He changed his shirt again.
"Get it together, Sammy boy." Staring into the mirror, he willed himself to find the confidence he so desperately needed. Steely blue eyes stared back at him, faint brushstrokes of age at their corners. His thirty-nine years hadn't been too hard on him. He took good care of himself. Stayed in shape. Maybe he was crazy to think that he still had a shot at real, commercial success. It didn't matter. He needed the work.
"I can't believe you're going through with it." Sam's wife Karen drifted into the room on a cloud of...what was it this morning, Vodka? She stopped just behind him, peering over his shoulder. Her scent held a note of decay, like flowers that had sat in a vase too long.
"It's a good opportunity." Sam tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Karen had made it clear what she thought about him being the lead in a sexy, new show at his age. He continued his self-examination, worried about his first impression. "We need this."
"You mean you need this." The look of contempt on her face rattled his already unsteady nerves. She wasn't wrong, but it was more than that.
"We need this, Karen. We need the money." He leveled his gaze on hers in the mirror. "This show has real potential." She scoffed under her breath and Sam felt his blood pressure rising. He saw Karen's shoulders slump, just a little, as she let his words sink in. She raked him from head to toe and he could almost feel the disapproval as her eyes slowly slid over his body.
"You look okay, I guess." It was half-hearted, but as good as he could expect to get. Her breath wafted through the air on her long exhale before she took another sip from her mug. Scotch, today. Definitely Scotch.
Sam bit back his usual criticism of her habits. He didn't have the stomach to argue, not today. Instead he focused on his breathing - a technique he learned in his very first acting class, long ago. It was meant to settle his nerves and had served Sam well in the ups and downs of his career. Little had he known how much he would rely on that method to deal with his volatile marriage. Sam let out a slow exhalation and looked down at his shaking hands.
"I don't know why I'm so anxious." He turned and cupped her frail shoulders, hoping for some support. He gave her a gentle squeeze as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.
Bad move.
"Don't."
Karen recoiled as if his touch were poisonous. She shuffled over to the bedroom window and groaned as the rays of the morning sun stabbed through the haze. She glanced back and Sam went still, watching her. Bracing for yet another verbal sparring match. They'd become more unpredictable and nearly impossible to avoid, no matter how many eggshells he crushed walking around their house.
"I know I look like shit," she huffed.
"I never said that."
He moved behind her, not daring to touch. The sunlight did nothing to add color to her drawn cheeks. Her once lustrous hair fell limp and lifeless to her shoulders, and she was so thin, it frightened him.
"Try to eat something today, will you? I'll call you during the first break."
Karen snapped the curtains shut, plunging the room into darkness. "I don't need you to lecture me." She crumpled onto the bed and disappeared under the covers. "I have work to do, but I need to sleep...for a while."
Sam stood there for a moment, wondering how their marriage had been reduced to this dependency and bitterness. It was as if he were destined to repeat the mistakes that his parents made – marrying too young, his mother staying with his philandering father because he was all she'd known.
Sam had taken his marriage vows to heart, even if Karen had not. True, they'd never been in love, but he'd never even looked at another woman. Til death do us part. These days, it seemed as if she were rushing to fulfill that prophecy by drinking herself into an early grave. None of his efforts to stop her had succeeded. They'd only served to push her further down the bottle neck.
A sliver of light from a crack in the curtains fell across her features. Karen mumbled in her sleep and turned over. Sam tried to remember the last time he'd watched her like this. Unguarded. She had become so defensive that he could barely remember a time when she wasn't. Her temper flared whenever he showed the slightest bit of concern, as if he didn't have a right. Sam thought he'd earned the right with nearly twenty years of his life devoted to her and to them.
He ran a rough hand across his face. He was going to go through with this project. He owed it to himself to try. And if he failed, well...
Sam covered his wife's bare shoulders with the blanket before he turned and faced the door, afraid and excited by what awaited him on the other side.
****
ValSaunders_WTP Off to the set of my new TV show! #SoExcited #NewExperiences
The billboards over Sunset Boulevard were filled with the beautiful people. Unattainable and unapproachable, they were the toned, tanned and tucked royal court of a glittering kingdom. Looking up at them from her car as she waited for the light to change, Val Saunders knew the price many of them had paid for their fame. The white of their smiles was as artificial as their blemish-free faces. In Hollywood, beauty wasn't the only thing that was skin deep. Souls were wafer thin in the city of angels.
But there were other ways to make it there. You didn't necessarily have to make a deal with the devil, at least Val hoped not. She'd paid her dues through nameless bit parts on TV and in low-budget films, and refused to play ball (or was it with balls?), quickly shooting down the sleazy producers that offered to let her sleep her way into bigger roles. She'd never risked her reputation on a casting couch, and her hard work was paying off. Her last film had gotten her some Golden Globe buzz. The nomination had been a long shot. So, her heart hadn't been broken when she wasn't on the list of nominees. The fact that people thought she was deserving was enough.
For now.
Her phone rang as she pulled away from the intersection. The caller ID showed Senator Todd Sandoval, her main target for funding for her current project: New York's inner city arts program. She tapped her Bluetooth earpiece to accept the call.
"Senator Sandoval, thanks for getting back to me."
She could hear the resignation in his sigh before he even spoke. He was going to turn down her proposal for increased funding. Sandoval was the final holdout in her bid to get the federal grants, without them she wouldn't get her corporate sponsors to offer matching gifts. Val had grown up with some privilege, a fact that only made her want to help those without those same opportunities. She'd always been one to pay it forward. Funding the grant would provide after-school musical instruction for some of the city's most vulnerable youth. If only Sandoval would stop sitting on his hands. While he went on about those hands being tied and "nothing more I can do", Val interrupted the pending brush off.
"Senator, I know you understand the importance of arts education. I was at your son's recital last month and it's amazing, what he's accomplished. All I'm asking for is...Yes, I know you can't guarantee anything, but if you would just consider... Yes, thank you. That would be great. Thank you! Looking forward to it. Take care." Val disconnected the call, and slammed her palm on the steering wheel with triumph. Finally, a yes!
There would still be a review committee, but with Sandoval on board, Val's hopes were high. Giddy with the minor victory, she swerved her car into the studio lot.
"Ms. Saunders!" Ronnie, the only security guard she'd ever seen on duty – didn't anyone else ever man the gate? – waddled over to her window, clipboard in hand. "You're looking beautiful, as always."
His jolly laugh reminded her of Santa Claus, but his ashy beard and grease-stained, once-white shirt didn't sustain the illusion. Neither did his not-so-subtle perusal of her chest as he handed her the sign-in sheet.
"Ronnie, you silver-tongued devil. You're too sweet." Val smiled brightly, scribbled her name on the line, and pulled forward as the gate lifted.
"Only for you, Ms. Saunders! Only for you."
Me and every other human with a pair of tits. She laughed to herself as she made her way to stage 44.
Filming a TV pilot was always an exciting and frightening thing. On the one hand, it was a chance to create something you'd hope was great. On the other hand, there was no guarantee that the show would get picked up for a single episode, much less a full season. Most pilots ended up on shelves, never to be seen by the public. Val had been in a few of those already. Still, this one might be different.
We the People was the latest series from Carla Landsman, a very popular and very controversial writer/director. Her shows had already broken new ground, and this one had the potential to do the same. Silver Screen Television, SST for short, was in its infancy as a network, and had put several of its eggs in Carla's basket. They needed We the People to be a hit. Something that could compete with HBO, Starz, and the likes of Netflix. They wanted a seat at the big boy table.
Val felt lucky to even have been invited to audition, so she was absolutely amazed when she got the part. Not that she was struggling as an actress, work was steady. This show, however, had the potential of making her a bankable star. It was something she'd always sought, though she wasn't entirely sure it was something for which she was prepared. Recognition came with a price, namely her privacy. Not to mention the increased scrutiny about everything from her wardrobe, to her political leanings, to who showed up on her arm at an event.
She might even have to move. She loved her Silver Lake apartment, but it wasn't all that secure. Was she really ready to deal with the paparazzi?
"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, girl."
Val pulled into a parking space, checked her hair and makeup in the rearview mirror, and hopped out of the car. Today's agenda: screen tests and cold readings. And meeting her co-stars, most of them for the first time. That included the man playing her love interest, Sam Newman.
****
"Okay everybody, we're going to split you into twos and run some scenes." Assistant Director Linda Gaynor or L-Gay, as everyone called her, handed pages out to the actors.
"Are we doing hair and makeup?" Sam asked as the others milled about, shaking hands and introducing themselves. Some exchanged hugs with former co-workers.
"Not unless we ask you to." L-Gay's phone drew her attention, and an assistant ushered everyone to their respective places. The notation at the top of Sam's script side had him in room 44 H, with Valerie Saunders. He'd only seen her in person at events, and from a distance, but he was very familiar with her work. Even her smaller roles. She had a way of drawing your eye in a scene.
She was beautiful, intelligent, and seemed like a warm and genuine person. Then again, she was an actress. Who knew what she was really like?
"Guess I'm about to find out," he mumbled to himself, making his way over to their sound stage.
When he entered the room, Sam found Valerie being fitted for a microphone by a production assistant. Her back was to him. He made note of her small frame, small but curvy, and her casual appearance.
Not a diva, then. Definitely a plus.
He moved further into the room but made no effort to get her attention. He wanted to observe. Evaluate. Call it a self-defense mechanism. Having been married to Karen for half of his life, he'd learned the best way to read a person, or situation, was to assess them from a discreet distance.
The PA worked deftly around her, clipping a transmitter to her waist. He was animated, gesturing wildly as he spoke. Val laughed in response and her laugh was musical. Like softly chiming bells.
Personable. Friendly. All good, so far.
Sam slipped into what Karen had once disdainfully called his professional asshole mode and announced his arrival.
"Sam! Great, you're here. Do you know Val?" Sidney Greene, one of the show's producers, shook his hand. Sid was one of the few people on the show Sam had worked with before. A wave of unexpected relief swept through him, only to be washed away completely the moment Val looked up and caught his eye. She smiled and walked toward him, and he froze.
He just stopped, caught in some kind of suspended animation while the oxygen was sucked out of the room. His heart began to beat too loudly in his chest because - holy hell - she was absolutely stunning. All of the images, moving and still, that he'd seen of her had done little justice to the real thing. Very little.
"...working together."
"What?"
To his embarrassment, Sam realized that she and Sid had both been talking to him, and he had no clue what was said. He shook his head and cleared his throat.
"Sorry, must be low blood sugar or something. I don't think I've eaten today." He laughed nervously as she smiled up at him, oozing confidence. Not arrogance, though. If she were used to reducing grown men to stammering idiots, she didn't let on.
Valerie Saunders was smaller than he'd imagined, at least a foot shorter than his six-foot-four frame. Her skin was an even copper in tone and simply flawless. Everything about her seemed to be. She wore very little makeup, that he could tell. Her shoulder-length hair, pulled back into a carefree ponytail, was the blackest black he had ever seen. Shiny, bouncy and full of life, it suited her.
He suddenly felt like a hormonal teenager as he tried not to stare at her mouth, completely caught off-guard by his desire to claim it. Here. Now. And he dared not let his eyes drift lower, over her soft curves. The baby yellow sundress she wore adorned her like frosting, hinting at the sweetness underneath. Awareness reminded him to take a breath. She was waiting for him to say something.
"Hi. I'm...uh...Sam Newman." He accepted her extended hand and shook it, but everything moved in slow motion. She spoke to him again, her voice warm like honey. He couldn't concentrate enough to understand the words coming from those lips, so full and so...damn.
"Are you okay?" She grinned and grasped his elbow in support, as if they were already old friends. The concern in her voice, coupled with the tiny wrinkle in her brow, snapped him out of his trance. He smiled in an attempt to show that he hadn't, in fact, lost his fucking mind.
"Yes, thanks. Sorry. I'm...yeah. A little nervous, I guess. Which is crazy, right?" He laughed through his confession to cover the real truth behind it. Fuck, get it together!
"Aren't we all?"
Nervous? Her? She had to be kidding. She had the kind of presence that could make grown men cry. Could send armies to war. Could facilitate world peace or some shit.
"You have nothing to be worried about, Valerie." She smiled warmly and squeezed his hand, which he hadn't even realized he was still holding. Her touch sent shock waves straight to his groin. Reluctantly, he let her go and tried to rein in the wave of lust that threatened to overtake him.
"Call me Val."
Never, he wanted to say. Val was a bubbly blonde barista. Val was a receptionist at an ambulance-chasing law firm. She was Valerie. Instead he said "I'll try to remember."
Her beauty was paralyzing and Sam couldn't stop staring. It was now beyond embarrassing and well into humiliating, but her smile never wavered. Her gaze remained warm. Inviting. Thank God his voice sounded stronger than he felt. He found himself falling into her eyes. They were an unbelievable chestnut brown, as limitless as a promise.
He was unable to look away and spoke without thinking. "We're very lucky to have you."
Those last words came out in a hoarse whisper. Sam knew he'd shown her too much when she tilted her head ever so slightly, her eyes widening a little. For the first time, her smile faltered and something like recognition filtered into her expression. Rather than move away, she swayed closer. Once again, time stood still. But for a moment it felt like maybe, just maybe, she was right there with him.
****
Val stood transfixed.
Sam was a beautiful man. Not young, but not old. He was youthful, but there was a bit of gray in his thick, brown hair. His eyes were very, very blue. Blue like the cornflowers that grew outside her nana's house in New Haven. Blue like oceans, and deep. So very deep and very blue, with only the slightest bit of crinkling at the corners to belie his age. His full lips were slightly parted and she imagined what it would be like to taste them.
But she would get to, wouldn't she? More than kiss, they would achieve a kind of intimacy on camera that she hadn't experienced with anyone in far too long, on camera or off. The thought sent the blood rushing through her veins.
She blinked.
Sam stepped back from her and they took a synchronous breath.
What the hell just happened?
Sid, who had apparently left the room without notice, returned and handed them new sides, or partial scripts.
"Here we go, boys and girls." He ushered them to their marks and the PA positioned the camera. "Okay, let's just try a cold reading, do whatever feels natural, and we'll take it from there. Sound good?" Sam nodded and Val dipped into her training for her focus. Work would help her concentrate on something other than the dark curl resting against the nape of Sam's neck that she wanted to twirl around her fingers.
Sid moved behind the camera and gave them a thumbs up. "Whenever you're ready."
FINN: Thank you for waiting, Miss Green. (Finn ushers her into his office, eyes darting. He feels like all eyes are on them and that everyone knows.)
TARA: Congressman. (Tara steps into his office, clasping her hands with nervousness. Finn closes the door and spins on her.)
FINN: (Looks at her with longing and terror.) Tara-
TARA: (She dances away from him, afraid of his touch.) I'm asking to be reassigned. (He closes the distance, placing his hands on her shoulders.)
FINN: You can't. (She turns to face him, breaking his hold on her.)
TARA: I have to! Look at us, we can barely keep it together. (She exhales.) We've crossed a line, congressman.
FINN: Was there a line? (He tries to lighten things up.)
TARA: Don't play coy, this is too important. (She is agitated and Finn reaches out for her. She tries to escape the embrace she knows is coming, but can't fight it any longer. He envelopes her in his arms.)
FINN: (Whispering in her ear.) This is my fault. I can't seem to stop feeling what I'm feeling. (He holds her and looks down into her eyes.) I'm lost, Tara. Help me.
Val found herself trembling in Sam's arms as she blinked up into his gaze. His pupils had dilated to a dark navy and she could see a tick in his jaw. They were supposed to kiss, but he was just staring at her with something like horror on his face. Horror...and lust. Something slipped from Val's fingers and she realized that she'd dropped her script.
"That's okay, guys, don't worry about it. That was great." Sid's voice doused her like an ice bath.
Sam released her so quickly that Val nearly lost her balance. She was already off-balance, shaken by the outrageous chemistry between them. She turned away from him and tried to get her bearings. She could feel his eyes on her and it took everything she had not to look back at him.
This reaction didn't make sense to her, but the work she knew. The work had been good. They had been good together. That was what mattered, and it would bring her closer to her goals. Keep her centered.
Her body was much too aware of his. His scent filled her nostrils. Her thoughts went all floaty and she wanted to move to where he was, like some cartoon character following the aroma of a freshly-baked pie.
Whatever. Val would channel that energy, that attraction, into the show. Yeah. The work would help make sense of the swirl of emotions in her belly. It had to.
Eyes on the prize.