work out. I can’t disappoint Joan. She’s worked too hard.”

  “Well, alrighty then. No disappointment. We’ll negotiate and make it work. And then we’ll be done. We can go home to Sharon and let the movie people make a movie and let the Sharon people make the sausage.”

  All four of us laughed. What would I do without Doug? He was the only man I knew who would still wear JC Penney pants even though his wife had a best-selling book. The only man who would re-sole shoes rather than buying new ones. The only person who could intelligently negotiate with movie people and go to work at a small town bank two days later. And be happy about it too. Wildly happy.

  The next morning I was feeling nauseous and scared. I still have a LOT of insecurities. Just ‘cause you wrote a book a lot of people want to read doesn’t mean you’re not insecure about your looks or your business sense or your clothing choices or your ability to go through airport security without public humiliation.

  The studio was busy and loud and very “California chic.” I’m not chic. At all. I mean, I’m not even really sure what “chic” is, but whatever it is I know I’m not it. Wait. I’ll look it up. Okay. According to the IPhone dictionary chic is: attractive, fashionable, stylish. See? I shouldn’t have even wasted time looking it up.

  Doug and I were clearly overdressed. I forgot that some Hollywood young professionals take great pride in wearing really expensive clothes that make them look like they shop at the thrift store. If you want to know why some people buy really expensive clothes that make them look like they shop at the thrift store, well, you’ll have to ask them. I have no idea. Doug and I buy brand new clothes at JC Penney. That’s how we roll. (I know. People who buy brand new clothes at JC Penney never say, “That’s how we roll.” Someone get me out of this town…and quickly.)

  Chance, the young man who greeted us, wore faded jeans, a gray t-shirt that said, “Ghandi=Brilliance” and an old tan professor’s jacket. You know, those jackets your uncle wore that fit really big and had dark brown patches on the elbow.

&n
bsp; “Ms. Jameson, welcome to California! I’m Chance Baldwin, no kin to Alec Baldwin.”

  I extended my hand, “Nice to meet you, Chance! This is my husband, Doug Jameson.”

  Doug smiled and said, “Great to be here.”

  “Chance, it’s kind of too bad you’re no relation to Alec as he might be able to hook you up with those free flights he’s always touting on TV.”

  He barely cracked a grin. Boy, I sure miss Aunt Charlotte and her homemade sausage right about now.

  The meeting room was filled with young and old who shopped at the same place Chance shopped. I tried to be quiet and listen to their ideas without being harsh or judgmental. And I liked most of what they said. Well, until the woman in charge said, “As to the lead role, well, we can’t go ‘chubby’ as you’d say. It doesn’t work on screen. We don’t have to go super thin but we can’t do something crazy and cast someone repulsive either.”

  Doug scowled. I remained quiet.

  She looked at her assistant, “We can go size eight or so, but that’s it. I mean, a woman size ten would cover the screen and it would make a mess everywhere. Really. A travesty.”

  Doug remained calm and spoke intelligently, “Well, speaking from a guy’s perspective, I don’t think a woman with a little more to grab is repulsive. At all. And I don’t speak for women, but I would think they might want to see women on screen who more closely represent them. Plus, this movie is targeted to women, right? It’s not supposed to be a James Bond movie. It’s supposed to be about real humorous women and their lives and their issues.”

  A thin young woman with curly blonde hair wearing chunky dark glasses clad in thrift store fashion started clapping wildly, “Hear, hear!”

  The lady in charge said, “Calm down, Emily. Doug here seems like a perfectly nice fellow, but he’s not a movie maker or a movie critic. He doesn’t understand the business.”

  Doug retorted, “You’re right, Ms. Watson. I don’t understand the business. But I do understand people. I understand this story. I understand the story because I understand the person behind it.” He glanced at me kindly. “She’s a gifted woman. And she’s not a size eight or a size ten even. And this book, this best selling book, is her book. Her story and the stories of women like her. So if I were a movie maker, and you’re right, I’m not one, but if I were, I’d listen to her and find out what she thinks about the lead role. But maybe that’s just me.”

  Silence. Dead silence.

  Finally Ms. Watson looked up from her bright blue reading glasses. “Well? What does the star of the negotiations have to say?”

  I put my hand on Doug’s leg. “Well, first of all, I think I married well. And I’m thankful. I’m thankful whether we make a movie or not. My reality is far better than any make-believe story we can concoct in this room. Secondly, Doug is right. I’m not asking for an obese actress. But no, a size eight is not going to do this role justice. It won’t work with the story. And if we can’t agree to someone who looks…well, a little closer to the way I look, I’ll need to find a studio that can agree to that. So I guess that’s my position.”

  Ms. Watson wrote some things on a big piece of paper. “Give us 24 hours and we’ll get back to you, Ms. Jameson. How’s that?”

  “No problem. Thank you, Ms. Watson. Thank you all for being here today.”

  Doug and I sat in the quiet little diner down the street from the studio. It reminded me of home because the sign said, “Sit wherever you’d like.” They sold hamburgers and meatloaf plates. No sushi or fancy food.

  We chose a comfortable booth with a few tears in the plaid fabric. “Thank you for saying what you said in there, Doug. I think some of those women wanted to ask you to marry them right on the spot.”

  “I’m already taken.” He winked. “But I meant what I said. They’re crazy. I mean, I don’t even know if they know what pretty looks like anymore.”

  About that time a lovely waitress with thick dark hair spoke pleasantly from behind the cash register, “I’ll be right with ya!” She was wearing solid black stretch pants and an old-fashioned light blue double-knit uniform shirt.

  She hurried to the table. “Welcome to Lou’s Diner! My name is Ashley and I’ll be takin’ care of ya’ll. What can I get you to drink?”

  My first response came blurting out, “Ashley, where are you from? You’re not from California, I take it.”

  “No ma’am. I’m from Florence, Alabama. That’s up in the northern part of Alabama.”

  “Oh yes. We know. We know it well. I’m from Northern Georgia. What brings you so far from home, Ashley?”

  “It’s a long story but I’ll shorten it as best I can. A few years ago I got cast in some commercials. You may have seen me. Probably the most popular was ‘Delicious Doggie Delights.’ Yeah. I was the dog trainer with the hiccups.”

  Doug piped up, “Yes, I do remember that. You wore an Oakland A’s cap, right?”

  “I did! And for a while, I thought I was gonna really have a career in acting. But like most of the actors out here, I spend more time waitin’ tables than acting. And as for my name up in lights, well, I am in charge of turning on the neon open sign every morning. So it’s not so bad really. I’m thankful. I am.” She spoke with a chuckle and real enthusiasm.

  I wanted to be encouraging. “It sounds like you’ve got a great attitude, Ashley. Maybe it’s not quite time to trade in your dreams. You never know when you’ll get your big break.”

  She paused and smiled. “Thanks. I guess I needed someone to walk in here today and say that. So, thank you so much. What would you guys like to drink today?”

  Doug spoke up, “We’ll both take water with lemon.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right back with those.”

  As she walked away, I smiled like a cat who’d found the bird cage open. “Doug, I have an idea.”

  “Carlie, I know what you’re thinkin’. But we can’t. We can’t even get her hopes up. I mean, we just got the studio to even CONSIDER hiring someone a little more normal looking. But you think we could literally walk in there tomorrow afternoon and say, ‘Oh, and guess what? We found our own lead actress. Yeah, right down the street at the diner.’”

  “Crazier things have happened. Doug, hear me out. Let’s at least give her a little audition, yes?”

  Ashley gently set the water glasses before us. “Here you go. Now, what can I get you two today?” She leaned in and whispered softly, “The meatloaf is as dry as the Sahara and my grandma’d be plum embarrassed by the chicken ‘n dumplins but you didn’t hear it from me. The hamburgers are always real good.”

  I liked Ashley from the diner. I liked her really well. I think God had answered our prayers about the negotiations and the lead role and well, about a lot of things.

  Doug said, “Honey, you okay with a burger?”

  “I certainly am.”

  “Okay. We’ll take two burgers, but just one order of fries. We’ll share.”

  “I’ll get that right out. Thank you. It’s nice to hear people talk like the folks back home.” She paused and looked out the window at the busy street and added, “Yeah, sure is.”

  Ashley walked away and I took careful notice of her appearance. About 5’8”, probably a size twelve or fourteen. She was beautiful but not haughty. Intelligent but not proud. Good hygiene but not glitzy. Perfect.

  “Doug, I’m sorry. I think this may be a sign.”

  “A sign? A sign of what?”

  “Well, this may be the answer to our prayers AND to Ashley’s. Let’s at least hear her read a few lines. I mean, we should ask her to meet us somewhere after her shift. We wouldn’t be getting her hopes up. We’d just be kind of auditioning her.”

  “Auditioning her? Do we know anything about auditioning anyone? I’m a bank loan officer. You’re a writer.”

  “No. But a really good-looking man, I mean, a FANTASTIC-looking, intelligent man just said, in a BIG meeting with the movie people, that the woman behind this book would be the person who wou
ld best know how to cast it.”

  Doug smiled and looked down at the table. “Touché.”

  Chapter 19 CARLIE: Ashley Auditions

  Ashley agreed to meet us in the hotel lobby at 3:00. We told her we couldn’t make any kind of promises but we might have an audition lined up. Maybe.

  She walked in wearing a big smile. Black dress pants with plain black flats. Her peasant top was bright pink with a wispy striped scarf that looked homemade.

  I handed her a copy of the preliminary script and asked if she would mind doing some reading.

  She looked startled. “This, this is for a movie. I mean, BAM Studio only makes movies. Big movies. Real movies. Are you for real?”

  “Look, Ashley, Doug and I are not in the movie business. We’re not. We live in a small town in Tennessee. We’re regular folks like you. But, ‘A Single Woman’s Guide to Ordinary?’ I wrote it. I’m the author, I mean, of the book. And now, well, now it’s been translated into a movie script and we’re trying to hash out some negotiations about it all. They want a thin woman to play the lead role. But Ashley, that just can’t be. I mean, the main character is supposed to be based around my real life persona. And who better to judge who that person should be played by than me, right?”

  “Oh my gosh. I mean, you just can’t even be saying what you’re saying. I’ve stayed out here five years longer than expected. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve almost gone home. I have. I have prayed 1000 prayers. And now, now this?”

  Doug added a voice of reason, “Ashley, listen. We can’t make you an offer. We can’t. We don’t have that kind of power. What we’re saying is that if we hear you read the lines and we like what we hear, we can give your information to the studio for consideration. They’d have to agree on all that. We’re not casting people. We don’t pretend to be.”

  I had a feeling Ashley would read the lines perfectly. And I was right. Tears literally came to my eyes when she read the first portion.

  “I can’t decide whether havin’ a man is even worth washin’ my hair. All that blow dryin’ and curlin’ and nonsense just to turn the head of some man wearin’ a ball cap ‘cause he wasn’t willin’ to wash his own hair. I don’t know. It seems like a ridiculous system. On the other hand, a Friday night Hallmark movie never expects me to wash my hair. I can curl up on the couch and snuggle into a pillow and watch a good Hallmark movie with no personal scorn. I can even eat Funyuns if I want to and not worry about whether they give me fake onion breath.” She threw her hands in the air. “Glory Hallelujah, I may have to wash my hair in order to get a man,” Ashley winked with delight, “but givin’ up Funyuns is where I draw the line.”