In the third week of September, Jerry called Gemma as she was leaving the gym. She had had a good workout, her body had never looked better, and she was settling into her L.A. routine. It had taken a while after coming back from the ranch, and she had promised Kate she’d come up for a weekend soon. She’d gone to a premiere and several parties, just to keep her face out there. She had gone alone.
“What is it this time?” she asked him as she got into her car. “Another teenage horror movie, or an infomercial, selling mattresses at two A.M.?” She was kidding, but not entirely. Nothing had turned up so far.
“Don’t be such a bitch. I told you the Brits would come through. I just met with the producer/director. They’re ready to cast. They start shooting in December, on location in Zimbabwe. They’ll be there for two months, and then go back to London. The show will be based there. And they’re looking for an American actress for the part I told you about. I gave them your name first. We just watched you in two episodes of your old show. And you know, I hate to admit it, but damn, you’re good.” He was laughing and she laughed too.
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Both. They want to meet you. The casting director is here with him, a woman, and the executive producer. It’s a big budget show. A period piece. You’re good at those. What are you doing at four o’clock?”
“Today? Oh God, I look like shit. My hair is a mess.”
“They don’t care. For that historical stuff, they use wigs. And you’ll be working in a field hospital in World War I. You’re supposed to look a mess. Whatever you’re doing, cancel it. This is the best project I’ve seen in years and you’re perfect for it.”
“Don’t I get to see a script first?”
“No. You’re broke, remember? You haven’t worked in months. I’ve got nothing here. And it’s this or the infomercials you were just so rude about, or vampire pictures.” He was in great spirits. The meeting had gone well, and he liked giving her good news for a change. She was a fine actress who deserved to work.
“I would have to live in London?”
“Yes, during the season, when they’re not on location. You can come back during the hiatus. It’s the best shot I’ve got for you for now,” he reminded her. “It’s going to be a great show and a huge hit.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll be there. Remind me of the director’s name, I’ll google him.”
“Rufus Blake-Harte. He’s one of the best directors in England. Everything he touches turns to gold, and if you turn this down, I’m personally going to kill you, and you lose your whining rights for at least six months. Don’t be a diva, Gemma. You need the work and they need you.”
“I get it,” she said grudgingly. She googled the director on her phone and recognized everything he’d done. It was all top material and hit shows, and he’d written some of it himself.
She went home and spent two hours trying to figure out what to wear. She knew it didn’t matter, her work history did, but she still wanted to look her best. She finally decided on black jeans, a black Chanel jacket, six-inch heels, a black alligator bag, and diamond stud earrings. Rich but not too rich, successful but not showy, youthful but not too young. She wore her shining dark hair down, and was satisfied with how she looked when she left her house. It was a half-hour drive to Jerry’s office, and she arrived on time, and was ushered into his inner sanctum immediately. He was sitting with a group of people who were laughing and looked relaxed. The men were wearing tweed jackets and jeans, and brown suede boots or shoes. They had a polished look to them that American producers didn’t. Stylish and sophisticated without trying, longish hair, some beards, and one in particular seemed to be studying her carefully from the moment she walked in. They all stood up when she entered the room, and the woman with them, the casting director, was young and beautiful and looked like an actress herself. They were a handsome group.
Jerry introduced her to Rufus Blake-Harte, who had been studying her so intensely. He smiled at her as they shook hands. “I apologize for staring. You’re even more beautiful