Cecily chuckled. “Everyone loves that southern accent. Mr. Grant came right out and said it’s why he hired me.” She shook her head ruefully. “Do you have any idea how many years I tried to get rid of that accent when I was growing up in Louisiana?”
Stephanie nodded sympathetically. “Well, it’s a nice accent! Which is a good thing because I hate to break it to you, but after six episodes as Sonya, it’s seeping back into your everyday speech.”
Cecily groaned. “That damned squirrel. If it weren’t for needing the money, I’d be relieved to have a break from the show. After twenty-two episodes, I might never sound like myself again!”
They recorded several different ads in a row, doing multiple retakes, until Stephanie was satisfied with the results. When they’d made it through the first folder of projects, Stephanie suggested they take a break, after which she’d show Cecily how the editing was done.
“I like to use the computer outside the booth for this,” she explained as she kicked off the audio software. “After a few hours, it can get a little stuffy in there, especially with two people.”
Stephanie went through the files they’d recorded one by one, demonstrating the techniques and explaining the reasons for each change as she went. It didn’t take long for Cecily to learn the basics of the program, but mastering the art of knowing when something worked and when it didn’t was going to take a considerable amount of time. And time was one thing Cecily didn’t have a lot to spare.
Her last paycheck from Grant Studios, combined with what Stephanie was paying her today, would cover the bills for another month. Maybe a little longer if she was extra frugal. But she was going to need another source of income soon. She still hadn’t reached out to any agents. She knew she should, but in addition to her reticence about the audition process, the idea of agents left a bad taste in her mouth. Ever since her friend Bailey had told her about how her sneaky agent had nearly cost her the love of her life, Cecily had considered finding an agent a last resort. She just didn’t know if she could trust one, and she’d prefer to find another way.
“I don’t suppose you have any other work you need a hand with?” Cecily asked Stephanie at the end of the day.
Stephanie thought a moment, then shook her head. “Sorry, no. Maybe in another month or so, but not before then. I could walk you through what you need to set up your own studio at home, show you the websites where you can audition for jobs…” It was obvious by the way her voice trailed off that she had picked up on Cecily’s discomfort at the idea.
“I appreciate it, Stephanie. I really do, and I want to learn. But the learning curve is steep, and I just think it may take more time than I’ve got.”
“You know what? I’ve got an idea.” Stephanie’s face lit up. “I have this friend—actually, more of an acquaintance…of an acquaintance—but anyway, he’s started a business doing audio books.”
“Audio books?”
“It’s a growing industry. Usually you audition and then wait to hear back from the publisher. It can be a long process for everyone. So this guy—Phil—he’s started a business where he gets the contract with the publisher and then takes care of the rest. Including doing all the technical aspects of recording them, which would be perfect for you, since all you would do is provide the voice. I know he was looking for people. I don’t know anything else about the types of books he does, or how much he pays, but—”
“I don’t care, I’ll take it! Could you get me his information?”
“Sure. Even better, I’ll email him about you. Last I heard he was so busy he was having a really hard time keeping up. Not to brag, but I’ve been in the business long enough that if you have a recommendation from me and he’s still hiring, he probably won’t even ask you to audition.”
Cecily sighed as relief washed over her. This was the second time Stephanie had come to her rescue. “You really are a godsend!” Cecily took the scrap of paper Stephanie handed her and stared with determination at Phil’s contact information. This was going to work out. It had to. It wasn’t likely that she’d be rescued a third time, and failure was not an option.
Chapter 5
Cecily slid a baking sheet of scallops wrapped in bacon into the oven. She tapped her finger on the kitchen timer, thinking. “How long until they arrive?”
“About half an hour,” Rorie replied as she arranged vegetables on a red, white, and blue plastic platter.
“Good. I got the timing right, then.” Cecily set the timer for twenty minutes, then surveyed the rest of the ingredients on the counter like a general preparing a battle plan. “Scallops are in the oven, shrimp is chilling in the fridge. Fruit salad, baked brie, the cheese platter—what am I missing? Oh! The asparagus in puff pastry!”
“Cici, relax. It’s a few friends coming over to watch the fireworks from the patio, not a White House dinner.”
“I know, but this is my first time meeting your friends. I just want to make a good impression.”
“Last time they came over I grilled up some hot dogs and didn’t buy enough buns. Their expectations are sufficiently low that even a fraction of what you’ve made would blow them away.”
“Cooking relaxes me.”
“Then cook as much as you want, babe.” Rorie picked up the finished vegetable platter and carried it into the dining room. “Just remember that they’ll like you for you. They won’t like you better because you feed them canapes.”
“Maybe,” Cecily called into the other room. “But a good canape has never made anybody like a person less!”
“Words to live by.” Rorie ruffled her hair affectionately as she walked past. “I’m going to go change clothes now, okay?”
Cecily nodded, still preoccupied with the food. Rorie was right. She’d gone a little overboard with the menu. Part of it was nerves. The prospect of meeting five of Rorie’s closest friends in one day had been enough to keep her tossing and turning well into the early morning. But part of it was that buying the groceries this morning had just been so emotionally satisfying.
Growing up in a prominent New Orleans family, with a father who was a senator and a mother who had turned entertaining into a full time occupation, Cecily had never wanted for anything. Especially food. The cupboards were always fully stocked. Even their cheese drawer had enough choices to throw together a gourmet platter in seconds. Her mother had prided herself on being able to whip up a spread of food for an unexpected guest that looked like she’d been planning it for months. So when Cecily had gone to the grocery store for the first time last week with a handful of coupons and a strict budget, it was like a little piece of her had died. The temptation this morning when Rorie told her to pick out whatever she wanted for the party had been too great to resist after so many days of forced austerity.
Not that she would allow herself to become melodramatic about it, or dare compare herself to anyone in real poverty. Her situation was voluntary, after all. That didn’t make it any easier. She’d completed her final week at Grant Studios on Friday and received her final paycheck, too. The producers had assured her that the show would be back in production by the end of the summer, but some of her more experienced colleagues had warned her not to bank on that promise. Delays were a way of life in Hollywood. Even if it happened on schedule, that still left eight weeks of scraping by with money in the bank sufficient to cover less than half that time. Stephanie’s acquaintance, Phil, had lined up some audio book projects for her to start on after the holiday weekend, but Cecily knew she’d need to pinch every penny until the fall.
The timer on the stove beeped, drawing her from her thoughts. She removed the pan from the oven, arranged the hors d’oeuvres on the remaining empty platter, then carried it into the dining room to add to the food already on the sideboard. She surveyed the display with satisfaction. This would make a solid first impression with Rorie’s friends. Who will be arriving any minute. Her stomach contracted in a nervous jitter. All this food and she was too keyed up to think about eating.
Cecily removed her apron and placed it back on its hook in the kitchen. She glanced in the mirror near the front door with an appraising eye, dabbed on some lipstick from her purse, and gave her reflection a final nod. Her a-line dress, in a star-spangled motif to reflect the holiday, was her favorite style to complement her curvy figure. She wasn’t overweight, but she wasn’t skinny, either. Especially not by California standards. Surrounded by so many beach-ready bodies, Cecily had been experiencing the sensation of having gained an instant twenty pounds since the moment she stepped off the plane. At least her restricted food budget might help her lose an inch or two.
The doorbell rang. Cecily turned to see Rorie approaching from the back room. She studied Rorie’s choice of outfit, a flowing silver-gray tunic and white capris, and cocked her head in confusion. “I thought you said you were going to change. I mean, you look great, but didn’t you mention buying something special for the Fourth?”
Rorie looked at her in surprise. “I did. This is it. Look, the tunic’s silver. You know, like fireworks.”
Only Rorie would think a slightly shinier gray than her usual gray qualifies as revolutionary. Cecily took another look at her own over-the-top outfit and chuckled. “Of course. Silly me.” One thing was for certain, even if she managed to lose enough weight to fit into the same size as Rorie, the chances of them ever sharing a wardrobe were effectively zero. Understated elegance worked for Rorie, but Cecily craved a touch more flamboyance now that she’d left the cashmere sweaters behind her in suburbia.
Rorie opened the front door and Cecily did a double-take at the two women who stood outside. They had the same short, no-nonsense haircuts. They wore matching Hawaiian shirts. Even the frames of their glasses were identical.
“Cici, I’d like you to meet Dee and Peggy.”
She extended her hand in greeting.
“Nice to meet you, Dee?” Cecily’s voice wavered uncertainly. “Or, I’m sorry, was it Peggy?” A rush of embarrassment colored her cheeks.
“You got it right,” Dee answered with a chuckle. “It’s hard to tell with us, though, isn’t it? It started with the haircut.”
“Well, how many easy care styles are there, if you think about it?” Peggy interjected.
“True,” Dee said. “But then I went to get new glasses and didn’t realize until I got them home that I’d chosen the same frames as her. I guess after a year of looking at them every morning over the breakfast table, they just felt right.”
“We don’t usually dress alike, though,” Peggy said. “The shirts are in honor of the day.”
“Independence Day?” Cecily squinted for a closer look at the vivid floral shirts, but could detect nothing patriotic about them.
“No, it’s our anniversary,” Peggy clarified.
“The last of six,” Dee added.
Cecily’s brow furrowed. “You’ve been married six times?”
Peggy laughed. “And all to each other, yes. I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not because we’re fickle and keep breaking up and getting back together like some Hollywood cliché. We’ve been together since college.”
College, huh? This could’ve been us. A picture flitted into Cecily’s imagination of some alternate universe where she and Rorie had been together twenty years and showed up to a party looking exactly alike. She glanced again at Rorie’s monochromatic ensemble and stifled a giggle. Not very likely.
Dee nodded. “The first two were really just filing domestic partnership paperwork with our companies. Then there was the civil union in Vermont.”
“Then Canada,” said Peggy. “Then a nice little ceremony one weekend in Cape Cod. And finally here in California.”
“We figured legally, one of them would have to stick eventually. But by the last one we were pretty sick of weddings, so we just invited everyone over for a Hawaiian-themed cookout, and tossed in some vows before the fireworks for good measure.”
Cecily grinned at the two women, finding everything about them, from their identical appearance to the way they finished each other’s sentences, utterly delightful. She reached for Rorie’s hand beside her and gave it a squeeze. If they were exactly like these two someday, she couldn’t imagine a nicer outcome.
The doorbell rang and several chattering female voices echoed from outside.
“I’d better get that,” Rorie said. “Cici, why don’t you show these two into the dining room?”
“That’ll be the rest of the crew,” Dee said. “Have you met them yet?” Cecily shook her head and Dee continued. “They’re the trendy West Hollywood-variety lesbians. Much cooler than us, but always running late. How much you wanna bet Rhonda blames it on the traffic?” Dee and Peggy snickered. “Again.”
“And you all work together?”
“Well, not me,” Peggy said, reaching for a plate from the sideboard. “I’m an accountant. But Dee’s a carpenter on the show. Rhonda heads up the makeup department and is…a force of nature. Lu’s one of the writers and her girlfriend, Frankie, is an actress. Sweet kids. I think they met when Frankie was a guest star last season.”
“Sorry we’re late!” A woman with a booming voice and hair the same shade of red as a fire engine entered the room. “You would not believe the traffic on Hollywood Boulevard today!”
Cecily chewed the insides of her cheeks, trying not to laugh at Dee’s fulfilled prophecy. The flutter of nerves returned to her belly. This must be Rhonda—a force of nature, indeed. Something told her that when it came to getting the stamp of approval from this social group, Rhonda cast the deciding vote.
“Look at this spread!” Rhonda whistled loudly as she filled her plate. “Cecily, was this you? ‘Cause I know it wasn’t Rorie. Are you a professional caterer?”
“No, I’ve just had a lot of practice. I used to host a lot of parties for my ex-husband’s firm.”
Rhonda’s left eyebrow shot up. “Ex-husband?” Her expression was immediately frosty.
Cecily gulped. Clearly Rhonda was less than happy about this revelation. Cecily stared into the woman’s disapproving face, suddenly understanding exactly how a deer feels when it spots headlights coming at it from the middle of the road.
“So what do you do for a living, Cecily?” asked Lu, an Asian woman of maybe thirty years old who wore thick black glasses that gave her a nerdy-hipster-chic vibe.
“I’m an actress,” she replied, grateful for the change in subject.
“Did you hear that, Frankie?” Lu nudged the woman beside her, who turned from the food to face them. “Cecily’s an actress, too!”
“Oh, great!” Frankie’s perfectly straight, dazzling white smile lit up her strikingly beautiful face. The overflowing contents of her plate suggested that her metabolism was probably as similar to a teenage boy’s as was her model-perfect, boyish figure. “Who’s your agent?”
This again? “Actually, I don’t have one,” Cecily confessed. “Which I’m starting to sense is unusual. But I may have to get one soon if I want to keep paying my bills while the show I was doing is on hiatus.”
“Here,” Frankie said, holding out a business card. “This is my agent’s number. Give him a call.”
As Cecily reached for the card there was a flurry of movement and suddenly there were four more added to it. She looked around at the other women in surprise. “Am I the only one in this room without an agent? Peggy, you’re an accountant for heaven’s sake!”
“I dabble.” Peggy shrugged. “It’s Hollywood. Everyone either wants to act or direct.”
“Just be careful of type-casting,” Frankie said. “I don’t want to be adding your name to my list.” The other women nodded in knowing agreement.
“Your list?”
“Frankie runs a little underground competition,” Lu told her. “Queer Death Match.”
“Queer Death Match? What is that?”
“At the beginning of the new TV season, you make a list,” Frankie explained. “Like, which gay characters will they kill off this year,
and how will they die. You get points when you’re right, plus bonuses if you guess the correct episode, or which network will kill off the most. Stuff like that.”
Cecily shook her head, still not comprehending.
“It’s because of how they’re always killing off lesbians on television, babe,” Rorie added helpfully.
“Oh, right. Ummm…” Cecily racked her brain to think of an example.
“Tara, from Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” suggested Dee.
“Sandy on ER,” continued Peggy. “Talia Winters on Babylon 5…”
“Well, technically she didn’t die,” Lu corrected. “Her memory was wiped.”
Peggy rolled her eyes. “Same thing. How about Delphine on Orphan Black?” she added teasingly.
Lu stiffened. “Delphine is not dead, okay?”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Lu.” Peggy shook her head. “Point is, Hollywood loves to kill the queers.”
“I guess I hadn’t noticed…” Cecily admitted, furrowing her brow.
“Oh yeah.” Dee said. “Even on shows that are supposed to be made for us, like The L-Word.”
“I doubt she’s seen it.” The ice in Rhonda’s words made Cecily tense, though she had no idea what she might have done to cause it.
“Actually, I have seen it.” Cecily thanked her lucky stars that she’d added that one to her binge-watching queue. “It was very sad when Dana died. And then they murdered Jenny, too.”
“Well, I mean, some characters need to die.” Frankie said with a shrug. “But after about the third time I landed a part where I ended up shot through the heart and dying in a girlfriend’s arms…let’s just say starting the game was good therapy. Like I said, just be careful what roles you choose.”
Love's Encore Series (Books One and Two) Page 27
