Audrey narrows her eyes at me. "Every time I mention Tate Daniels you get really cagey. Be honest with me. Is he the reason you didn’t come back to the hotel?"
I have an uncanny ability to deal with embarrassment without turning pink—apart from the tips of my ears, and only close friends spot this. Like Audrey.
She lowers her voice. "Myf! Seriously? Please tell me you weren’t stupid enough to sleep with Tate.”
"I stayed in his hotel room, but nothing happened," I mutter.
"Then why not tell me about this earlier? I know you told me you were going to hook up, but I thought you were joking. Then when you weren’t around the next morning, I presumed you had and didn’t want to talk about it."
I rub both hands across my face, and my heart races as I look back into her expectant eyes. "Something did, but I can’t talk about it..." My stupid voice breaks.
"What happened? Did you go back to his room and... Omigod. Did he assault you, Myf? I know he has a reputation, but surely..."
I shake my head, my fingers trembling. I need to say the words, but if I do this situation becomes real, and not a secret between Tate and me. "No."
"Then what? Myf. Tell me." She closes a soft hand around mine.
"I married him," I mumble to the fries on my plate.
Her hand tightens. "You’re kidding right?"
"No."
I continue to stare at my plate, the food no longer appetising as I brace myself for her reaction.
Audrey laughs.
I snap my head up, frowning at her. "It’s not funny!"
Her nonplussed look, as if I told her I held hands with Tate, and nothing else isn’t what I expected. "No big deal. You’re organising a divorce, right?"
"How can you be so blasé?"
"I mean, yeah, it’s pretty weird considering what happened to you about twelve hours earlier, but people do stupid crap like that. It’s Vegas."
"Right." I push my plate away. "But not me."
"Oh, Myf. Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. I’m surprised nobody knows though."
"He paid people off."
"Of course. Oh well, no harm done." She forks some salad into her mouth.
I stare. "What planet are you on? This is big! Especially as he’s refusing to arrange an annulment."
Audrey stops chewing. "What?"
"He says it would be bad publicity. He wants me to wait a few weeks."
"Yeah. That’s a bit weird."
"I know," I say in triumph. "Tate thinks it’s fine, but I’m not comfortable about this."
"This? About being married to a Hollywood A-lister? This is classic!"
"Will you stop making the situation into a joke?"
"You married somebody in Vegas when you were drunk? How much bigger a joke do you think this can be?" She pauses. "Oh! Unless you have matching tattoos with your names on. Ha! Please tell me you don’t."
"Of course I don’t!" I snap.
Audrey rests back and sips her iced tea, eyeing me over the glass. She stops and wrinkles her nose. "And he wants to stay married to you?"
"Yes. I said because Tate doesn’t want bad publicity right now."
"Maybe Tate still secretly loves you," she whispers, then bursts into laughter again. "I bet your audition together was amusing. Who else knows?"
"Not sure. You."
"Is he any different to when you knew him before?"
"Um. Does that matter? I don’t want to be married to Tate!" I swallow down the whine in my voice as a woman at a nearby table throws me a curious look. Thank god, I didn’t use his surname.
"Sounds like you don’t have much choice if he’s refusing to sign anything. He must be relying on your integrity not to tell the world."
"I guess."
"The truth will come out though. No way will this stay hidden. I’m impressed nobody else knows after three weeks."
"We’re staying well away from each other."
"You mean apart from the audition. It would be bloody hilarious if you scored the role."
"I think I’m pretty much guaranteed not to."
Audrey’s face lights up. "You could tell him to get you the part, or you’ll sell your story."
"Seriously? I am not blackmailing him. After what I’ve seen Blue Phoenix go through with crap like that? I have way more integrity! And even if I was a manipulative bitch, I doubt it’s Tate’s decision who lands the role."
"Mmm, bet the chemistry was sizzling." She licks a finger and holds it out, making a hissing noise. "God, Myf. You do some crazy stuff but this... you’re hilarious!"
I rest my elbows on the table and lean forward, catching the scent of her expensive perfume. "You’re not to say anything, to anybody."
"Don’t worry; I’ll keep quiet about your marital status." She bites on her glossed lip at my dagger glare. "Are you going to agree to stay married?"
"I don’t know. I haven’t decided."
And that’s the truth. Is there a secret part of me that wants to have a man like him under my control? Because he will be. I’ve mulled over different conditions I can lay down, amusing myself at some of them. Let’s see how much Tate wants this. Audrey’s right. If I were a worse person, I could blackmail him into my help, but that’s not one of them.
Audrey’s phone rings, and I gaze around the cafe as she talks, at the beautiful people living in the beautiful city. I prefer New York to LA, and there’s no real reason to hang around now. Maybe once I’ve spent time in Wales licking my wounds I could head back there and use my Broadway connections. Start on the chorus line again if I need to, and move up.
"I’m headed back to the apartment," I whisper at Audrey and point at the door.
My phone rings too, halfway home, as I’m negotiating crossing at the chaotic street corner. My agent. I can’t avoid her any longer; the fact she’s called three times today might suggest good news. Or news I’ve landed another audition—to fail.
"Hey, May," I say and swerve past a slow-moving, hand-holding couple. "Was about to call you."
"Sure you were, sweetie." She laughs. "Good news, I have some work for you."
The day brightens at her words. Did the sun just leap out from behind the dark clouds? The birds sing in the trees; a a true Disney moment? Last time I checked the bank, I could see the black hole at the bottom of my savings. This is perfect timing.
"Really?" I squeak and scour my brain through recent auditions I felt went well. "The extras part in the new comedy show next week?"
"No. Listen to this." Dramatic pause. May always, and irritatingly, holds back news. "Brit Vale in Angel City."
Her triumphant voice fades away, and I don’t catch her next words.
Oh.
No.
Way.
"Pardon?"
"Angel City. Sweetheart, this is amazing. With Tate Daniels in the lead, this show will go places."
A car screeches to a halt as I stop midway across the road, the driver throwing unpleasant gestures through the windows, and I hold my hand up in apology. Ending up in ER several minutes after I’m told I snagged a career-making part wouldn’t be helpful.
But why do I feel like my world already crashed?
"I’ll call you back."
12
First day and the shock takes a step into reality as I arrive at the studios. I’ve worked on TV and movie sets before, but the size for this show blows the others out of the water. The trailers for the actors and crew, plus the catering van and more, span the length of open space outside the studio buildings, which are twice the size of the last show I worked on. Whoever supports this show is throwing a crapload of money at it.
The biggest difference to me is my trailer’s size. Normally, I have a poky corner in a shared one, to prepare or hang in until needed on set, or mingle with crew and cast rather than sit alone.
When the young PA shows me to my trailer, I need to check my name on the door. My name on the door. I step inside to open space. Wow. As lead actress, my trailer contai
ns more than a tiny table and seat. I have a TV, sofa, and even a freaking bathroom. And space. Did I mention space?
"We’re assembling in an hour." She hands me a studio floor map and taps on a location. "You’ve met the showrunner and casting director, and Tate obviously, but we need to meet for a read through and run through filming schedules."
I stare back at her hassled face. "Right."
"Have you eaten?"
"Uh." I blink at my surroundings, the anxious energy barely contained. "No."
She nods her head. "Grab something from catering. I’ll be back for you in an hour. The author, Lori, can’t stay for the full day, and she wants to see the read through before she goes."
The small woman disappears down the trailer steps, and the door clicks closed behind her.
Holy crap. Is this happening to me?
Stunned, I pull a bottle of water from the fridge and sit. A fresh script rests on the table in front of me, and I frown. I hope nothing much has changed since the one I’ve worked on with Audrey.
As I start reading, I picture my leading man and know my D-Day arrived. I haven’t seen Tate yet, despite my eagle eyes watching every person around. My decision about the marriage situation needs telling today. Since my chat with Audrey, I’ve mulled over and come up with my opinion about what we should do. Part of that solution was staying well away from each other; evidently not happening.
Tate left me a message a couple of days ago, asking what I’d decided, and I didn’t respond. He didn’t bother contacting me again.
I can’t sit in a room with him, rehearsing for the day, without giving him an answer first.
An hour. Eat and then find time to talk.
The trailers are positioned on the studio complex edge, and dozens of people walk between or pass on golf buggies to cover the distance. The last show I took part in filmed on location a lot, much of this show’s early filming will be here, at Culver Studios.
Selecting a smoothie at the catering van, I find a seat near a group who look like crew, and half-listen to their discussions about set design while repeating in my head “am I really here?” I soon pick up which showrunner will be the hardest to work with, and which PA the friendliest. I chat with a girl, Alyssa, who reminds me of myself the first time I scored a minor role. She’s an extra, someone who’ll reach a sticky end by the time the pilot closes but chatters excitedly. I had a similar role once and found it amusing adding "murder victim, Episode 4" to my acting resume. I play dead well.
Tate’s trailer hides towards the back of the village-like space, and I attempt to gather the courage to approach him. The first time I see my estranged husband can’t be when we walk on set. Placing down my smoothie cup, I head between the trailers, eyes on the prize, and hope nobody speaks to or sees me.
Several metres away, I halt as Tate’s trailer door opens. I shove my hands in my jeans back pockets as I wait for him to emerge, heart thumping as the rehearsed words run through my mind.
A woman steps out, an actress I recognise from other shows.
Savannah Wright.
Ah. Savannah, the co-star who plays Brit’s love rival in the show. A fellow angel who wants Dev pulled into line and away from the human world. Fortunately, this means I’ve few scenes with her, as the majority are the two of them. Savannah’s a couple of years older than me and related to the producer—his niece I think. We never met at auditions, but I’ve no doubts how she landed the part.
I dressed in jeans and a shirt for my first day. She’s immaculate in a short yellow dress I’m sure has a designer label. She drops Dior sunglasses from where they hold back her glossy brown hair and pushes them over her eyes.
As she descends the steps, she pauses. "Are you looking for Tate?"
"Yes. Is he in there?"
She looks at me over the top of her glasses. "I didn’t realise Tate had time slots."
"Time slots for..." Her giggled response sets my teeth on edge. "I’m not meeting him for that."
"You’re not supposed to go near his trailer if you’re crew, sweetheart, unless you’re sent to find him." She tips her head to look down her nose at me.
"Even me?"
"Look, I don’t know what your position is on set, but you don’t get a free pass to Tate because you work for the show. He’ll talk to you later, I’m sure."
If I used the words “don’t you realise who I am?” I’d sound as arrogant as her. Savannah continues to stare at me over the top of her glasses as if that’ll cause me to leave.
"I’m not taking selfies with you either. I’m a mess." She gestures at her face. No make-up, but hardly a mess. When I don’t respond, she sighs. "Come see me at the end of the day, if you’re still around and want a photo."
One tight smile later, she walks past, a familiar scent heading with her. I’m reminded of Vegas—Tate’s fragrance.
I don’t watch Savannah walk away, instead keep my eyes fixed on Tate’s trailer’s metal door. Hooking up with his co-stars already? Nice, but not a surprise. I straighten, preparing to confront him, but back down. I don’t want him to know what I saw, but this sure as hell helps my decision.
Turning on my heel, I head the same way Savannah did but at a safe distance. A heavy disappointment follows me. Tate’s desire to remain married to me has no basis in unrequited love; something I considered.
What are you, Myf? A complete idiot?
* * *
We sit around the huge, rectangular table, scripts and drinks in front as we work through a “get to know you,” and a run down on who’s who. My enjoyment at Savannah’s barely hidden surprise, with a hint of disgust, at who I am is tempered by Tate’s purely professional reaction to me as if this is our second meeting as leads.
As time passes, his behaviour rubs at a sore spot, his king-of- the-room act and constant flirting with every woman in the room irritates. Because no flirting heads my way? Or is he trying to prove a point? Currently, he has both feet on a spare folding chair, taking up as much space with his self-importance as his body, as he talks through a scene between Brit and Dev. We’re prepared this time, more cast and crew around, and I slip in and out of the role with no consideration who Dev is.
What would it be like to be treated the way Tate is due to his fame? People edge around Tate, agreeing to change anything he doesn’t like, pandering because they need to keep him onside and in the show.
Online the other day, I spotted an article speculating Tate could become the next James Bond, something amusing but not impossible as he’s English. I read through until I reached ‘vote for your choice’. I answered and chose Tom Hiddleston, then questioned myself why?
The Blue Phoenix boys never coped well with fame, especially Dylan and Jem. I don’t know the new Tate well enough to see the man beneath, but arrogance covers the surface as it always did. In my opinion, actors have a rougher time than rock stars, as people find it hard to separate their fictional characters from reality. Not that Tate has anything to complain about; he plays bad boys with big hearts who girls get their panties in a twist over.
The adrenaline subsides as the day passes, leaving me exhausted. I attempt to catch Tate on our first break, but Savannah sticks by his side. Hidden in a group, I watch them carefully. There’s no kissing or touching, but something’s between them.
The jealousy spins my head. No, not jealousy. Annoyance he’s throwing this in my face to confirm he doesn’t care. Asshole.
Neither talks to me at the second break either, and I slink back into the room, annoyed. We both know chances I’ll say anything about our marriage are low now I’ve landed the part opposite him.
Angel City, as I discover, follows a tried and true formula with a new spin.
Savannah’s role, as leader of the angels Dev turned his back on, involves her watching his behaviour. She won’t be a popular character with the fans—strict in her handling of him and dismissive of how he feels about humans. More importantly, she attempts to come between Dev and Brit.
&
nbsp; My character’s prickly too, with a vulnerable abusive backstory leaving her hardened against men. Classic behaviour: throws herself into work above all else, Brit’s the epitome of professionalism, and a woman unhappy she’s paired with a rogue detective sent in from out of town; one whose work methods don’t match her own.
Nothing like me. I wouldn’t call myself conservative, or uptight. People like that don’t find themselves in ludicrous, un-thought-out situations such as married to co-stars...
I missed reading the book series before the callback, but I’ve skimmed through them since I landed the part. The chemistry and tension needed for Brit’s role reflect from the book’s pages, and the further into the story I move, the more uncomfortable the realisation what my part will mean.
A popular book with a hot, broody hero? Of course, he falls in love with the uptight heroine who’s blind to his feelings about her. Reading their first kiss at home last week, I audibly swore, and an alarmed Audrey rushed into the lounge. As with everything related to Tate and my situation, hilarity overcame sympathy, although she wasn’t overly impressed when the book bounced off her head.
As Audrey said at the time, what does it matter? I’ve kissed actors before, and it means nothing.
No, of course not... When I first kissed Tate on stage six years ago, I spent the rest of the day obsessed by how much the man aroused me despite my dislike of him. Then I considered following through to more than a kiss when I’d had a few beers after the opening night. Not to mention the situation on closing night that created the tension-filled gulf still existing between us.
Ah, crap.
"Congratulations." At Tate’s voice, I jump away from thoughts how I’ll cope with kissing him and scouring my mind as to whether I recently did. "Nice part to land."
I’m amused how the California sunshine decided to catch the highlights in his hair and stroke the beautiful definition of his face, as he maintains his passive attitude to me. But in his eyes, I recognise consternation to match the morning after our wedding. I glance around. No Savannah attachment? "I didn’t expect I’d get the part."
"Neither did I."
Unscripted Page 7
