the stories, who grab the trash at the checkout counter while the grocery store clerk’s ringing up their cans of tuna.”
“I know they do it to you, too.”
“Yeah. I can usually ignore. But I had someone I was pretty serious about last year. I go out to dinner with my costar, and somebody gets a picture of us smiling at each other, and wham-bam, it’s all over everywhere we’re doing it and hard. I could shrug it off, but the guy I was seeing couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He more than half believed it, so . . .”
She shrugged, drank more tea. “That ended that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. I really cared about him.” Smiling, she poked Cate in the arm. “Even though he turned into a dickwad.”
At the knock on the door, Darlie glanced over.
“You’re wanted on set, Ms. Maddigan, Ms. Sullivan.”
“Thanks! It’ll fade off,” she told Cate. “Somebody’ll cheat on somebody or get knocked up with somebody’s baby or get busted for a DUI. There’s always something. So.”
She rose, tipped her head right and left to loosen her neck. “Keep those tits high.”
“They’re high.” Sliding out from the table, Cate gave hers a quick boost to prove it. “You’ve just got better ones than I do.”
Lips pursed, Darlie looked down. “True. But you’ve got longer legs. Come on, girlfriend, let’s take my tits and your legs and go nail this scene.”
The work helped. Having someone outside family, someone close to her own age to talk to helped. Her small, supporting role wrapped in a matter of weeks—and Darlie proved right—the bulk of the media attention faded off.
With her father on location for at least a week, she waited until her grandfather had a day off the call list to corner him.
She found him in his office with its view of a three-tiered fountain and wide green lawn.
Piles of scripts and notes littered his desk where he sat in a pale blue polo shirt and khakis. He still sported Gramps’s grizzly beard.
“Finally! Company to spare me from scripts that have me stupid enough to be seduced by a girl barely older than you for my money.”
“Really?”
“That’s before I end up strangling her.” He tossed the script down.
“Maybe you’d read one that doesn’t have you stupid. Or have a part for you at all.”
He eyed the one in her hand. “But one for you?”
“I got three from my agent this week. But you probably know since he’s your agent, too.”
“I heard a rumor.” Recognizing the question on her face, Hugh shook his head. “I didn’t ask Joel to send you anything, or pull any other strings. But he mentioned three came in he thought you should read—and two of them specifically asked him to send you.”
“That’s what he said. This is one of the two. Can I leave it with you?”
“Of course you can.”
Something, Cate thought. Something in his voice. “Is something wrong?”
“Why don’t you put that on my stack here, then take a walk with me? I could use the exercise, the air, the gardens.”
“Something’s wrong.” But she put down the script. “Did I screw up something with Jute?”
“You were perfect.” Rising, he came around the desk, put an arm around her as he walked her out of the office. “We should wrap next week. On time, on budget. Small miracles.”
They walked out over tiled floors the color of honey, under ceilings that soared. The Grand Salon, they called it, to highlight the baby grand piano, the silk-covered sofas, the Georgian antique tables and cabinets.
“I do have some news,” he said as he steered her toward the arching double doors. “It’s going to upset you.”
“Is something wrong with G-Lil? With you?”
“No.” He nudged her outside, across a patio to one of the garden paths. “We’re healthy as horses. I thought I’d wait until your dad was back and Lily was here, but I don’t want you to hear about it before they are.”
“You’re scaring me. Just tell me.”
“They granted Charlotte parole.”
“She’s . . .” Everything in her went still for a moment. She saw a butterfly, so light, so free, flutter and flutter before it landed—yellow as butter—on a deep blue flower.
“I don’t think she’ll come back here, Catey. She has to stay in the state, for now, but I don’t think she’d come back to L.A. There’s nothing for her here but derision and embarrassment.”
“How do you know she’s getting out?”
“Red Buckman keeps us informed. You remember Sheriff Buckman?”
“Yes.” And there was a dragonfly, quick and iridescent, just a flash of color,