Lucky Star: A Hollywood Love Story

by Rebecca Norinne Caudill

  A small, pinched face peeked out from around the door jamb. “Uncle Cameron? Is that really you?” she stammered.

  “Hey Gloria.” I lifted a hand in greeting as I held back my laughter. Her attack-by-frying-pan had caught me unaware but now that her screaming had stopped and I no longer had a gun pointed at me, I saw the humor of the situation. “Sorry to have frightened you.”

  Gloria stepped out from behind the door and came up along side my dad. Clasping his much larger hand with her own tiny one, she peered up at me through dubious eyes and commanded me not to do it again. “I wouldn’t want to have to hit you with it next time.” She pointed at a small skillet that wouldn’t have done any damage had her aim been true.

  Even before my sister Daphne and my brother-in-law John had died in a freak car accident two years ago, leaving my parents to raise their only child, I’d thought Gloria was a strange kid. She looked like an eight-year-old little girl, and her voice sounded like one too, but since she’d learned to talk she’d reminded me of my great grandmother, god rest her soul. When my sister and her husband died, Gloria had been too young to understand what happened to them but her therapists had warned once she was old enough to grasp the difference between mommies and daddies and grandmas and grandpas she might have a hard time adjusting. Thankfully their fear had been unfounded.

  In terms of being an orphan, Gloria remained completely unfazed and no one thought the quirks of her behavior had anything to do with being raised by her grandparents. I did sometimes worry though if the amount of time she spent with my mom volunteering down at the nursing center had rubbed off on her more than anyone bargained for. My mom had worked tirelessly to instill compassion and a sense of community into all of her children from a very early age, alternating weekly visits to the old folks’ homes, soup kitchens, and animal rescue organizations as a way of strengthening those teachings. She’d done the same with Gloria. When I’d been a little kid trips to the nursing facility had been a major buzzkill but now I recognized them as part of what made me the man I was today. It was why I still tried to visit the one by my old apartment as often as possible. Even so, as I peered at little Gloria and saw she wore a strand of cultured pearls draped around her neck and a pillbox hat that had been my great grandmothers atop her head, I wondered if Mom shouldn’t focus more on animals with her instead of the octogenarians.

  Dad raised his eyebrows in silent question and I dragged my eyes down to the strange little girl at his side, an unspoken indication we should talk without her listening in. Based on what my mom had told me recently, it wasn’t only her dress and mannerisms that skewed old lady. Gloria had also turned into something of an adept eavesdropper and first class gossip.

  “Gloria, you clean this mess and then go collect the eggs from the chicken coop. When you’re done with that, you can make a sandwich and watch Matlock.”

  Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrow. “Matlock?” I mouthed silently, but he rolled just his eyes and mouthed back, “Don’t ask.”

  What kind of eight-year-old watched Matlock instead of cartoons?

  Once Gloria retreated outside, humming the theme to Golden Girls as she left, my dad turned to me. “Is something wrong, Cameron? It’s not like you to show up unannounced. Not that we aren’t happy to see you, mind.”

  We ambled into the formal living room at the front of the house and I took a seat in my favorite chair. My dad settled into his own and I glanced around for signs of my mom’s presence in the house. When I didn’t hear her puttering around upstairs or the radio going in the kitchen, I asked, “Is mom home?”

  “No,” he answered, looking down at his watch. “But she should be back any minute. She ran down to the garden center to pick up some Sluggo. You know we prefer the garden to be one hundred percent organic, but those bastards are doing a number on her tomato and zucchini plants this year. She’s reached the end of her rope.”

  I appreciated his unspoken understanding that I wasn’t going to reveal the reason behind my surprise visit until mom was there to hear the story as well. There was nothing more Patrick Scott hated than being asked to tell the same story twice so he wouldn’t try to needle the reason for my visit out of me before she joined us. Needling was her specialty, after all.

  “She wanted to put some of the chickens in amongst the plants to see if they’d eat the slugs, but I had to stop her before she hurt one of them.” On a chuckle, he added, “You can take the girl out of the city …” He shrugged and his eyes twinkled with mirth. “How your mom doesn’t know a chicken can die if it eats a slug is beyond me.” He rested his arms atop his belly and the position drew my eyes to the slight paunch he’d developed since I’d seen him seven months ago.

  The Scott-Mayfield genetics were an odd thing. The boys had been gifted with my father’s build (extremely tall and lean) and my mothers’ looks (blonde hair, blue eyes) while the Scott girls had gotten my mother’s build (tiny, petite) and my father’s looks (dark hair, green eyes). Standing next to one another, you’d never know we were related to one another unless you saw the whole family together, our parents included.

  At sixty-eight, Patrick Scott was in excellent shape for his age, his body stronger than many men half his age, but that slightly rounded gut indicated he was starting to slow down, maybe not get as much exercise as he had before. Not that I begrudged him taking it easy. From the time I was a baby until I’d moved out at eighteen, my dad had been one of the hardest working men I knew. He’d continued working that hard even after I’d left home. From my earliest memory, my dad left the house before dawn only to return home just minutes before my mom set the table for dinner.

  From sun up to sun down he worked with his hands, toiled the earth and raised our animals, while he rebuilt the Scott family business. There’d been a time – before I was born and he’d taken over from his own father – that the farm had been in danger of going under, but by sheer force of will and determination, he and my mom had managed to hold things together even during the worst financial climate. Today, markets all over Ohio and Northern Kentucky clamored for our free range meat and organic produce, a testament to how hard he’d worked his entire life. I would have said the man was invincible but the signs of aging I saw in him now made me reconsider that notion.

  Broaching the subject as diplomatically as I could, I asked, “How much help do you have around the farm these days?”

  He laughed at my obvious fishing for information. “Why, you thinking of giving up Hollywood to come home and be a farmer?”

  If you weren’t familiar with my dad’s sense of humor, you might think his words malicious, a knock on my pretty cushy lifestyle but he was only teasing me. He’d never wanted to force any of his children to follow in his footsteps, and in fact, had been adamant we all try something else before committing to the family business. (That it had been Daphne who’d moved home with a husband and baby only to die two years later was a sad fact none of my siblings discussed in front of our parents; the wound was still too fresh, even now.)

  When I’d been discovered by a modeling scout at an outdoor music festival, I’d never worried how he would respond. When I told my parents I was deferring college and moving to New York for a year instead, I’d done so confidently because I knew they would support my decision. And when I returned at 20 with a hefty bank account but worn out from the constant go, go, go being a runway model entailed, they’d welcomed me home with open arms. I’d given community college a try and probably would have transferred to Ohio State if I hadn’t been re-discovered, so to speak, by a Hollywood agent when my friends and I served as extras in a comic book movie that was filming in Cleveland.

  His question raised a good point though. If things didn’t start looking up soon, moving home to help out on the farm might be exactly what I’d have to do. Instead of telling him that however, I laughed and said it’d happen when our pigs learned to fly.

  “It’s not a bad life, you know?” he asked, his voice going serious.
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br />   “I know Dad, it’s just not for me. Not right now at least.”

  He was silent for a few beats and then answered my earlier question.

  “We’ve got seasonal help for the animals which helps out a lot, but your mother and I, we’re not as young as we used to be”— he patted his slight paunch with a wry twist of his lips — “and we could really use more help with the produce. I’m working on a deal with the community college to hire out some of their ag students at reduced pay for credit toward their courses.”

  I was about to ask him how that would work when my mom sailed into the room and asked breezily, “Who’s not as young as they used to be?” Leaning down to place a kiss on my dad’s cheek, she turned to me and beamed. “I’m still considered a spring chicken, aren’t I Cameron?” She laughed and I met her in the middle of the room. Grasping her in a tight hug, I swung her around in a circle and put her down with a kiss to her forehead.

  “It’s good to see you mom.”

  With all of my recent soul searching, I’d thought a lot about what I wanted for my future. I didn’t know if it lay in California or back home in Ohio, but I recognized I wanted to spend more time with my family. I wanted a marriage like my parents had. And if I was able to fix what I’d broken, I wanted them to welcome Sarah into the family as one of their own. I didn’t know if I stood a snowball’s chance in hell of making that happen but decided the only thing I could do was give it my best shot. If Sarah never wanted to see me again I’d try to convince her otherwise, but no matter what, I couldn’t stay away from her any longer.

  The past three weeks had been filled with auditions, including the one for Broderick’s movie, but I didn’t have anyone to share my excitement and nerves with. Mike was good for a celebratory beer, but our conversations quickly strayed to whatever new woman he was seeing, and there were many. For the past couple of years whenever I’d had even a small iota of success, Sarah was the first phone call I’d make. She was the only person outside of my agent who truly understood my world and the insight and support I received from her was a large part of what kept me going.

  A few days after The Worst Night of My Life, I’d called up my agent, Julie Wasserman and shared what Sarah had told me about Broderick’s secret auditions for The Ties That Bind. Julie had been surprised I had information she didn’t and pushed for me to give up my source. I told her I’d overheard a group of actors talking about it at one of the workshops I attended since there was absolutely no way in hell the leak could ever be traced back to Sarah. She’d stuck her neck out for me and I didn’t want her getting in trouble for having done so.

  The next afternoon I’d gone to Julie’s office and she filled me in on what she’d learned after calling up Gramalkin Studios and badgering them for further details about the submission process. (The fact that I was still relatively unknown in Hollywood after having been a working actor for so long could never be laid at Julie’s feet. She worked as hard for me as she did for even her biggest clients and I appreciated that she’d stuck by me.) From there we strategized the best approach for my taped audition and filmed four takes of the scene we’d agreed on, choosing the second take as the best of the bunch. Once she’d hand-delivered the package that contained the recording and my bio and headshot to Broderick’s office, she told me to stay calm, wait it out, and try not to freak the fuck out. When she hadn’t received a response for several days afterward, I’d given up all hope of getting a call back.

  Which was why I was confused when my phone buzzed in my pocket, alerting me to an incoming call, and I saw her name and flash across the screen.

  “I should take this,” I said, stepping out of the room and putting the phone to my ear.

  “Hey Julie, what’s up?”

  Not one for polite pleasantries, she jumped straight to the point of her call. “I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

  My stomach sank. I could guess the bad news. “Why don’t you give me the good news first, since I could use it right about now.”

  “You’re in.”

  “What?”

  “The Ties That Bind. You’re in the home stretch, kid.”

  No fucking way.

  “Not only did your performance earn you an official meeting with Broderick Johnson and his team from Gramalkin, but you’re one of only three actors being considered for the role. You have nothing to worry about though because you are Xander St. John.”

  No fucking way.

  She laughed. “And before you say it, yes fucking way.”

  Julie had once told me she didn’t drink or do drugs and that it was these calls that gave her a high. I totally understood why. Being able to deliver news of this magnitude who had been struggling would feel amazing.

  I tried not to get too excited though. “I’ve been here before Julie. I don’t want to count my chickens before they’re hatched.” You’d think having grown up on a farm and having witnessed the literal interpretation of that idiom, it would have been one I lived by, but time and again it was easy to get my hopes up when news like this came in. “This isn’t the first time it was down to me and some other guy, only for him to land the role instead.”

  “That’s true, but you can’t think that way. You’re talented and you’re still relatively young. Besides, Jeremy Renner didn’t make it big until he was 37 and he’s Hawkeye now, goddamnit. Fucking Hawkeye, Cameron!”

  I laughed along with her, let her enthusiasm wash over me, because yeah, a Marvel comic book hero was pretty bad ass. Quickly my mood sobered. I wasn’t up for a role in a Marvel of DC Comics movie and probably never would be. I’d once read for a recurring part on Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. as a Hydra mercenary but hadn’t gotten it. Julie told me afterward the casting director had liked my intensity but said I was “too pretty to play a bad guy.”. I’d heard that often enough these last couple of years that I’d almost asked Mike to break my nose. Almost, but not quite. Because shit, that would have hurt like a motherfucker and I wasn’t ready to suffer quite that much for “my art.” Besides, I liked my face as it was just fine.

  “So anyway kid,” Julie continued, using the nickname she’d given me even though she was only five years older, “I know you’re flying out to Ohio soon, but I need you back in L.A. the day after tomorrow for a sit down with Broderick.”

  “Shit,” I muttered. “I’m already here but I fly back to L.A. in three days.”

  “That’s not going to work.”

  Fuck, it really wasn’t. “I’ll have to get creative with my route back, but I’ll make it work. Go ahead and confirm the meeting.”

  “I already did,” she answered with supreme confidence. “I knew you’d drop everything for this so I didn’t even hesitate.”

  Shit. I was going to have to drop everything. I’d had one main goal in making this trip home, but I’d also wanted to spend some time relaxing with my family. My oldest brother Chris lived in Cleveland Heights and I’d had it in my head to hit up our favorite brewery before heading back to California. I’d have to table those plans until my next visit, whenever that might be.

  “Okay. Yeah, that sounds great. And thanks Julie, you made this happen.”

  “I did no such thing. All I did was make a few phone calls. This is all you, really. But hey, if you want to remember this come Christmas, Chanel No. 5 is my favorite.”

  I heard the click that signaled the end of our call, Julie having hung up before I could say goodbye. I stared down at the blank screen in my hand, shell-shocked. Like I’d said to her just a few seconds ago, I didn’t want to get my hopes up … but damn. Landing this part would be huge! It would literally change my life.

  When I walked back into the living room, my mom was cozied up in my dad’s lap, her head resting against his shoulder. “Hey pumpkin,” she said, sitting up. My parents, despite their vastly different upbringings and personalities, had always been tactile and loving toward one another. As a teenager, it had embarrassed me when they’d hold hands or kiss in
front of my friends or teammates, but now that I was contemplating a future with Sarah, I was thankful for their positive example.

  I shook my head to clear my mind and smiled back. “So, I’ve got news.”

  Mom slid off my dad’s lap and when walked away he swatted her ass. She let out a playful yelp and turned to scold him. “Keep your hands to yourself, mister.”

  “I could, but why would I want to?”

  “Ahem,” I coughed into my hand. As much as I appreciated of the fact that my parents obviously still loved one another, I didn’t need to see the blatant evidence staring me in the face.

  “Son, you’ll meet someone someday and then you’ll understand then,” my dad said, grinning.

  This was what I’d traveled all this way for. This conversation, right here, right now.

  “Actually, that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “Oooh,” my mom cooed. “Tell me all about her.” She sat forward in her chair, her hands clasped in eagerness.

  “The truth is you already know her.”

  Mom’s eyes darted to my dad and then back to me. I couldn’t make out what that shared look meant and before I could ask, she posed a question of her own. “We do?”

  “Yeah.” I rubbed sweaty palms down the front of my jeans. “The thing is, I’ve fallen in love with Sarah.”

  My dad’s shoulders relaxed – I hadn’t even realized they’d gone tense until I watched them soften – and a smile broke out across my mom’s face. “Well, that’s wonderful dear. Sarah’s a lovely woman.”

  “She is,” I agreed. “And the thing is … at some point – not today, not next week, and maybe not even months from now, but someday definitely – I want to ask her to marry me.”

  “Cameron …” Mom stood and, staring at me with happy tears in her eyes, sniffed and exhaled. “Well, that’s magnificent is what it is. Patrick, tell him how wonderful this is.”

  My dad rose from his chair and clasped my hand in a firm shake and then pulled me in for the manly version of a hug. “It’s wonderful news son. She’ll make you a fine bride.”