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- Herausgeber: Panther Books
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
A sassy romantic suspense with romcom energy and a guaranteed HEA.
Graciella Corsini is a twenty-something professional background actress—which means she’s great at being ignored. That is, until she lands a role on the hottest daytime drama on television and suddenly finds herself sharing scenes with Julian, the show’s gorgeous, charismatic, and completely off-limits star.
Between dodging Alicia—the wife of an ex who really needs to move on—and accidentally witnessing mob-related shenanigans involving a very dangerous man named Tommy, Gracie’s life spins from background blur to center-stage chaos.
Now she’s juggling forbidden attraction, jealous enemies, and the very real possibility of sleeping with the fishes.
Fame was never the plan. Falling in love definitely wasn’t. Surviving long enough to get her happy ending? That’s the real challenge.
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Seitenzahl: 320
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
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Not Quite Famous
A romantic comedy of an actress on the edge
Heather Silvio
Panther Books
Contents
Books by Heather Silvio
About This Book
EAST COAST
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
WEST COAST
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
EAST COAST, REVISITED
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Thank you!
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Books by Heather Silvio
PARANORMAL TALENT AGENCY
Lights, Camera, Action (Episode One)
Reset to One (Episode Two)
That’s a Wrap (Episode Three)
An Unexpected Sequel (Episode Four)
Jumping the Shark (Episode Five)
The Season Finale (Episode Six)
NON-SERIES FICTION
Not Quite Famous: A Romantic Comedy of an Actress on the Edge
Beyond the Abyss: Tales of the Supernatural
Courting Death
NONFICTION
Special Snowflake Syndrome: The Unrecognized Personality Disorder Destroying the World
Happiness by the Numbers: 9 Steps to Authentic Happiness
Stress Disorders: A Healing Path for PTSD
About This Book
Perfect for readers who enjoy zany women’s fiction with their romantic comedy, and salty language with their sweet romance!
Meet 20-something “professional background actress” Graciella Corsini as she orbits on the fringe of the entertainment industry in the most exciting city in the world, New York City.
When cast on the hottest daytime drama on television, Gracie fights the temptation of her off-limits but otherwise perfect romantic match – the show’s star, Julian.
Already dodging the nefarious actions of Alicia, an ex-lover’s wife, the stakes skyrocket when Gracie tangles with mobster Tommy after witnessing illegal activity.
Will Alicia succeed in spoiling Gracie's newfound happiness?
Is Gracie bound to end up sleeping with the fishes, courtesy of Tommy?
Can Gracie and Julian find their way to true love?
EAST COAST
ChapterOne
“Hello?”
“Stay away from my husband, you whore!” The line disconnects before I can reply with a witty retort, but, honestly, what could I say?
“Who was that, Gracie?” Jane Romero, my roommate of two years, asks the question, but clearly her interest lies in the dish she’s concocting. Like me, she is in her 20s, but the similarities end there. While I define petite at 5’2”, 100 pounds, she is taller with a bigger frame. Oh, and my name is actually Graciella Corsini, but everyone calls me Gracie.
“The angry wife,” I respond, and that gets her attention.
“The angry wife? What are you talking about?”
“I’m guessing that was the lovely Alicia White,” I answer with a sigh. This is not going to end well.
“Alicia who?” Jane is clearly perplexed, but probably because her attention remains half on her cooking. Jane works as a chef and quite frequently delectable scents waft from the tiny kitchen in our two-bedroom midtown Manhattan apartment.
“Christopher’s wife.”
“I thought they had an open marriage.”
“So did I,” I reply, already scrolling down to my married boyfriend’s work number.
“Christopher White, please,” I tell the receptionist at the fitness center who answers.
“Training office. Christopher White speaking.”
“Hi, honey, it’s Gracie. Your wife called. We need to talk,” I tell him before he has a chance to say anything more.
“What?”
I don’t respond. You’d think after a few months of dating it might have occurred to him to tell me his wife was not, in fact, accepting of our relationship.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“What…what did she say?” He stammers out the question.
“Um, let me see. She said, Stay away from my husband, you whore. Or something to that effect.” Crickets chirp on his end, so I continue. “Not the words you expect from a woman in an open relationship.” Long seconds of silence pass before he finally speaks.
“What do you want me to say?”
“You lied to me,” I respond.
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“Don’t answer a question with a question,” I snap, noting the rise in my voice and forcing myself to take a calming breath. “Why did you lie to me?”
“Because I wanted to be with you,” he finally answers.
“How original. Be with me or have sex with me?” I ask the question, eyes closed, head tilted toward the ceiling. I never wanted to be that woman, the other woman. I hear mumbling on Christopher’s end, as though he is covering the receiver with his hand.
“I have to go, Gracie. Can we talk about this later?”
I don’t know my answer to that question, so I simply disconnect the call. I’m dismayed to realize I’ve begun crying.
“Are you okay?” Jane asks, a look of concern on her face.
“I will be.”
“What happened?”
“He lied. It was supposed to be a casual, fun relationship. Not just about sex,” I hasten to add. “A casual relationship that would be no stress and no pain. And he’s turned me into a whore.”
“You’re not a whore,” Jane contradicts immediately to help me feel better.
I grab tissue paper off of the counter. “The funny thing is, I’m fine with the relationship ending. I just feel like such an idiot. I should have known he was lying.”
“How could you have known?”
“He’s a man, isn’t he?”
Jane laughs and, as I blow my nose, I remember our conversation when Christopher and I first met. He never actually said the relationship with his wife was an open one, I realize now, until after I had provided the opening. I vividly recall the day and the conversation…
Oh, how I love hot chocolate on a cold day. Sitting in a coffee shop around the corner from my apartment, enjoying my delectable beverage, I notice an attractive man enter the place. Now, New York City overflows with attractive wannabe actors and actresses. I mean, throw a stick, and you’ll hit a dozen. Anyway, he’s tall, blond, clearly works out. Kinda looks like a Ken doll – nice eye candy. He notices me watching him and we smile simultaneously. It’s his turn at the counter and I watch while he places his order. I continue to watch him as he gets his drink and walks over to my table.
“Is this seat taken?”
“It is if you sit in it.”
“That’s good.” Mr. Ken Doll sits down across from me. “I’m Christopher.”
“I’m Gracie.” That’s when I notice the wedding ring.
“Yes, I’m married.”
“You were flirting.”
“Au contraire. I had only just begun to flirt.”
“Then before we go any further, let me guess. You and your wife have an understanding. Or maybe your wife just doesn’t understand you?” I eye him expectantly.
“Which one of those choices results in our having dinner together?”
“Seriously, what’s the deal? I’m fine with a casual relationship with someone who’s already involved, so long as all parties are okay with it. Do you have an open relationship?”
“Would I be wearing my wedding ring picking up another woman if we didn’t?”
“Trying to pick up another woman,” I remind him.
“Trying to pick up another woman, then.”
“I guess not. At least I’d hope not.”
“Does that mean you’ll have dinner with me? I’d say now,” he hurries, “but I have a client I need to meet.” I give him a quizzical look. “I’m a personal trainer.” He pauses. “It’s a date?”
“Do you know the Thai place two blocks up, on the corner?” Christopher nods yes. “Can you meet me there tomorrow night at 8?”
“I’ll be there with bells on. Or maybe I’ll leave the bells at home.” He smiles and I laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gracie.”
“Looking forward to it, Christopher.”
The cell phone in my hand rings to life, startling Jane and me. The caller ID reads Christopher-Work.
“Are you going to answer?”
I don’t answer Jane’s question. I strive for a neutral tone in my voice when I answer the call. “Yes, Christopher?”
“Gracie, please don’t hang up on me!”
“I thought you had to go.”
“Gracie, please.”
“You have three minutes,” I say, with as much coldness in my voice as I can muster.
“Okay, listen, I am so sorry that Alicia called you and said…what she said. She had no right to do that.”
“This is what you want to say to me,” I interrupt him. “You want to blame your wife for catching you cheating and revealing your lie to me? That’s a waste of precious seconds.” Silence stretches for so long, I begin to wonder if the call dropped.
“Can we meet?”
“Why?”
“I can’t–” Christopher stops. I hear a sharp intake of breath. “Please, Gracie, can we discuss this in person? I would appreciate it. I know I don’t deserve it.”
“No, you don’t.” This time the silence is mine. Christopher wisely keeps his mouth shut while I decide what to do. I watch Jane vigorously shaking her head no, so I know her feelings. I close my eyes again.
“Tomorrow at 10 at the coffee shop. You know the one. If you’re late, I’m leaving.” I disconnect the call before he responds. The phone almost immediately starts ringing again, so I turn it off completely. Jane’s eyebrows lift in question. I shrug.
“He can talk to me tomorrow.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No,” I say with a sigh and flop down on the couch burying my head in a cushion. I hear the freezer door open and know she is getting out the chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream. There is a reason ice cream has become the stereotypical comfort food for women.
“What can he possibly say?” Jane hands me a spoon and places the tub of ice cream between us.
“I have no idea,” I answer between mouthfuls. “But, maybe I’ll want to say something to him.”
“What would you want to say to him that you didn’t just say?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I can just get pissed and throw my latte on him.”
“Now that’s a plan.” Jane starts laughing and it is contagious. Soon, we’re both laughing and I pantomime throwing a glass at the liar. “What a jerk.”
“Yeah.” We eat a few more mouthfuls in silence. Jane looks apologetic. “I know,” I begin, “you have to get up early. It’s okay. I’ve got the ice cream.”
“Thanks. At least it’ll be over tomorrow.” Jane rinses off her spoon. “Anyway, good luck.”
I wave goodnight to her as she closes her bedroom door.
When my alarm goes off the next morning, I’m uncertain at first why I have such a sick feeling in my stomach. Then, I remember. The feeling stays with me as I go through my morning routine. It intensifies when I arrive at the coffee shop at 9:55 a.m. and find Christopher already at a table waiting for me. At least he took my warning about being on time seriously.
“You look terrible,” I tell him, by way of greeting, as I take the other empty seat at the table and place a hand around a cup of water he had obviously already gotten for me.
“Thanks. I thought we could try to be civil about this.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Of course, what was I thinking? Thinking we could act like mature adults.”
“Mature adults don’t cheat on their wives and lie to others they care about,” I remind him. He looks chagrined, but doesn’t respond. I sigh. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I wanted to apologize. I never meant for any of this to happen.” I must have quite a look on my face, because he hurries to continue. “Once I met you, I couldn’t think straight. You are everything I imagine my perfect partner to be.” Damn, he’s good. I’m actually softening a bit toward him. Not that he has a chance of ever touching me again, but I might not throw my drink on him. Let’s see where he goes with this.
“What about your wife?”
“She and I have been married for five years. I didn’t lie about that. But, we don’t…have an open marriage.”
“No, really?” I ask the question, my voice fairly dripping with sarcasm.
“It’s your standard story,” he starts.
“You mean excuse,” I interrupt.
“Please, let me finish.”
“Fine, whatever.”
“After we got married, we started drifting apart. She stopped getting the higher paying modeling jobs and became a dancer.” He paused to sip his coffee. “So, she was working nights and I was working days at the gym.”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupt again. “A dancer? Is your wife a stripper?”
“Yes, but that’s not the point. About two years ago, she began using meth.”
“Methamphetamine?”
“Yes,” he sounds annoyed at my repeated interruptions. “The last six months have been particularly rough between us. The last months with you have been great.”
“Hold up, lover boy. First off, what we had the last few months was fun and, let me stress this, casual. More importantly, I want to make sure I understand you.”
“Of course,” Christopher eagerly agrees.
“You lied to your crazy, meth-head stripper wife about me. The same wife who has my phone number and may know where I live?” I may as well have said, “cue the angry wife”, because, before he has a chance to retort, a blond-haired, blue-eyed, inflated chest, extremely pissed off woman appears at our table. She presents quite the contrast to my more ethnic Italian American appearance – olive skin, ultra-long curly brown hair and sparkling (or so I’ve been told) brown eyes.
“Oh, god,” Christopher gasps, turning deathly pale.
“You really should have listened to me!” Alicia White yells at me.
“Is that a threat?” I stand up and face her squarely. Her stance doesn’t adjust in response and I wonder if she is high right now. Plus, of course, she’s waaay taller than I am.
“I don’t make threats, only promises.”
I have a bad habit of laughing at inappropriate times and this is one of them. “Are you kidding?” I laugh and say to Christopher, “You didn’t tell me she was a B-grade actress. That’s a great line.” As I turn back to face Alicia—
Slap! Holy crap, the bitch slapped me! I don’t care if she was the victim of his philandering or not, nobody hits me.
“You need to cool off,” I angrily retort with my own B-grade line. I’m staring in her eyes as my fingers blindly grasp for my cup of water and toss it in her face. Watching her anger turn to shock and then back to anger, I have time to register the fact that my water is pretty brown. Yes, I had just thrown Christopher’s coffee in her face, instead of my water. Thank goodness, it had cooled some.
“Ladies, please,” Christopher pleads with us. “That’s enough.”
“Yes, it is,” I agree. “Christopher, we’re finished. Alicia, your husband lied to us both and I realize you’re pissed. However. If you ever touch me again…” I trail off. “And that is a threat.” Before either can respond, I turn and walk from the restaurant. At least it’s finally over.
ChapterTwo
“Don’t you look like the cat that ate the canary,” Jane comments after I enter our apartment. With her short blond hair pulled off her face and the most fabulous smell coming from the kitchen, I deduce that she has been experimenting again. This is almost always a good thing.
“Do I?”
“Alright, spill,” she orders. She takes a seat on the couch and gestures to the other half. “Sit.” The television is on in the background and Jane mutes it.
“Yes, ma’am,” I respond, offering a mock salute. “I just spoke to Catherine about a possible job next month. It’s a feature length drama.”
Yes, I confess – I am an actress. I’ve always been on the periphery of what the popular culture would consider entertainment success. Okay, waaay on the periphery. I am a professional extra, what’s known in the biz as a “background actor”. I know what you’re thinking, but I pull down a decent living. Plus, I occasionally land a commercial or an “under five” part. That’s industry-speak for a bit part where I actually get some lines, usually fewer than five. Those are great because you get a big jump in pay with less work. I realize that when most people think of Hollywood, they think of, well, Hollywood, as in Los Angeles, not New York. But, tons of movies and television shows shoot in the Big Apple, providing a girl like me with plenty to do.
“They don’t usually arrange bit parts and extras that far in advance, do they?” Jane interrupts with her question.
“What? No,” I am momentarily confused. “That’s the point,” I continue excitedly.
“It is?” Now Jane looks confused.
“Yes! The casting director saw one of my under-five parts on some TV movie and thinks I’d be perfect for this role in the film.”
“What role?”
“It’s the part of the lead’s former girlfriend who gets murdered. It triggers the whole plot!”
“That sounds great. Wait, it also sounds like a fairly large role. I thought you didn’t like more than a few lines.”
“That’s true,” I admit. “There’s a reason for that.” I hesitate.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s not that I don’t want the lines, actually. It’s more that I worry I couldn’t do it.”
Jane laughs. “You’re kidding.” She reads the look on my face. “No, I guess not. Why would you think you couldn’t do it?” She seems genuinely perplexed.
“Usually, the time from audition to filming is pretty short.”
“And?”
“And…I’m severely dyslexic. I need more time to decipher and memorize than that,” I say this last in a rush and Jane’s eyes widen.
“That’s why you never do larger roles?”
“Yeah.”
“I wish you had told me. I would have helped you.”
“I was embarrassed. Plus, I could never do the cold reading that’s usually required in an initial audition for a bigger part.”
Understanding dawns in Jane’s eyes. “That’s the difference this time.”
“Absolutely. Filming won’t be for a month and I don’t have to do a cold reading audition. I’ve been given the sides already and the audition is in a week, giving me plenty of time.” I am completely excited again. If I could see myself in a mirror, I’d probably be glowing.
“That’s fantastic. Congratulations,” Jane offers warmly.
“Thanks. Who is that?” A face on the television screen catches my eye.
“I don’t know, but he’s hot.” Jane turns the sound back up and we listen to the story.
“Is she or isn’t she? Julian McNamara married Lydia Strom after a whirlwind romance on the set of their last film resulted in Lydia becoming in the family way. Only, according to an anonymous source in Julian’s camp, the bloom is definitely off the rose now that six months have passed and Lydia doesn’t look any bigger.” Pictures of an attractive – and quite slender – redhead pop up on the screen, only to be replaced by a photo apparently from their wedding, dramatically cut in half by the show’s editors. “Is the romance over for Heart’s Home breakout star Julian McNamara?” The announcer moves on to a story about yet another drunk pop princess and Jane presses Mute.
“I may have to start watching Heart’s Home,” I proclaim with a chuckle.
“No kidding,” Jane agrees. “How is it that soaps always seem to have the hottest men on them?”
“Great place to get started on television and lots of roles to fill,” I answer, although I suspect the question was asked rhetorically.
“We’ll have to rent his movie. Anyway,” Jane changes the subject. “Congrats again on landing the audition. I know you’ll do great. If you need any help, just ask.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Jane stands up as my cell phone rings. I see my mother’s picture on the cell phone face and decide I’m not up to chatting with her. After a few moments, the phone chirps that I have a new voice mail message. Apparently she is coordinating a family dinner in a few weeks at my parents’ place in Brooklyn, where I was born and raised. Also, I discover I have an unchecked older message from my friend, Renata, wanting to know when I’m visiting Los Angeles. I really need to call her back.
.
ChapterThree
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“You know I don’t like people dropping by my apartment unannounced. Especially people of the ex-boyfriend-who-lied-to-his-meth-addict-wife variety.”
Christopher has the good graces to cringe, but does not back down. “We have unfinished business.”
“No, we don’t. I said everything I needed to say last week. Oh, wait, I do have something new.”
“You do?”
I feel slightly guilty at the glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Tell your wife I’m sorry she’s married to you and that you’re a lying pig.”
“And…” Somehow, he looks like he’s expecting more.
“No, that’s it. Now, what did you want?” I smile meanly at him.
“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” he says, face hardening.
“I know I don’t have to, I want to.” I pause and repeat my question harshly. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to talk about us,” he says, sounding helpless and hopeless.
“There is no us.”
“I love you. And, without putting words in your mouth, I think you love me too.”
His confession momentarily stuns me and I soften my response. “We were casual from the beginning.”
“Maybe in the beginning… didn’t you feel something change?”
Did I? We had a lot of fun and I certainly enjoyed spending time with him. But, love? Maybe I sound shallow, but, no, I don’t think it was ever love.
“No, Christopher, it was never love.” I can’t help it. I’m feeling sorry for him. “At least not on my end.”
“You’re lying to yourself.”
“No. I’m not. Have you stopped to think that maybe you’re the one lying to yourself?”
“Why would I do that? I knew the moment I met you that you were somebody special.”
“You were married, not in an open relationship, and you cheated. You should look at that. This isn’t about me at all.”
“Of course it is,” Christopher insists, sounding irritated. He steps forward and I involuntarily take a step backward. “Now you back away from me?” He sounds hurt and angry.
“I think I know why you’ve been lying to yourself.”
Christopher looks surprised. “What?”
“I think that you think you’re in love with me.”
“I am in love with you.”
“No,” I correct him. “You’re in love with the idea of me.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I’m something new and exciting, without the instability of being with a drug addict.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Christopher’s eyes flash angrily.
“It’s just a theory.”
“You know what I think?”
“By all means, enlighten me.”
“I think you’re a slut who jumps into bed with anybody who will have her.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. My blood is boiling. “A second ago, you said you loved me. Now I’m a slut? You and your crazy wife deserve each other.”
“You’re right.”
“What?” Now, it’s my turn to be surprised.
“I was in love with an idea. I thought you were a genuine free spirit who wanted me to be happy.”
“Why would my goal be to make you happy?” I shake my head, as if clearing away the cobwebs. “Never mind. I think you should leave.”
“You have all this self-righteous indignation, but you’re not a dumb woman. You gave me the solution of an open marriage so you wouldn’t have to feel any guilt over sleeping with a married man.”
“You have that exactly backward. You used it as a way to dupe me into your bed. Leave. Now.” My voice has risen slightly and his raises to match.
“Fine.” He pauses. “I want my stuff back.”
“Are you joking? I’m keeping the DVDs, CDs, whatever you gave me.”
“Some of those were loans.” I stare at him, aghast. He’s completely serious. How did I ever think he was sane? My eye catches an object on my coffee table and I can’t help myself.
“Too bad,” I start. “I’m keeping the book you gave me.” I stare at him resolutely. Two can play this childish game.
“Fine. Consider it payment for services rendered,” he retorts.
“Oh, please. If I required payment, you couldn’t begin to afford someone like me.” My voice has returned to a conversational tone. “Now get out before I call the police and report an intruder.”
Without another word, Christopher storms from the apartment, slamming the door for good measure. I barely make it to the couch before I collapse. I’m shaking. I didn’t realize how much his odd behavior scared me. Maybe his wife isn’t the only meth-head.
The door opens again and I immediately tense, wondering if Christopher is returning. Tension turns to relief just as fast.
“Are you okay? I could hear yelling and Christopher nearly ran me down trying to leave.” Jane’s barrage of words flows effortlessly as she comes to my side.
“I’m fine. It was just…spooky. I’ve never seen anybody get that angry and irrational.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Honest, I’m fine. I’m just shaken up. A stiff drink would do wonders.” I laugh shakily.
“What happened? What was he even doing here?”
“I think it was meant to be some kind of reconciliation attempt.”
“Oh, sure. All my attempts to win back exes involve threatening them in their homes.”
“It started out that way, but it changed,” I clarify with a lop-sided smile.
“What changed?”
“When I didn’t immediately jump back into his arms, he didn’t like it.”
“Tough shit. That’s no excuse.” I could hear the anger in Jane’s voice. I must look worse than I imagined.
“Relax. He’s gone now and I doubt we’ll ever hear from him again.”
“Never would be too soon,” Jane declares and we both laugh. “Now, about that drink.”
ChapterFour
“What a crazy day on set,” I announce, as I enter my apartment. Jane, seated at the kitchen table, looks upset. “What? What’s the matter?”
“You got some messages.”
“Messages? Nobody calls me on the landline.”
“Today she did.”
I pause in my approach to the answering machine at the use of the feminine pronoun. My heart sinking, I walk to the machine, note that it reveals I have twenty messages, and hit Play.
“I don’t know who you think you are, talking to me like that. And in front of Christopher. You’re not so special. You’re not even that pretty.” Click.
“I love him so much. You just don’t understand. We were working out our problems before you came along. Why couldn’t you find someone else to fuck?” Click.
“Bitch, bitch, bitch. I’d like to rip your fucking head off and set it on fire, you fucking cunt.” Click. I press Stop and turn to face Jane, eyes wide.
“Are they all like that?”
“Worse. They get progressively weirder and more threatening.”
“More threatening than wanting to rip my head off and set it on fire?”
“Oh yeah. The wife is crazy creative, emphasis on crazy.”
I turn back to the machine and listen to the remaining seventeen messages. The last one actually consists of pulsing music, then silence, and finally one word whispered with as much malice as I’ve ever heard in one word.
“Die.”
“What are you going to do, Gracie?”
“I’m calling in the experts.”
“You’re calling the cops?”
“Hell, yeah,” I tell Jane as I search online for the local, non-emergency police phone number.
“Will they do anything?”
“I don’t know, but those are some pretty specific threats. I’m not taking any chances. I’m not going to be the idiot in the horror movie who does something stupid simply to advance the plot and ends up chopped into bits before the end credits role. I want to be in the sequel.”
I’ve found the number and am dialing it on my cell phone when Jane asks, “We’re in a horror movie?”
I stop dialing and close the phone.
“What are you doing? I thought you were calling the cops.”
“I was, but you’re right.”
“Usually, but about what specifically this time?”
“What are they going to do? Sure the phone calls are creepy and even threatening. But, she hasn’t done anything,” I explain. I haven’t set my phone down yet, I notice. Ambivalence?
“I thought you didn’t want to be the girl in the movie who gets chopped into bits.”
“That’s still true.”
“You can’t be in the sequel if you’re dead,” Jane points out.
“That’s also true.” There’s no denying that logic. “Maybe this will be the end of it,” I suggest.
Jane actually snorts. “I thought she was a pissed-off meth head.”
“Exactly.”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
“In a week, she’ll be focused on scoring more drugs. I’ll be forgotten. She probably just needed to vent.” At this point, I wonder if I’m trying to convince Jane or myself.
“Maybe,” Jane agrees uneasily. She definitely doesn’t sound convinced.
“Let’s just wait and see what happens.”
“Hey, it’s your life. Just so we’re clear, though. If she shows up here, I’m stepping aside and pointing to your bedroom door.”
“Nice to know you’ve got my back,” I reply dryly.
“Always.”
ChapterFive
It’s only been a week since that last awful fight with Christopher (and those crazy messages) and I still feel jittery. Honestly, I am having trouble figuring out why I’ve been so…traumatized. It’s not like he hit me or anything. He just yelled. And, I yelled back. I’ve had this feeling all day like someone is watching me. I’ve even wheeled around suddenly to try and catch the person. Of course, there’s never anybody there because nobody is following me.
I enter my apartment building and the feeling vanishes the instant the door closes. I take the stairs to my apartment. By the time I let myself in and sit down at my computer to check email, I’ve completely forgotten that sense of being watched. When someone knocks on my door ten minutes or so later, I bound over to the door with no hesitation.
“Coming,” I sing out. I open the door and my smile fades in an instant. I try to close my door, but her arm shoots out and she barrels her way into my apartment, into my home.
“Come on in, Alicia,” I mutter. As I close the door behind her, I momentarily consider running out of here. But, I don’t want to leave her alone in my apartment. Who knows what she would do? It has yet to occur to me that she could do more than property damage.
I stand with my hands clutching the doorknob behind me, almost like a talisman. Alicia stands next to the couch staring at me.
“You look terrible,” I speak without thinking and anger flares in her eyes.
“You would too, if your husband won’t shut the fuck up.” She stops, although it feels like a half-formed thought. I say nothing and she continues. “Don’t you want to know what he won’t shut up about?”
“I assume you’re going to tell me?”
“Smart ass. One of these days, you’re going to say something when you shouldn’t and it’ll be your last.”
“Unless today is that day, why don’t you leave?” Another person might interpret a surge of adrenaline as anxiety and thus watch her step; I apparently am merely emboldened by it.
“I’ll leave when I’m finished,” Alicia practically snarls at me.
“Are you high now?”
Alicia responds by taking a few angry steps in my direction. When I lose my smirk and cower slightly, she smiles. “Worried?”
I force myself to release the door handle and walk nonchalantly toward her, stopping about three feet away. Miraculously, my voice sounds steady in my ears as I ask, “What do you want, Alicia?”
“Do you think all Christopher talks about is you?”
“I hope not.”
“Well, he doesn’t.”
“That’s good, right?”
“He keeps talking about us, our relationship.” For some reason, inexplicable to me, this seems to make her angry.
“Isn’t that what most wives want?”
“Not if the husband is trying to remake the relationship.” If looks could kill, I’d be dead, and I’m still confused.
“If there are problems, doesn’t it make sense to make changes?” I ask the question as delicately as I can, sensing I can never be delicate enough.
“Not if the model for the wife role is his whore of a mistress,” Alicia hisses at me. I take a step back. A wave of fear moves through me.
“Look, I am sorry about all of this,” I hurry to say before she can continue. “I’ve already told you that Christopher said he had an open marriage.”
“He lied.”
“I know that now,” I say in exasperation, “but I didn’t know that then. I don’t understand why you’re still mad at me. I’m not in love with him – it was only a casual relationship. He’s the one you should be talking to.”
“You poor thing,” Alicia says, her voice dripping with pity.
“I’m sorry?” The sudden change in content and tone of the conversation startles me. The calm before the rest of the friggin’ hurricane, perhaps?
“You’re deluding yourself.”
“How so?” I’m genuinely curious.
“You’re either so insecure about relationships that you deliberately choose ones with no future,” she begins.
“I can’t wait to hear my second choice,” I interrupt sarcastically.
“Or,” Alicia stresses, “you fell in love with my husband and are attempting to reduce it to a mere fling to spare yourself a tragic emotional wound.”
Pretty good for a meth-head, I think, but wisely, for once, don’t say. I remain silent.
“Either way, you’re pathetic.”
I tense as she walks past me, but she simply goes to the door. Opening it, she turns back to deliver a parting shot before leaving.
“If you come near my husband again, I’ll kill you.” She smiles viciously and is gone.
“Holy shit,” I exclaim to the empty room. All of the adrenaline that has been coursing through my veins during our chat suddenly overwhelms me. I feel like I am going to jump out of my skin but instead begin talking to myself as I pace around my living room.
“She thinks I’m pathetic? She feels sorry for me? Oh, please. I’m not the one married to a man who not only sleeps with other women, he formed an emotional attachment to at least one.” I sit down on the couch with a loud exhalation.
“If I wanted him, I could have him. But, I’m the delusional one? She can have the poor, confused man. I’m extricating myself from this mess.” I’m feeling calmer and I actually laugh. “I was just in it for the sex.” Even if that’s not true, saying it makes me calmer.
So, boys and girls, what did we learn from all of this? Married men are off-limits.
ChapterSix
I’m so nervous I can barely stay seated in the metal folding chair on which I perch. The room is closet-small, as a waiting room should be, I suppose, and relatively bare. There are a half-dozen metal folding chairs and nothing else. I’d worry about the legitimacy of this production if I weren’t so keenly aware of the high cost of rent in this city. I clutch my audition sides tightly in one hand, alternately running lines in my head and informing myself that I suck. Did I mention that one of the benefits of sticking to no line or bit parts is that there’s never any anxiety?
I mentally slap myself and tell myself to focus, that the director asked for me personally, and that I worked hard to prepare for this audition. I take a deep breath and do, in fact, feel more relaxed. There are only four other women apparently scheduled for this time slot, all physically different from each other and from me. Apparently, the casting director isn’t interested in a specific type. Except for young and attractive, of course.
“Ms. Corsini?” The slightly built man who greeted me when I arrived interrupts my reverie with his question.
“Yes?”
“You can go in now.” He offers me a toothy smile that I automatically return. “Break a leg.”
“Thanks.”
Amazingly, as I enter the room, I feel all of my anxiety about the audition melt away. I’ve prepared for this and I’m ready. I glance around the room, getting my bearings. It’s larger than the waiting room, though not by much, and there are three men and a camera. An older man in glasses, wearing khakis and a button-down shirt (with the top two buttons undone, of course) addresses me first.
“I’m Benjamin Eckley, the director.”
“I’m Roger Short, the casting director,” says the scrawny, probably thirty-something, man in the middle. He’s wearing jeans and a Ramones concert shirt. His Converse-clad feet seem to tap to a beat only he can hear. I remember that he’s the one who called Catherine about me as he continues talking. “I saw you in a two-minute scene playing the teacher of the abused boy in Stopping the Pain. I thought you were beautiful and riveting.”
“Thank you very much,” I manage to say. It was barely a scene. I can’t believe I was that memorable.
“I’ve been waiting for a larger part to better showcase your talent.”
“I’m glad to be here auditioning.”
Roger turns to the third guy, indicating that he should introduce himself.
“I’m Sam Starling, the DP.” Although the name didn’t sound it, this guy looks like an Irish stereotype with red hair, freckles, and blue eyes. He has fine lines around his eyes, but otherwise his face seems young, almost babyish.
The director, casting director, and director of photography are all here, is what I’m thinking as Benjamin goes through the standard audition spiel.
“Roger will read Damian, the male character’s lines, so look at him and not in the camera, after you slate.” I nod and he tells me to begin.
