A Safe Space (Someone Else's Fairytale Book 4) (7 page)

“S
EX SELLS,” IS
how Chuck opens the meeting.

We’re in a conference room that is nothing like the kind of Hollywood glamor people imagine we always work in. It’s old, the table’s scuffed, the windows have bent Venetian blinds, and people are wearing everything from suits to shorts and sneakers. I always dress up for a meeting, so I’m in tailored slacks and a blazer, and my manager, Julian, is with me in jeans and a bright-purple blazer that he somehow makes work.

Assembled are the writers; a network exec; my costar, Kevin; and the rest of the minimal cast.

“We may not have a lead actress with the years of experience that Vicki Hanson has accrued, but we do have some serious sex appeal here,” the producer continues.

No
, I think,
no we don’t
. I have no sex life. I don’t even have a kissing life. Or a holding-hands life.

“First off, we’re going to re-envision the wardrobe for you guys. Now we’ll have to do this gradually, given that we want the second episode to follow on from the pilot, but we’ll slowly raise hemlines and take in extra inches. Most importantly, though, we’re going to revamp Jess and Garrett’s relationship.”

Kevin and I exchange a look. He doesn’t like this any more than I do, though I’m sure his reasons are different.

“Well, we’ll want to take that one slow, won’t we?” says one of the writers.
“Moonlighting
proved that once you get the leads together—”

“No,” the producer cuts him off.
“Moonlighting
proved that, if you aren’t enough episodes ahead of the broadcast schedule and if the network and viewers don’t know whether it’ll have a new episode or a rerun that’ll air that week, then you’re going to get canceled. Monica and Chandler didn’t end
Friends
.”

I steal another glance at Kevin, who shakes his head. That’s something at least. Then again, given that neither he nor I are likely to talk the producers or network execs out of this, all our distaste will do is make these new scenes even harder to film.

Julian’s harder to read, thanks to those mirrored sunglasses. He leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled, his face neutral, like he’s just absorbing this now rather than coming up with opinions just yet.

“We want to show as much skin as possible for a non-cable show,” the producer continues.

Oh yay,
I think.
So we’re not going as far as
Game of Thrones.
That’s so reassuring
. This isn’t the place to appear critical though. This is the first major hurdle our show has to clear, and we have to do it as a team. I sit up straighter.

“Obviously this’ll be a new kind of role for me,” I say.

“But what better way to mature your image and break you loose from Veronica Pryce?” says the producer.

I nod. “Right.” It’s the only positive thing I can think to say.

“And, Kevin, you can’t be all that cut up about this,” one of the network execs jokes, nodding in my direction.

That
, I think,
is really not cool.

Much as I got off to a bad start with Kevin, I do appreciate the way he looks uncomfortable. He’s thirty-one years old and knows I’m still a teenager.

“So we’ll be good to go by the end of the week,” says the producer.

“That puts you only two episodes ahead of the broadcast schedule,” says the network exec, “on a show that’ll often take seven days of shooting per episode. That’s too tight.”

“We’ve got to cast some new characters,” the producer explains. “Jess is going to also have her agent as a regular, recurring character, and a next-door neighbor. We also need to build some new sets for this first episode.”

“I want you shooting in two days,” says the network guy.

“Give us four.”

“I’m not negotiating. Two.”

I sit back and look at Julian. He returns my gaze and shrugs.

“Sex is a very generic move,” is the first thing Julian says once we’re settled into our booth at the upscale Indian restaurant that he picked out for lunch.

Now, if I were in high school, I think I’d snicker at that sentence, but since I’m not, I try to school my features and nod, willing myself to be mature about this.

“The thing about it is, it does work,” he goes on, “to mature ones’ image.”

Not what I wanted him to say, but I make myself nod again. “I have one concern about it.”

“That it’s hard to do? It is. Letting go, faking passion, all of that is a challenge. Some people feel like it bares a side of them they don’t want to share with the public.”

Great. If it’s hard for normal people, a virgin like me has no chance. “I haven’t had much of a love life…or…any love life.”

“Well, I’m no acting coach, so I can’t tell you whether that’s an issue or not. I’m more concerned about where this puts you professionally. How do you feel about this?”

“It does upset me but…”

He inclines his head, and I surmise from the wrinkles in his forehead that he’s raised one eyebrow.

“I need to work,” I say. “I just wish I had some lower profile job. A few national commercials or a cartoon or a supporting role in something. This situation is just… It’s beyond stressful.”

“It’s a funny business we’re in, isn’t it?” he says. “Your only real option right now is a role most actresses would kill for.”

“I could use some advice.”

“All right. From a business vantage point, I say stick with this show because the network put real money into promoting you and you don’t want to leave them in the red. I would, however, push back if they try to make you into just a sex object. This was a show with real substance, and you don’t want it to turn into one that just has you stripping off every week in America’s living rooms. I suggest we get you an interview and photo shoot with a top-end publication in which you decide the degree you want to go with this whole angle. I would suggest you not pose in a dominatrix outfit.”

“Oh, well, there goes that idea.”

“But I’d suggest you do something a little spicier than the norm for you.” He steeples his fingers again. “I’m thinking something that actually looks mature. You in a well-tailored outfit with some cleavage, form-fitting to show your figure, but no wet hair and tongue hanging out.”

“Yeah…I’m good with that.”

“As for any life experience you need, get drunk and hook up with a friend or something.”

“I’m underage. I can’t drink.”

“I
was
kidding.” He smiles. “Work through it with your coach.”

“I can’t afford my coach.”

“We can talk Sasha into some delayed payment.
Clues
is going forward. That money is coming. $70,000 per episode will take care of your money woes pretty fast.”

“Okay…” I should feel comforted and reassured by this, but I’m still rattled. Even if I dress up with cleavage on display and form-fitting clothes, I have no idea how to work this angle at all, and I do
not
want to try to get my coach to take me on credit. I feel like I owe enough people as it is.

Later that afternoon, when I enter the gym to burn off some nervous energy, Devon is standing in the hall that leads to the women’s changing rooms. I pause. He’s talking to some redhead with very,
very
fake breasts. I know a bad boob job when I see it, and her chest looks like two balloons about to pop.

“I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression,” he tells her smoothly. “But I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

“I’m talking about a second date, not a relationship,” she fires back. “Don’t get a swelled head.”

Good for you
, I think.

It doesn’t faze him. “Fair enough. I’m too busy these days. I’m sorry.”

“Or in other words, you got what you wanted and you’re done.”

“Look, I am really sorry if there was some miscommunication here, but I’ve got work to do and I need to get back to it.”

This guy can change personality like a chameleon changes color. One second, he’s an arrogant twit, and the next, he’s mature and merely uninterested. Not a scammer; just a nice guy not looking for commitment.

The redhead isn’t stupid though. She slaps him across the face hard enough to make me wince.

He snaps his head to the side then folds his arms. “Does that make you feel better?”

“It does, yeah.”

“Yeah, well it’s called battery. I’m sorry we misunderstood each other, but lay another hand on me and I will report you.”

“Whatever.” The redhead rolls her eyes and turns to leave, which means her gaze falls on me.

I’m standing here like an idiot, watching this whole exchange.

Her gaze is poison darts. “Excuse you.”

“Lizzie,” says Devon. “Hey. You all right?”

“This your girlfriend?” the redhead wants to know.

I do not want to be in the middle of this, but perhaps it’s what I deserve. Maybe it’ll snap me out of my stupid crush on Devon.

“She’s a friend,” he replies with way more vehemence than makes sense. “You really think I’d stand a chance with a girl like this?”

That comment takes a full five seconds to sink in. First of all, it hits me that it’s a compliment. Then it hits me that it’s a very high compliment. Devon’s not the kind of person who advertises things (or people) he can’t do. Third comes the realization that it’s also an insult to the redhead and a means for him to throw me under the bus so that she will scratch my eyes out and not his.

“Ignore him,” I say. “He knows you’d see through him on a second date, so he’s cutting you off now. He isn’t worth your time.”

She blinks, processing that.

“Thanks for slapping him,” I add. “He needs it.”

“It’s illegal,” mutters Devon. “You can’t just go around hitting people you disagree with.”

“I’m a girl,” says the redhead.

“So?”

She turns to me again and rolls her eyes. “Don’t ever hook up with this guy.”

“He’s got a great act, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does.” She struts off down the hall towards the exit. Given that she wasn’t in workout clothes and didn’t have a bag, I assume she came here just to confront him.

I realize now that it looks like I
got in line
to be Devon’s next victim.

“What do you want, Veronica?” he says with his usual, arrogant smirk.

I open my mouth then shut it.

His demeanor shifts back to nice mode. “What happened?” Those hazel eyes search mine, and he takes a step closer.

I take a deep breath and force myself to be logical. This is the wrong person to confide in. If I
need
to talk to someone, I should call Kyra.

“Lizzie?” he presses.

I don’t resist as he takes me by the arm and pulls me into that broom closet. “You drag a lot of women in here?” I ask. “It kinda looks bad.”

“I’m sorry.” He shuts the door, turns, and shrugs. “This is the closest place to get some privacy. What’s going on?”

“Sorry to insult you out there.”

He shrugs again as if he genuinely doesn’t care. “You want some ice cream?” he asks.

“Um, no. I’m sure you’ve got work to do.”

“Not really. Natalie was my four thirty.” He nods in the direction of the exit the redhead stormed out of just moments ago. “And I do have ice cream. You want some?”

“How do you plan to keep your job if you keep screwing all your clients?”

“No, I don’t ever get involved with clients or anyone who comes to this gym. I’ve had people start coming or sign up to work with me after a date sometimes.” Again, he shrugs like this is just one of those things. This guy has a very selective sense of morality, which is yet another reason I shouldn’t be in a closet with him. “You look stressed,” he says. “You want to talk?”

I shouldn’t, but my actual response is a shrug.

“How’s your day been?” he asks.

“They told us how they’re going to rework my show.”

“Oh yeah?”

“They’re going to make it more…sexy, and I don’t have sex appeal.”

He chuckles. “Yeah you do.”

“Not like what they’re looking for.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. But if you need ice cream to lift your spirits, just say the word.”

“Why are you being nice to me?”

“I’m a fan.”

“Of
Clues?
The pilot hasn’t even aired yet.”