Laguna Nights (13 page)

Madison had smiled, thinking Josh loved to travel but was he driven? She wasn’t sure. Stop it, she told herself. “Yes, Mom, I know how you feel about Dolby, but he is a great guy,” she had said. “I’ve got to go get ready for my meeting with Bob.”

Francine had used the new paintbrush like a stick, poking it into the air between them to make a point. “Look, you need to do the screen test tomorrow. I don’t know what you’re afraid of.”

Madison had smiled at her mom. She had felt like saying she was afraid of everything changing, that she would become the laughing stock, the scapegoat and the pity party of television again. “Mom, I’m not doing it,” she had said and then kissed her mom on the cheek. “Go paint.”

Madison sat behind her desk in her office, waiting for Bob to arrive. He’d suggested her office, but she wasn’t sure why. Typically, she would be summoned to his large, ocean view space down the hall. She was wearing her favorite skinny jeans, a crisp white cotton blouse and her converse tennis shoes. She wasn’t working, and she made a point of coming in the back way, via the employee lot, so she wouldn’t see the front desk staff. She’d spent the past ten minutes cleaning up her desk and reviewing group contracts for the following week. She had a wedding this weekend – early, but she was able to give the young couple a great rate since it was only February – and a corporate reception of some sort on Thursday.

Bob knocked and then walked through the door. He reminded her of Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins, twinkling eyes, thin, and always with a ready smile. He didn’t possess Dick’s sense of humor, but a man couldn’t have everything.

“Madison, how’s everything,” he said by way of greeting, before settling himself in one of her two white leather visitor’s chairs.

“Everything is great, Bob. Bookings are up, and I know the resort is running 90 percent occupancy,” Madison said, trying to get to the point. “So, about this idea of yours.”

“How’s your mother?” he said, and Madison knew he meant the question sincerely. Despite his recent move, agreeing to her on camera appearance without even asking her, Bob was a thoughtful boss and mentor.

“She’s holding her own. Now, about this idea of me on camera, representing the resort, it’s not going to happen,” Madison said.

Bob leaned forward in the chair, placing his hands flat on her desk. “Yes, it is. Here’s why. The production company wants you. The Mondrian wants you to do it. You probably don’t know this, but we are up for sale. Any type of positive publicity such as kicking off a travel show with our property just makes us that much more valuable to potential buyers,” Bob said, pausing to take a breath. “I’d consider it a done deal and part of your job.”

“It’s not part of my job, Bob,” Madison said, she could feel her anger rising inside, her stomach in a knot. She couldn’t be forced to do this, could she? Her voice wavered as she continued. “I had a bad experience the last time I did this sort of thing. I can’t do it again.” Bob leaned back into his chair as Madison fought to control her emotions. She felt like crying and yelling, but she knew she couldn’t do either.

“I heard about that. It was in high school, get over it. You’re a grown woman, gorgeous and from what Roger says, you’re a natural, whatever that means. One of the most exclusive resorts in Southern California wants you to represent us. You should be flattered. Oh, and you get paid for doing it,” Bob said, standing as if the meeting was over.

Madison stood, too, her hands on her hips. “It’s just, I…” she said, at a loss for words.

“You’re going to be great. Get a good night’s sleep. They said your call time is nine a.m. Here’s the packet of information from the production company,” Bob said, handing her a white business sized envelope he’d pulled from inside his suit jacket. “And don’t worry, I have Chrissy handling your calls this week, so the group activities will go smoothly. She’s very excited for you, too, and happy to help,” Bob said, and then walked out the door.

Madison stood behind her desk holding the white envelope, her hands shaking.

J
osh was sitting on a weathered Adirondack chair on a sheltered patio near the pool. In front of him, the flames from a glowing fire pit danced while beyond it groups of tourists walked along the oceanfront path. The sky was gearing up for yet another perfect sunset. Laguna Beach, with all its perfect coves, really was a beautiful place to be, and to be from, he realized again. And so far, he’d been able to avoid his parents. The only thing missing in this setting was Madison, though he knew she was somewhere inside the resort behind him, meeting with her boss, getting out of tomorrow’s shoot.

He’d called Roger as soon as he’d left Zinc Café, trying to get a feeling about how set he was on Madison’s participation. Maybe Josh could get her out of it, he had thought, remembering the sadness and, he had to admit, terror in her eyes just thinking about another television show.

“She’s going to make the thing work,” Roger had said, as Josh’s heart sunk. “Sure, you’re talented, but I watched her, pulled up some of the old show. She’s got it, but she doesn’t know it. That’s the best talent I can find.”

Josh had wondered what kind of talent that made him, but had decided not to ask. His fragile ego wouldn’t be able to recover by tomorrow if Roger had slammed him.

“She really doesn’t want to do it, Roger, and I feel responsible for even introducing her to you guys,” Josh had said. He’d been walking back through town, planning on stopping in the Hobie surf store for some new board shorts. He stopped in front of the wall sculpture of the waterman – a surfer and his board frozen in time, a tribute to surfers everywhere. He thought of Madison’s surfer boyfriend and felt a pang of guilt. Josh was upsetting everything in her life and he’d only been here a weekend. No wonder she kept pushing him away, he’d realized.

“Too bad kid. She’ll get in front of the camera and everything will be fine. I’ll see you at nine a.m. sharp, by the fire pit,” Roger had said, hanging up. Josh had taken a deep breath, had said a silent apology to the waterman representing Dolby and had proceeded to buy five new board shorts at Hobie before returning to the Mondrian. He’d changed, gone for a swim in the pool and then, had wandered down to the fire pit, trying to envision what tomorrow would bring.

Truth be told, Josh was a nervous wreck. He’d been unable to eat anything since the snack with Madison. Being around her calmed him down, but alone, he was a bundle of nerves. What if he didn’t look good on camera tomorrow, he wondered. What if the network decides to pass on the pilot? What if he was never meant to do this in the first place, what if it was all just a pipe dream?

“Hey, Josh,” said a woman’s voice behind him, a voice he would recognize anywhere, the voice he missed in his life. He smiled as Madison dropped into the other Adirondack chair. She was beautiful, in tight-fitting jeans, a white T-shirt and a pink cashmere throw tossed around her shoulders.

“Now this time really isn’t my fault, us running into each other, I mean,” he said.

“No, it’s not. I saw you sitting here and decided for some stupid reason to come say hi instead of heading home, where I belong,” Madison said.

They sat in silence, both of them staring at the fire, and the ocean beyond. Josh, though, couldn’t keep his gaze off of Madison, her beautiful face turned toward the setting sun. He hoped, for her sake, that she’d gotten out of the show. Finally, he had to ask. “How’d the meeting go?”

“They’re making me do it. But they’ll be sorry. I’ll be horrible on camera,” Madison said, without turning to look at him.

“That would be impossible,” Josh said.

“I’m a good actress, Josh, I actually am,” Madison said. “It’s funny but that first season, our junior year, I envisioned myself doing what you did. Moving to Hollywood, pursuing a career as an actor. But then, well, we both know what happened to that dream. I’m better off now, happier.”

“You don’t seem that happy, Madison,” Josh said, knowing he was out of line, understanding she already was mad at him. He had nothing to lose at this point. “I remember you happy. Laughing, carefree, especially when it was just you and me, hanging out. You don’t have that sparkle in your eye now. But you could. Maybe this segment will be part of your healing, maybe it will lead to Hollywood after all.”

Now he’d done it. She was angry, blue eyes blazing and her jaw tense as she stood up and said, “That sparkle was extinguished by you. It’s not coming back. That stupid innocent happiness is gone. But you know what? I can act. I am a better actor than you. You’re right about that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As Josh watched her walk away, he had a renewed sense of doom about
Josh’s Journeys
and a sense of hope about being with Madison again. Because even with all of the anger and hurt between them, she kept finding him and reaching out to him, their physical and emotional connections were strengthening with each encounter. He knew she could feel it, too. It was a destiny, or something else too grand to name. They’d be together again, he was certain of it.

At the very least, they’d be together again here, in this very spot the next morning at nine a.m. Josh knew he needed to get some sleep, so after he’d watched the sun slip into the ocean, he headed back to his ridiculously large suite to attempt some beauty sleep. Marty always told him sleep was the secret to looking younger on film, “as long as you’re doing everything else, of course,” he’d say. Marty’s list of ‘everything else’ was long for his male clients, ridiculously long for his female stars. The list included specific instructions on every aspect of life: Diet, exercise, fillers, meditation, romantic hook-ups (approved and released by the team), approved zip codes for residence, approved shopping and dining spots, automobile selection, and more. Josh had followed the list religiously, except the fillers. He wouldn’t see a plastic surgeon, not yet. He told Marty he would hold out to age 35. He had three years before he’d be forced under the knife or needle, unless something hit.

Josh climbed into the bed, which had so many layers of comfort it felt like what he imagined a cloud to feel like as a kid. This show had to hit, that’s all there was to it. And that was the thought, the fear, that kept him wide awake, staring at the ceiling until he finally fell asleep. The last time he’d seen on the bedside clock had been 3:30 a.m. His alarm would go off at seven a.m.