Dazzled (4 page)

We went through the scene one more time. I nailed it again.
Yes!

“Okay, good, you guys,” said Jo-Anne. “Let’s just do the scene in Esther’s bedroom. Page 35, Miles.”

Bedroom scene? What? Oh, shit. I struggled to find the right page, feeling sweatier and more uncoordinated by the second. What happened in that scene? Fuck – we had to kiss. Thank God for the mints.

I hated kissing people I worked with. It was so weird, being that intimate with someone you didn’t know – especially sober. It was almost more intimate than getting naked – not that I had a lot of experience of that when it came to acting for a film. Okay, well, none. I wondered what it must be like to have to do a love scene – that must be…
Focus! Kissing scene!
I just had to remember: no tongues.

Lilia shimmied up the bed, sitting cross-legged. I sat awkwardly on the corner, trying to avoid impaling my balls on the short bedpost. But at least it helped me focus.
Concentrate, moron!

“Okay, Lilia,” said Jo-Anne. “Three, two, one…”

“
Nuriel! What are you doing here? If my mom catches you
…”

“
She won’t. She’s sleeping. Esther… I had to see you. There’s something I have to tell you… about me…
”

“
I don’t care! It doesn’t matter… not to me…
”

Lilia crawled toward me across the bed, looking as sexy as hell. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her mouth was slightly open and she was staring into my eyes. Then her arms were around my neck and I could feel her breath on my face. She even smelled good. And my stupid, fucking, moronic body took over. I dropped the script and kissed her hard, pushing her back down on the bed.

“Okay, you guys,” said Jo-Anne, bringing me down to earth suddenly.

I opened my eyes. Lilia was lying on the bed, a look of astonishment on her face. I flushed. If I was lucky they’d just kick me out; if I wasn’t, Lilia would be calling the cops and I’d be charged with assault. Any second now…

“Well… let’s try that again,” said Jo-Anne, mildly. “Nice improvisation, Miles, but see if you can stick to the script.”

From the corner of my eye I saw Lilia smirking at me.

I shook my head, trying to clear the sensation of kissing her soft lips.
Concentrate!

“Three, two, one…”

“
Nuriel! What are you doing here? If my mom catches you
…”

“
She won’t. She’s sleeping. Esther… I had to see you. There’s something I have to tell you… about me…
”

“
I don’t care! It doesn’t matter… not to me…
”

She stared at me and I stared back. I raised one hand to her cheek and let it hover there. She sighed and leaned her head into my hand. I felt like I’d been stung. I jerked my hand back and frowned at her. Lilia looked puzzled and then – pain flared briefly behind her eyes. I’d hurt her feelings. Or maybe she was acting. How the hell was I supposed to know? Maybe that was what drama school taught real actors. It was so confusing. I’d never behaved like this in an audition before. Damn, Lilia was good.

“Interesting, you guys,” said Jo-Anne, with a straight face. I’d no idea what she was really thinking. “I like what you’re doing there, Miles. Okay, let’s do it one more time.”

I took a deep breath.

“Three, two, one…”

“
Nuriel! What are you doing here? If my mom catches you
…”

“
She won’t. She’s sleeping. Esther… I had to see you. There’s something I have to tell you… about me…
”

“
I don’t care! It doesn’t matter… not to me…
”

I raised my hand to her cheek again and her look was blazing. I blinked and closed my eyes. Maybe that would make it easier. But I opened them too soon and she was staring at me again.
What the hell?
I tried to remember the script.
Kiss her! Kiss her!
I leaned in, my eyes still locked on hers and very slowly, our lips touched for the second time.

Lilia launched herself at me, and this time I was the one knocked backward onto the bed.

“Fuck!”

“Cut!” said Jo-Anne, laughing.

Lilia giggled at my expression, and I felt a smile steal reluctantly across my face.

“That’s great, you guys!” said Jo-Anne.

The Awakening

Miles

The light was too bright. I struggled to wake up. Where the hell…? Then I remembered.
Oh
. I’d forgotten to pull the curtains and daylight was flooding into Rhonda’s guestroom.
Daylight?
I sat up blinking, feeling confused, and the memories of the day before – days before – came flooding back. Yes, I’d really met Lilia Purcell and she’d been… okay. Nice. I mean, God, she was gorgeous. Just thinking about her pushing me back on the bed during the audition started a train of thought that was definitely not conducive to getting up. Well, not all of me.

I frowned at the tent that I was pitching under the sheet and tried to ignore it. I looked at my phone to see what time it was. Oh yeah, I’d turned it off. I needed to get an adaptor for my charger if I was going to be able to use it, and I needed to find an internet café so I could email Clare again. She’d be sending out search and rescue if I didn’t stay in touch regularly. I rolled my eyes – her overprotectiveness could be really irritating sometimes, even though I knew it came from a good place. I wondered what she was doing now. What time was it there? I didn’t know. It was eight hours difference, but I couldn’t remember if
London was ahead or behind. Whatever.

I sat on the edge of the bed and watched the room spin slowly – I must have had too much of Rhonda’s expensive bourbon last night – by which point I’d been awake for about 36 hours. I fumbled for my jeans. They were lying in a heap on the floor where I’d dropped them last night. My case was in the corner, still packed, so I rifled through it and found a black t-shirt that was slightly less creased than the rest. At least I wasn’t going to need a jacket – it was a balmy seventy degrees every day. I didn’t have any particular plans but I thought I’d head into town – wherever that was – maybe do some sightseeing while I was there.

Rhonda said she was working on getting me some more auditions, but for now I was free of responsibility or commitment. It felt good.

It was exciting, too, the thought of being on the loose in
Hollywood, home of the world’s hottest women – and Lilia Purcell. Hmm, best not to think about her – stick to reality, not fantasy. I suddenly realized that I was starving. I wondered what the protocol was for rummaging through my agent’s fridge. Maybe I should find a coffee shop instead.

But more than food, I wanted a shower. I pulled on my jeans, not bothering with the buttons, and stumbled off to the bathroom.

“Dios mio!”

A short, dumpy Hispanic woman was staring at me in horror.
What?
I didn’t know who was most shocked but when she started to back away from me, crossing herself as she went and clasping her hands in prayer, I reckoned it was probably her. Shit! She must have thought I was some sort of intruder!

“No! Wait”

She turned and ran, screaming as she went.

Shit! What if she called the police?

“What the hell is going on here?”

Rhonda. Thank God.

She strode up the stairs and gaped when she saw me.

“Miles! What are you doing?”

“I… I was just going to have a shower. And… and she… that woman… she just started screaming!”

Rhonda looked bemused for a second and then smiled.

“Adelita,” she called to the quaking woman hiding behind her, “this is my house guest Miles. Miles, meet Adelita, my housekeeper.”

“Er… hi. Nice to meet you,” I stammered. Could that have been any more embarrassing? I made a grab for my jeans before they headed further south and I caught the fearful look Adelita threw at Rhonda before she mumbled something in Spanish. Rhonda replied and Adelita’s stance relaxed. She nodded at me, smiled shyly then wandered back down the stairs muttering to herself.

I was still holding up my jeans and feeling like a complete twat.

“Er, is everything okay?”

Rhonda smiled broadly. “Oh sure! First she thought you were a rapist and then she thought you were my lover…”

I was pretty certain my face was the color of a
London bus.

“…which surprised her considerably since she knows I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh!” I croaked, my voice unrecognizable to my own ears. “Right.”

“Go take a shower, Miles, we need to talk,” said Rhonda, still smiling to herself.

Shit. That was embarrassing.

I stumbled into the bathroom and let the shower ease some of the sudden tension in my shoulders. I leaned my hands against the cool tiles while the water poured over my head. It was soothing. And Rhonda – or probably Adelita – had left out some expensive-smelling bodywash.

I didn’t know how long I’d been standing under the hot jets but I felt a whole lot better when I staggered out. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It wasn’t steamed up: Rhonda must have had one of those fancy, heated mirrors – not that I was planning on shaving today.

Yeah, this place screamed serious money: like Jo-Anne’s place. The thought made me frown – and what did Rhonda want to tell me? If it was good news she’d have just said, wouldn’t she?

Rhonda was waiting for me in her home office.

“Miles, take a seat.”

Her voice was clipped and cool. I wondered if agents practiced that. She waited, her face closed and unreadable, while I sat on the hard leather chair next to her desk. Everything was happening in slow motion, my career, my life, unraveling in bullet-time – cue the extreme close-up of my nervous twitch. Just to add to the impending humiliation, my stomach rumbled loudly, and I remembered I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten much yesterday – probably the memory of having to take my shirt off in front of Jo-Anne and Lilia.

Rhonda raised her eyebrows but I was grateful she didn’t mention my gut’s audible interruption.

“Sooo,” she said, stringing out the tension. Maybe the woman was a sadist. Maybe she had handcuffs in her drawer – with a basement full of whips and stuff.

Automatically my eyes sank to the floor. I wished she’d just let the axe fall.

“Jo-Anne called…”
Get on with it
. “She was very impressed with you.”

What?
I looked up, thinking I’d misheard.

“She wants you for the part, Miles, and Lilia is championing you, too. Apparently the chemistry was… how did Jo-Anne put it… sizzling.”

I stared at her open-mouthed.
Is this a joke?

“There’s just one problem…”

Oh, here it comes
.

“The studio heads still need some convincing. They want to make sure you can sell the look. You know, clean cut – angelic.”

She rolled her eyes when she saw nothing but a blank expression on my face.

“Jesus, Miles! You’re scruffy, your hair’s a mess, your eyebrows need plucking, your teeth are obviously British, you’re gonna have to start working out and damn it, stop chewing your nails!”

What? Crap! Was I?

“Sorry,” I mumbled. God, I sounded pathetic. I think she took pity on me because she stopped yelling.

“So, the plan is to get you suited, booted and beautiful, okay? But they liked the fact you’re pale. After all, whoever heard of an angel with a tan?”

Yeah, and whoever heard of an angel with plucked eyebrows?

“I’ve booked you in at a beauty salon the agency uses. They’ll take care of you.”

I didn’t like the expression on her face – it all sounded… painful.

“The car will be here to pick you up in 10 minutes. After the salon, I’m sending you to Bradley, my personal shopper. He’ll dress you…”

Rhonda fixed me with her gimlet eye.

“This will all come out of your future salary, so you’d better nail this, baby.” She softened slightly. “Later, you’ll be meeting the studio heads, casually, of course, at an event dinner – the Metron Awards. I’ll be there.”

Then she handed me a folder.

“This,” she said, slapping the flat of her hand onto the desk between us, “this is a list of the studio heads. Study their faces – learn their names. There’ll be a test later.” She frowned at the folder, then at me. “Don’t fuck up.”

And I was dismissed.

This was so bizarre. I didn’t know what to make of it all. I guessed I should go with the flow… like I really had a choice… and Rhonda was bloody intimidating. Even more so than Melody, and she was a double-hard, take-no-prisoners bitch-on-wheels.

The car –
my
car, turned out to be a flashy four-by-four… oh, sorry, SUV. The driver was a tall, thin black guy with hair graying at the temples. He was wearing a uniform. I mean seriously, jacket, peaked cap – the whole thing made me feel like an impostor. The driver gazed at me coolly when I automatically went to sit in the front passenger seat, and patiently held open one of the rear doors.

“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable in the back, sir, where there’s more room.”

Sir?!

God, this was embarrassing.

I slid into the back seat as he suggested – instructed – and stared out of the window. Nobody seemed to walk anywhere, and I realized that it was probably because there were hardly any pavements. I wasn’t used to being driven either. There wasn’t much point driving in London, in my opinion, what with the congestion charge, council permit parking fees, and the cost of petrol. I hadn’t even bothered to take my driving test – mostly because I couldn’t afford the lessons. At home I had an Oyster card for traveling on the Tube and buses or, if I wasn’t working, which was most of the time, I saved money by walking. You see a lot more of a city when you travel by foot, and I knew all the alleyways and shortcuts in London. Out here, I was lost. I had no sense of direction, no sense of how LA fit together as a city – it seemed all so strung out. A bit like the people.

The buses even carried adverts for the latest must-have plastic surgery.
What was this place?

I was feeling tense again. I needed music but my iPod had died. Nervously, I glanced at the driver.

“Er… would you mind putting the radio on, please?”

“Yes, sir. What would you like to listen to? The news?”

“No, not news. Music… are there any good jazz stations?”

“You like jazz, sir?”

I could guess what he was thinking:
white boy likes jazz?

“Yeah, I do.”

“Hmm…”

I watched him punch buttons on the car stereo.

“Do you like jazz?”

His eyes met mine in the rear view mirror.

“Brought up with it. Ma daddy played with Chet Baker and Stan Getz.”

No bleedin’ way!
“You’re kidding!”

“No, sir. ‘It could happen to you’.”

“Wow!”
This place was amazing!
“Do you play?”

“Naw. Talent skipped a generation. You?”

“Alto sax. But I’m no Everette Harp.”

He smiled at me and shook his head. “Bit on the pale side for that, son.”

Then he pushed another button and the surround sound speakers bathed me in music. I recognized the tune: Brubeck’s ‘Take Five’. And I started to relax, my fingers drumming to the music. I opened my eyes and saw the driver watching me. His eyes crinkled slightly and I thought he was smiling. I smiled back and he turned up the volume.

“Name’s Earl,” he said.

“I’m Miles. Good to meet you, Earl.”

“Miles, huh? That’s a fine name, boy.”

“Thanks. Named after Miles Davis.”

“You don’t say!” he laughed.

Cocooned in the music, I leaned back. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad.

Or maybe it would be exactly as bad as I was expecting. The car pulled up in front of a swanky beauty salon. I stared at it in horror. Through the lightly tinted window I could see a row of helmet-haired women getting their claws filed. Surely this couldn’t be the place?!

I realized Earl was watching me, his expression sympathetic.

“Here?” I managed to croak.

He nodded.

“Oh, shit!”

That made him smile broadly. “I’ll pick you up in two hours, sir.”