Reel (Hollywood Renaissance #1) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,16

should get millions of dollars to tell a damn story if you aren’t just a little bit of a narcissist.”

“The only thing that saves you from being a complete asshole is your mama raised you right.”

That she did.

Whenever I’m smelling myself, as Mama used to say, her voice in my ear is the dose of humility that reins me in. She tethers me to my past. She prepared me for my future. Everything, anything good in me, Remy Holt put there. Thanks to my first documentary, everyone knows it.

I took all that footage Mama captured, all her sunsets and soliloquies, and bundled them into The Magic Hour, my first professional documentary. It took the grand jury and directing prizes at Sundance. I sailed through that awards season with her as the wind at my back every time I accepted a new, unexpected honor. It was her indomitable spirit that inspired audiences all over the world. Her fierce commitment to art even when her body betrayed her. It was her sage advice lit by the golden hour setting the world on fire that year.

I only wish she’d lived to see it.

“So Mallory is coming,” I say, needing to shift this conversation from something I’m emotional about. Over the years, I’ve become an expert compartmentalizer. This life requires almost unsustainable, singular focus. My therapist earns his keep.

“When’s she flying in?” Monk asks, linking his hands behind his head.

“Her daughter has a recital tomorrow, but goes to stay with Mallory’s ex this weekend. So she’ll come then and can still catch Neevah before she goes back to being understudy.”

It’s criminal, that woman being anyone’s backup, but that’s okay. I’ll fix it.

“You want me to let Neevah know you guys are coming?”

“Hell no. Imma find the darkest corner of the theater to hide in. I don’t want her to know we’re there. Why do you think I ignored her all night?”

“We covered this already. You’re an asshole.”

“That, too, but mostly I didn’t want her to know I noticed her. She would have started auditioning. She would have started acting again. I wanted to see her being.”

“Neevah is fantastic. I don’t think you’re wrong about what she could do with the role. I’m just surprised that since this movie is already a huge financial and commercial risk, you would, on the strength of a single performance, not even on film, cast her in the biggest movie you’ve ever directed.”

“That’s why I want Mallory’s feedback. And I haven’t cast her yet.”

Through the car window, the velvet blanket of the city’s skyline is stitched with lights and stars, and its vastness seems to reflect all the possibilities I felt after seeing Neevah onstage tonight.

“But I want her.”

6

Neevah

“Crap.” With my legs flung over the side of the couch, I frown. “I just got an alert that my phone has a virus from adult sites I visited.”

“So Pornhub gave your phone an STD?” Takira pauses in chopping onions for the soup she’s making. “You had unprotected surfing and now your phone has herpes?”

“Shut it. Does incognito mode mean nothing?”

“Long as it’s been since you had that Vitamin D, no wonder you’re banging your phone every day. You were bound to get infected.”

“Could you stop being gross about my sex life?”

“What sex life?” Takira starts chopping again. “Social services will be by soon to pay your vagina a wellness visit.”

I hurl a pillow across the room at her, missing on purpose.

“I’m here to check on Neevah’s pussy,” Takira says in her professional voice. “The neighbors are concerned. There’s been no sign of activity for months. We’re making sure the cat still purrs.”

“I hate you,” I grit out, but the struggle not to laugh is real.

“You won’t hate me when you taste this lunch, guhl,” she says, easily slipping into her Trinidadian accent. “Ees me grandma’s famous corn soup.”

“It does smell good.” I walk over to stand by her at the counter. A short walk since our apartment has the square footage of a Porta Potty.

“And vegan.” She proffers her knife. “Put them little hands to use. You on peppers.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I slide my phone into the pocket of my lounge pants. “On it.”

It’s my day off. My last show as the lead was last night and when I return to the theater tomorrow, Elise will be the star again. I don’t begrudge her that. She’s a great singer. Outstanding actress. It just felt good to stand in the spotlight for a week. It’s okay. My time will come. I just