Chapter 17
When Julia arrived home on Saturday evening, she was too exhausted to do more than the most essential unpacking before retiring
to her bath for a long, soothing soak, a cup of herbal tea at hand and cool cucumber slices on her closed eyelids. When the
water cooled, she toweled off, applied a rich moisturizing lotion, and slipped into her favorite silk pajamas. She contemplated
the blue duffel bag for a long moment before stowing it in the closet of her sewing room. Then she climbed into bed, heavy-hearted
but relieved to be home, hoping that wisdom would fill her as she slept and answers would come with the sunrise.
That didn’t happen, unfortunately, but Julia did wake feeling less anxious and more confident that she would find a way out of her predicament.
She lay in bed, eyes closed, breathing deeply, envisioning Paige beaming with joy when she learned that her career was back on course.
Ideally, Julia would convince Stephen Deneford to give Paige the role of Emily St. Aubert, which she had already been offered and for which a contract had already been approved.
If he had given the role to someone else, he could cast Paige in an equivalent role in a similarly prestigious movie.
Deneford always had multiple projects going on at once, but if none of his own films had the perfect role, he had connections throughout the industry.
He could come up with something for Paige, and he must, if Julia ever hoped to redeem herself in the eyes of her friends and colleagues.
But that was Julia’s problem, not Deneford’s.
That being the case, Julia wasn’t sure how to get him to do what she wanted. They didn’t particularly like each other, and
she didn’t have any leverage over him. Muffling a groan, she threw back the quilt and climbed out of bed. She’d figure out
how to craft the perfect persuasive argument later. First, she had to land the meeting.
By midmorning Deneford still hadn’t responded to her emails or voicemails, so she called again and left another message and
sent another email. Although it was Sunday, Deneford had too many deals pending to stay offline for long. Eventually, she
hoped, he’d realize that she was determined to speak with him and he’d reply just to get it over with.
She worked on her Cross and Chains block to pass the time, but when she found herself checking for voicemails and refreshing
her email inbox almost as frequently as she finished a seam, she abandoned her sewing and changed into hiking clothes. She
was halfway up the Solstice Canyon Trail, silently composing and revising dialogue between herself and Deneford, when she
abruptly halted. She was going about this all wrong. Had she learned nothing from this debacle? She was essentially planning
to manipulate Deneford into giving her what she wanted, to be as disingenuous with him as she had been with the Patchwork
Players at quilt camp. What she ought to do now, what she should have done then, was to be honest and straightforward. If
she offered Deneford unmistakable proof that Paige would be brilliant, then he would see for himself that he should cast her
in a breakthrough role. It would benefit them both—and Julia too.
She scarcely noticed the beautiful scenery as she finished her hike, thoughts racing with potential next steps and pitfalls to avoid, confidence increasing with each quarter mile.
And yet the bruises of her recent failures were too fresh for her not to seek the counsel of wise friends.
As soon as she returned home, she got the Cross-Country Quilters on a conference call—a bit of a scramble considering none of them were expecting it—and quickly explained what she intended to do.
“I like this plan much better than your last one,” said Megan. “It’s refreshingly free of subterfuge.”
“Thanks,” said Julia dryly.
“Well, I for one like a little subterfuge now and then,” said Vinnie cheerfully. “But I’m with Megan. In this case, the straightforward
approach would be best. Just give the man the facts about how Paige is absolutely wonderful, and he’ll make the right decision.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Julia, “because that’s all I’ve got.”
“I have a caveat, but it’s a big one,” said Grace. “Casting decisions are subjective, aren’t they? It’s not simply a matter
of presenting facts or evidence. You have to engage the emotions as well.”
“No worries,” said Julia, although she had a few herself. “The evidence I’m talking about will definitely touch the heart.”
“If he has a heart,” said Donna, an edge to her voice. “Remember, I met that guy on the set of Prairie Vengeance. I saw how dismissively and disrespectfully he treated you and Ellen. He didn’t seem to care much about anyone’s feelings
back then.”
“But he does care about making a good movie.” Julia shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m defending Stephen Deneford, after
all he put us through.”
“Maybe he’s learned from his mistakes,” said Vinnie. “Maybe he’ll be glad for the chance to make amends.”
“If that’s true,” said Julia, “then we have something in common.”
Her friends wished her luck, and after they hung up, Julia knew exactly what to do next. She phoned Patchwork’s lead editor, apologized for calling on a Sunday, and asked her to put together a video of clips from Paige’s brief appearance
in the season five finale. “Think of it as an audition reel,” she said, “for a director who’s particularly hard to impress.”
Julia heard the scratch of a pencil on paper. “Got it,” the editor said. “Anything else?”
“If I could have it by tomorrow noon, that would be fantastic.”
“No problem. I’m on it. Paige is a sweetheart. I’m happy to help.”
“Even so, I know this is a big ask, especially on such short notice. I owe you one.”
“No, you don’t,” the editor said, surprised. “I owed you one. After this, we’ll be even. Not that I keep score among friends.”
Julia felt tears spring to her eyes. Someone in the Patchwork family still considered her a friend. Then again, that might mean only that the story of her betrayal hadn’t traveled very
far yet. “What favor did you owe me?”
“You don’t remember career day at Los Cerritos Middle School? You made my niece’s day—no, her year. Her students were so impressed
to have a genuine TV and movie star in their classroom.”
“Oh, right, that.” Julia had entirely forgotten. She did more appearances than she could reasonably keep track of, which was
one reason why she employed an assistant. “That was, what, ten years ago? You don’t owe me a thing. I did it for the kids.”
“If you say so. As it is, I’m now my niece’s favorite aunt, so your Oscar-worthy highlight reel will be ready first thing
tomorrow morning. I’ll messenger it over.”
Julia thanked her, and after they hung up, she checked her messages again, as she did throughout the day. She finished her
Cross and Chains block, answered scores of neglected emails, wrote a heartfelt thank-you letter to accompany the gift basket
she planned to send to the Elm Creek Quilters—all without a single word from Deneford.
And time was of the essence. If Deneford hadn’t yet given the role of Emily St. Aubert to another lovely ingenue, he surely
would soon.
The next morning, Julia checked her messages, and did some deep breathing exercises to help deal with the frustration of feeling ignored.
A few minutes after eight o’clock a messenger dropped off the DVD with Paige’s highlight reel, and watching it distracted her for a little while.
She held out until ten o’clock before she gave in and phoned Deneford’s office yet again.
The young man who answered greeted her with polished cordiality. “Mr. Deneford said we might be hearing from you,” he said
after she identified herself, sounding thoroughly pleased by his boss’s prescience. “He’s not available to take your call
today, but he’d be happy to schedule that lunch you requested.”
“Wonderful,” said Julia. “How soon can we arrange that?”
“Let me check his calendar.” The assistant hummed thoughtfully. “I see here that Mr. Deneford has availability at noon on
the thirtieth. That’s a Tuesday. Would that work for you?”
“But that’s two weeks from tomorrow. This is urgent.”
“I’m so sorry, but that’s the earliest he could do lunch.”
“Okay. How soon could he give me a half hour in his office?”
“Let’s see.” A soft, rapid clicking of a keyboard followed. “Hmm. Same day, nine o’clock in the morning. Is that any better?”
“Not by much, no.” Julia thought quickly. “Very well. Put me down for lunch at noon on the thirtieth, but please contact me
immediately if his schedule clears and we can meet any earlier.”
“Will do, Miss Merchaud. I’m jotting it down on a sticky note as we speak.”
“Thank you,” Julia said. “I appreciate your help.” And she meant it too. Deneford was obviously dodging her, but that wasn’t
his assistant’s fault.
The Cross-Country Quilters had asked her to keep them posted, so she sent a group email lamenting her lack of progress. “That
sounds so frustrating,” Megan replied within a minute. “Can you go over his head?”
“Not really,” Julia typed, but then she paused, thought for a moment, and tapped the delete key until the words were gone.
“Maybe,” she wrote instead, hope kindling. She sent off the email and reached for her Rolodex.
She hadn’t spoken to Stephen Deneford’s mother in months, not since their paths crossed at a Make-A-Wish Foundation fundraiser in May, but Lillian had a delightful sense of humor and a strong sense of justice, and Julia always enjoyed their conversations.
Julia could only assume that Stephen took after his father.
Lillian wasn’t one for email, so Julia phoned instead, muffling a sigh of relief when Lillian greeted her warmly, as if they were longtime friends who had spoken only days before.
“I have a very important personal favor to ask of you,” Julia confessed after they had spent a few moments catching up. “In