Natalie stepped out through the
side door of Sound Stage 4 at Xandar Studios into the sunlight. She had used a
white scrunchie
to bind her blond hair into a ponytail and then, still damp from the shower,
pulled it through the back strap of a pink baseball cap. She turned her head
first left then right, and her hair brushed across her spaghetti-strapped
shoulder blades. Since no vehicles moved or threatened, she turned right toward
her Toyota.
The late October sun rested low
on the horizon and splayed orange, yellow and gray striate through the
afternoon smog and high-altitude airliner vapor trails. She slipped sunglasses
from the bill of her hat and set them over her eyes. Twenty feet ahead and to
her left, a man leaned against the trunk lid of a powder blue BMW. Despite the
warmth of the evening, he wore a loose fitting tan, tweed jacket that looked to
be at least two sizes too large. He took a long drag on a cigarette and stared
at her.
When she drew next to him, she
turned her face. He wore his tie in a loose knot and it rested just below his
large larynx. He reached to the nosepiece of black-framed wraparound sunglasses
and pushed them up the narrow bridge of his sweat-glistened nose. Either the
lenses were so dark she couldn’t see his eyes or the sun glare obscured their
outline. He took another drag from the cigarette and exhaled slowly. The gentle
afternoon breeze pushed the smoke across his acne-scared cheeks. She offered
him a polite smile. This guy’s got to be
direct from central casting.
“Good evening. Miss Beaumont?”
the man asked, and rose from the BMW. He took a step toward her.
She slowed her pace surprised he
knew her name. “Yes, and you are?”
“My name is Tony Alonso,” he
answered, and flicked the remains of his cigarette away. “Do you have a
moment?”
Always wary of unsolicited
attention, Natalie made it a habit to be on guard. With her real job at the
grocery, the studio, and acting classes she didn’t have much time to go out,
but when she did it was because she wanted to spend time with a friend, not end
up a tick on some guy’s scorecard. She trusted first impressions. This one
wasn’t screaming, “Run for your life,” but something behind the man’s smile and
his nasal New Jersey accent warned, “Keep a comfortable distance.”
She stopped and turned back toward
him. “I’m in kind-of-a hurry. Got to get to work.”
“I don’t wish to keep you, but
if you could take just a moment … You may have heard of me … or my partner.”
She had no idea who Tony Alonso
was, but the east coast tenor of his voice held her captive long enough to hear
about his partner. She kept several feet between them, tilted her head to the
right and waited. When he didn’t continue, she nodded and said, “Go on.”
“Did you just finish a scene
with Ansell Parker?” he asked. He reached into the left inside pocket of his
jacket and pulled out a pack of Berkley cigarettes.
“Yes,” she replied, and sensed a
broad grin spread across her face with the memory of Ansell’s tender lips on
hers less than an hour ago.
“Smoke?” he offered. He took
another step toward her and held out the crumpled pack.
“No thank you, never took it
up.”
He slipped one out with his
teeth by the filtered end. While he returned the pack to his jacket, he removed
a lighter from the left hip pocket of his blue jeans. With a flick of the
flint, he lit the cigarette and filled his lungs. As if he needed the smoke to
supply a dosage of nicotine induced composure before he could continue, he held
it in. Then, after a few second’s pause, a blue cloud spilled out of his mouth
as he spoke.
“He was quite impressed with
you, you know?” He ran his left hand over the dark hair on the side of his head
and slipped his fingers down his ponytail. To Natalie it looked more than just
damp like her hair, but unwashed and filled with bodily secretions.
“He hardly noticed me.”
“That’s not what he told me when
we spoke a bit ago.”
He looked around the parking lot
as if he needed to ensure no one could eavesdrop and then took another step
towards her. Natalie heard an internal voice whisper a warning that she should
retreat a step, but that seemed rude. At her changing room door, she had felt
just such urgency when the boy with the brown hair appeared out of the
darkness, but that turned out to be a false alarm. Besides they were standing
in the middle of a parking lot in broad daylight. What could happen? Tony had piqued her interest by knowing her
name and, further intrigued by a partner yet to be named, she held her footing.
Tony continued. “What I’m about
to tell you can go no further than here.”
It seemed like Tony
intentionally drug out the suspense just to taunt her. Her mind rushed forward.
Could Ansell be the partner? How could she ever forget him calling her by name
when he stopped to congratulate her on the scene? He did take a cell phone from his assistant when he walked away. Did he
call Tony?
She replied with more haste than
she intended. “Okay.”
“Ansell doesn’t want a breath of
this in the trades or tabloids. You understand?”
Her apprehension being
supplanted by anticipation and now even more anxious for him to get to the
point, she tried to corral her emotions and returned to a relaxed smile.
“Of course.”
“You may not be aware of it, Ms.
Beaumont, but he has a new project. He’s formed a production company and will
be producing a film soon. If you’re interested, he’d like you to read for a
part.”
She caught her breath as her
heart rate quickened, the sudden pounding only
eclipsed by the questions that filled her mind. She had hoped Ansell would
notice her. Is this my chance? Can this
really be happening? Is it more than just another dead girl role?
She realized the man had not
stopped speaking and she forced herself to catch every word.
“… I’m one of the associate
producers on the film,” he continued. He touched his chest with his right hand.
The cigarette dangled between two fingers with a half inch of ash about to fall
off. “He would like you to do a screen test. Because of the secrecy, it will be
in a discreet location. Would you be interested?”
She did not want to appear too
excited or even worse, desperate. It seemed almost too good—too perfect—to
believe. Yet the break she had hoped for since she learned about her shoot
today stood three feet away offering her a screen test for Ansell Parker.
“I might be.”
“Tell you what,” Tony said. He slipped
his sunglasses off with one hand and withdrew a paper from his shirt pocket
with the other. “Here’s my number. You think it over and if you’re interested,
give me a call tomorrow.”
She took the paper and glanced
at it. Not a business card, it had been ripped from a pocket sized spiral
notepad. She searched his eyes for truth. Behind the amber color and eagerness
they seemed calculating. She could excuse that because he was brokering a deal
for his boss. The dark eye circles weren’t confidence building, but his rugged
face and smile seemed sincere. Yet with his ill-fitting clothes and the
distinct odor of sweat not masked at all by a generous application of
deodorant, something didn’t set right. How
could he be partners with someone as sophisticated as Ansell Parker? she
thought. But then she reminded herself—this
is LA. Nothing is ever quite what it seems.
“I will, Mr. Alonso,” she said,
and then turned her eyes away to find the side pocket of her purse in which to
tuck the note.
“Tony, please … call me Tony.”
When she looked back up, the
eyes she met no longer glistened with fervor. Their animated dance had
petrified to a stone’s stare, their former radiance shrouded in shadow.
_____
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Jearl Rugh 2012
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