*
Day One - Late Afternoon - Exterior
“Where’s the sister?” Shelly was livid. Hair had gone well, makeup hadn’t been that much of a fuss. The still photographer was late and the wind kept blowing down the backgrounds. Setting up for stills in the barn hadn’t worked. Too much dust kept getting caught in the lights and showing up on film. Pettibone called twice, and the second time Shelly practically shrieked at him to stop pestering them.
Four o’clock.
“Get his sister,” she yelled again. “I don’t care who does it, just find her.”
Harry brought up three tuxes, bow ties, socks and shoes, and now Winston was refusing to get dressed.
“No one, not even my little sister, is going to convince me to take off my clothes in public,” Winston kept saying.
Shelly waved her hand at him. “It’s not public. No one can see you. No one cares. It’s not like you have a scar or an artificial limb, or something. Oh, no. Do you?”
Why hadn’t she insisted Pettibone think this through, make Winston take a physical at least?
“No. I don’t have any artificial limbs. It’s just not right. I’m not stripping in front of people and having some movie of me in a porn film showing up later.”
At least his enunciation was cleaner after time with the diction coach. Shelly folded her arms and studied him. “You don’t appear to have anything to be embarrassed about.”
Jen hustled up. “What’s going on?”
“Get him to put this on!” Shelly indicated the suit in Harry’s hands and stalked away. This time she was beyond caring that Fred and his camera were on her tail.
“This guy is a certified nut job. He has no idea what to do, how to act, what’s involved in costume changes. I thought he had done some acting, he said?”
“In high school,” Fred reminded her.
“Ooo. What a day.” Shelly looked at the red light on the camera and stuck out her tongue. She hadn’t been in front of a camera since she’d tried out for a toothpaste commercial and got slapped down for being five foot-two. How tall did a person need to be to sell toothpaste? “I can’t believe it. Will it really work? Can I turn this handsome hunk of raw meat into a juicy T-bone and serve him up to an adoring public?”
“If anyone can, it’s you, sweetheart,” Fred dutifully supplied.
*
Day One - Late Evening - Exterior
By the time Fred corralled Shelly for her final vlog entry, it was dark on the outdoor set, mosquitoes overcame the aerial spray, and Shelly had not eaten since mid-morning. Winston was safely ensconced in Roma’s quarters, a canvas tent she insisted on so vocal distortion was kept to a minimum.
“You got Winston on film today, right?” Shelly twisted her neck to loosen up and swung her shoulders.
“Oh, yeah, I did that, sweetheart.”
“How’d he do? Sound okay?”
“He’ll need some work with Roma, but he handled himself well.”
Fred wore a strange grin.
“What? He have good angles? He looks all right?”
“That he does. Okay, I’m going to run film, so pretend I’m not here and talk like the camera is your best friend. Spill your guts, doll, and mean it.”
Shelly swallowed a few times and put the long, long, long day to the back of her mind. The light kept her from seeing Fred. She blinked at the red light and…
“Tommy set me up for this. I am a good publicist and he knows it. Tommy Lord became what he is because of me. Wait. I take that back. He’s a rat fink, but I didn’t make him that way. You hear me?” Shelly laughed from the back of her throat. “For dropping me, I’m going ride tracks all down your back on the way to taking Jovian Productions to number one. You don’t deserve to be second in the industry, either. Everything about you and your joke of a distribution company is second-rate.”
Cripes, now she was repeating herself. Shelly stared at her hands, trying to think of stuff to say that sounded good. People loved at that juicy dirt talk. Even if she was over Tommy. She had her pride, after all, and none of the gossip in the tabloids was true. Talk about her day. Yeah. “Since the moment Mr. Pettibone kicked Seth Taylor off the set and Winston Daniels stepped into the spotlight, I knew I could do something with him. Such great bones and good physique to work with. I guarantee you that within five days, I make every woman in the world drool over him and every man admire him. With his naturally thick hair, romantic build, and dreamy eyes, we’ll create a publicity campaign that puts his picture on billboards in every city, ads in all major publications, and do an online drive in everyone’s face and ear. The world will fall in love with him, the new lead in Everything About You, a movie that will make Love Story look like a postcard.”
The video log, or vlog, was supposed to be real and from the heart, but nobody believed that. She knew her limits of what she could and couldn’t say on film that would be saved forever and used like nails in her coffin if she messed up. The stuff about Tommy was public knowledge already, so that was nothing new.
“Mr. Pettibone gave me a big job in getting Winston ready. Like My Fair Lady, only backward. There’s a woman teaching a male protégé. The bet?” Shelly took a deep breath, and unsmiling, looked to the side, willing a sad face. “My job,” she whispered loudly when she turned back. “My career is the bet. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Winston Daniels becomes the next major motion picture star. Publicity is what I love to do, and I’m good at it. If I win, I’ll have the personal satisfaction of a job well done and be two steps closer to my own PR firm. Just because my father is Lou Colter, producer of the last two Hollywood hits, doesn’t mean anything. I have my own reputation. I studied marketing, spent my life growing up on film sets, and the years since graduation developing contacts all over the world. I vowed to have my own company by the time I’m thirty. I have five years to go, and I will make it.”
Shelly looked right into the camera lens and smiled. She held up her wrists. “I will bleed if I have to. Tommy Lord won’t know what hit him when Jovian cruises by to become the richest and best company in the universe. I may need to trample everyone in my way, but trust me, I will get my way. I’m the best in the business, and soon everyone will believe it.”
DAY TWO
Morning - Interior
Shelly slurped on her third cup of coffee. She set down the sparkly blue and gold Jovian Productions mug and looked at her watch. Five thirty. Sunlight brightened the horizon. She sat back and threw her pen on her yellow pad of scratched-out notes.
At least the guy seemed to be a quick learner. Winston’s speech had been clearer when he’d bid her good bye at eleven last night. He’d yawned and called it “late.” Ha. He had no idea. He’d informed her that he couldn’t get away to start work until after nine in the morning because of milking. Which reminded her—
Shelly picked up the pen and jotted, “Hire person to milk cows.”
How she was going to do that, she wasn’t sure, but she’d figure it out by the time she met Winston for breakfast at Edna’s Café in what passed for the closest town. At nine fifteen. She checked her phone again for messages.
Fred stumbled in and flopped into a chair at the quaint farmhouse table. Jovian had rented the entire property and house from the owners, sending them on a nice vacation for a few months. They’d get some remodeling and a wad of cash in exchange besides. Fortunately, Jovian’s location scout found a hilltop in southwestern Wisconsin without so many trees. All the leaves in the state made her jumpy. She forever expected someone or something to jump out at her when she was near any wooded areas.
“You look slightly worse for the wear. Didn’t get much sleep?” Shelly poured coffee for Fred, adding a generous helping of sugar and cream.
“I swear I heard werewolves howling half the night.” He shivered, despite the warmth of the house and his trademark black turtleneck, worn year-round.
“Coyotes. I’m told they can be heard from miles away and can’t get ins
ide the compound.”
“Yes, that may well be, but now I have to leave this…compound…to film a man doing nasty things to cows. At six in the morning.” He took a sniff and taste of the coffee. “Who knew people actually function at this ungodly hour?”
“Well, you can thank him for the cream in your coffee.” Shelly tapped the pen. Whoa, where did that come from? She couldn’t afford to go soft yet. Shaking it off, she hardened her voice. “I need to find someone to take over his farm work—chores—whatever—for the duration of filming and callbacks, of which I’m sure there will be many. It can’t be that hard.” She cocked her head at the sound of crunching gravel. “Take good notes. Ta-ta, there’s your ride.”
She hustled Fred off in the company truck to tape Winston’s vlog at his day job. Meanwhile, she needed to be prepared to teach him his new persona by the time they met again later. She tapped her pen again on the yellow legal pad and flipped back a page.
“Let’s see, voice, presence, looks.” Of course there was coaching for the interviews, too, but with any luck, if he looked more the part, he’d act like the part. “Hope he’s not busy at Christmas.” She threw the pen down and drew her knee up to her chin. With her foot on the seat, she arched back and ran her hands through her long hair. Later, when it got warmer, she’d pin it back out of the way.
“Good morning, darling.” Jordan Eastman, director, glided up to the coffee pot and emptied it into a cup he carried with him at all times. “Hope who’s not busy at Christmas? Found a new boy toy to fill in for poor Tommy already?”
Shelly’s hackles rose. She draped her head along the high chair back and stared at the ceiling. “Jordan. What brings you out so early?” She had the production schedule for the week memorized. Staying on the right side of all the prickly Hollywood narcissists would keep her future PR firm sailing. Jordan Eastman had a lot of influence. And talent, she reluctantly admitted. Just attaching his name to the picture drove expected revenue. The man was ballet-beautiful, slender but strong. Shiny black hair and slightly scruffy, he looked suave and vibrant. He was not Shelly’s favorite person. And after Tommy, no one would fool her again.
Jordan saluted her with the cup and sat. “Grabbing early morning footage, of course. Sun rising, birds chirping, horses waking, cattle lowing. All we need are a talking duck and a Dalmatian. See if you can get us one of those, darling, would you? There’s a good girl.”
“Wrong picture, precious.” Shelly turned her glower into an oily smile. “Rancher heartthrob has to convince his former queen bee not to turn the prairie into another Vegas and save an endangered species. No fancy dog breeds.”
“At least, if we have to be on remote location, the coffee is civilized.” Jordan grinned.
“Comes from a roaster not far from here. Little place called Viroqua. You should take an hour and visit.” Shelly dropped her foot to the floor and leaned over her pad.
“Plotting the transformation? I don’t envy you.”
A strong urge to defend Winston took Shelly by surprise. “He’ll work out. I’ll turn him into the sexiest man on the planet.”
“After me, of course.”
“Hmm.” Shelly wasn’t about to stroke Jordan’s giant ego. He had enough lackeys to do that for him.
“Speaking of queen bees, when does our precious Lydia arrive?”
“Precocious, you mean,” Shelly said. “Thursday.” Day four of the five days Shelly was allowed for transformation deadline. Winston should be ready by then to handle the diva. Though it would be fun to see what happened if the movie’s female lead, Lydia Danes, unleashed all her cunning on the poor country hick today. Shelly chuckled at the thought of Lydia Danes near cows.
“You will have him prepped by then, won’t you?” Jordan actually sounded worried. “She could frighten the man away before I had a chance to capture the essence of Lane Thompson, every man, out to save the ranch. Not to mention the prairie. Life as he knows it.”
“Winston will make a good Lane Thompson, hero. I’ll give him an anti-Lydia injection. Though I shudder to think what Lydia will do if she doesn’t get a man she sets her sights on.”
“Provide a distraction for her.”
Shelly doodled next to the column on “Presence.” She removed a black and white, eight by ten glossy of Winston in the tux last night at the photo shoot. Twisting her mouth, she studied Jordan, forcing herself to compare him to Winston.
“Well, not me, for heaven’s sakes. You know I’m spoken for.”
“Of course not. I just need a good model for Winston. I mean, Lane.”
Jordan raised a brow and gave her his profile, nose in the air.
“Charming,” Shelly murmured. “Which isn’t exactly what I need about now. Are you sniffing manure, or what? Remember, Lane is a working man.” She grinned at the remembered odor Winston had worn yesterday when he’d been “discovered.” “On the other hand, a real Prince Charming could teach more than manners. Jordan, how much of you”—she gestured at the director —“is real? How much is an act?” Seeing his frown grow, she hurried to clarify. “C’mon, really. What did you have to learn to become the Jordan Eastman?” She squinted. “How many layers did you pile on the real you hiding beneath all the glamour?”
“Darling, you’re mad if you think I’m going to bare myself to anyone.”
“But that’s it, isn’t it? Under all the glitter there’s a scared little boy.” As Jordan choked on his sip of coffee, she said, “That’s true for everyone. Well, scared little girls. I can teach Winston Daniels to coat himself in personality—the personality of Lane Thompson, strong, hearty, hunky rancher, in need of only one thing—someone to share his big heart. And to preserve the land.”
“This isn’t the set of a dreadful reality show, love.”
“Of course not.” She picked up the glossy photo again and took in the highs and lows. “But some acting is required.”
Shelly waved when Jordan left. How would Lydia see the raw Winston? And how could Shelly mold him into someone Lydia, or Nadine, her character in the movie, would genuinely be attracted to?
Jotting more notes on her pad, Shelly forgot about the clock.
When the alarm she’d set jangled, she groaned and reached to shut it off. A shadow loomed over her and she screamed.
Fred laughed and stepped back. “Whew, sweetheart. I could feel your concentration vibes. Almost inspired me, and I don’t need to be improved upon. Wait until you see rancher boy today. I’d fall for him myself after I saw the way he treated those women of his, if I was the marrying kind.”
Shelly, busy wiping at the coffee stain she’d made on her shirt when Fred surprised her, turned away from the sink. “Women? What women? What are you talking about?”
“You sound like a jealous fish wife. Which is amusing in itself. His bovine women, sweetheart. Don’t sweat it.”
“You are not going to be make tasteless jokes for the rest of the week, are you?”
Fred chuckled. “Me, tasteless? Sweetheart, you know better.”
On the way to the restaurant, Shelly grumbled. “You sure got chipper in a hurry. Why do I get the feeling trouble’s coming?”
“Don’t be so crusty. Some surprises are good.”
*
Day Two – Morning – Exterior to Interior
Fred’s good mood rattled Shelly’s nerves. She gulped when she saw the number of cars on the street and a line of people on the sidewalk in front of the café.
“Oh, no. What’s going on? There better not be an accident or a fight or something that would mark up his face.”
“Tsk, tsk.” Fred pulled his camera out and put it on his shoulder. “We have got to work on the caring, nurturing side of your personality.”
The sea of people in jeans, shorts, and tank tops parted when they saw the camera. Shelly nudged her way into the café through those who hadn’t turned around yet and seemed to be focused on something inside. “Pardon me. Excuse me. Coming through. I have reservations for breakf
ast.”
Shelly stared at the spectacle before her. “What’s going on?”
At a round table in the center of the restaurant, Jen and Winston sat with an older man, having their pictures taken and apparently signing autographs. “What are you doing?” she said through clenched teeth.
Jen held a baby and answered first. “Why, just helping you out, Shelly. Once word got around that my brother is taking the place of Seth Taylor, well…” She was rosy-cheeked like the infant in her arms. “You can see how excited everyone is.”
“You both have non-disclosure clauses in your contracts.” Shelly gripped her briefcase strap with both fists. “What is he wearing? Oh, no.”
Winston Daniels, future heartthrob of the world, wore an honest-to-goodness striped polo shirt. Straight from 1980. Lime green and navy blue horizontal stripes. With a tiny bear on the front pocket. His hair was slicked back and there was a smudge of jelly near his lip. Next to the cute dimple at the corner of his mouth. He was staring at her in that nervous I-see-a-snake fashion.
“It’s his best shirt,” Jen whispered loudly. “Let me introduce you to the mayor.”
Fred laughed softly in Shelly’s ear.
“We are leaving. Now.” Shelly pointed to the back hall which she hoped contained an escape door.
*
Day Two - Mid Morning - Interior
Danny shook the mayor’s hand, waved, and strode after Jen, who, lugging the baby strapped in her car seat, scurried after Shelly. Fred the camera guy who’d been in his face all morning already, followed. What had Danny done wrong now? He brushed crumbs from his shirt—which was, okay, a little old, but the color was intact—and wiped his lips. Jen would have told him if he was embarrassing himself or doing something wrong, wouldn’t she?
He allowed himself to be hustled into a big vehicle Jen had to be boosted into. Any other time, he’d be interested in the make and model, but now he felt more like throwing up.
Everything About You Page 2
