The Slow Rise Of Clara Daniels E-Book

Christy English

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

The women in Clara’s family have always had a secret: they can read minds. Growing up as the last daughter of a wealthy family in the desert of Palm Springs, she has only one wish: to become a star.

At sixteen, she begins her journey into Hollywood and the privileged life of a movie actress, but this time it is a privilege she will have to earn. Using her cunning, intelligence and telepathic abilities, Clara Daniels makes the slow rise that will catapult her to fame and change her life forever.

But can the love of the public, of people she will never know, fill the void in her heart?

Leseprobe

THE SLOW RISE OF CLARA DANIELS

CHRISTY ENGLISH

CONTENTS

Prologue

1. Palm Springs, 2009

2. Los Angeles, 2019

3. Palm Springs, 2009

4. Malibu, 2019

5. Palm Springs, 2010

6. Palm Springs, 2010

7. Colorado, 2013

8. Palm Springs, 2013

9. Palm Springs, 2013

10. Mojave Desert, 2019

11. Los Angeles, 2013

12. New York City, 2019

13. New York City, 2019

14. Los Angeles, 2015

15. Los Angeles, 2015

16. Los Angeles, 2019

17. Los Angeles, 2016

18. Los Angeles, 2016

19. Los Angeles, 2016

20. Studio City, 2016

21. New York, 2016

22. Los Angeles, 2019

23. Northern California, 2019

24. Malibu, 2017

25. Palm Springs, 2019

26. Malibu, 2020

27. Malibu, 2020

28. Palm Springs, 2020

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About the Author

Copyright (C) 2019 Christy English

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Ashley Conner

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

For Maggie and Connie, two extraordinary women.

PROLOGUE

LOS ANGELES, 2019

The noise of the crowd beyond the doors of Clara’s car was like the dull roar of the ocean at a distance. The sound rose and fell in waves, cresting as each luxury car approached the front of the theatre, and the celebrity it carried stepped into the light.

Clara leaned back against the leather seat of her limousine. She watched through the tinted windows as the paparazzi jostled for position beyond the red cord, fighting each other like sharks that scented blood. They had gathered to see the rich and famous come to her movie’s premiere, to pick away at the flesh that fed them. Clara sighed. She had learned long ago that the press was a leech on the body of Hollywood that could not be pulled off.

Nick, her young co-star, leaned across her to get a better glimpse of the photographers beyond the windows, pressing against her and wrinkling her gown. This was his first premiere, and along the edges of his mind, Clara could feel his excitement mingled with the sharp bite of fear as he looked out at the sea of faces beyond the glass.

Clara felt a touch of almost maternal pride at how beautiful he was. She brushed Nick’s blond bangs out of his eyes. With the film released, in a month’s time, if not sooner, their liaison would be over. She would always think of him fondly. In spite of the age listed in his press release, he was barely eighteen.

She found herself wishing Nick wasn’t vapid, that some spark of intelligence might light his eyes so she could speak with him, if not with true intimacy, at least as an equal.

That impossibility made her laugh at herself, and Nick turned to smile at her. She strengthened her mental shields under the heat of his gaze. She knew better than to read his thoughts. She always made a point of tuning them out. The empty canyon of his mind was too depressing to contemplate.

Clara heard the thoughts of the people in the crowd. Their minds were a low roar, a jumble of noise that made almost no sense. The thoughts of the people outside her car flowed past like an incoming tide. She relaxed into it and allowed herself to be buoyed by it. She let her mind float on the surface of that great ocean, the ocean she’d swum in all her life.

Nick adjusted the tie of his tuxedo, and she kissed him.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”

Someone opened her car door and there was no more time to talk. Clara stepped out into the glare of the lights, blinded by flash bulbs. She held her ground until her eyes adjusted to the onslaught. Then she moved forward, smiling.

Nick followed her out of the car. He flashed his shy smile for the photographers, pushing his bangs out of his eyes with his trademark boyish gesture, but Clara knew where her bread was buttered. She stared past the press, to the bleachers, where her public sat waiting for her. If she had her way, the fans would be up front, and the press could take their chances.

She turned to the bleachers and gave them a dazzling smile. People began to scream her name, waving and shrieking. Clara waved back at them with one long sweep of her arm. She turned so that her public could get a good glimpse of her sequined gown. Her back was bare, and the gown swept down into a scoop of soft material just above the curve of her hips. She could hear the women murmuring to each other in approval. The men also approved, but they were silent.

With homage paid to her public, the people who kept food on her table and her pool heated, Clara turned to the press.

“Clara! Over here!”

“What’s your next picture?”

“Who’s that guy, Clara?”

“Are you two engaged?”

Clara took Nick’s arm. The boy was starting to get overwhelmed. Even with his ego, a full press corps was tough to take the first time. And the paparazzi weren’t speaking to him.

She smiled at the press, giving them a good view of the back of her gown, before drawing Nick toward the door of the theater. A bank of television cameras greeted them there, and Clara stopped to give a few one sentence interviews. She knew her job, and she was good at it. The television media were worth cultivating.

“Clara.” A woman from Entertainment Now extended a microphone. “We understand that you and Nick have been very close since making Shout! together.”

Clara smiled her mysterious smile, showing very few teeth. Nick stared manfully into the cameras. She could feel his terror through the stiffness in his arm.

“Nick and I had a great time working together. I hope we get to do it again.” Clara’s voice caressed the words of the last sentence as she ran her hand over Nick’s arm.

Her touch soothed him, and she felt him relax.

She drew him forward and spoke to a few more reporters before they made it into the theater.

Once they were inside, Nick exhaled. “Holy shit. That was wild.”

Clara smiled, brushing the perpetual lock of hair off his forehead.

She kissed him. “You did well.”

He smiled down at her like a child who’d just been handed a sweet. “So, we’ll be on TV tonight, huh?”

Clara’s smile slipped a notch. “I’d say that’s a safe bet.”

1

PALM SPRINGS, 2009

The last time Clara saw her Aunt April was on her twelfth birthday. She was skipping stones in the desert, when she heard the wheels of the rented Lincoln on the sunbaked gravel of the circular driveway. The sun had been up for hours, and soon it would be too hot to play in the desert any longer. Clara ran into the front yard of her mother’s estate and hid herself behind a pinon tree. Her aunt stepped out of the car, offering the keys to the man whose job it was to park all visiting vehicles in the estate’s ten-car garage.

Clara stood, breathing in the crisp scent of the tree until the man drove away. She emerged then, silently taking in the sight of her aunt. April was even more beautiful than Clara remembered, the milky skin of her face framing her green eyes. April laughed.

“Where did you come from, Clara? You’re as quiet as a native.”

“Which tribe?” Clara asked.

April laughed again but didn’t answer. She put her arms around Clara. The girl stood unyielding until she remembered that to be hugged, one had to hug back. She relaxed and felt the tension run out of her body like water. She wasn’t used to being touched, but she reminded herself that April was different. April loved her.

She pressed her face against April’s silk suit and breathed in the scent of her aunt’s light perfume. The silk against her cheek was the color of the peeled avocados her mother loved.

She knew April had come for her birthday and had wanted to surprise her. Clara gave April one of her rare smiles. Her aunt blinked in the light of that smile, smoothing the girl’s hair away from her face.

“Let’s get out of this heat.”

Aunt April squeezed Clara’s shoulder, and the girl moved ahead of her into her mother’s mansion. The foyer was cool, and the marble floors were polished under their feet. Clara could hear the faint hum of an air conditioner somewhere in the house.

“Where’s your mother, Clara?”

The girl shrugged one shoulder, feigning indifference. “I don’t know.”

“Is she here?”

Clara met her aunt’s eyes. “No.”

April smoothed a strand of hair out of her eye. “Well, we’ll have lunch together, then.”

Clara relished her aunt’s touch as April took her hand.

They sat in the conservatory facing the terraced gardens. The plush furniture had bright white cushions, and the harsh sunlight was filtered by the glass, though the heat wasn’t kept out. It was always hot in the conservatory, but it was Clara’s favorite room in the house. Past the gardens, beyond the lawns and pinon trees, she could see the desert shimmering.

The housekeeper, Carol, brought in sandwiches and lemonade, and Clara asked for slices of the apple cake that the cook had baked for her that morning, along with the herbal tea April loved.

Clara watched her aunt from the corner of her eye. She saw April’s jaw tighten as she looked out over the desert, and she knew that her aunt was angry. She couldn’t read April’s thoughts, though, just as she couldn’t read her mother’s. Beyond the one question that Clara longed to have an answer for, she was sure her mother had no interesting thoughts in her head. However, she wished she could see behind her aunt’s eyes, if only for a moment.

Clara met April’s eyes, and blinked. She had been caught staring.

But Aunt April only smiled. “I’ve brought you something.”

Clara attempted a feeble joke. “A filter I can wear over my head, to keep out people’s thoughts?”

April looked over her shoulder, but no servant was nearby to hear what Clara had said. She knew her aunt had a superstitious fear of referring to the family gift.

“If they ever make one, I’ll order you the first off the assembly line.”

“They’ll never make one. No one knows what we can do.”

April shifted in her plush chair, crossing her legs, and met Clara’s gaze. “No. They don’t know.”

Clara knew she must never speak of her gift in front of anyone, and she never did. Only with her aunt. April was the only person in the world she could trust to always be there and never to betray her.

She looked gleeful, like the child she was. “What did you bring me?”

April smiled, brushing a strand of ash blonde hair back from her eyes. Her long hair was caught up in an elegant twist, but wisps had come loose, framing her face.

“Maybe we should eat our lunch first.”

Clara laughed at her aunt’s teasing. “What did you bring me?”

Clara moved to sit next to her aunt on the sofa, and April stroked the crown of Clara’s head. April reached into the shopping bag leaning against her chair and drew out a box wrapped in fine white paper. A huge pink ribbon covered the front of the package, and Clara glowered. She hated the color pink.

April laughed when she saw her face. “I knew you’d hate the ribbon, but the store didn’t have anything else.”

Clara lifted the present onto her lap as carefully as if it were a holy relic. She didn’t want to tear the paper, but to sit and look at her birthday present, making the moment of anticipation stretch before her. She knew she wasn’t going to get another gift. But Clara also knew that no pleasure was made to last, so with a swift glance at April, she tore the paper.

The white paper and pink ribbon fell on the hardwood floor as Clara’s fingers lingered over the box. She took a deep breath, savoring the moment. She opened the box slowly, drawing the tissue paper back gently so she wouldn’t tear it.

Nestled in the paper was a cashmere sweater the same shade of green as her eyes. Clara took a shallow breath, bringing the sweater up to her cheek, the box falling at her feet. She breathed in the scent of the soft fabric, which smelled like her aunt’s perfume.

“Aunt April… it’s beautiful.”

Clara was rarely awed by anything, but the sweater in her hands was the most beautiful present she had ever been given.

“You can wear it when you come back to New York, and we go to the Russian Tea Room.”

Clara didn’t answer but fingered the soft material.

Aunt April slid her manicured fingertips into her leather handbag. “I have something else for you, too.”

Clara’s eyes sparkled as she took the envelope her aunt handed her. She opened it, and an airline ticket fluttered out and landed in her lap. When she picked it up, she saw that it was a one-way ticket to New York.

She looked at her aunt, an eyebrow raised.

April spoke in a rush, her words a jumble of sound. “I want you to live with me.”

The floor opened at her feet as Clara fingered the paper in her hands. It was a way out of her mother’s house. An escape from the man her mother was marrying.

Clara remembered the last time she’d gone to New York. She had flown out alone that Christmas, her mother and her fiancé left far behind in Palm Springs. Aunt April had met her at the airport, and for the entire week of her visit, they had done only things that made her happy.

She looked down at the ticket in her hand. April wanted to give her a new life, a life like the week she’d had in New York.

Clara thought of Darren then, the man her mother intended to marry. He was ten years younger than her mother, with a tennis player’s build and blue eyes. His eyes looked as if they belonged to a man with a soul, unless you could read what went on behind them.

Tears came into her eyes, and for the first time since her father died, Clara couldn’t swallow for the pain in her throat. The airline ticket blurred in her hand. She blinked hard to see past her tears.

She forced herself to speak, though her voice shook. “Does Mom know that you want to take me?”

“We’ll tell her when she comes home.”

Clara thought of her mother’s light laugh, of her clear blue eyes that took the whole world at face value. Jessica almost never looked past a person’s eyes to the thoughts in the mind behind them. Clara didn’t know what would happen to her mother if she had to face wicked people alone. She imagined her mother left alone with Darren, and held herself very still, forcing herself not to breathe so she wouldn’t shudder.

She did not think Darren meant her mother harm. He was walking toxic waste, but she hadn’t seen any evil in intentions behind his eyes when he looked at her mother. But she would never be sure unless she stayed and watched over him.

“I can’t go with you.” Her hand didn’t shake as she held out the ticket.

April looked at it for a long moment, before she took it back.

“Will you think about it, Clara?” Her aunt’s voice was gentle and low. Clara could hear the misery in it.

Pain filled her own vision, burning away what was left of her tears.

Clara hardened her voice to keep from showing it. “I have thought about it. I can’t leave Mom alone with him.”

“Clara, she hasn’t given you a moment’s thought, and she won’t take care of you once he’s in this house. Do you understand that?”

April’s voice was low but took on an urgency that Clara had never heard before—the urgency of desperation. She hadn’t known that her aunt was capable of feeling desperate. For the first time, she understood how much April loved her.

She took April’s hand, careful not to touch the diamonds on her aunt’s fingers, and spoke calmly, as if to a younger child.

“Mom needs me here to take care of her.”

They sat staring at each other over a plate of sandwiches and a cooling pot of tea. April reached out and brushed her fingertips over Clara’s face. “If you change your mind, you can call me anytime, day or night, and I’ll come for you.”

Clara’s stomach clenched, and the pit opened at her feet again. There was finality in her aunt’s voice.

April brushed her well-manicured hands over Clara’s hair, smoothing out the blonde strands. She looked at her niece as if she were memorizing her face.

“I’d better go before your mother gets back.”

Clara heard her own words, and they sounded detached, like the voice of a stranger.

“All right.”

April pulled Clara against her and kissed her cheek. A little of her lipstick came off on Clara’s skin. She didn’t relax against her aunt’s body, but breathed the scent of her perfume, to remember it. She knew April had no intention of ever coming back.

“I love you, Clara. Happy birthday.”

April walked away. Clara listened to the staccato beat of her aunt’s high heels as they struck the marble in the foyer. She heard Carol open the door, and she stood listening for the sound of April’s car as she drove away. The house was silent except for the tick of the grandfather clock standing like a sentinel in the marble hallway.

2

LOS ANGELES, 2019

Clara stopped her Maserati at the studio gate, smiling at the slouching guard on duty. He straightened and lifted his cap to her, bowing at the waist as if she were the Queen of England.

“Go right through, Miss Daniels.”

Clara let her voice find its lowest register. “Thank you, Derek.”

She drove too fast around the huge barn-like studio buildings, playing a game of tag with herself. How close could she come to a producer before he would move? Some even shouted at her and waved a fist, before seeing who she was and falling silent. She left the working schlubs alone.

Her music was loud, but she could still pick up a few stray thoughts as she drove past them. Most were murderous, until they saw her face.

She stopped her car in the space painted with her name. She turned off her music reluctantly and steeled herself for the ordeal to come.

Clara stepped out of her car, and there was a lackey waiting for her. A young woman in sloppy shorts and a stained t-shirt with the name of a TV movie written on it.

“Miss Daniels, Mr. Willoughby is expecting you.”

Clara didn’t smile. “All right.”

She reached into her bag for a cigarette, striding towards the stucco office building on her left. The woman trotted beside her, her face a mask of embarrassed misery.

“Miss Daniels, can I get you anything?”

“No.”

Clara stopped long enough to light her cigarette, but before she could strike a flame from her lighter, the woman extended a match. Clara really saw her for the first time and looked behind her eyes. In spite of years with the studio, in spite of the fact that her every working day was full of humiliation and misery, this woman worshipped Clara as a goddess on the earth.

The woman didn’t move, and the match burned lower. Clara knew she would allow her fingers to burn off before she would put the match out. Clara leaned down slowly, almost casually, and lit her cigarette from the fire at the woman’s fingertips. She blew the flame out just before the woman’s fingers got burned.

Clara smiled then, the slow smile she was famous for. The woman blinked as if dazzled by the sun. She fished into the woman’s mind and found her name.

“Thanks for the light, Peg.”

The woman stood silent as Clara moved past her into the studio building where Bob Willoughby waited in his office on the fourth floor.

Bob Willoughby, the head of Barnett Studios, sat at the end of a long mahogany table, smoking a cigar. He hastily put the cigar out and rose to his feet when Clara entered the room. His assistant, Phil, was at her side immediately, taking her handbag and offering her a glass of orange juice.

Clara took the glass and surrendered her bag without comment, her eyes fixed on Willoughby’s face. Willoughby’s new Vice President of Marketing drew out a chair for her and Clara sat, the slit in her skirt revealing her long leg, up to her thigh. The marketing VP’s gaze rested on her legs for a moment, before he took his seat next to Willoughby.

Clara tried to look into the VP’s mind to see whether or not his calm was a façade but found that she couldn’t. His mind was closed to her. She frowned. That had never happened to her before, except with the other women of her family.

The Vice President of Marketing smiled at her as if he knew what she was thinking. Her frown deepened. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-four. He had a lot of power for someone so young, to be sitting in a meeting with her and Bob. She wondered briefly if she had seen him somewhere before.

Clara let her frown fade and allowed herself. She wondered why Willoughby had brought him in, perhaps in a vain attempt to cajole her. Bob must be under the false impression that she was slipping.

She turned the strength of her gaze on Willoughby and he blinked, caught off guard. He swallowed hard and focused on the papers in front of him.

“Well, Clara, I appreciate you coming in today.”

She smiled then. “I know you do, Bob.”

“Yes, well—”

The studio head coughed convulsively, and his assistant silently handed him a glass of water. Willoughby drank it in three swallows and handed the empty glass back to Phil. For a moment, Clara thought he might mop his brow like one of the characters in the stupid films she made, but he didn’t do anything so obvious. He forced himself to meet her eyes, and she caught a glimpse of the man who had taken a chance on hiring her four years before.

“Clara, the people on the board are concerned about your next project.”

“Really?”

She kept her voice deceptively even and pleasant, sipping her juice. It was slightly sour.

“Yes. They’re afraid the market is too tight for a costume drama. They want to put you in a space thriller instead.”

Clara was silent for the span of a minute. She waited to see if anyone else in the room would speak again. When they didn’t, she extended her hand and Phil was there immediately, placing a lit cigarette between her fingers. She took a slow draw of tobacco, her gaze fixed firmly on Willoughby.

“And what do you think, Bob?”

Willoughby looked surprised at the even tone of her voice, he and took a deep breath. She could feel his fear from where she sat. She wasn’t used to seeing Bob Willoughby afraid. She felt her temper rising.

“You know I’m not paid to think, Clara. Not creatively, anyway. These men know the markets. They feel that a costume drama will flop and lose more studio money than we can afford.”

Willoughby shifted in his chair. He looked down at his papers and shuffled them. Clara got a flash into his mind. They were blank pages.

She kept her voice low, ignoring the marketing VP, who cleared his throat, almost as if he intended to speak. She stared hard at Willoughby until he met her eyes.

“Are they shelving my project, Bob?”

He nodded. Clara stayed silent for a long moment, the glass of sour orange juice in her hand. The marketing VP turned to her. She saw Bob reach for his arm to silence him, but the VP ignored him, focusing his indigo blue eyes on her. For some inexplicable reason, try as she might, Clara still couldn’t read what he was thinking.

“Miss Daniels, the marketing department wants you to know that we consider the shelving of this project only temporary. We’ve had quite a few setbacks in foreign markets, and we need to shore-up our position. We feel that if you consider the space thriller, Blast Away, we’ll be in a better position to return to—”

Clara stood in the middle of his speech, and in one smooth motion, threw her orange juice against the wall behind his head. The crystal shattered against the wood paneling and the sour juice ran down the wall in rivulets.

She didn’t look at the VP again but turned to Bob. Phil was at her side with her bag. She delicately took a last draw off her cigarette and stubbed it out in the crystal ashtray on the table. Bob’s eyes were wide, and she could feel him holding his breath.

“I think you know my position on this, Bob. I’ll wait for your call.”

Clara turned, and Phil opened the door for her smoothly. She was out of the building and back in her car before she remembered that when she’d thrown her glass the VP hadn’t even flinched.

“Who the hell is he?” Clara spoke into her cell, standing on her balcony overlooking Malibu Bay.

Donna spoke calmly. “I don’t know, Clara, but I’ll find out.”

“I want his job.”

“Let me find out who he is first. There may be a way around him.”

Clara drew the smoke from her Turkish cigarette into her lungs.

“All right. I’ll wait.”

“I’ll handle it, Clara. I’ll call you tonight.”

Clara smiled at the confidence in her manager’s voice. Donna was one of the few people she respected.

“Tonight, then.”