43. Chapter Forty-Three
And the trade paper says, “The new Charles Malloy film might have a surprising new star. Olivia Chase is slated to be the film’s leading lady.”
* * *
Every blind in my trailer is closed. Soft ocean sounds come from the speakers, and I’m lying on the couch with a warm compress over my eyes. Graham took Loki for a walk, and I’m trying to relax for a moment.
We’ve been running that scene most of the day.
The lighting wasn’t right.
The sound wasn’t right.
I honestly think the director isn’t right.
We’re almost done with filming, and I have every intention of having Sal work on my behalf so that I never have to work with Jean-Claude St. Paul again.
But the banter between the characters has given me a headache.
This used to be where Graham and I shined the brightest. Any opportunity we had on set to yell at each other and call one another names, we were right at home with that kind of dialogue. But now, it takes work, and it’s exhausting.
There is a tapping on the door, and I let out a little moan.
“Christina, it’s Penny,” the voice calls out.
“Come in,” I say reluctantly.
Because it’s Penny, I don’t move from the couch, or take the compress off my eyes.
“Can I get you anything?” she asks.
“I’m fine. I just needed a few minutes.”
“I think it looks good,” she says, and that has me moving the compress from my eyes to look at her.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I mean it. I think Jean-Claude is just bitter, and he’s being an ass.”
Penny never talks like that, so it has me sitting up and grinning at her. “You think so?”
“Yes. He’s just jealous that Graham is getting attention from your dad, and Jean-Claude can’t even get a meeting with him.”
I chew on my lip as I take in what she’s saying. “Who said Graham was talking to my dad?”
She raises a brow, pulls her phone from her pocket, and scrolls. When she’s done, she holds up the phone.
It’s a picture of Graham and my father at the club the other day.
“So? They were having a drink. Graham is my boyfriend, and he’s with my dad. I saw them there.”
“Maybe he was asking if he could propose to you,” she says, as if that would explain their meeting.
“I don’t suppose so. But Graham hasn’t said anything about the meeting.”
She crinkles up her nose. “Of course not. He makes everyone sign nondisclosure agreements.”
“My father does?”
“Well, yes. He uses them for everything,” she says matter-of-factly. “You didn’t know that?”
I rub my fingers over the bridge of my nose to ward off the headache that’s been festering there.
“You were in that room. You know that the deal was to make everything sweet enough that Graham would get a Charles Malloy movie, and I’d get the Penelope Mondragon opportunity.”
She nods. “They also said you just had to pretend, and you didn’t have to marry the guy.”
That was when my phone began to ring with my mother’s tone.
“They want you back on set in twenty,” Penny says as she lets herself out of the trailer.
I groan as I pick up my phone and answer.
“Christina Abigail Malloy, don’t you dare tell me that you’re engaged to that man!” My mother is shouting into the phone. “I see it on some random Instagram post? You have got to be kidding me. Tell me that’s not true. Tell me!”
I should have left the ring at home.
“Mother—”
“Seriously, Christina. It’s like I don’t know who you are.”
“First of all, I’m almost thirty years old. I can make my own decisions on who I date.”
“You know your father and I have tried to keep you from getting involved with anyone in the industry. This is a horrible idea. He’s a horrible man.”
I’m not even sure now if she’s talking about Graham or my father.
“Graham is an amazing man,” I say, figuring that’s who I’m defending.
“As if I’ve ever heard you say something nice about him.”
Lesson learned. Never talk poorly about any of your co-workers. You never know when you might fall head over heels in love with them.
“Things change,” I remind her.
“Your reputation?—”
“Won’t be hurt by loving Graham Crowley,” I say.
“But you’re not engaged, right? That’s a misunderstanding.”
I purse my lips and realize I need to cut this conversation short and get to makeup.
“Mother, I need to?—”
“Christina! Answer me, dammit.”
“Yes!” I shout it out. “Yes, we’re getting married,” I say, and then wince that I did so in such a way.
“Oh, no, you’re not.”
“Oh, yes, I am. And I’m old enough that it doesn’t matter what you say, or Dad says. I get to make these decisions on my own.”
“And what about our reputations?”
How in the hell is this woman my mother?
“Are you kidding me? Dad’s done enough damage to both of your reputations. Me marrying a man that I love isn’t going to do that.”
“I hope to hell you’re alone when you’re talking to me like this,” she scolds.
All my life, I’ve been the dutiful daughter. I show up to openings and premieres. I was raised by nannies and caretakers and shipped off to private schools.
I’ve mostly stayed out of the tabloids, and honestly, even now that I’m in them, it’s nothing shameful. I haven’t hurt anyone, or myself. I’m not drunk, stoned, and out spending Daddy’s money. I work. And I’m proud of my work.
And I’m in love with a man who loves me back.
“I need to get back on set, Mother,” I say, gathering my binder and heading toward the door.
“Your father is going to be furious.”
“Then he can take it up with me. It’s not going to change anything.”
Again, she hangs up without even a goodbye.
The other day, Graham’s mother called me to invite me to lunch. When the conversation was over, she said she loved me, and when I hung up, I’d cried. I think the fact that Graham comes from great people only makes me want to marry him more.
As I walk toward the makeup trailer, I notice Graham walking toward his trailer with his manager, Sandra. There is an ache in my chest.
I want to be a part of anything he’s doing going forward. Will I get that chance? How do we make this work?