The ladies room was empty, so I opted to use my Glamour Spell. It was quick, easy, and never failed me. I watched my reflection in the lean-to mirror transform from one of sticky clothes, damp blond tendrils, and the beginning traces of football player mascara to one of a new crisp shirt, shorts, and fresh makeup. I smiled at my reflection. Now, I felt ready to flirt with hunky movie stars.
I was in New Orleans for a few days to work on the last-minute changes for Masquerade’s screenplay. I wrote the book a few years ago, but after the wildly successful novel and movie for Vegas Star, my second novel, my team at Raven Publishing pushed Masquerade on Hollywood, and it worked. The movie executives wanted to bring more of my characters to life on the big screen. The creative team invited me to the set today to watch the behind-the-scenes action unfold in person. Little did they know, I had seen all of this in person once before, only then it was actually 1945.
I grabbed my bag and headed out just as a few girls from the sound crew headed in. They couldn’t stop giggling about something they heard Evan say. I paused in the doorway, hoping to girl talk with them, but they clammed up and waited for me to leave.
The production of Masquerade took place all over the city. Today’s scenes were located in the far-reaching fingertips of New Orleans. The director wanted to capture as many of the outdoor shots while the forecast predicted sunny days. According to the local meteorologists, a hefty early summer storm was brewing in the Gulf, and our daylight opportunities would be limited.
The set designers had settled on a plantation house to stage the romantic scenes between Josette and Luke. It was hard for me to let go of the story, and hand over my creative license to a group of people I didn’t know, but it was all part of the screenwriting package. I was starting to accept that the movie world was a unique place from where my literary roots were planted.
You see, I’m not just a writer or your average girl. I’m a witch. I’ve been writing stories about the places I’ve been and the people I’ve seen. The hard part is I can’t share my magic with anyone in the non-magical world. I can’t tell anyone about my Time Spell. With a lot of practice, I perfected a spell that allows me to travel through time. What I see along the way manifests itself in the pages I write at night back at home in Sullen’s Grove, North Carolina. The spell almost cost me my family and Jack, but I’m not going to fall into that trap again. After everything that happened in Las Vegas last month, I vowed to avoid stories involving danger. I can’t jeopardize the lives of the people I love. I won’t.
I surveyed the majestic main house. Monstrous columns anchored on the porch, reminiscent of architecture I had seen on most every plantation house in the South. The columns reached to the second story roofline, and flowed through the upper level balcony. A wrought iron railing fenced in the second story plaza. Black shutters hung on either side of the plantation windows. I loved the ripple effect of the waves in each pane of window glass; it gave them such character and charm.
Massive, ancient oak trees bordered the road to the main circular drive. The moss entangled in the oak branches hung low, just grazing the tops of the fence posts careening visitors to the tour office. The production studio purchased a week of filming at Magnolia Plantation, so the crew wouldn’t worry about tourists milling about trying to catch glimpses of the film’s stars. Occasionally, I saw a local reporter on the side of the set interviewing someone in the cast or someone on the production crew.
New Orleans had become quite the Mecca for movie hosting in the years since Hurricane Katrina had bored down on one of the South’s most treasured cities. The city welcomed the business and the free publicity the big Hollywood studios infused into the local economy. Reporters flocked to the movie sets trying to garner personal interviews usually only captured by national magazines and entertainment news shows.
Evan emerged from one of the talent trailers, and from a distance, I thought I saw him throw me a little wave. I waved back, just in case, and settled into my seat to watch the next scene between him and Emmy Harper, the actress playing Josette. I pulled my sunglasses down low, trying to shield my face from the intense afternoon sun, and retrieved a fan from my bag. I doubt anyone would know that fan wasn’t in my bag five minutes ago. This ardent heat was forcing me to dip into my magic bag of tricks that I usually reserved for private appearances.
Evan smoothly strolled to the front sidewalk of the house and waited for the director to shout, “Action.” One of the makeup artists powdered the front of his nose, and brushed the tops of his Navy uniform’s shoulders with a lint brush. I giggled at the face he made during the makeup attack. Looking satisfied with her presentation, she returned the brushes to her oversized apron belt, and stepped back to let Evan and Emmy start their lines. My wrist rocked back and forth with the fan as I listened to the words the actors exchanged only a few feet in front of me.
“Josette, I’m leaving. Come with me.” Evan stretched his hand out to Emmy. His face was pained. Her back was turned to him, and she was at the top of the stairs, leaning against one of the formidable plantation columns.
“Just go, Luke. You know Papa will never let us be together. Just go.” She buried her head in her hands and started weeping. I watched as Evan made the short climb up the wide stone steps, and placed his hands on the back of her shoulders. I waited for Emmy to lean into him, but instead, she stayed firmly attached to the pillar.
“I’m not leaving without you. Leave your father. Leave all of this. We can make it together, just you and me.”
I stopped fanning myself and stretched forward to hear his whispers into her ear. I knew the sound girls were all-too-happy to be close to Evan during this scene. But he was too quiet; I couldn’t hear what he said next.
“Cut! Cut! Cut! What is this crap? Come on! Give me something! I’m not feeling it, Evan. Break. Everyone take five,” Archie Preston groaned into his megaphone, “again.”
The wiry director had his hands in the air as he dismounted from his floating chair. I was surprised when Gina told me Archie would be the director for this film. He was known for his high action and adventure blockbusters, not dramatic, love story, period pieces. He walked over to Evan, put his arm around the Texan’s shoulder, and they disappeared around the corner of the house, their heads leaned toward the other in intense conversation.
I turned back to the pages in my lap and studied the dialogue. Was the director unhappy with the script or the delivery? The conversion of Josette’s and Luke’s compelling love story from my novel to the screenplay was more challenging than I anticipated. The team of writers on the set was clamoring for more action that I assumed came from Archie’s long-standing association with high adventure movies. I wondered if they knew this was overall a love story, not a cops and robbers, shoot-out, high-chase, car explosion, kind of storyline. I groaned, remembering the scene I saw inserted into the script. There was a gun show on the horizon—ugh! Why couldn’t they just see the beauty in what Josette and Luke had?
I scribbled in a few changes in the margins when the vibrations from my pocket interrupted my train of thought. I reached in and retrieved my phone. I recognized the main number for Raven Publishing flashing on the screen. My heart skipped a beat or two, hoping it was Jack.
If it weren't for the Foresight I had in Las Vegas, we would be together now. I pushed out the feelings of hope, giddiness, and downright want that always surfaced when I thought about him. It wasn’t safe.
My stomach lurched when I remembered the three days Jack had broken his rigid business-only rules. We had been caught up in an evil scheme, targeted by a Proxy who wanted my Time Spell and magic. Proxies would stop at nothing to suck the magical life force from other magical beings. It was their only route to having any magic of their own. Helen, the Proxy, had threatened our families and our lives. Jack had helped me defeat her, and during those three days, he had completely let his guard down. So had I. Only, it didn’t last; it couldn’t.
I was the reason we couldn’t be t
ogether. By sharing my magic with Jack, I had made him vulnerable to more evil forces than I could imagine or protect him from. The only way to shield him and to prevent the Foresight from coming to fruition was to undo those three days together in Las Vegas.
The only way to put Jack back in the safe zone was to make sure he knew nothing about my magical abilities, the existence of witches or Proxies, and the words glowing orbs, spells, or the seam. My cousin and best friend, Holly, is an Eraser. She has the ability to remove parts of people’s memory. In my moment of utter crisis, she helped me erase those three incredible days from Jack’s recall. Making Jack let go of me one memory at a time was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made.
A few weeks after our return from Las Vegas, Gina, the persistent marketing guru at Raven Publishing, insisted I temporarily abandon writing a new book in exchange for dedicating time to the Masquerade screenplay. As much as I wanted to be around Jack, to hear him growl or brood over some of my misplaced words, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect to get away.
My attempt to act normal around him failed miserably the first time I saw him in his office after Holly had performed her Eraser Spell. I smiled too much, giggled too much, and dropped too many hints. I wanted the faintest sign that part of what we shared was buried somewhere in his mind or, more importantly, in his heart. Instead of a smiling, warm Jack, he focused on work. He returned my flirts with editing questions, the laughs with a furrowed brow, and the hints with a puzzled look. There was no doubt I needed to escape from my insanely brilliant, book-loving, outdoorsy, and always well-dressed editor. I needed to regroup. I needed to mend my broken heart. New Orleans and the set of Masquerade would be the perfect distractions.
I ran my finger along the slide on my screen. “Hello?” I sucked in my breath, waiting for Jack’s husky voice on the other end of the phone. I remembered how it sounded in my ear when his lips nuzzled my neck.
“Ivy, it’s Gina. How’s it going? How’s our little Sullen’s Grove super star doing?” I could hear her smacking on her gum between words.
My heart sank. “Oh, hey, Gina.” I started breathing again. “It’s going. It’s a little harder than I thought it would be. It’s different than Vegas Star. I’m a lot more involved in the writing. And it’s hot. Y’all should enjoy the cool weather in North Carolina.” I tried to sound sweet and not so disappointed. Weather conversation was always a good fail-safe topic.
“Great. Great. I’m just checking in with you. You have a few publicity events next week, and I didn’t hear back on the email list I sent to you yesterday.” The smacking sounds lingered on the line. “Can you do the book signing? Are you going to be back in town by then?”
I mentally rolled through the spreadsheet Gina had sent me. Book signings and promos for Vegas Star and Masquerade were the last thing on my mind right now. “Oh yeah, I’ll be there. I saw the list you sent last night. It’s just been hectic here. There are so many rewrites they want me to do. I’m starting to think they should have just made the movie from scratch. They did know this is a love story, right?”
I saw Evan and the irritated director emerge from the opposite corner of the house. They were smiling, and Archie gave Evan a few attaboy pats on the on the back.
“Ivy, we have total faith in you. Don’t even think that. Jack was just saying this morning—”
I cut her off. I didn’t want to hear what Jack said. “Gina, gotta go. We’re starting up again. Tell everyone I said ‘hey.’” I ended the call and wiggled the phone back in my pocket.
Gina probably thought I had a bee in my bonnet after that call, but her constant texts, emails, and calls weren’t helping my efforts to distract myself from Jack. Every time we talked, she mentioned him. “Jack thinks you should add a few lines to just this scene, or Jack said not to touch anything in that chapter, or Jack said to send him an outline of the rewrites.” I sighed. I had no plans to leave Raven Publishing or to change editors, but every time I heard Jack’s name or worse, his voice, it was like tiny pinpricks piercing every inch of my heart.
No matter what Holly had seized from Jack’s memory, I knew it wasn’t possible for me to forget what his strong hands felt like, or how the sound of his heart beating in his broad chest echoed in my ears when we curled up on the couch. I loved how he towered over me even when I was in my highest of heels, and how, in one of our heated arguments, he could turn from a raging bull into the man I couldn’t stop kissing.
My trip down Jack-memory-lane was interrupted by the loud voices of Evan and Josette, err I mean, Emmy. I saw her petite hands waving wildly in the air, and her left foot stomped on the brick porch. Then she stormed into the house and slammed the door behind her. Evan turned around to face the crew who had gathered to witness the costars’ squabble. He gave a sheepish grin and shrugged his shoulders. I heard some of the men huddled around the lights laugh, and tell Evan not to worry about her. One tech even muttered, “That’s female talent for you.”
I wrinkled my nose when I heard the guys talking about Emmy like that. She seemed so sweet and friendly. An allure of innocence floated around her. Whatever she and Evan were arguing about, I didn’t think she deserved the crap she was getting from them.
Evan spotted my fake paper shuffle and threw me a half-wave. Hesitantly, I waved back. I didn’t know why Emmy had stormed off the set in front of the entire production crew, and I didn’t want to join in with the on-going speculation.
It didn’t take long for me to realize the movie set was worse than any high school rumor mill. My first day in New Orleans I heard whispers that two production assistants were pregnant, the engineer was leaving his wife for one of the actresses, and the producers refused to drink out of plastic bottles. I learned growing up in Sullen’s Grove that there’s only about ten percent truth to anything coming out of the grapevine. The rest is just sour grapes.
“Emmy! Where is Emmy? Has anyone seen our lead actress? People, come on. We’re on a tight schedule.” Archie Preston resumed his perched position, and was canvassing the front lawn for Emmy Harper.
“She’s back in her trailer,” one of the sound girls called from across the lawn. “I think she’s in makeup again. It will probably be another thirty minutes before she’s ready.” The girl threw a look at Evan. Evan ignored the implication and stood at his cue mark.
“Dammit! Makeup? What is going on here? I’m calling it a day. We can’t get anything accomplished like this. Listen up! We’re getting back on schedule tomorrow, and I don’t care who you are, if you derail this production for even two minutes, you’re off the set. Everyone here is replaceable. That goes for you too, Evan and Emmy. Give her that message, will you?”
The director pushed the mechanical lever forward and landed on the ground with a thud. A train of assistants hustled after him as he barreled through the set and off the grounds of Magnolia Plantation. He never gave Evan a chance to respond.
The crew around me started breaking down the set for the day. Teams in white T-shirts shoved electrical cords in big black cases. The sound girls wrapped wire around their arms and strategically placed microphones in protective sleeves like they were Faberge eggs. My mouth watered as I saw the drink cart wheeled off into the back of a van. I should have grabbed another Diet Coke for the road. Without the constant fanning, the air was stifling. I shuffled all of my script sheets together and started shoving them in the outer flap of my bag.
As I packed to leave the set for the day, I felt a gradual repeated poking sensation just over my right shoulder blade. I turned around to see Evan Carlson smiling. His head blocked the sun, and the rays floated around his silhouette, giving him a total Hollywood look. “Hey, again.”
“Hey.” I pulled the strap over my shoulder and returned his warm gaze.
“Since it’s an early day, some of the crew are getting together for drinks at Easy Eddies on Bourbon Street. I thought I’d see if you’d like to come with us or meet us there or something.”
He sho
ved both hands in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels. I noticed he had already changed out of his 1945 Navy Uniform, and into cowboy boots and jeans. Jeans that fit like nothing I had ever seen on a man.
The flutter my heart made caught me off guard. “Wow, Evan. I’d love to. That’s so sweet, but I have so much writing to do.” I patted the side of my bag, indicating the stack of papers that was sticking out in all directions. I didn’t even know where I’d start to write the movie out of the mess it was in.
“Darlin’, you’ve got plenty of time to write. We won’t be out late. Come on; let me buy you a drink. Just one beer, or whatever you girls in North Carolina like to drink.” He grinned at me.
Was I actually going to turn down a chance to have a drink with the hottest movie star on the planet? No, Holly would never forgive me and neither would I. “Ok, you win. Just one beer.” I liked that I wasn’t being overly available. Maybe Evan liked it too. He was probably used to girls throwing themselves all over his gorgeous body. “Can I meet you there? I want to drop off the script and change clothes.” My witchy wardrobe change didn’t last long in this heat. I could already feel my shirt clinging to my skin again.
“Yep. We’ll be the rowdy, embarrassing crowd taking over the bar.” He laughed. I liked his laugh; it was easy and genuine. “Don’t run away when you see us. Promise?”
I smiled at him. Who could run away from that face and voice? “Promise. Just give me”—I looked at my phone and calculated how much time it would take to get back to the hotel, dump the script, change, and meet him on Bourbon Street—“an hour. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
“Ok, Ivy. See you soon.” He walked backward a few steps, and turned to meet the rest of the crew waiting in the chauffeur-driven SUVs lining the exit of the long plantation drive.
I couldn’t believe it. Was this really happening? I just scored a date, albeit a group date, with Evan Carlson. I let my inner girl squeal a little more. Maybe New Orleans was going to be the perfect place to get over a broken heart. And tonight would be the start—with Evan and a cold beer.
Finding Haven Page 23
