Page 1 of Callback
CHAPTER ONE
Marly
“When my careergoes to shit, under no circumstances are you to allow me to go on a reality show. Got that? No Celebrity Survivor or sad MTV seasons about how far I’ve fallen.”
The other end of the phone line was heavy with silence. I could practically hear the grinding gears in my agent’s brain.
I waited, gripping the steering wheel with blanching knuckles. I was good at this game. Good at silence. Good at waiting. I smirked, holding the wheel steady and passed a slow driver in the middle lane. Eventually, Kyle said, “Marly, I think you’re over-reacting. Stop planning for doomsday when you haven’t even stepped into your audition yet.”
True. But planning was what I did. It was who I was. I flicked a glance to the spiral bound turquoise planner in the front seat beside me. My travel buddy. Without that planner, I was lost. I swallowed, the sight of it bringing bittersweet memories of my dad. “I hope for the best, but plan for the worst, Kyle,” I recited Dad’s words, ignoring that vicious, painful ache behind my ribcage and the gaping hole in my heart since his passing.
“Don’t I know it,” Kyle muttered. “You ever heard of self-fulfilling prophesies?”
“Having aplanisn’t going to cause a disaster.” I tossed a quick look over my shoulder before swerving into the next lane and slipping off the exit ramp. “Who am I meeting with again? It’s not just some ‘producer’ with a camera in a rent-an-office, is it?”
An audition at Silhouette Studiosshouldmean I’d be safe from that sort of audition. As one of the largest production houses in Los Angeles, it should mean that I was stepping into a professional audition, where nothing out of line was expected of me. This wasn’t some B-Movie audition with a greasy guy named Chet filming me on his cell phone. It was a top three studio. Itshouldmean I could trust them.
But I know better. It only takes one burn from a candle to be wary of all fire. And sometimes, the more powerful the person, the more they don’t believe the rules apply to them.
“No, no. Today is the real deal. You’ll be meeting with the casting director—Nicole Stevens of Stevens Casting. Probably a couple of producers, the director. There’s nothing to be wary of with this one. Trust me, you’ll see.”
“You can’t trust everything you see—even salt looks like sugar.” Another Dadism.
Kyle sighed again. He was the king of sighs. “But Marly, you should know—”
“Let me guess… the producer expects a blow job under his desk in exchange for the part? Don’t worry, I have a plan for that, too. And it involves my foot being lodged so far up someone’s ass, I could file my toenails on their tonsils.”
Kyle grunted. “Jesus, Marly. Graphic much?”
I sneered. Itshouldbe a ludicrous statement. It should be such a ridiculous notion for a proposition like that to happen at a huge Hollywood production studio… except that it had happened to me already. Twice.
Shame and guilt burned hot in my stomach and my grip on the wheel tightened. What the fuck did I have to feel guilty about? I had done the right thing. I refused him, shoving his hand away from beneath my skirt and walking out of that audition. Without the part. Without the callback. But with my dignity. Even with being a well-recognized face in this town, it still wasn’t enough to halt the advances. To sway the rumors. Maybe it wasn’t happeningdespitemy well-recognized face, but because of it.
From the other end of the phone, Kyle sighed again. “Do you really think I would knowingly send you into an audition where they expect sexual favors?”
I opened my mouth to answer—of course not—and yet, nothing came out. My throat felt tight, my skin hot and prickly and my ears flushed in the way they always did when I lied. Kyle was a good agent. I liked him. He had always had my back in the years we’d been working together. I did trust him… to an extent. So why couldn’t I just say that?
My silence earned me another sigh. “Thing is,” Kyle said, “you don’t have to trust them. But you do have to trustme. And those propositions should stop now that you and Omar went public with your engagement.”
I smiled while cutting across three more lanes of traffic to take the next left. Omar Blake. My best friend and “fiancé,” according to US Magazine’s latest report. Our plan had worked perfectly. Omar needed a beard and I needed directors to stop thinking I would use my vagina as some sort of magical ticket into Hollywood. “That’s true,” I replied. “Nothing’s happened since we announced our engagement.” The diamond on my ring finger caught a gleam of the Los Angeles sunlight, nearly blinding me. My mother’s ring. Once more, my heart squeezed with memories so faded, that I almost couldn’t call them memories anymore. “Then again,” I sighed, “I also haven’t gotten any parts since the announcement,either.” Omar, on the other hand, was in the final stages of callbacks for a huge franchise movie deal. At least six movies contracted and potentially more within the franchise. He needed that deal. Especially after he’d spent most of his savings to stop his jackass ex-boyfriend from outing him to the press.
“Well, this audition could change that. It’s a great role—buzz around town is that it has Oscar potential.”
The yellow light in front of me changed to red and I slammed my foot onto the brakes, screeching to a stop. Damn—that came out of nowhere. Butterflies fluttered around my belly at the thought of being in a film well-regarded by the Academy. I loved my romantic comedies, but I wanted—noneededto show people the kind of chops I had. Back in my college days, I had played Antigone and Lady Macbeth. I had brought audiences to tears with my parts in the Laramie Project. I swallowed, turning into the Silhouette Studios lot, easing off the gas as I approached the guard. “Hold that thought, Kyle,” I said into the ear piece, then leaned out the window. “Marlena Taylor,” I said to the guard. “Here for my meeting with Stevens Casting.”
“Yes, Ms. Taylor.” He scanned a list on a clipboard in his hands before he pointed beyond the first few buildings in front of us. “Studio Eight. You’re gonna go straight and take a right at the water tower, follow that road down to the end.”
“Thank you.”
“Marly,” Kyle pulled me back into the conversation. “As I was saying, you know the film’s about Dominant/submissive lifestyles, of course—in the same vein asSecretary. But it requires nudity. Lots of it.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s fine, Kyle. I don’t have a problem with tasteful nudity.”
“Full frontal?” He gulped on the other end of the line. “Look. I know it’s not my place. And as your agent, the last thing I should be doing is trying to talk you out of an audition. But as yourfriend, I have to say… maybe it’s something you should think about considering the rumors Jack started—”
“Jack doesn’t get that kind of power over me,” I snapped. Jack Seaver. The ass I gave my heart to while filming Bridesmaid Retreat. When I ended things with him, he smeared my name all through Hollywood with awful rumors that I’d offered sexual favors in exchange for my leading role in his movie. And Los Angeles, being the town it is, believed him. “This isn’t porn, Kyle. It’s a film—anOscar-worthy film. Nobody berates Julianne Moore or Jennifer Connelly for nude scenes.”
Kyle’s voice wavered on the line. “I know you pretty well, Marly, and I don’t think you’ll be able to handle the backstabbing and whispers happening at Hollywood parties behind your back. I’m just worried for you, that’s all.”
