Grateful!
It was a bitter pill to swallow. Not as bitter as the weekly drug tests, though. What an indignity—when he had never done anything more than a little weed in college. But the drug tests were necessary for the movie’s insurance coverage, and Darcy couldn’t object without revealing more than he wanted, so he would have to live with it.
Darcy hadn’t really worked in the year since Palm Springs, and he knew Josh was right when he said this was his chance to demonstrate how he was a sober, serious-minded actor who showed up at the set on time and turned in a great performance. In another year or two, hopefully the stigma would fade, and the big studios would notice his terrific performances in movies like In the Shadows.
At least I’m working, he reminded himself. If he didn’t do this movie, it would only confirm Darcy’s status as box office poison.
Of course, crashing his car on the first day probably hadn’t been the best way to show everyone he’d turned over a new leaf. Stupid stereo.
As everyone waited for the read to start, the room was filled with a general buzz of conversation. Caroline leaned toward Darcy’s chair, flipped a long lock of straight, pale blonde hair out of her face, and drawled in his ear. “I wouldn’t be doing this movie without you.”
Darcy shrugged. Very likely the movie wouldn’t get made without him. “I’m glad you’re on board,” he said neutrally. It wasn’t a lie. Caroline might not be his favorite person, but she was a good actress and was well-suited to the part of his love interest.
She lowered her voice, although the noise level meant it was unlikely anyone could overhear. “The script is a bit…sweet for my taste.”
He nodded his agreement but didn’t say anything. He requested a few alterations to make it less sentimental, but there was nothing he could do about the essential sweetness at the movie’s core.
“I mean,” Caroline continued, “people don’t behave like that in real life. Ultimately everyone is out for themselves.”
Darcy didn’t disagree. Hollywood loved to make movies about selfless do-gooders, but the town itself was full of competitive, grasping people. Such was life; you didn’t get anywhere if you didn’t have sharp elbows. In a way it was comforting to have someone else confirm his impression of the story.
But the screenplay was good, even brilliant in places, and addressed a timely topic. Audiences would love it—at least Darcy thought so. Tom and Roberta hadn’t treated him like he was radioactive, so he was happy to stand behind them.
“My agent thinks it has Oscar potential,” Darcy said.
Caroline made a face. “Of course, it does! People love a good sob story. It might even give me a Best Supporting nod. Off the B-list and onto the A-list.”
That was one difference between them. They were equally cynical about the movie business, but he cared about critical acclaim. He wanted to be proud of his work and craved admiration from people who recognized difficult acting challenges. Caroline only sought fame and fortune.
Whenever Darcy started sensing a kinship with Caroline, he shied away. A bit like touching a frog, it left him feeling slimy and disgusted. She represented everything Darcy didn’t like about Hollywood: the fakery, the jockeying for position, the shallowness, the fixation on appearance. Closing in on thirty, she was already talking about plastic surgery.
Finally, a hush fell, and Tom Bennet welcomed everyone to the table read of In the Shadows. The producer launched into a rambling speech that referenced his past films such as The Zombie Ate My Homework and Captain Succotash, a movie with the tagline “The world’s tastiest superhero.”
Darcy didn’t appreciate the reminders. Bennet was a bit of a Hollywood anomaly. A prolific director of B movies, he was a positive genius at raising money; he somehow always inspired others to open their wallets for whatever film he was making. What he didn’t have was talent. His movies, mostly cheap horror flicks, tended to be hack jobs that earned both cult followings and the scorn of critics.
But In the Shadows was a very different kind of movie, and Bennet would be producing, not directing. Darcy wasn’t sure how Bennet had become attached to a serious indie project, but the man’s daughter, Jane, would be playing Jordan, the other lead. No doubt, once Roberta Perez and Darcy himself were attached, funding had proven to be a lot easier.
Finally Bennet’s ramblings petered out. It was curious that the man was so good at raising money—or anything, really. With his perpetually rumpled suits and vague expressions, he always resembled someone who had wandered into the wrong place.
Fortunately, Perez spoke next. Her comments were as incisive and on point as Bennet’s had been diffuse and confusing, reminding Darcy why the movie might succeed. She mentioned the importance of the subject, the timeliness of the theme, and how many moviegoers would empathize with the main characters. By the end of her speech, Darcy was more enthusiastic about the project.
The next step was to have each person at the table introduce him or herself. Darcy focused his attention on each speaker, attempting to ignore the stares of starstruck actors. Ugh. It was bad enough to encounter such reactions at the coffee shop or airport, but from his fellow actors? Didn’t they have any self-respect?
Jane Bennet spoke. Slender and wide-eyed, she was perfect for the role of Jordan. Young enough to make a convincing teenager, she had her blonde hair in a pixie cut that emphasized her gamine qualities and suggested androgyny. Darcy hadn’t worked with her before, although she had graduated from Yale Drama School a year after he had.
Caroline, however, listened to Jane’s quiet words with a curled lip. She leaned toward Darcy, helping herself to one of his armrests. “Mousy doesn’t begin to describe her,” she said sotto voce in his ear. “I don’t know if she can carry this picture.”
Darcy hid his annoyance. He’d seen Jane Bennet’s movies; she had serious acting chops, although this would be her biggest role by far. “I’m looking forward to working with her,” he murmured, shifting his weight away from Caroline.
But he jumped when a toe touched his calf. Damn it! Caroline was running her sandal-clad foot along his leg, under his pants. Giving her a sidelong glare, Darcy cleared his throat meaningfully, but she just smirked at him. Sliding his leg out of range, he made a show of focusing his attention on the introductions.
Charlie Bingley was speaking. With a perpetually innocent expression, endearingly crooked nose, and shaggy blond hair, Charlie was a fellow Hollywood heartthrob, although he hadn’t quite reached Darcy’s level of stardom. He also happened to be Caroline’s brother, but Darcy tried not to ho
ld that against the guy; the truth was that the siblings didn’t have much in common.
Charlie was great fun, with an almost instinctive knowledge of the best Los Angeles clubs and the hottest Hollywood parties. Privately, Darcy thought his friend’s acting skills could use a little…polishing; he didn’t have Darcy’s level of classical training, and it showed.
“I’m playing Stuart Nickels, the caring but bumbling director of the homeless shelter where Jordan stays.” Charlie’s smile revealed his trademark dimples. “I assure you that any caring I manage to demonstrate is completely due to the script while all the bumbling is likely to be my own.”