She turned over, looked at the nightstand and saw her cell glowing in the dark. As Ayana reached for the phone she glanced down and was disappointed to see Reese’s name on the screen. Ayana didn’t really feel like talking. She wanted to focus on going to sleep, but she knew if she didn’t answer, Reese would only call back in a few minutes. Reese didn’t leave messages; she was a repeat caller, and she hit Redial until she got an answer.
“Hey,” Ayana said without an ounce of enthusiasm in her voice.
“Are you asleep already? It’s only nine o’clock,” Reese said, full of energy.
“No, not really. I’m just lying here.”
“What’s wrong? You sound agitated.”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, now. I know you better than that. Something must have happened on the shoot today if you can’t sleep.” Reese and Ayana had known each other since high school, and they were adept at reading each other, much like an old married couple.
“Well, something out of the ordinary did happen, but it was no big deal.” Ayana was reluctant to tell Reese what had happened because she didn’t want her friend blowing the incident out of proportion, trying to make a love connection like she had done so many times in the past.
“Do tell. I like hearing about the action on the set. It’s like watching the show before it airs. Did you get into another catfight with Petra? Or did Brooke piss you off with her hoity-toity attitude?” Reese knew the antics of each cast member as if she were part of the show.
“No, it had nothing to do with either of them. It’s the new director. He kissed me today.”
“What! Are you kidding? Why did he kiss you?”
“He was demonstrating how I should’ve kissed one of my dates,” Ayana said, as if kissing the director was an everyday occurrence.
“Why do you sound so matter-of-fact about it? Was he a bad kisser?”
Ayana closed her eyes, reminiscing. “On the contrary—the kiss was awesome. I can’t stop thinking about him,” she said, unable to hide her feelings any longer.
“Girl, you sound like you have a crush on him!”
“You see, this is why I didn’t want to say anything. I knew you were going to blow the whole thing up. I’m not in high school, and I don’t have a crush. I was just surprised at his bold demonstration, that’s all.” Ayana had said enough and didn’t want to fully admit how much the kiss had affected her, so much so that Brandon and his lips were on repeat in her mind, playing over and over.
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious. I don’t have time to get involved with anybody, let alone someone I work with. I’m concentrating all of my energy on the next phase of my life. I don’t plan to be on Divorced Divas forever. My focus is on branding myself, not on romance,” she said, redirecting the conversation.
“That’s a good speech, but what’s wrong with having a relationship and working on your career at the same time? I’m working on my gemology certification and taking care of my husband at the same time.”
“Well, that might work for you, but for me romance is often a distraction. Remember when I started working for Benjamin? My plan was to climb the corporate ladder at BL Industries. Instead, I ended up dating and then marrying the boss. Look how that turned out. I don’t plan on making the same mistake twice. I’m not getting any younger, and I need to secure my financial future while I can.”
“My point exactly. You’re not getting younger and you need to find a man so you won’t grow old alone. Don’t get me wrong—I understand your financial concerns, but love is important too. Money won’t hug you around the waist at night and keep you warm.”
Ayana sighed. She was tired and ready to end the conversation. She had heard Reese’s speech on finding true romance more than she could count on two hands. “Love will just have to wait. Look, Reese, I need to get to sleep. I have an early day tomorrow.”
“Okay, but maybe you need to give that director a second look. He might be the one.”
Ayana sighed into the phone.
“I’m not preaching. I only want you to be happy like Joey and me.”
“Everybody isn’t as lucky as you guys. Maybe finding a soul mate isn’t in the cards for me.”
“I don’t believe that, and I’m sure you don’t either.”
“Having a significant other would be the icing on the cake, but at this point in my life, I’m not going to hold my breath for my soul mate to come along. I’ll just take the cake and forget about the icing.”
“All I’m saying is just don’t close yourself off to an opportunity that presents itself. You never know when love will come knocking.”
“I hear you, Reese. I hate to cut our conversation short, but I really have to get to sleep. Talk to you later.”
“Okay, good night.”
After Ayana ended the call and put the phone back on the nightstand, she thought about Reese’s advice. Although she had made a point of saying that true love wasn’t in her future, Reese was right about finding someone to grow old with. Ayana didn’t want to be alone the rest of her life, but for now, her search would have to wait.
Chapter 7
Barneys New York, the swanky department store on Madison Avenue, was the site of the day’s shoot. The cast was scheduled to come in and comb through the designer racks in search of outfits for their upcoming dates. Viewers loved seeing the ladies buy five-thousand-dollar shoes without blinking an eyelash and adding their names to the waitlist for designer purses that cost as much as a small house in some cities. The producers were adamant about portraying the ritzy world of glitz and glamour, and Barneys, with its multiple floors of designer swag, was the perfect venue.
Brandon was scheduled for a brief meeting with Ed before the cast arrived to discuss blocking for the shoot. The lighting and audio teams had already set up and were waiting patiently for the show to begin. Ed had arrived ahead of Brandon. He was dressed in teal-blue skinny jeans, a yellow silk camp shirt, a pair of pink platform sneakers, a monogrammed Louis Vuitton messenger bag strapped across his chest and his signature chiffon scarf—this one in multicolored shades of teal, yellow and pink. He strutted through the store looking like a designer-clad peacock.
“Hey, Ed, how’s it going?” Brandon said, entering the cordoned-off shoe section the store had reserved for the shoot.
“Other than a little heartburn, I’m good. Guess I shouldn’t have had a second helping of lasagna and tiramisu last night.” His protruding belly was indication of his love for fattening Italian food.
“Why don’t you send the PA to Duane Reade to pick up some Pepto?”
“Good idea.” Ed took his cell phone out of his messenger bag. “Hey, Gabby, can you run to the drugstore and buy a large bottle of Pepto-Bismol? Thanks.”
“Where do you want the first scene to start?” Brandon asked as Ed completed the call.
Ed crossed the room and stood next to a display of designer pumps. “Here is fine. I want the girls to ogle over these beauties.”
“No problem.” Brandon picked up a shoe to inspect it. “Are they serious with these prices?” he asked, holding a red, leather-bottomed pump.
“Those are Louboutins. What do you expect?”
“Lou Who?”
“Christian Louboutin. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him. Everyone is familiar with his signature red bottoms,” Saturday said in a snarky tone as she walked up behind him.
Brandon put the shoe back on the display. “Not everyone is as consumed with material possessions as you ladies seem to be,” he said, looking her dead in the eyes.
For a few moments they stood face-to-face without saying a word. Brandon could feel himself being drawn to her. His eyes scanned her body up and down. She wore a slinky, red, ankle-length dress that fitted her curvaceous body like a second skin. Saturday oozed sensuality, and there was no doubt that he was attracted to her. Brandon shook off the feeling. Although Saturday was beautiful, her personality was offensive and he couldn’t
imagine spending his life with such an abrasive woman.
“Whatever.” Saturday twisted her lips, flipped her long wig and turned her back to him. “So, Ed, what’s wrong with you? You look pale as a ghost. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just a little heartburn. Let me sit down until Gabby gets here with the medicine.” He sat in one of the cushy chairs and continued talking. “Now, about today’s shoot, Saturday. I want you and Petra to really go at it. Get in her face and don’t back down until the director says ‘cut.’”
“I don’t have a problem with that, but you need to tell Petra this is your idea. I’m tired of her thinking that I’m always picking on her.”
“I’ll have a chat with her when she gets here.”
As they were talking, Gabby, the production assistant, came in with the pharmacy bag. “Here you go, Ed.”
“Thanks.” He took the medicine out of the bag, opened the bottle and tilted it up to his mouth, guzzling the pink liquid as if it were a refreshing beverage.
“What is that you drink?” Petra asked as she entered the shoe section.
“The word isn’t you, it’s you’re, and it’s drinking, not drink,” Saturday said, ribbing Petra on her broken English.
“I so tired of you teasing about way I talk.”
Saturday started laughing. “You just can’t get your tenses right. Ed, why don’t you get Petra a speech coach?”
“I no need coach. I need you to shut up and leave me alone.” Petra crossed her arms tightly across her chest.
Ed stood up. “Petra, can I speak to you for a minute?”
While Ed and Petra talked near the edge of the room, Brooke and Trista entered the set. Neither woman acknowledged Saturday, but they did glance at her as she sat in a nearby chair holding an iPad in her hands.
“So, Brandon, what’s your story?” Brooke asked, coming closer to him.
“Excuse me?” Brandon asked, taking a step back.
She flipped her golden-blond tresses. “I mean, are you married? Have a girlfriend? Have a boyfriend? What’s your status?” Brooke spoke as if he were required to answer her questions.
“First of all, we’re not friends and my personal life is none of your business, and second, we are all here to do a job, so I suggest you read over today’s notes before we start shooting.”
She moved closer to him, smiled and put her hand on his arm. “Oh, sweetie, I was just trying to make conversation.”
Brandon stepped back, allowing her hand to drop from his arm. “My personal life isn’t up for general conversation,” he said sternly.
Saturday glanced up and smiled, obviously pleased that he had put the snooty flirt in her place.
Brooke huffed, flipped her hair again and strutted away, her charms totally lost on the director. Trista then sat down next to Saturday. “Good morning. How are you?”
“I’m good,” Saturday said without glancing up.
Trista looked over at Saturday’s iPad. “What are you doing? Playing a game?”
Saturday flipped the gadget over. “I don’t like people looking over my shoulder. It’s irritating,” she said, putting the tablet in her purse and standing up.
“Okay, ladies, let’s get started,” Ed announced after his brief meeting with Petra. “Saturday, I want you and Petra over here near the Louboutins, gushing over the shoes and then arguing about who’s going to buy the last pair of silver pumps. Saturday, after about five minutes of verbal sparring, I want you to throw the shoe at Petra, but be careful not to hit her—just make it look deliberate.”
“Why she throw at me? Why I not throw at her?”
“She’ll throw the first shoe, and then you can throw the next one. I want you guys to have a shoe fight.”
This show is such a joke. I can’t wait to get out of here, Brandon thought as he stood there listening to the creator’s stage directions.
“Why not let the action flow organically?” Brandon knew the former director had been fired for being too opinionated. He had been committed to keeping quiet, doing his job, completing the contract and hightailing it back to a major network, but this staging was ridiculous and he couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.
“I know you’re the director, but this is my show, and to keep the ratings high, I want to ensure there’s plenty of drama,” Ed responded.
“Don’t you think there’s enough drama between the ladies without you orchestrating it? Isn’t this supposed to be reality television?” Brandon countered.
“What’s with all the questions? When you came on board, you knew what type of show you were going to be working on,” Ed replied, slightly raising his voice.
“Of course I knew what I was signing up for. However, I don’t think forced conflicts are the way to go.”
Saturday watched the exchange in silence. Outwardly she showed no emotion, but inside she was doing somersaults. Brandon was expressing exactly how she felt. Saturday found herself being drawn to him as he stood his ground against Ed.
“Look, Brandon, this discussion is over. I don’t feel like arguing with you. Just shoot the scene like I requested.” Ed inhaled deeply and plopped down in a chair.
Brandon backed down. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. If the creator of the show wanted a train wreck, then that was exactly what he would direct. “Ladies, we’re going to start shooting in five. Saturday and Petra, I’m going to need you two over here by these Louboutins. Brooke and Trista, you guys aren’t in the frame yet. I want you off camera. Walk in once the shoes start flying. Understood?”
“I want to throw first shoe,” Petra said.
“Sorry, hon, that’s not going to happen. Ed said that I’m throwing the first shoe,” Saturday said with her hand on her hip.
“Why you throw first? I throw you.”
“You’re not throwing me. You’re throwing a shoe.”
Petra huffed. “You know how I mean.”
“It’s what I meant.”
“Ladies, again I’m going to tell you to save it for the camera.” Brandon interrupted their ongoing spat. “Okay, places, please. Cue lights and sound.”
The shoe salon brightened up and everyone—actors, cameramen, soundmen—took their respective places. Saturday and Petra positioned themselves near the designer shoes. Brooke and Trista waited on the sidelines until their turn to enter.
“Take one. Action!” Brandon announced.
“What are you wearing tonight for your date?” Saturday asked Petra.
Petra picked up a silver metallic platform shoe off the display and held it in her right hand. “Platinum minidress and this shoe. It perfect together.”
Saturday walked up and snatched the shoe out of Petra’s hand. “Actually, it goes perfectly with my fuchsia-and-silver pantsuit. I’m going to buy them.”
Petra snatched the shoe back. “No! Mine!”
“How dare you take something out of my hand!”
“You take from me first,” Petra said, holding on tightly to the shoe.
Saturday stepped closer and tried to take the shoe back, but Petra had a firm grip and she couldn’t pry it out of Petra’s hand. “Give me the shoe!”
“No! Mine!” Petra held the shoe to her chest.
“Cut!” Ed yelled, getting up and walking onto the set. “I said I wanted a shoe fight, not a tug-of-war. Petra, hand me the shoe so I can demonstrate what I’m talking about.” Ed raised the shoe in the air and hurled it across the room with such force that he fell forward, landing on the carpet.
After a few seconds, Ed was still on the floor. He hadn’t made any attempt to get up.
“Hey, man, are you okay?” Brandon asked. When Ed didn’t move or speak, Brandon came over and knelt beside him. He shook him softly. “Ed, Ed, are you okay?” Still no answer.
Saturday knelt next to Brandon, reached down and felt Ed’s pulse, but there was no rhythmic beating. She immediately started doing CPR, pressing on his chest and blowing air into his mouth.
“Somebody call nine-o
ne-one!” Brandon yelled.
The cast and crew looked on as Saturday repeated the CPR routine over and over until the paramedics arrived. They quickly checked Ed’s vitals. He now had a faint pulse, thanks to Saturday’s emergency CPR. They placed an oxygen mask around his nose and mouth, loaded him on a gurney and rolled him out of the store and into a waiting ambulance.
Brandon grabbed Saturday and they quickly hopped into an approaching taxi and followed the ambulance as it wove in and out of traffic. They rode to the hospital in silence, each with pensive looks on their faces. The shoot had begun with an orchestrated frivolous scene, but it had ended with a real life-and-death drama.
Chapter 8
The bright rays of the midday Caribbean sun kissed Ayana’s brown skin as she lounged on the sandy Negril beach in a snow-white two-piece swimsuit. She looked up from the romance novel she was reading and stared off into the calm turquoise waters. Looking out into the ocean, Ayana took a moment to reflect on the recent events that had shifted her life momentarily.
The past week had been a traumatic whirlwind. It all began with Ed’s unexpected heart attack. He barely escaped death that day on the shoot when he collapsed. His condition was critical, rendering him bedridden, hooked up to intravenous drips and monitors in the intensive-care unit. Steve, the executive producer, had told the cast and crew that because Ed was the visionary for the show, he had no other choice but to halt production until Ed made a full recovery. And, based on the cardiologist’s grim prognosis, that wouldn’t be anytime soon.
During the same week, Ayana’s father had had a mild stroke. Her mother’s tone had been cool and calm when she called to tell her the news. She had told Ayana that everything was under control and that she didn’t need to rush home. But with the show on hold indefinitely, Ayana booked a flight to Jamaica and was at her father’s bedside two days later. Luckily, his stoke hadn’t caused any major paralysis. He was back to his old self, piddling around in the garden, in less than two weeks. Although her father was back to normal, Ayana was sticking around to monitor his condition. She wasn’t taking any chances.
Blissfully Yours (Mills & Boon Kimani) Page 4
