Reel (Hollywood Renaissance #1) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,6

Camille.”

“Bet.” I flick my chin up and lift my empty glass so our server can see I need a refill. “We got our studio. Our writer. Our music. Now if I can just find Dessi. I don’t want to cast the guy until I know who Dessi’ll be. I need to see who she’ll have chemistry with.”

“Makes sense,” Monk says distractedly, looking down at the phone by his plate. “Oh, damn. Good for her.”

“Good for who? What’s up?”

“A few weeks ago, an old friend begged me to step into this gig for him in the Village.” He picks up the phone, smiling. “His wife went into labor and he didn’t want to leave the band hanging.”

“So he asked you?” I blow out an impressed breath. “Must go way back.”

Monk’s a big deal. Asking him to sub at a local gig is like bringing in LeBron for a pick-up game on the playground.

“It was fun. Whatever.” Monk shrugs and smirks. “So there’s this chick singing with the band that night and she was phenomenal. Sick with it. Like ‘star’ written all over her. It’s only a matter of time with this one.”

“What’s her name?”

“Oh, you’ve never heard of her. Neevah Saint. I started following her on Instagram after that gig. Anyway, she just posted that she’s in that Broadway play Splendor. She’s an understudy, and apparently the lead actress is on vacation so she’s stepping in tonight for the first time.”

He glances at his watch and then to me. “What you got going on? You wanna catch a show?”

“You think we can get tickets day of? With such short notice?”

He gives me a do you know who I am look. “Bruh, I always got a hook up.”

“I was gonna look at first passes Verity sent over of the script.”

“Screw that. We’re in New York. Come on. You work too hard.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Yeah, but I play hard, too. Extract the stick from your ass at least for tonight.”

“Wow. You really know how to charm a guy.”

“Bruh, we way past charm. I’m dragging you down to this show.”

I stare glumly into my empty glass. “Aw, hell.”

“Aw hell my ass.” He signals to the server who never made it over with my refill. “Check, please.”

2

Neevah

“Calling to wish you luck tonight, Neevah. Sorry I can’t be there.”

Listening to my mother’s voicemail, I hear the regret in her voice, but it doesn’t lessen my disappointment that she’s not here.

“I had surgery and you know my knee ain’t been right ever since,” she goes on. “Traveling that long on a bus would be hard. Anyway, I’m so proud of you. We all are. I love you.”

She doesn’t fly.

I’m only in the role for a week.

She has obligations at home.

I rehearse the litany of reasons my mother cannot be here when I need her like I have many times over the last decade. Like I did my first semester in college. And when I was struggling after graduation. I toured with a play once and we did a show in Charlotte. It was a small role, but Mama came. She beamed with pride over the couple of lines I had onstage for only a few minutes. How would she feel tonight seeing me on Broadway as the star of the show?

“You got this,” my hairstylist and best friend Takira says, jarring me from my thoughts and bringing me back to the dressing room as I prepare to go on.

Her words echo the mantra I’ve been chanting internally ever since I found out I’d be stepping in for the lead actress tonight. I’ve actually known for a few weeks because her vacation was planned, but this is the first night I’m actually doing it. On Broadway. Stomach in knots. Possibly vomiting.

“I’m gonna ruin this costume with these big ol’ sweat circles.” I laugh and lift my arms. “My nerves. Oh, my God. I just want to get this over with.”

Takira sticks another pin in to secure the long wig I’m wearing for the part.

“I repeat.” She catches my eyes in the mirror, resting her chin in the crook of my neck and squeezing my shoulders. “You got this. Truth be told, I thought Elise would never go on vacation ’cause she knows her understudy can sing her out of the water and act her under the table. She didn’t want folks seeing how good her backup actually is.” She winks at me. “But tonight they will.”

Will they? I don’t care if anyone thinks I’m better than the principal. I