by Laura DeLuca
Falling Star
Laura DeLuca
ePUB Edition
Copyright 2014, Laura DeLuca
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Pagan Writers Press
Houston, Texas
ISBN: 978-1-938397-89-9
Edited by Sheryl D. Policar
Cover by Laura Hidalgo at Bookfabulous Designs
Cover Models: Andrew DiPalma & Natalie Hanley
http://paganwriterspress.com
Dedication
For Andrew DiPalma,
the best cousin in the world.
He’s the real star in the family.
AND
For Sharon,
a wonderful friend and spiritual sister.
I treasure you and the wisdom you share.
Table of Contents
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
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
About the Author
Prologue
“Cut!” the director shouted. “That’s a wrap! We’re finished!”
Instantly, the dimmed room flooded with light and the crowd of people hidden in the shadows erupted in applause. Cast and crew, in an odd mix of modern clothes and eighteenth century costumes, flocked from the stage. The last scene of the movie was officially completed. Actors, cameramen, even makeup artists, and hair stylists, were excited about the finished product. It was always a momentous occasion when the final scene was shot. Of course, there would still be months of behind the scenes work to do as far as editing and such, but for the majority of them, the hard part was over. It was time to relax and wait for the traipse along the red carpet.
Drew squinted against the bright overhead lights as he stepped down from the set, a convincing castle bedroom, complete with a canopied bed covered in hand embroidered linens and an authentic vintage armoire, neatly nestled in the heart of Hollywood. Most of the movie had been filmed on location in France, but they’d flown back to the studio in Los Angeles for the more intimate scenes. The whole endeavor had been months of hard labor. Shooting took place in all types of weather and conditions, and the work day sometimes lasted sixteen hours or more. Everyone was glad it was finally over, including Drew, but he was still the only one who didn’t clap along with his fellow cast mates. In fact, the loud noise amplified the pounding in his head. Another migraine. They were getting worse and closer together. Sometimes he felt like he’d never get a reprieve.
“Great job, Andy!”
One of the cameramen slapped him on the back, and Drew did his best to coax a smile. Sometimes he still had to remind himself people were speaking to him when he heard the name Andy. His real name was Andrew DiPalma and all his life, family and friends called him Drew. But when he finally landed a big-time agent, he convinced Drew to go with something catchier, more all-American. Thus, Drew became Andy Palmer and that was the only name his current co-workers had ever known him by. Sometimes, it was as though the whole world had forgotten Drew DiPalma ever existed—like he’d been overshadowed by his famous counterpart. If he wanted to be really honest, even Drew was beginning to forget about the small town kid who’d grown up in the suburbs of Pennsylvania and later moved to the small town of Athens, Georgia. After ten years in Hollywood—a world of fast cars, hot models, and a night life that spun well into the early morning hours, it was easy to allow the little things that made him who he was fall to the wayside.
“Andy!” A short, plump, and highly caffeinated man pushed through the crowd. He looked anxious, but that seemed to be a perpetual state of mind for Paulie Mazurek. Drew was pretty sure his agent was on speed. “I’m glad I caught you before you left! We got a lot to go over. I already have three new scripts for you to read through, not that the storyline matters. We should go for the highest bidder. You’re so hot right now, they’re blaming you for global warming. I bet we could have you booked solid through the end of the decade if we set our minds to it. Maybe even pump out five or ten movies a year!”
Drew raised an eyebrow. “Personally, Paulie, I prefer quality over quantity. I’d rather shoot one or two good films each year than fill my roster with B horror movies and soft core porn.”
“Trying for that Oscar again, are you, Andy?” Paulie cheered. “Once you got that under your belt, we won’t take less than thirty for any role we’re offered.”
Paulie always managed to steer the conversation back in the direction he’d been aiming for, which for him, always led to his wallet. Thirty, Drew knew, meant thirty million, and Paulie took a whopping twenty percent of whatever the going price was for Andy Palmer.
“Do you think we could have this conversation later?” Drew placed his palm on his forehead, hoping to stop the incessant thump. “We just wrapped up this film a few minutes ago. Can’t we wait a month or two before diving into something else?”
One of Paulie’s grey eyes twitched, a sure sign he was displeased. “Buddy, in this business you can be a has-been before you’ve even been. You might have one Oscar nomination under your belt, but that was already a few years back. You don’t want people forgetting your name, do you, Andy?”
Everyone’s already forgotten my name!
That’s what Drew wanted to shout. He wanted to grab the director’s bullhorn and scream it at the top of his lungs, but neither Paulie, nor anyone else loitering around the set, would understand. To them, it was all about the bottom dollar, all about fame and fortune; and what it could buy them. So instead of arguing, Drew feigned acceptance. He was an actor after all. Might as well put his talents to good use.
“Have the scripts sent to my trailer,” he relented. The heavy wig he wore wasn’t helping to alleviate his headache, and the old-world clothes suddenly felt constricting. All he really wanted was to get back to his trailer and lie down. “I’ll take a look as soon as I change and see if I can’t at least narrow it down.”
“That’s my boy.” Paulie breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Take your time ... but not too much. I have the producers on standby waiting for your decision.”
“Sure thing.”
Drew tried not to sound trite when they parted ways. Paulie had worked hard to help him make a name for himself. Hadn’t he landed Drew his first starring role in the box office smash, Sunken Treasures? He’d scored the part of a lifetime when he played the tragic hero Johnny, a third class passenger who sacrifices his life for a beautiful aristocrat when t
he huge sea liner sinks. It was the film that thrust Drew into the spotlight almost overnight, after years of struggling to get by on the small royalty checks commercials and bit parts in television comedies provided. With the launch of that film, he achieved the type of fame most people only dreamed about and a fortune to go with it. But from there, it was all downhill.
His last film, Sunset Beach was a total flop. It was about a college guy who leaves the world behind to go live on an almost deserted island with a few other hippies ... even though drug dealers had fields of marijuana growing on the other side of the island. Drew had liked the premise. It was different—unique. The critics disagreed. It was in theaters for all of five minutes before it was declared a failure. Now he was lucky to find a used copy of the Blu-ray on an internet auction. He hoped this newest endeavor, a historical titled Masked Secrets, would do better in the box office or Drew might wind up as nothing more than a sex toy on a soap opera.
Shaking his head at the thought of the abysmal failure, Drew maneuvered through the stagehands as they packed up the props. He looked forward to shutting himself off in his dressing room for a few hours, to having a little privacy, a rarity for anyone who lived their life in the spotlight. Of course, that would’ve been too good to be true.
“Andy! Oh, Andy! Wait!”
Drew managed to weave about a quarter of the way to his trailer before a French accent stopped him in his tracks. His co-star, Catherine Beaumont, fluffed her big white wig and put her hands on her shapely hips. Beneath the hairpiece were perfect red curls, and under the gown was the type of kick-ass body all actresses paid their personal trainers the big bucks for.
“I have been searching for you everywhere!” Catherine exclaimed breathlessly. “Where did you disappear to so quickly?”
“What’s up, Cat?” Drew asked with minimal enthusiasm.
While Drew couldn’t deny Catherine was stunning in her period gown, he wasn’t overly keen about her chasing him down. He’d hoped after their last scene ended, they’d go back to being casual acquaintances. On set, the actress had been a temperamental shrew who threw coffee in an intern’s face on more than one occasion. Off screen, she was stuck to him like static cling. No matter how many times he attempted to shake free, she still sprang back. While their fictional romance might steam up theaters, that was as far as it would go. His fans, with a little push from Paulie and his publicist he was sure, were rooting for the Hollywood duo to make their romance a reality. They’d even dubbed them Candy in the tabloids, but Drew wanted no part of it. The Greek supermodel he’d dated a few months back had pushed him to his diva limit, and he was pretty sure he would be the first celibate Hollywood icon.
“Are you even listening to me?”
The high-pitched screech was only more confirmation that he’d made the right call. His head hurt so badly, he’d spaced out, but Catherine kept prattling away. “Sorry, Cat, what was that?”
If looks could kill...
Catherine’s creased forehead declared the aggravation she attempted to mask with her flirtatious smile. She wasn’t used to men telling her no. Especially not over and over again throughout many months of filming—months that Drew had been shackled to her side on the set and forced into situations where her half naked body almost made him reconsider his decision. No matter how often he tried to keep the make-out scenes purely fictional, she always managed to sneak in a little tongue or rub her hand a bit too close to his male anatomy.
“I said, there is a big party tonight over at The Commons. The whole cast will be there, and I am sure the press will make an appearance. Perhaps it is time we have a little ... coming out party?”
Drew’s forehead crinkled. “And what exactly is coming out?”
“Why, us, silly!” She wanted to sound cute, but Drew could tell she was really annoyed. “I think we need to let the world know we are a couple.”
Drew sighed in exasperation. “We might’ve played a couple in the movie, Cat, but this is real life. Here in reality, we’re what’s known as just friends.”
Even that felt like an exaggeration.
“Just friends, eh?” Catherine’s lips turned in a sideways smirk, and her electric blue eyes spoke volumes of trouble. Trouble Drew really wanted to avoid. “We will see about that.”
Paulie would’ve had a stroke if he’d known Drew sabotaged his master plan. But even though his career could use the boost a public relationship with Catherine would provide, he couldn’t bring himself to play such ridiculous games. Drew didn’t think a publicity stunt was the answer anyway. His problem was he’d been stereotyped. No matter how great the role of Johnny had been, it also limited his options. When people saw him, they couldn’t see past that epic character. Drew couldn’t be the bad guy, the crazy guy, or even a different guy. As far as the world was concerned, he was Johnny. Period. At times, it was even worse than being Andy Palmer. Talk about an identity crisis. It was no consolation he’d made more money than he’d ever need in twenty lifetimes. It didn’t matter that his picture hung on the bedroom wall of every teenage girl in America. What mattered was that no one appreciated the talented actor he was. He was good. He knew that. He loved acting, but right now, he needed to get away from it.
“Paulie dropped this off for you, Andy.” Drew’s personal assistant, a tall, skinny guy with carrot-colored hair and abundant freckles, thrust a stack of papers in his hand as soon as Drew stepped out of the studio.
“Thanks, Ben.”
He hoped that would be the end of the discussion, but Ben stalked him while he sauntered to his trailer. “Paulie wants you to call his cell as soon as you make a decision. He needs to know by tomorrow which movie you’re going to acce—”
Ben’s voice cut off abruptly when Drew slammed the trailer door in his face. Then, because he wasn’t anything like Catherine and hopefully never would be, he felt bad for being rude. He stuck his head back out to apologize, but before the words could formulate, he came up with an even better idea. Ben still stood on the bottom step with his mouth hanging open when Drew flashed him his most charming smile.
“You know what, Ben,” Drew began, trying to sound sympathetic. “You’ve been working hard the last few months. You barely had any time off ... and didn’t your wife have a baby?”
Ben almost glowed. “Three weeks ago today.”
In almost record-breaking time, his assistant had his cell phone out and thrust a picture of a little girl under his nose. Drew guessed it was a female based solely on the enormous pink bow wrapped rather constrictively around her oversized head. Still, the little bugger was cute. Ben was obviously enamored by his daughter, and Drew wondered if he’d ever get to feel that sort of parental pride.
“She looks like a sweetheart,” Drew complimented. “You should go spend some quality time with her. Take a few weeks off ... a month maybe.”
Ben appeared stricken by the suggestion and Drew understood. Diapers were expensive after all.
“With pay of course,” Drew added. “Don’t worry. I’m not laying you off. You’re irreplaceable. I’ll make sure your checks are direct deposited as usual. I’ll even throw in a bonus for the baby. I think we could all use a break.”
“Wow! Thanks, Andy! You’re the best! My wife will be thrilled if she gets a few days to sleep in.”
Drew smiled at Ben’s enthusiasm, but his motives weren’t entirely selfless. With his assistant off to call his significant other, Drew was finally able to escape to the privacy of his trailer without any more interruptions. He tossed the unread scripts onto his desk and yanked off the eighteenth century costume he wore, exchanging them for a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt. The movie they’d just finished filming was set during the French Revolution, and Drew played the dual roles of twin brothers in love with the same woman. His lover was portrayed by none other than the Quebec-born Catherine, thus the large quantity of half-naked scenes they shared. At least she didn’t have to take speech lessons to perfect her haughty accent. The movie was some
thing completely different than anything he’d attempted so far, and Drew had high hopes for its success. Still, he was relieved the shoot was over.
Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz.
Drew glanced down at the cell vibrating on his desk and saw Paulie’s number flash across the screen. He picked the phone up and almost hit the talk button by force of habit alone, but instead he turned the ringer off altogether and put his throbbing head in his hands. The last few months he’d spent endless hours on the set and on location in France. He’d dealt with Catherine’s not-so-subtle advances as well as the cold shoulder from a few of his older cast mates who resented his so-called overnight success—forget the five years as a starving artist that began the moment he stepped off the podium at his college graduation.
Long scripts to memorize. Agents offering shady side deals. People always trying to make him look better, talk better, act better. Having to show up for work no matter how crappy he felt, because he couldn’t call out when it cost the producer 300K or more a day to delay filming. Drew was tired of it all—the glamour, the fast pace, the endless stream of superficial people who were all out for themselves. Drew was sick and tired of the Hollywood lifestyle, and he was going to do something about it. Paulie might be scouting for his next big break, but Drew had other plans.
Chapter One
“Hey, Lainey, what’re you doing over there.”
Lainey turned and peered over the rim of her glasses at her co-worker, Erin Conway. Erin always wanted to know what Lainey was doing. It was one of the drawbacks of sharing office space with her best friend. Not that anyone would’ve guessed they were so close by looking at them. Erin was sun-kissed and trendy, with high-top boots and a wardrobe that consisted almost entirely of name brands, right down to her Coach handbag and Armani sunglasses, while Lainey boasted a Boho skirt and top in earthy tones she’d scored off the discount rack at JC Penny. But despite their fashion differences, they were still often on the same wavelength. Erin always instinctively caught Lainey in the act no matter how sneaky she tried to be. In this case, Erin’s master spy tactics nabbed Lainey fooling around on the internet when she should’ve been reviewing property inspections.
