The third time she was so blessed actually frightened her. Mr. Wainwright died and included her in his will leaving a large portion of his wealth to her. His daughter fought the gift at first, but came to understand why her dad had left a piece of his fortune, twenty-five million dollars, to Star. Only those in Star’s inner circle knew of the money that was now held in a savings account until she decided what to do.
- - -
It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself.
So many times people had helped her.
She was not going to let them down.
It was time to act.
Star needed information to see if the plan whirling in her mind was even plausible. Sitting at the kitchen island with the roster of the kids in the pilot cooking class, she picked up her cell and tapped the number beside Jenny Sue Washington’s name.
“Hello,” the familiar voice said.
“Hi, Mrs. Washington. This is Star Bloom—”
“Serendipity, Miss Bloom. Stuart and I were just talking about you. Because of you our daughter seems to be full of life again and sitting on pins and needles waiting for next Saturday. Miss Bloom, your class and the priceless cupcakes in an ice cream cone gave us back the little angel she was before she was stricken with cancer.”
“That’s wonderful, but I think she pulled herself up with your love and guidance. Did Mr. Washington enjoy his cupcake?”
“Every bite.”
“Mrs. Washington, when we were talking after class you said your husband was a Hollywood producer. Is he buried in a project, or when might he be free to entertain a new project?”
“Actually, he’s between projects. Why do you ask?”
“There may be an opportunity at Burnett Media. It may be nothing, a long shot, but I’d like to talk to him about the possibility. Could I meet with you both tomorrow? My fiancé and I are renting a house close to the beach. Jenny Sue, all of us, could sit on the beach, if that’s all right with you. Would tomorrow morning work for you, say 10:30?”
“I’m sure we can. It sounds intriguing, Miss Bloom. Jenny Sue loves the beach but to be honest she hasn’t been well enough to go.”
“Please, call me Star. As I said it may be a cockamamie idea but—”
“Cockamamie? My mother’s favorite word,” Mrs. Washington said laughing. “That kind of idea is definitely worth considering. Please call me CeeCee. Stuart and I will be at your house on the dot. Jenny Sue is going to be very excited. And, between you and me, a little sun will do wonders for her.”
“Terrific. I have your email address from the sign-up sheet for Jenny Sue’s class. I’ll email the address and directions. See you tomorrow?”
Chapter 21
STAR’S SPIRITS MATCHED the sunny day. With any luck, today she would launch her plan of attack. The doorbell rang. Here we go, she thought.
Opening the front door with a big smile, Star waved the Washington family to come in. Hugging CeeCee in greeting, she then stooped to give Jenny Sue a peck on the cheek.
Extending her hand to Stuart Washington, she said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I understand you enjoyed your daughter’s colorful cupcake.”
“I certainly did and I indulged in another at breakfast this morning,” he chuckled, his deep baritone voice filling the room.
“It’s a gorgeous day. Jenny Sue, are you up for a building a sandcastle on the beach?’ Star asked.
“Yes, Miss Bloom. I have my bathing suit on under my dress.”
“Wonderful. Jenny Sue you can call me Star, if that’s okay with your mom and dad.”
Jenny Sue looked up at her mother. “Can I?”
CeeCee smiled and nodded.
“Mr. Washington—” Star began to say.
“Stuart, please. What would you like me to carry?”
“That cooler would be great. There are icy bottles of water for us and a box of celery and carrot sticks, some peanut butter and hummus. CeeCee can you grab that blanket and towels, Jenny Sue, that bucket of shovels and cutouts are for you. I figured we’ve all had enough sugar the last few days,” Star said with a giggle.
She led the way down the path to the beach smiling to herself. Stuart was different than she expected. He was tall and thin but not like Tyler’s cute figure of a cartoon, Stuart was lanky. His dark glasses gave him an air of sophistication but his smile was warm. Star liked him immediately.
CeeCee wore a stylish sleeveless dress in sunny yellow, buttoned up the front over shorts and halter top. CeeCee was warm, friendly from the first day Star meet her at Jenny Sue’s class. She too had an air of sophistication—slim, burnished brown skin. They made a handsome couple.
On the beach Jenny Sue dashed to the outgoing tide, squealing when a wave swirled over her toes. She immediately set about digging in the sand. Something running wild in her imagination was sure to emerge.
CeeCee got to the subject of why Star had invited them. “It’s lovely here, Star. But frankly, we are in the dark as to what your idea is---”
“Nothing may come of the idea, but when you said Stuart was a producer, I was curious and wanted to know more.”
Stuart looked out at over the ocean, brushed sand off his leg. “The latest was a television show—three seasons. It wasn’t renewed for a fourth.”
“What was the show?”
“I doubt you heard of it—it was never picked up by cable.”
“I certainly know how that feels. I was a contestant on a bakeoff reality show. I actually won first prize but the producers skipped town without awarding the prize money.”
“How awful,” CeeCee said.
“Yes, but then Mr. Roth, a producer with Burnett Media—”
“The Mr. Roth who just died?” Stuart said looking at Star, his brow scrunched.
“Yes. He persuaded Mr. Burnett to pick up the clips from the bakeoff competition. Roth was going to pull the episodes together into a series. He hired me to be a host commenting, a lead into each episode. Also, to flesh out the high and low points of the scene. That’s when I moved here to be with my fiancé, Tyler Jackman. We’re both from Daytona Beach.”
“Is the show ready to air?” Stuart asked.
“No. I’ve only been here a few weeks. Roth was getting everything ready…nothing has been done since the producers disappeared over a year ago,” Star said. “With Mr. Roth’s death, I’m not sure it will ever be finished. How did you get into the film business, Stuart?”
“My grandfather. He worked on the sets of some small and some pretty big pictures—Universal, Metro Goldwyn Mayer. When my dad was old enough, Granddad would bring him to work with him. My grandmother said she might as well have been a widow. He spent so much time with my dad on the lots. Grandpa died, I came along, and when I was Jenny Sue’s age he took me like his dad before to the studio. You might say I was raised in the business. I was hooked. But I wanted to produce my own pictures which now, of course, expanded to movies shot for television, and then came TV series lasting several years. Blacks were not hired as producers in my grandfather’s or my father’s time. Now, it’s a little better, a few more opportunities—very few,” he whispered.
He turned to Star. “To be honest, I’m about to pack that dream away. Unless you have an in with the gatekeepers—”
“Gatekeepers?”
“The white guy at the top of the ladder of a film company. Unless you have an in, it can be tough. I don’t have that in.”
“I see. Well, with Mr. Roth’s death, this idea of mine may amount to nothing. The Baker Girl reality show is dead. What would you think if I approached Mr. Burnett about hiring you to produce the show? Of course, we’d have to keep it to ourselves. Would that be of interest to you?”
Stuart glanced at CeeCee. “It would be something to consider.”
Chapter 22
HEAD BENT IN CONCENTRATION, pacing from kitchen to living room, Star paused at the sliding glass door overlooking the ocean. Arms crossed, she turned pacing back to the kitchen. Taking
a sip of the now cold coffee, she closed her eyes, sighed. Tyler was on his way home but he had to change his flight. He was going to call as soon as he landed in LA. Every hour during the night she had checked her phone. Changing his flight proved daunting. Flights were sold out. But he was determined. Star needed him.
It was late when he finally was given a standby seat, then cleared to board. He’d left his team a day early in Hong Kong, promising he would join them in Twentynine Palms as soon as he could.
She snatched the cell off the counter and flopped on the couch checking her cell again. No message. Laying her head back, she closed her eyes.
Hearing a ringtone off in the distance pulling her from a deep sleep, she snapped upright pressing the phone to her ear.
“Tyler?”
“Yes, babe, it’s me. Just picked up my van and I’m speeding in your direction. Twenty minutes tops. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Hey, slow down. I want you in one piece. Coffee, or are you exhausted? Why am I asking such a silly question? Of course, you’re—”
“Coffee. I want to hear everything starting with Roth’s death.”
Star smiled. Coffee! How many times had they solved each other’s problems, especially when the solution would have consequences for both of them.
Sitting on the front step, she watched the white van turn into the driveway. Star flew into his open arms scooping her into a warm embrace.
“God as my witness, I missed you so much, Miss Bloom,” he said with a hot kiss.
“No more than I missed you,” she replied a bit breathless. “Come on, coffee’s ready. We have a serious situation to discuss.
“Umm, from your message it sounded like more than one situation.”
“Multifaceted, Mr. Jackson,” she said with a grin grasping his hand.
His bag stashed in the bedroom, they settled on the couch facing each other, coffee mugs within reach on the glass coffee table pushing the latest copy of Variety aside.
“First, let me tell you about the police,” Star said.
Tyler picked up her ankles laying her legs over his.
“Detective Drake thinks Mr. Roth was poisoned. Murdered.”
“Oh boy. He’s still talking murder?” Tyler said, brow furrowed. “Who?”
“He doesn’t know. The rumors are dreadful. Every time Drake talks to me I feel as if he’s questioning me, like he thinks I did it.”
“Star, that’s scary. Should we get a lawyer?”
“No, no, I’m sure I’m being paranoid. He’s talking to everyone who attended the barbecue.
He’ll catch up with you. Then we’ll see what you think…the lawyer thing. Now for number two, something exciting. At least, I hope you’ll find it exciting.”
“Go ahead,” Tyler said smiling. He loved when her mind filled with ideas. Solutions that often took both of them down a path they’d never thought of.
“I told you about the kids’ first class--baking cupcakes?”
“Yes and that the kids had a blast. A bit of a mess with the batter and icing splattering all over the place,” Tyler said chuckling.
“One of the young girls, Jenny Sue Washington, arrived in a wheelchair.”
“Ooh, that must have been difficult—pouring the batter, and the oven.”
“Yes, but the young boy next to her was so sweet and helped when something had to be carried. Anyway, in talking with her mother after class she mentioned her husband was a producer. I asked if he was working on a project—”
Tyler’s left eyebrow lifted. “And she said no?”
“That’s right. He’s between projects. Ty, I checked him out, Googled and in Variety. Then I met with both of them. He is a producer but he’s having a hard time getting film or television deals. He’s black and says, quote ‘if you don’t have an in with the white guy at the top, a gatekeeper, it’s difficult to get a job’ end quote. Ty, I know Burnett isn’t keen on the bakeoff reality show, but what if I arrange for Burnett and Washington to meet? Maybe things would click. What do you think?”
“I don’t know, babe. If Burnett didn’t really buy into Roth and the project, he might just say no deal off hand.”
“I know and if he does say no, we have to be ready.”
“Ready?”
“Yes. Ty, we could offer to back the show for a percentage.”
“I see where you’re going—your inheritance. Star, if you want to do this, if you really believe in it, then you should. It’s an investment in your future. You realize it’s a gamble.”
“An investment in our future. Reality shows are big now especially cooking contests.”
“When you researched Washington…has he produced anything big, significant?”
“Not really. Small stuff. But he also said that two of the producers he assisted were overloaded and actually delegated all the work to him. He sounded like he knows his way around Hollywood, how things work here. And, Tyler, he’s hungry to do something big.”
“Okay, lay it on me. What’s your idea? What do you want to do next?”
“I’d like to make an appointment for the two of us to meet with Burnett. You’ve worked on a project here. You know the lingo. We ask him to hire Washington as Roth’s replacement, or the very least, to talk to Washington. Okay?” Star said.
“Okay,” Tyler replied smiling.
Star jumped across the couch landing in Tyler’s outstretched arms. His passionate kiss left them both breathless.
“Miss Bloom, you have to move. I can’t breathe.”
With one more peck on his cheek, she stood, stretched.
“I don’t know about you, Mr. Jackman, but I’m starved. Pancakes?”
“Thought you’d never ask. Buttermilk?”
“But of course,” she giggled.
Chapter 23
THE GUARD SAT AT her desk outside of Burnett’s office door. Filing her nails Suzie’s eyes shot up as Star and Tyler strolled in from the hall door.
“Well, well, hello you two. What can I do for you?” Suzie said stashing the nail file in the top drawer. She almost knocked over the coffee cup in her haste as her eyes took in the woman in front of her dressed in a navy blue business suit.
“Hi, Suzie. We’re here to see Mr. Burnett. I believe you know my fiancé, Tyler Jackman?” Star said.
“I sure do. Sorry, but Mr. Burnett—”
“He’s expecting us. We just swapped text messages,” Tyler said with a gotcha grin.
“Oh—”
The office door opened and was immediately filled with Burnett’s burly frame.
“Miss Bloom, Mr. Jackman, please come in. Suzie, hold my calls.”
“Sure, Mr. Burnett.”
Strolling to his desk, Burnett turned to face his visitors as they stepped into his office shutting the door behind them.
“Star, you said you wanted to meet regarding Roth’s project, the reality show. It’s a shame he died. But I was never a fan of the project. Archiving the clips in the vault will save my company a lot of money.”
“That’s what we want to talk to you about,” Star said. “I heard about your misgivings but reality shows are hot, especially any kind of cooking competition.”
“It just isn’t my cup of tea,” Burnett said with a chuckle.
“Have you seen any of the episodes?” Tyler asked. “There’s lots of drama—building to the winner, which of course was Miss Bloom.”
Star was ready. She took a deep breath.
“Mr. Burnett, I met a producer recently, Mr. Stuart Washington. I checked him out and he seems to have great experience and he’s between projects. As I’m sure you know, Mr. Roth hired me to be a host commentator, provide a bridge between episodes. If you continue Mr. Roth’s project, Mr. Washington and I would fill our roles—he as producer, me as hostess, without pay, just a small percent when the show goes live,” Star said with a broad smile. “We would only need the use of Burnett Media’s sound studio for a month or two.”
“Hmm, an interesting pro
posal, Miss Bloom,” Burnett said nodding his head. Putting his hands together forming a steeple, raising his lower lip, eyes half closed. “The sound studio is not available. Also, I cannot in good conscious put another penny into the project of The Baker Girl show. But if you and this Washington fellow want to fund the project you have my blessing…for twenty percent of the revenue when and if it goes live, and Burnett Media retains the rights to the original clips, and you pay for two days.”
Star shot to her feet, inhaled a deep breath. “Mr. Burnett, I hardly—”
Tyler shot to his feet, picked up Star’s hand holding it tight. “What Miss Bloom is trying to say is thank you for the use of the studio, but she must retain the rights and ownership of the original videos, sentimental reasons you know. She is the star of the contest and the winner. But she will agree to twenty-two percent of the revenue for Burnett Media when the show goes live…for the first year. After all, we in the industry know after the first year a show loses its audience, especially if it doesn’t catch on. We hope it will do well, but your gut could be right, Mr. Burnett. The show may be a flop. In this case, the risk is Miss Bloom’s not yours.”
Burnett’s eyes narrowed scrutinizing his opponent, lower lip again rising. “Agreed, Mr. Jackman. I have a standard form that my lawyer wrote up in the event I don’t want to endure the cost of a production but will take a piece of the pie. The sound studio is yours for two days. As for the kitchen studio, one Saturday. Take it or leave it.
A Cupcake to Die For Page 6
