Table of Contents
Title Page
Forever in Hollywood
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
A word about the author...
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
“I just had to have one more kiss. I couldn’t stand another instant without one.” He rushed the words. “But I really must run now.” Before I could collect my thoughts enough to get a word out of my mouth, he gave my bottom a playful smack and jogged away.
Tomorrow was my big romantic scene, I needed to go over my sides, but all I could think about all night was our kiss. Never in my life had anyone taken my breath away with a kiss.
I used the passion I felt in Andrew’s kiss to drive the scene between Billy and myself. Focusing on him kept any nervousness at bay while the cameras were rolling. It made me feel euphoric to sail through the scene.
While browsing the craft table for a snack, I thought I felt someone slap my bottom, but several layers of petticoats made me second-guess myself. I snapped my head around, ready to scold the offender when I saw Andrew strolling on stage in his red officer’s uniform. He turned and gave me a wink that made my body quiver.
There was a surprise waiting for me in my dressing trailer at the end of the day. Sitting on the built-in counter was a bird of paradise flower and a yellow sticky note that read ‘Going to miss you tomorrow but will stop by after work.’ It was signed with a scrawled A.
I felt like I was living a dream, this was far too romantic for reality. Was he a figment of my imagination? I didn’t care, I decided to live in the moment and chase my dream so I tucked the exotic orange flower in my hair and left.
Forever
in
Hollywood
by
Jovana Rodolakis
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Forever in Hollywood
COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Jovana Rodolakis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2015
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-805-1
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-806-8
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To the memory of my Dad.
Everything good in me is because of him.
Acknowledgments
If it weren’t for my wonderful friends, whose free time I abused severely, this novel would’ve never been finished. Their tenacity to beat grammar and edits into my head through several rough drafts meant everything to me. I’m a stubborn nut to crack, but thank you for sticking through it with me Aileen Pasigan, Amy K. Swan, Nancee Cain, and Nancy Koziol.
Prologue
Running from past problems never provided a stable future for anyone. I’d heard it before, but like a river swelled by the storm, I always followed the path of least resistance. You could say a storm had been brewing for a while now, and I was ready to run, fast and far.
My husband arrived home and shook off his navy blue officer’s hat to reveal tight-cropped, jet-black hair. I waited till his boots hit the hall closet before I burst into the room in a triumph. “Guess who got the part?” I sang. “Guess who’s going to Los Angeles for the summer?”
“Please tell me you’re joking.” He pinched the bridge of his wide nose and his eyes closed. My jubilation was halted in its tracks. Our relationship wasn’t the strongest any more, but even so there was no reason to respond to my news with disdain.
“No, I got it.”
Dan passed by me without so much as congratulations and plopped down on the sofa. His calves hung over the armrest.
“I’m sorry baby. This junkie threw up in the back of the patrol car, so I’ve had a rough day. I don’t want to play games. Come here and tell me about your day. Make me forget about mine.” He patted the cushion in front of him.
I pressed on with the news. “I’m not joking. The director is in town to film some stuff on location and called my agent the moment he saw my audition tape. He wants me to get fitted next week while the wardrobe people are here.”
“Seriously?” He sat up.
“Yes.” I quirked an eyebrow, daring him to start something.
“Will you ever grow up?” He scrubbed his hand over his mouth in bewilderment. That wasn’t a serious question, so I wasn’t about to dignify it with a response. We stared each other down for an uncomfortable few minutes before he continued. “Who’s going to take care of your dog and the fish tank? And what about your job at the historical society?”
“What’s gotten into you? Last week you were telling me to go for it, now you’re being a dick.”
“Well, I didn’t think you’d actually get the role. You live in this dream world where you think you’re going to go to L.A. and become some big shot actress. We live in Boston, Marissa. I’m not moving to California so you can become a struggling actress.”
When we first got married right after college, Dan Pearson would have encouraged my impetuous decision to chase this opportunity. Then he joined the academy, betrayed me, and got it in his head I had ulterior motives every time I suggested a change. He was blowing things out of proportion.
“I never said anything about moving. The production is paying for a hotel. When the job’s done, I’ll come home.”
“A hotel, how long are you going to be filming?”
“Six weeks.” I crossed my arms ready to defend my decision to go. At least we had something new to fight about now. The other argument was getting redundant. He’d probably flip out if he knew I still had the pictures I promised to destroy. They were locked away in a safety deposit box.
Redness crept up his neck, a sure sign we were in for another lengthy fight. “Six weeks? Normal people don’t go gallivanting across the country, risking their career for some stupid movie.” He knew how to push the right buttons, and I felt a click the moment I lost my temper.
“Stupid movie? This stupid movie is going to pay me over half a year’s accounting salary. Not to mention the boost it’ll give to my career. You know, the one I gave up to move out here so you could chase your career,” I shrieked like a harpy.
“Acting is not a career. Only people out of touch with reality would think they could make a
career out of it. What’s going to happen when you lose your job because of this and then we lose our house?” he bellowed.
“What? I pay double what you do on the mortgage.” Maybe I was a little out of line reminding him I made more money, but I was sick of him chiding me.
“Exactly, so you can’t lose your job until I make detective.”
“Is she a detective, or are you scared I’m gonna change careers and sleep with the first co-star I come across? I’m more grown up than you. I’d never do that.”
I knew I’d pushed the argument in the wrong direction, but I was still hurt and used it whenever I could to hurt him back. Forgiving was hard; forgetting was even harder when I saw him in his dress blues every day.
“That’s real rich!” Dan seethed. “You want six weeks, take six weeks. You know what? Take an extra month. I’m done with you. I’m going to my mom’s.”
“Whatever.” With my hands in the air, I gave him the middle finger and stormed upstairs to our bedroom, making sure to lock the door behind me. He’d apologize; he always did after he had a few minutes to calm down. Half an hour passed without a knock on the door.
Outside, a fierce gust of wind and rain assaulted the window. I peered out in time to see him lug a duffle bag into the cab of his red pickup truck and speed out of my life.
Chapter One
These can’t belong to me. I gawked down at the ample swell of cleavage bursting out of my corset. Below that, my seamstress’ head bobbled around at my hem. To the left I caught my first glimpse of him when he stepped into a floodlight. He was a sight more glorious than my newfound boobs and vaguely familiar. Wavy chestnut hair almost long enough to touch his shoulders bounced with each step he took. By the confidence in his gait, he knew he was undeniably attractive. Too far away to make eye contact, I settled for thigh contact.
“How long are you here in Boston?” asked the lady walking beside him.
“Ten days, then I’m back in L.A. for the majority of filming,” he responded. A few long strides and those tight jeans disappeared around a corner. Damn, I didn’t have enough time to check out the rest of him.
“Stand up straight,” the seamstress said, not taking her eyes off her work.
Production had officially begun on the highly anticipated Revolutionary War movie being heralded as the next Patriot. I’d been standing statuesque in the dank costume warehouse for the better part of two hours for my fitting. The place smelled of mothballs, and there was an uncomfortable dampness in the air. She could at least give me a minute to ogle.
“Now I understand why corsets remained popular for so long.” Without Mr. Muscles around, I refocused on the girls. “Look at these. I didn’t think they could physically be pushed this high.”
“Maybe you should try a pushup bra,” she said.
Not certain if that was a direct jab, I chose to ignore her suggestion. “Are you sure they’ll stay in when I run?”
“It’s meant to hold you in.” The seamstress laughed causing the two pencils in her messy brown bun to bounce up and down. She’d stuck the first pencil in there after she’d written down my measurements. The second went in after she recorded the tag numbers of costumes she pulled off the racks.
“But the top barely covers my nipples.” I tried to shimmy the article in question up a little higher. By no means was I a modest woman, but I wasn’t a stripper either.
“If you don’t believe me, give it a try.” She held out her hand after the last pin was secured.
“Seriously?” Inviting me to run down the hallway of a warehouse filled with clothes was a theater kid’s dream. I slipped out of my heels and took off running. Arms stretched wide, my fingertips grazed fabrics that stuck out in the aisle. Feather boas, silks, laces, leather, and plastic armor all brushed my fingers. The place was packed with such an array of clothes, from Roman tunics to Armani, all labeled by time period from oldest to new on their own aisle.
Andrew Reed, the star of the film and owner of those amazing legs I’d glimpsed at earlier, rounded the corner at the 60’s aisle. My hand smacked his jeans as I ran by and in an instant I knew what I’d hit. The soft material at his groin gave way and he cried out.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I skidded to a halt. Before I was able to return to his side, he shot me a fierce glare that caused my heart to sink.
“Bollox.” He cupped his privates and doubled over on the floor.
Was it possible for a little graze to really cause this much agony?
The seamstress ran over. “Marissa, what did you do? Mr. Reed, are you okay?” Now the entire staff of the Boston east-side costume warehouse congregated around him, all fervent to help.
Should I attempt to help as well? Being as I was the cause of his pain, it might not be considered help. There were already half a dozen people petting his head and brown leather jacket as he knelt motionless in the ground cupping his crotch. Someone murmured, asking how someone could be so stupid as to run around a costume house, and how she hoped he could still have beautiful children after this. Yes he was in pain, but it was an accident. The way everyone coddled him was ridiculous.
“Everyone fuck off.” His clipped British accent was laced with venom, and he took deep breaths between sentences. “I don’t need help,” he said, but no one listened except me. My feet were already moving me backward and into hiding around the corner. “Just leave me alone a moment.”
Everyone dispersed as quickly as they’d shown up, and I was pulled back to the fitting area in the opposite end of the warehouse.
Mortified, I stayed quiet for the remainder of the fitting. My hand stung from the impact, but my pride stung worse from the seamstress scolding me for damaging the studio’s golden boy.
“Everyone knows this is your first real acting job, but if you don’t start acting professional, I can guarantee it will be your last. Do you want to get blacklisted for punching him, of all people, in the crotch? He’s been in the industry longer than you’ve been alive.”
“Pampers commercials don’t count,” I grumbled under my breath.
If it weren’t for her suggestion, I would’ve never run down that hall in the first place. But I guess she forgot about that. There was also no way he’d get me blacklisted for a silly accident.
She kept reminding me that if he wanted, the studio would replace me, so I’d better make amends with him. I pulled my long hair back into a ponytail wishing I had a cold facecloth. My skin was flaming.
When the seamstress began scouring her workstation, mumbling about where she left her pencil, I didn’t say a word.
****
The month leading up to my departure from Boston was tough. Dan and I hadn’t made up after he walked out of our argument. Half the time he slept at his parents’ house. When he was home, he slept in the guest bedroom. Although he promised we’d work it out when I returned, and had agreed to take care of my dog and fish, I was still worried.
Instead of dwelling on my deteriorated marriage during the long flight, I reveled in a little smugness. After all, I’d gone to my first big theatrical audition only armed with the knowledge the film was about the Revolutionary War, and I had a small paragraph of lines from the film.
It was only a few months ago when I marched in to the audition to improvise trauma care for a dying man in a long blue coat worn by the Continental Army, I even paused to wipe imaginary blood spray from my neck. I pulled my patient’s saber belt free and used it as a tourniquet. The worn leather between my fingers was slick with blood. Every detail came to life before my eyes. For two minutes I was no longer Marissa Pearson, I was Margret Corbin, army triage nurse.
After my audition, I thanked the casting director and left. Silently though, I thanked my daddy for playing imaginary scenarios of cowboys or wild horses with me. He told me if I was going to shoot him and expect him to fall over, he better believe I had a loaded gun in my hand. It wasn’t long before they called to offer me the part, and thus, start this journey to California.
For six weeks I could forget the tension in my life. No one knew me, there was no one to ask questions or look at me in a disapproving manner. Just the chance you need to escape reality, my husband had said, with derision.
Remembering my lines needed to be in the forefront of my mind, why could I not stop thinking about Dan?
I turned my attention to the manuscript, reading over the lines several times. The words on the page did nothing to help me forget our parting argument. Dan was supposed to be the Clyde to my Bonnie. Now all he wanted was a detective shield and a Stepford wife. How could two people who were once so right for each other, be so wrong together now?
Soon, I gave up the pretense of reading and thrust the manuscript into the leather seat pocket in front of me.
“Hello,” I greeted my seatmate hoping a pleasant conversation would distract me like my manuscript failed to do. His tongue darted across his front teeth and when he sucked it back in, it produced something close to the sound a rat would make. The faint scent of boiled cabbage wafted over me. I should have assessed my neighbor before attempting to strike up a conversation.
He was wearing an outdated white suit with a rather large pointed collar, and pale blue button down shirt with the top four buttons left open. Ruddy hairs sprang out from the V in the shirt front. Fake gold seemed to be a favorite of his; he wore gold prescription glasses and had two large pinky rings crammed on his sausage fingers. Hey, Mr. T wants his gold back, I snickered to myself. To add to the annoyance, he kept sucking on his teeth making my hair stand on end.
His eyes scanned me up and down several times, darted to the script half curled in the seat pocket and back to me again, this time resting on my chest.
“I’m going to be in a movie,” I said trying to distract him from his current view.
“Good for you,” he mumbled, not taking his eyes off my chest. “Are you telling me you want to practice on me? I’ll go to the back bathroom. Wait a minute before you follow.” He shifted his weight to get out of his seat.
“What?” I blinked uncomprehending.
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