Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
All I can think about as we race toward Tampa is getting there in time. I stare straight out the window, watching the scenery flash by. I don’t try to envision the audition, worry about who the casting director is, or wonder whether I’ll be deemed “too Cassie,” “too old,” or “too” anything. Because the casting director knows exactly who I am and what roles I’ve played and requested me anyway.
When Luke screeches to a halt in front of the correct building near the Tampa Bay Arts Center, I jump out of his car with four minutes to spare. I use them to lean in to say goodbye. “I can’t thank you enough, Luke. Seriously. You’re a rock star!” I press a hurried kiss to his cheek. “I have no idea how long I’ll be so I’ll take an Uber home.”
“No need,” he says. “Now that I’m off for the day, I’m going to visit a friend in Hyde Park and hang out.”
A text dings in on his phone and he glances down then up at me. “That was the friend who took over the drive-bys at Grand’s this morning. Apparently, she brought out a breakfast sandwich for him.” Luke grins. “She gave the officer on duty last night a tin of homemade brownies. If she keeps this up, the guys will be begging for ‘Grand duty.’?”
“I can’t tell you what a relief it is to know you’ve got people keeping an eye out,” I say, pressing one last kiss to his cheek.
“Text me when you’re done, and I’ll come get you. I know you’re going to knock ’em dead.”
When I reach the audition space, I tell myself it doesn’t matter how many other actresses I’m up against. I remind myself that I’m either exactly what they’re looking for or I’m not. I’ll either get the job or I won’t. I’m an actress, which means I’ve been facing potential rejection my entire adult life. If the people making the decision decide I’m too this or not enough that, that’s just part of my profession.
I’ve already got two jobs and barely an hour ago I had the best sex of my life. (Okay, I’m not sure how that fits here, but it belongs in the “plus” column.) If I don’t get this gig, it won’t be the end of my world.
Then, pep talk completed, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and stride into the room. Where I see zero other actresses waiting to audition.
“You must be Sydney Ryan,” the woman at the front desk says with a smile. “Here’s your copy.” She hands me a sheet of paper with the copy I’ll be delivering. “They’ll be ready for you in just a minute.”
I look around the empty waiting area again. “I know I wasn’t meant to be here until ten. Has everyone else already auditioned?”
“No,” she says pleasantly. “There is no one else coming in today.”
Confused, I sit down and study the commercial copy I’ve been given. Which is when I discover that what was billed as a commercial for a national chain of beauty clinics is, in reality, a commercial for a national chain of clinics that specialize in breast augmentation. That chain is called Lift.
Don’t get me wrong, I lived and worked in Hollywood long enough not to judge anyone for investing in their appearance, especially if they work in front of the camera. I had my breasts “enhanced” shortly after I got to LA, only I wanted my breasts perkier, not noticeably larger.
“They’re ready for you now, Miss Ryan,” the receptionist says, leaving her desk to show me through the door and into a boardroom, where I’m introduced to the casting director, the creative director, and a representative from the chain.
There are handshakes all around. Then the creative director looks me over and says, “I’m assuming your agent explained what your role will be?”
“Um, no, not exactly,” I hedge because the only things Elise at the Martin Green Agency told me were that a chain of beauty clinics had specifically requested me to audition, where I needed to report, and the time I needed to be there.
“Well, you’re here because our client, Lift, wants you to star in a commercial for their nationwide chain. You would, in essence, become their spokesperson.”
“And no one here is concerned that my character, Cassie Everheart, became an alcoholic?”
“No, not at all,” the creative director replies. “In fact, Lift wants you partly because your character became an alcoholic and let it ruin her life.”
“And…?” I prompt, certain that I must be missing something.
“ And ,” the chain rep says , “we believe that if the actress who played Cassie Everheart has her breasts augmented, her still sizable fan base will see that as Cassie being ready to turn her life around.”
I blink. “Seriously? Lift actually believes that if someone with a drinking problem had their breasts enlarged, it would turn their life around?”
“Well, maybe not immediately,” the chain rep concedes. “But it would certainly be a start.”
“In fact, your agent has already negotiated a very attractive talent fee for you along with residuals,” the creative director adds. “The plan is to shoot your ‘before’ sequences as soon as your schedule allows.”
“Then,” the chain rep explains, “we will do your augmentation, which will be necessary for the ‘after’ shots. And we’ll even do it completely free of charge.”
Everyone watches me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to erupt in paroxysms of joy. But I am horrified by the whole idea. And even more horrified that I consider saying “yes” for almost fifteen seconds.
She shows me the total amount that I would be paid, and I close my eyes in disbelief. Disbelief that I’m about to turn down not just an acting gig, but an amount of money that I could live off for years.
· · ·
“You seem to have finished a lot earlier than you expected,” Luke says as I climb into his car. “And the look on your face leads me to assume you didn’t get the gig.”
“Worse,” I groan.
“What’s worse than not getting the job?”
“Having to turn down a well-paying acting gig because you have scruples.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“It turns out the audition was for a national chain of clinics that specialize in breast augmentation.”
“Breast augmentation?” His forehead wrinkles.
“Yep. I was asked to come in because I do not have a huge chest. And because the chain believes that since Cassie Everheart ruined her life with alcohol, Murder 101 fans would see Cassie having a boob job as her first important step in trying to turn her life around.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. I mean, I’ve never envied women with huge breasts, and I have no desire to ‘enhance’ mine now.” I do not mention that mine have already been enhanced though in a much less obvious way. “And apparently, I didn’t need to audition because my agent had already negotiated a hefty payment for the role without telling, or warning, me.”
Luke nods, making it clear that he’s listening but is smart enough to let me vent.
“They want to use me and Cassie to try to convince other women to have boob jobs,” I continue. “Oh, and they’re throwing in a ‘free’ augmentation, which I would be contractually required to have, before they shoot the ‘after’ part of the commercial.”
“Okay. That is kind of creepy.”
“It’s completely creepy and doing it would have felt like an all-time career low, at a time when I didn’t believe my career could tank any further.” I shake my head. “But as desperate as I am to get an acting gig, I’m not prepared to alter or display my breasts for the world to see.”
Luke starts the car. “So it sounds like you did the right thing in turning it down. Shouldn’t you be feeling good about refusing to compromise yourself and your principles?”
“Oh, it felt great in the moment. But it turns out that doing the ‘right thing’ is not what it’s cracked up to be. Especially when it keeps you from earning a good-sized paycheck plus residuals.”
“Gotcha. Well, I think you should focus on feeling good about the decision you made. It’s not everyone who’s strong enough to walk away when something doesn’t feel right.”
“Thank you.” We ride for a few minutes in silence while I try to clear my head. We’re on the Howard Frankland Bridge on our way over Tampa Bay when my cell phone rings.
“It’s Grand,” I say as I answer. “Hi, what’s up?”
“I’m calling to see if you’d like to invite Luke to come for an early dinner this evening. Maybe around five thirty? I’m making meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and I have an apple pie in the oven for dessert. I can’t wait to hear about your audition.”
“Can I help?” I ask, though what I really need right now is a long walk on the beach. And maybe a little time in the sack with Luke to help me get over the damn audition that wasn’t.
“Thanks.” I can hear the smile in Grand’s voice. “But I’ve got everything under control. And I know the kitchen isn’t exactly your ‘happy place.’?”
“What’s going on?” Luke asks. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Grand invited you to join us for an early dinner. Are you up for it?”
“Sure.”
“We’re both already salivating,” I assure Grand. “I just need to decompress, and Luke has the day off.”
· · ·
By the time we leave Luke’s for dinner at Grand’s, we’ve taken a long, leisurely walk on the beach, showered together (sometimes you need help to make sure you’ve gotten rid of every particle of sand regardless of where it’s been hiding), then tangled with each other in Luke’s bed until we basically passed out, exhausted from the day and the number of times we had sex. It’s close to 5:00 p.m. when we have a final shower and force ourselves to put on clothes.
Grand has appetizers waiting for us, and in moments I’ve filled two wineglasses with a favorite pinot noir and poured Luke a Stella Artois.
We clink glasses and toast each other.
I’ve already downed my wine and poured another before Grand asks how the audition went.
“I was offered the job, but I had to turn it down,” I say as nonchalantly as I can.
She raises an eyebrow, and I give her the details she’s waiting for. “Bottom line, the commercial turned out to be for a chain of clinics that do breast augmentation and they wanted me to showcase mine both before and after the augmentation they expected me to have.”
“Goodness!” Grand says.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “And my agent agreed to all of this on my behalf without telling or warning me. Which means I’m going to have to find another agent, assuming I can even get one, given Cassie’s demise and Tonja Kay’s dislike of me.” I blink back tears. “Okay, enough about me. Dinner smells delicious. Let’s eat.”
Luke nods his agreement. “Everything smells wonderful. Here, Grand. Why don’t you let me carry the filled plates to the table.”
Minutes later we’re seated and chowing down. We stick with safe topics and chat all the way through the heavenly apple pie à la mode.
When we can’t eat another bite, I clear the table and load the dishwasher while Luke makes us espresso martinis. Once we’re all seated, we hold our martinis aloft, click rims, and toast one another.
“These are so delicious.” I smile. “I don’t know why it took so long for them to become popular.”
“Yeah, I read somewhere that they were invented by a bartender in London in the late 1880s,” Luke says. “But they only began to catch on in the US in 2022.”
“Well, I’m glad they made it ‘across the pond.’ Bottoms up!” Grand says, though she’s sipping much more slowly than Luke and I are. “And I just want to add how proud I am of the way you stood up for yourself today, Sydney. Sometimes we just have to trust our gut and do what we believe is right, even if we pay a price for it.”
“Thanks. I’m pretty sure I learned that from you.” Then I look her in the eye. “Which is why you need to tell Luke exactly what the thieves are after and why.”
“But I don’t think—”
“No, Grand,” I cut her off. “No more evading and pretending. We’re relying on Luke to protect you. You need to tell him what’s going on so that he can do that. And you need to do it now. ”
Grand begins to shake her head. “It’s not a good idea. I don’t want—”
“And I don’t think you’re thinking about anyone but yourself right now,” Luke interrupts. “Simply because she’s living with you, Sydney’s at risk, too. And I can’t believe that keeping this secret is more important than your granddaughter’s life.”
“But I never meant—” Grand begins.
“It doesn’t matter what your intentions were or are. If you don’t tell me exactly what’s going on, I have zero chance of protecting either of you.”