by Grace Palmer
Even if Chuck didn’t eat, sleep, and breathe Summer Dreams (though, weirdly enough, do very little writing of it), Tasha would still have no problem remembering the movie her boyfriend is working on. Especially since it is set in her hometown.
“I think I know the one,” Tasha says with a faint smirk.
Chuck grins. “It’s finished. It’s totally, completely finished.”
“That’s great news!” Tasha exclaims. “We should celebrate.”
She jumps up from the couch and walks to the fridge to grab them both a beer. When she returns to the sofa and hands one of the bottles to Chuck, he is wearing a strange expression, almost like a cat peering into a fishbowl.
“What is it?” Tasha asks, sitting back down. “You’ve got that look in your eye.”
“You know how I’ve always said that Candace would be perfect for the lead?” Chuck puts his laptop on the table and scoots closer to Tasha, widening those big brown eyes.
“Yeah?”
“I had an idea.”
Tasha’s stomach churns uncertainly. “Okay.”
“You know what you said about Candace’s agent handing her a stack of scripts every week?” he continues.
Candace gets sent scripts for her consideration all the time. Each Monday, her agent gives Candace a selection of them in a manila folder. She’s theoretically supposed to review them, but the folder is used just as often as a coaster instead. Tasha mentioned this to Chuck once a while back as an offhanded comment. Apparently, he filed that information away for future use. Only now is it rearing its ugly head.
“I don’t like where this is going,” Tasha says. “You’re not suggesting I slip your screenplay into the delivery tomorrow, are you?”
Chuck slides off the sofa and onto his knees on the floor in front of her. He clasps her hands in his. “Please, Tasha. This could be everything for us.”
Oh, Chuck. Always so dramatic. He was born to be in Hollywood, he always says. It is just a shame—no, a crime!—that his talent has been thus far ignored. His baleful eyes stare into Tasha’s beseechingly. She always loved his eyes, loved the way you could read him in a moment through them. That soft gaze made her feel liquid and safe. Lately, though, she has begun to realize he knows full well the power of his stare, and is not afraid to use it to get what he wants.
“Chuck …” She trails off as his eyes somehow grow wider. No, she has to be firm. “Chuck, I can’t. It could cost me my career.”
“What career?” he asks. The words sting, but he says them in a gentle way, as though he is on her side. “Your career as Candace’s slave? I know walking dogs is not what you want to do for the rest of your life.”
Tasha takes a breath and looks past him, at the peeling paint on the wall opposite. She often compares her apartment to Candace’s gorgeous Beverly Hills mansion and wonders when it will be her turn to move up in the world. It’s hard not to do, that game of Keeping Up with the Joneses, even when Candace is light-years in front of Tasha.
“Of course it’s not what I want to do,” Tasha says, bringing her gaze back to her boyfriend. “But it’s a means to an end, and Candace is as close as I’ve gotten to breaking through. Who knows what she will do if she finds out? Plus, it’s a massive betrayal of her trust. I don’t feel comfortable with that.”
Chuck smiles and reaches up to tuck a lock of her long red hair. “I’ve always admired your principles,” he says. “You’re the only person in this whole city who has any. They’re a product of where you grew up, that beautiful place I want to show to the world.”
Willow Beach. Home.
Tasha has to admit that the setting is her favorite part of Chuck’s script. The rest of it isn’t bad, but it reminds her too much of Candace. With Tasha’s help, Chuck based a lot of the female lead’s personality on the prickly actress.
At the time, Chuck just said he thought Candace was an interesting subject to study. Now, Tasha wonders if he was planning to do this all along, if he tailored the script so that it would fit Candace’s vanity, sense of humor, and personality perfectly. He wanted to make it hard for Tasha to say no.
Tasha can’t believe that she didn’t see this coming. In retrospect, it’s so obvious. She would never have thought to call Chuck manipulative before, but he has a way of—well, of getting his way. He knows how to poke and prod until Tasha goes along with what he is after, on anything from a TV show to watch to a route through traffic to where they go for dinner.
This, though, is his coup de grace.
Chuck has consciously crafted Candace a role in a small-town drama that they both know she will be able to knock out of the park. As mean as it feels to call his screenplay “Oscar bait,” Tasha is well aware that Chuck has agonized over which heartstrings he’s trying to pluck in his potential audience. He’s undoubtedly hoping that Candace sees it, too, and that the tantalizing prospect of her first golden statue will tempt her into plucking his script out of obscurity.
“Chuck, I understand where you’re coming from. But this isn’t the right way to do things.”
“It’s the only way,” he replies stoutly.
She opens her mouth to protest again but Chuck cuts her off. He has a habit of doing that. “Before you say anything else, just think of it this way: if she picks my movie, it will be because she likes it. She won’t care where it came from. And if she doesn’t pick it, it gathers dust in a pile of other scripts Candace hasn’t given any thought to. No harm, no foul.”
“Yes harm, yes foul!” Tasha shoots back. “You’ve been mining me for information about Candace for months. You should know by now that she would be furious if she found out I tricked her like that.”
Chuck’s expression darkens. “I always knew you could be ungrateful, but I didn’t realize you could be this cruel,” he spits. “I have bent over backwards to try to launch you into stardom. I’ve introduced you to the right people, talked you up to my friends in the industry, and I constantly keep my ear to the ground to source new opportunities for you. And you can’t even slide a few papers into a folder for me?”
“But that’s networking, Chuck,” Tasha points out. “And I didn’t ask you to do any of that for me. What you’re asking me to do is—it’s a lie, plain and simple.”
She also wonders about how much of what he has claimed he’s done for her is true. She has no way of knowing if Chuck has actually ever mentioned his name to any of these so-called “friends in the industry.” Lord knows she certainly hasn’t had any new opportunities in a long time now.
He shakes his head, disgust coating his features, and pulls his hand away. “I can’t believe you,” he growls, shooting to his feet. He begins pacing around the small living room. “You think that’s just networking? I’ve staked my reputation on you!”
“What reputation?” The words fly out before Tasha has a chance to filter her thoughts. She slaps a hand over her mouth in horror, but it’s too late. Chuck freezes with his back to her. “Chuck …” she says gently, standing from the sofa.
He looks over his shoulder, not making eye contact, just enough so he can see her in the edge of his vision. She can feel the anger radiating off him like heat waves. “You’re really refusing to help me?” he asks in a low, sad tone.
“I’m sorry,” Tasha replies. “I can’t.”
Chuck’s voice grows cold. “Then we have nothing left to talk about.” He grabs his laptop and storms toward the door.
“Chuck, stop!” Tasha calls, going after him.
He slams the door in her face without so much as a backwards glance.
Tasha’s shoulders sink and she leans her forehead against the wood, squeezing her eyes shut as tears threaten to spill from them. She sniffs and takes a breath. Telling Chuck no was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Then why does she feel so bad?
She shuffles over to the sofa and collapses onto it, hugging her knees to her chest as she stares at the peeling paint on the wall across from her and waits hopefully for Chuck to return. Every
fight they have seems to end with him going off in a huff, but he’ll come back. He always does.
There is a half-eaten Whole Foods salad on the coffee table in front of her—light on dressing, heavy on beets. It reminds Tasha of the day she and Chuck first met.
She was browsing the Whole Foods down the street, more out of curiosity than anything else. She couldn’t afford to shop there, so it was pure dumb luck that she was wandering the aisles, since nobody had told her yet that, if you wanted to be anybody in Hollywood, you needed to shop there—whether you could afford to or not.
When she first saw Chuck, he was at the salad bar, loading up a plastic container with sliced beets. She thought he was cute but was too nervous to say anything, though she hung around for a while and stared at him. Back in Willow Beach, she was the most confident person in the room, but since moving to LA, she’d found a shell and scuttled into it. Everyone here was so loud and brash, and sometimes looking at someone the wrong way on the street was treated as an invitation for confrontation.
So, Tasha moved on to the produce section and put the cute guy at the salad bar out of her mind. She was gazing forlornly at the variety of fresh herbs and thinking of her mom’s cooking when Chuck came right up to her and said, “I feel like I recognize you from somewhere. Have I seen you in anything?”
Tasha nearly said that he probably recognized her from two minutes ago when she stalked him in at the salad bar. She decided against it and just replied with way more courage than she actually felt, “Not yet.”
“Ah, an aspiring actress?” he asked with a dazzling smile. “I should have guessed. You’re easily the most beautiful woman in this store.”
Tasha’s heart fluttered and she had to hang onto a crate to keep from melting into a puddle at his feet. Was it a cheesy line? Yes. But did it feel good to hear after her brutally harsh introduction to life as a wannabe actress in Tinseltown? Oh God, yes.
“Are you new to LA?” he asked.
“New-ish.”
He held out his hand. “I’m Chuck.”
“Tasha.” She shook his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Tasha.” He grinned. “How about I show you around a little?”
“Around this store?” she asked.
He shrugged. “If you like. I do tend to find the smoothie bar to be powerfully romantic.”
Tasha laughed. “Tempting. What about outside of the grocery store?”
“Anything and everything,” he said, looking her deep in the eyes. “But first, the cashier so I can pay for this salad.”
Tasha giggled despite herself as Chuck led her through the store and then out into the bustling Los Angeles streets. She was drunk on his charm, his grin, the spontaneity of it all.
Later that afternoon, Chuck took her to see the Hollywood sign up close because Tasha said she’d always wanted to, after watching so many movies where people drive up into the hills to sit and talk and look over Hollywood like a distant kingdom. Nowadays, there is a fence to stop people climbing the letters, but it was still every bit as magical as Tasha thought it would be. She sang “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” while dancing on the hilltop. Chuck watched her, grinning from cheek to dimpled cheek.
Things moved fast after that, like everything in Hollywood. Chuck quickly became the only piece of home Tasha had in the whole city.
Now, that piece of home has just walked out the door.
Tasha waits at the refreshment table for Candace to finish her scene. The crew knows her, but that doesn’t stop them from flashing her dirty looks as they pass. It could all be in Tasha’s head, sure, but she gets the feeling they don’t think she belongs next to their gluten-free crab dip and vegan pulled pork sandwiches.
She doesn’t eat, not with all this nervous energy buzzing through her.
This is the best place to catch Candace after she finishes a scene. She always beelines straight for the refreshment table, where she inevitably complains that she’s already consumed too many calories for the day. She will order Tasha to fetch her a black coffee while seething about how so-and-so ruined her scene.
Tasha checks her phone again—still nothing from Chuck. He never came back last night and hasn’t responded to any of her texts today.
Tasha tossed and turned all night and crept into the living room in the morning, hoping to find him stretched out on the sofa, but there was just his half-eaten salad and a bound copy of Summer Dreams, like a smack in the face.
Why did she have to push him so far?
One of the production assistants approaches the table. Jacob, she thinks his name is. Or Jordan? No, it’s Jacob. He obviously doesn’t know hers. “You!” he barks, pointing at her. “I need you to get more almond croissants. Aurelia is going to lose her mind if some don’t show up on this table in fifteen minutes.”
Aurelia Moon is one of the supporting actresses in the film. She is known for being a sweetheart to the press and an absolute demon to the crew and her costars. Tasha doesn’t know if she’s worse than Candace, and she plans to never get close enough to Aurelia to find out.
“Oh, I’m not with craft services,” Tasha says.
“You are now.” He points a thumb toward the door.
For a second, Tasha considers going. She is so beaten and bruised by the bullies of this industry that it has become second nature to say, “How high?” when they say, “Jump.”
Nevertheless, Candace will freak out if Tasha’s missing when she finishes her scene, and she needs her in a good mood today.
Jacob glowers at her. He isn’t very tall, but his dark eyes and bulky frame more than make up for the lack of height in terms of intimidation.
“I’m Candace’s personal assistant,” Tasha explains. “If I’m not here when she finishes, you’ll have another disaster on your hands.”
Jacob’s lip curls and he mutters something under his breath and walks away. Tasha lets out a deep breath and closes her eyes for a moment.
Tasha is no fool. She knew that making it big as a singer and actress wouldn’t be as easy as just moving to Hollywood and being discovered on the street by a famous director looking for fresh talent. She knew she would have to work for it and probably have to accept less than she deserved for a while in the pursuit of her dream. So, when the opportunity arose to become Candace’s assistant for meager pay and even less appreciation, she jumped. Why wouldn’t she? This was her big break. Well, one of them. The first of many.
That turned out not to be the case. Now, she is stuck. Going nowhere. Lost. Yet every time she thinks of giving up and dropping out, she sees the glimmer of her dream on the horizon and she’s stuck all over again.
The bell rings and shocks Tasha out of her thoughts. Voices and footsteps float across the set and Tasha stiffens. This is a bad idea. This could end her dreams forever.
But doesn’t she owe it to Chuck? Maybe, like he said, it won’t be a big deal. Maybe by not doing it, she’ll really be robbing him of his big break. Tasha steels herself for what she has to do. If she doesn’t do it, Chuck might never come home. She feels like she needs him. He’s all she has.
Candace approaches. Tasha imagines she feels the weight of Chuck’s script in her overloaded bag, like the princess with a pea under her mattress. She pastes on a smile. “You were great,” Tasha beams.
The star shrugs flippantly. “Yeah. Did you get that skin cream I asked for?”
“I did.” Tasha pours coffee into a paper cup and passes it over to Candace. Her hand is shaking and she hopes Candace doesn’t notice. ”Also, your agent’s assistant called. He couldn’t remember whether he sent the scripts to your trailer or your house and wanted to make sure you got them okay.”
Candace takes the cup and eyes the table of food. It is not a longing look, more of a glare. She is angry at the food for having calories, and carbs, and for existing.
“Yeah, they’re in my trailer,” Candace replies eventually. “Listen, can you take Augustus and Poncho on an extra-long walk today? They’ve been re
ally playful recently and it’s exhausting.”
Tasha nods. “Sure.”
Candace is already casting a flirty look over her shoulder at her costar, the dashingly handsome Victor Vishenko. She walks away without another word, and Tasha lets out a big breath.
Okay, one last step.
Tasha darts away from the refreshments before Candace remembers something else she needs her assistant to do. And before she loses her nerve.
Candace’s trailer isn’t far, and Tasha slips in easily with her key. The manila folder is lying on the little table at the back. It is almost too easy for her to slide Chuck’s script amongst the others inside.
Tasha feels dirty and she hates it, but this will be over soon. She considers aborting the plan one last time but decides against it. She has gone too far now. The script is in the folder. No turning back now, right?
There is a bang on the trailer door and Tasha freezes.
“Candace, you in there?” a man’s voice booms.
Tasha takes a deep breath, palms sweating. Did anyone see her come in here? She runs through a reel of potential excuses but all of them are flimsy at best, and she knows that she’d sputter or otherwise come across as though she’s withholding something.
So she waits. Silent. Still. Desperate.
A moment later, footsteps lead away from the trailer and Tasha can breathe. She waits ten more seconds and then flies out without looking back, heading straight for her car in the parking lot so she can go walk Candace’s dogs. She texts Chuck on the way to say she did it, and that she’s sorry.
She hopes she made the right choice.
6
Georgia
Georgia eases herself into the chair with a groan. It has been a long day. Cooking, cleaning, decorating the inn with flags and bunting for the upcoming Memorial Day festivities—at her age, those things are starting to take more of a toll on her than they ever have before. For over a decade, she and Richard have hosted a Memorial Day barbecue for their family, friends, and guests. It is a tradition they started after taking over the management of the inn, one that Georgia looks forward to every year.
