Lucky Star: A Hollywood Love Story

by Rebecca Norinne Caudill

  I moved out of his embrace and let my mom fold me into her arms. When she broke away, she glanced at me with confusion. “But why didn’t you bring her with you?”

  “So, that’s the thing,” I stammered. “We’re not um … you see … um …”

  “Spit it out, son” my dad guffawed.

  I took a deep breath. “The thing is, we’re not actually together. I did something stupid and then I made things worse by behaving like a huge asshole, but I want to make it right.”

  My mother’s smile fell and my dad shook his head. “Son, I hate to rain on your parade, but a proposal of marriage might not be the best way to go about doing that.”

  “I know,” I assured him. “Like I said … someday. Which is why I’m here. I was hoping I could take Grandma Edith’s ring back to L.A. with me.”

  My parents shared another quick look. “Cameron,” my mom intoned. “That ring’s yours, to be given to the woman you someday marry. I would never tell you how to live your life, but I want to make sure you really know what you’re doing. Sarah’s a fine girl, we’ve always thought so, but if you’re not even a couple, is this wise?”

  I understood their dilemma. From the outside looking in, this news made me appear rash, reckless, the idea not at all well thought out. But for so long now I’d loved Sarah in all the ways a man loved a woman he wanted to marry. I regretted that it’d taken something like being apart from her to make me see just how badly I needed her in my life.

  “I love her mom. I want with Sarah what you and dad have. I want her to be the mother of my children.”

  She laid her hand on my bicep. “If that’s what you want Cameron, of course I’ll give you your grandmother’s ring with my blessing. Just …” she trailed off.

  “Just what?”

  “Don’t rush into a grand gesture thinking it can solve your problems. I know you operate, but you have to remember that being best friends with someone is a lot different than being their partner in life.”

  “I know that, I honestly do. But there’s no one else for me. I’m either going to marry Sarah someday, or I’m going to grow old with Gloria out there taking care of me.”

  My dad huffed out a laugh. “You best hope Sarah comes around then because Gloria would make a terrible companion.”

  “Patrick,” my mom scolded for real this time. “What a horrible thing to say about your granddaughter.”

  “You and I both know I love that little girl as much as I loved her mother, but just the same, we both know she’s an odd duck.”

  “She has time to grow out of it,” my mom said, defending her strange little bird. “Besides, Cameron doesn’t need to worry about that because Sarah’s going to come around. I just know it.”

  “I appreciate your confidence. Just keep repeating that and maybe fate will hear you.”

  “Good luck son.” Dad gripped my shoulder as he walked past. “Sarah’s a lucky woman to have found you.”

  If only I could have agreed with him. As things stood, I was probably the last man on earth she’d think she was lucky to know, but I had every intention of changing her mind.

  Alone in my childhood bedroom with my grandmother’s ring sitting on the bed next to me, I contemplated how I could repair the damage I’d done. It would take time to make Sarah trust me again, but I was willing to devote every waking minute to making sure she did.

  Pulling out my laptop, I checked outgoing flights and prices from Cleveland to LAX. The flight tomorrow was already sold out, but there was one that departed in five hours for San Diego instead. Groaning at the hit my credit card was about to take, I called the airline’s 1-800 number to change my ticket. The customer service rep was probably one of the nicest airline employees I’d ever encountered, and having told her the reason for my quick trip, she’d changed my ticket later to tonight’s flight and waived the transfer fee. My ticket settled, I grew anxious. By this time tomorrow I’d be at home, hopefully well on my way to winning my girl back. Oh, and prepping for the most important professional meeting of my life. No pressure or anything.

  I jogged downstairs and when I told my parents goodbye, my mother jumped. “But you just got here!”

  “I know, and I wish I could stay longer, but I have to get back to L.A. for work.” I hadn’t told them how long I’d intended to stay, and since my visit had been a surprise in the first place, I didn’t share that I’d just changed my ticket. For all they knew, I’d only ever intended to stay the afternoon.

  “Look at you, so romantic,” she said once I convinced her of my need to leave tonight. “Flying across the country at breakfast to pick up a ring and then flying home after dinner. Sarah really is a lucky girl Cameron. I hope she sees that.”

  “Yeah, me too.” I kissed her on the cheek and then shook my dad’s hand. “Bye Gloria,” I said next, ruffling my niece’s curls.

  “Cameron!” she shrieked, bringing her hands to her head to prevent further disarray. “You should never attack a lady’s coiffure.”

  I laughed and looked my dad’s way. “She is such an old lady,” I mouthed, to which he responded, “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Several hours and thousands of miles later, I touched down in Southern California with the key to my future tucked in my pocket. The words I’d spoken to my parents echoed in my head: not today, not next week, and maybe not even months from now, but someday I was definitely going to make Sarah mine.

  Sitting in the makeshift lunchroom a couple of weeks later, I overheard my co-workers say Broderick had narrowed his search down to three actors whose names he wasn’t ready to reveal, and two actresses he did name, both extremely beautiful and very talented. Either would do a great job as Arabella Wilson

  The next day I received a vague text from him.

  Broderick: I need your opinion.

  I waited to see exactly if he’d elaborate, but nothing followed. Fifteen minutes later as I was in the process of texting him back to ask for clarification, another note came in.

  Broderick: Come downstairs. Now.

  When I walked into his office he had two taped auditions queued up on side-by-side monitors. The videos were paused with the screen was locked on each man with a placard held in front of his face, but I would have recognized those arms anywhere. Cameron was on one of those screens. Call it intuition, call it fear, call it whatever you want, but my stomach churned in recognition.

  “I need you to tell me which one of these guys is going to make women hot.”

  I felt my body temperature rise as the memory of Cameron’s mouth on me flashed through my mind, and I had no doubt whatsoever exactly which man made me hot. Thank goodness Broderick had turned off the lights because my face would have given me away.

  Tapping the remote, the first screen came to life. The guy was good looking enough. Actually, he was really good looking, but my concept of The Perfect Man had gone through somewhat of a metamorphosis since I’d come to know Cameron. For me he was the male by which all others were evaluated, and all came up lacking in one way or another. I watched the actor do his scene and it was fine – not great, but not bad either.

  “So?” Broderick asked when the video ended.

  I told him I was sure women would clamor to have their pictures taken with the actor, and that he could easily supplant the current Hollywood sex symbol. But the more I considered his on-screen presence, the more I thought he looked too young for the role. Maybe it was just me, but I became really uncomfortable when 50-year-old women projected their fantasies onto a 23-year-old guy. That poor kid from Twilight was probably still in therapy over how they’d treated him. My other, more professionally minded, point of hesitation was that I couldn’t realistically buy him as a man with a past, or as someone with a tortured soul, something essential for playing Xander St. John. Not that Cameron was necessarily tortured, but he had the acting chops to make you believe he was and that’s what counted. I hadn’t seen that in this other guy.

  I didn’t know which way Br
oderick was leaning, or exactly how much input he expected me to give, so I tried to be as diplomatic as possible in my feedback but I wound up sounding evasive instead.

  “But will women want him Sarah? Will they fantasize about him? Will they picture themselves in place of Arabella?”

  “Some will. They always do,” I assured him but then decided to go for broke with my input. “But to me he doesn’t fully deliver. He looks too young to be the hero. I think he needs a few more years of life under his belt before I can believe he’s got a dark past. That there are people he’s killed, who want to kill him in return.”

  He nodded as I spoke, acknowledging my points as valid criticisms.

  “How old is he anyway?” I asked.

  “Twenty-six.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, not enough life experience.” Admittedly, there weren’t that many years between this kid’s 26 years and Cameron’s 34, but they mattered. Also, in losing his sister two years ago, Cameron understood loss and anguish, especially as it related to familial ties, something else that was essential for the role of a mob boss’s son trying to walk the fine line between the family business and being on the straight and narrow. At the very least he could pull from that loss for his performance.

  “Okay, what about this guy?”

  When he hit play Cameron’s face and voice hit me like a ton of bricks and the full force of my misery fought to break free. I took a deep breath, and then another, in an attempt to calm my traitorous heart. Cameron delivered his monologue expertly, nailing the audition. I wasn’t just being kind either. There was no other way to describe it. From what I saw on that screen, the role seemed as if it had been written specifically for him. As he continued, I felt like his words were meant for me. They weren’t, of course – that would have been ridiculous – but that didn’t stop me from imagining he was talking about me, using our relationship as the inspiration as well.

  “She’s everything I have ever wanted but I’m no good for her. I know that but I can’t stop myself from loving her. My intellect tells me I should stay away, but my heart? Damn,” he swore and groaned. “My heart has other ideas. But if I give in I’ll be putting her in danger. If anything should ever happen to her, if I ever hurt her in any way, I couldn’t live with myself. I’d rather die than hurt Arabella.”

  A disembodied voice I recognized as the casting director read the response off-screen, giving me time to compose myself before Cameron continued speaking. “Do I love her? Fuck, how can you even ask me that? Of course I love her. Haven’t you been listening to a word I said? She’s the other half of me, all I’ve ever wanted. I’d die for her. I’d kill for her. That’s why I have to leave.”

  Broderick hit pause and the image captured on the screen was Cameron’s face, his crystal blue eyes staring back at me, the hurt and anguish of the character laid bare for all the world to see.

  “And him?”

  I said the only thing I could. “He’s perfect.”

  When he flicked on the lights, I felt Broderick staring at me as I stared at Cameron on the screen in front of me. I took two breaths, blinked, and turned to my boss, hoping my face wouldn’t give away my true emotions.

  “That’s right,” he said, rubbing his hand across his chin. “I forgot you know him.”

  I could have denied it but there was no reason to. If Cameron were cast as Xander it would be obvious to everyone involved with the movie that he and I had a history. “Yes. I’ve known Cameron for awhile.”

  Broderick assessed me with watchful eyes before grabbing a decanter of whisky. Pouring a large slug into two glasses, he extended one in my direction. I took it wordlessly.

  “I’d say it quite likely you’re much more than friends.”

  I drank a mouthful of the smoky amber liquid and recognized it as an Islay single malt. My favorite. I closed my eyes when the peaty liquid hit my tongue and when I opened them Broderick was staring at me again, this time with a sly smile on his face.

  “You like?”

  “I love it. Islay’s my favorite.”

  Shocked eyebrows shot up his forehead. He was clearly surprised a woman knew her whisky. Surprised that I knew my whisky.

  “Mine too,” he remarked, trying to cover his surprise by splashing another finger of scotch into my glass before leaning back in his chair with his own tumbler.

  “So … you know Cameron.” He said it as a statement of fact, not a question. He took another drink of his whisky, giving himself time to compose his next thought. “If we cast him will that … knowledge … be a problem for you? Can you work with him without letting your personal feelings get in the way?”

  I took one last drink and placed the glass on his desk before answering. I hated he felt the need to ask me the question in the first place but I played along. I was under no illusion that if the choice were between me, a lowly PA, or Cameron, his Next Big Star, I’d be gone in a heart beat. Oh sure, Broderick would find me another job somewhere else, but this was business and if I proved to be a liability in any way, shape, or form, he couldn’t have me around.

  “Of course,” I said with a benign smile as I pushed my personal pain to the back burner. What had happened between Cameron and me could ever impact my career.

  At 9 a.m. exactly one week later, Broderick asked me to call the blogger who’d helped us squash the rumors the drug-addled starlet had tried to start and offer her an exclusive on who had actually been cast as Xander and Arabella.

  By 10:30 a.m. Cameron’s name and a selfie pulled from his Instagram account was on most entertainment sites in the U.S., and several in Canada and the U.K. as well.

  And once noon hit, my phone started ringing off the hook with people wanting to know more about the movie’s unknown stars.

  By 5 p.m. I’d distributed media kits that covered both he and Jillian Templeton, including their most recent headshots, bios, the book’s synopsis, and character descriptions, to several reporters Broderick counted among a stable of friendlies. Well, if not friendly, then at least not his enemies.

  In gathering info about Cameron for the media kit – information I probably knew better than anyone, save his family – I had zero interaction with him and all requests were fielded by his agent. In the normal course of things, this wouldn’t have been unusual but it felt odd to ask someone other than him for the information. It was almost like he was any random actor, someone I hadn’t made love to and the disconnect made me nauseated. Unless I actually threw up all over my desk, however, I needed to see the job through. I’d told Broderick my relationship with Cameron wouldn’t affect my job and I was going to prove it.

  When most everyone had gone home for the night I asked Broderick how long I’d be playing at being his PR person but he simply shrugged and walked out of the office, his hair sticking up all directions. I decided not to tell him about the Post-It note stuck to his ass.

  At 8 p.m. I was still at my desk canvasing my Twitter feed, which had blown up with mentions of Cameron. In addition to the first selfie that had been posted, there were even more pictures taken from his Instagram and Facebook accounts and this time they included me and our other friends. Since I’d never had reason to lock down my social media accounts, my life – such as it was on the internet – was pretty much an open book. Aside from a few overly-zealous fans who’d tracked me down me when word of the movie first leaked, I’d never considered going incognito. But now, seeing my face plastered all over a bunch of random blogs felt like an invasion of my privacy so I logged in to every one of my accounts and turned all settings to private. I almost texted Cameron to tell him to do the same, but then remembered he wasn’t talking to me anymore. I emailed his agent instead and recommended she tell him to do it.

  When the clock struck 9 p.m. a rumor had surfaced that his friend James’s girlfriend – a woman who could double as a Swedish supermodel – was Cameron’s secret girlfriend. That there were several pictures of Cameron with other women who could just as easily have filled that role meant
very little to the rabid fandom. They’d already concocted a story about who he was and the type of woman he would be with. The truth had very little room in their narrative.

  I was pissed, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if I was Cameron’s girlfriend, but I was upset all the same that at no time had had blogger or fan suggested I might be his secret girlfriend. You’d think that would have been the most logical conclusion, what with the majority of his selfies being just the two together. Never mind I was the only in those photos he’d ever actually had sex with. Don’t get me wrong; Charlie was an amazing woman. What’s more, James was my friend too and I was sad on his behalf. Because of Cameron’s sudden fame his relationship with Charlie – one that had been going strong for over two years – was being casually dismissed. Fuck, I felt terrible for all of us.

  A few minutes later, a friend of mine who had met both James and Charlie and who knew they were a couple texted to ask when Cameron and Charlie had gotten together. That’s when I started feeling mere minutes away from going full on Hulk Smash.

  While I was in the midst of a personal meltdown, professionally I recognized the implications of the gossip were bad. Seeing those I believed to be sane, level-headed people believe these rumors was scary for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which was Broderick had put me in charge of wrangling PR for this thing with absolutely no training whatsoever. I was on a runaway train that was on a collision course with failure and I had no business driving.

  At 9:45 p.m. I sent James and Charlie a quick note telling them I would make sure the situation was taken care of. I had no idea how I was supposed to make good on that promise, but I refused to let my friends end up as fodder for the gossip machines. Mostly though, I didn’t want Cameron linked with someone he wasn’t actually with. Someone who isn’t me, I thought as I hit send on the message. Jealousy was such an ugly emotion, but I was firmly in the grip of my worst case ever.