Page 14 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane: Part 4
Thank you, Krystal, Fraser thought. He’d never flown anything better than premium economy before. ‘Okay. Thanks, Sam.’
‘A final piece of advice,’ his agent went on. ‘It’s probably time to step back from the ghost tours. I know you enjoy them butthey make you far too easy to find. That’s going to be a problem once you become more widely recognised, and not just with the press.’
It wasn’t anything Fraser hadn’t worked out for himself, but the warning still caused his stomach to clench in resistance. Sam was right – the run in with Fleming had proved that – but it didn’t mean he enjoyed hearing it. ‘I’ll think about that too.’
‘Sure,’ Sam said. ‘Enjoy LA. Oh, and don’t take any of the CDs on Venice Beach – it’s a scam.’
‘CDs?’ Fraser repeated, wondering if he’d heard correctly. ‘As in, compact discs?’
Sam laughed. ‘It’ll make sense when you get there. Have a good flight. Speak soon.’
For the second time in his life, Fraser was met at the airport by a chauffeur carrying a sign bearing his name.
The journey had been smooth, if long, and made much more bearable by the champagne he’d been offered as they’d travelled. He hadn’t managed to sleep, despite the seat that reclined fully into a bed. Instead, he’d watched several Marco Minelli films and read through the scenes he was due to work on at the studio the following day. By the time he located his driver, he was feeling the effects of his 4am alarm call. It might be three o’clock in the afternoon in LA, but his body was telling him it was bedtime.
He stifled a yawn as the car eased out of the airport and onto the freeway, which was crawling with traffic even though it wasn’t yet rush hour. Perhaps he’d have a nap once he reached his hotel. Then again, since Krystal had booked him into the five-star Beverly Hills Montgomery, he might take a dip in the luxurious, palm-shaded pool first and marvel at his incredible good luck.
Mindful of the need to adjust to the time difference as soon as he could, Fraser lasted until eight o’clock that evening before he fell into the pristine white bed linen and closed his eyes.
He awoke nine hours later, spent a fruitless hour trying to get back to sleep and then gave up and got dressed. The doorman nodded as he crossed the lobby and offered to summon him a cab, despite the early hour. Fraser declined with a smile. ‘I’m going to watch the sunrise,’ he explained.
‘An excellent plan, sir,’ the doorman said. ‘If you turn left and walk for around ten minutes, you should get a good view of the hills from the park.’
Even before dawn, the heat hung heavily and Fraser’s T-shirt was stuck to his back within minutes. This was why everyone drove, he reminded himself, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead. He wouldn’t last long doing walking tours around these streets. But he’d needed to stretch his legs and get some fresh air – the day ahead would be exhausting and almost certainly spent indoors. And there was something magical about watching the sun rise in a new place. The palette seemed different, for a start, but perhaps it had more to with taking the time to appreciate it – something he rarely managed at home. Finding an empty park bench, Fraser settled down to wait.
At first, it promised to be glorious. A thread of deep crimson laced the horizon, blossoming into oranges and reds as the sun’s rays banished the dark. But although the tangerine glow spread as far as Fraser could see, it didn’t split into the sumptuous shades of amber, pink and gold he was hoping for. A dull mauve curtain seemed to creep over the sun as it climbed, muting its brilliance and shrouding it in gloom. The overall effect was dramatic, but not as spectacular as Fraser had anticipated. He took a few photos, sending one to his mother and to Sam. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he sent it to Maura too, with the wordsLiving the dream. Leaning back, he waited on the benchfor another fifteen minutes, until it became obvious there was nothing more to see, then made his way back to the hotel to shower and find some breakfast. His driver was due to collect him at eight o’clock and he wanted to read through the scenes one last time before then.
It was impossible not to be overawed as the car drove through the tall studio gates and onto the lot. Fraser took in the combination of low, rose-pink buildings and vast warehouses, watching the open-topped buggies zipping between buildings as they transported everything from employees to background panels. It was exactly how he’d expected it to be, and yet he couldn’t shake a sense of unreality. It felt as though he was on the set of a movie – a movie about movies, likeLa La LandorSingin’ in the Rain. It scrambled his brain if he thought about it too much.
Krystal met him in the reception area of one of the offices. ‘I have good news and some not-so-good news,’ she said, after checking there had been no problems with his flight or hotel. ‘The not-great news is that Priscilla has been held up, so she isn’t here yet. The good news is that rather than leave you kicking your heels for a few hours, Mr Minelli has arranged for a studio tour so you can get a sense of how things work.’ She regarded him anxiously. ‘Does that sound okay?’
‘It sounds great,’ Fraser said, delighted that he was going to get a coveted glimpse of everything that went on behind the scenes. ‘I mean, I’m sorry Priscilla had been held up. I hope she’s alright.’
Was it his imagination or was Krystal’s smile slightly strained? ‘Perfect. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll send someone to pick you up. Oh, and I need to take your lunch order. What would you like?’
Fraser shrugged, assuming there would be a canteen or a catering truck. ‘What’s on the menu?’
Krystal eyed him with some puzzlement. ‘Whatever you’d like. The chef will make you something fresh. All you need to do is tell me what you want to eat. Or we can order in – Priscilla usually gets something delivered from Gordon Ramsay’s place.’
Fraser was no stranger to dining in expensive restaurants but he’d never considered that they might do deliveries. His usual on-set experience encompassed overcooked stews or tepid burgers, and it took him a moment to adjust to the new possibilities. ‘Uh. I don’t know. Pizza, maybe?’
Instantly, he wanted to die. Did Gordon Ramsay even make pizza?
But Krystal simply made a note. ‘No problem. And toppings?’
He reeled off his favourites.
Krystal jotted them down. ‘And perhaps a green salad? A smoothie of some kind?’
He shouldn’t be surprised; this was health-conscious California, after all. At breakfast, he’d overheard the man at a neighbouring table order an egg-white omelette and wondered what possible enjoyment he would get from something so bland. ‘Sounds good,’ he told Krystal. ‘As long as it’s not kale.’
She flashed her perfect white teeth. ‘Understood.’
Fifteen minutes later, Fraser was sitting in one of the buggies he’d observed on his way in. A blond-haired, tanned young man called Zachary was driving, pointing out the various buildings and explaining their purpose. ‘There are fourteen studios in total, of varying sizes. Three of them have green screens and one is set up as a permanent courtroom.’ He glanced across at Fraser. ‘I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the movieAll Risebut that was filmed here.’
Fraser smiled politely. He had seen it but hadn’t been blown away by the lacklustre performances. ‘Impressive.’
‘Standing sets are stored in the warehouses at the back, near the workshops where the carpenters and set painters hang out,’ Zachary went on, slowing to allow a forklift truck to cross in front of them. ‘We have six wardrobe departments, four make-up rooms and two private lounges for the talent to use.’ Seeming to remember who he was talking to, he blushed. ‘I mean, for the big-name actors to use.’
