white marble kitchen counter in sunny Los Angeles. The man servicing her infinity pool stared at her in her baby blue bikini through the automated open wall between her backyard and kitchen. She turned away from him, killing his view, and stared at her phone’s readout in disbelief. Her agent was calling for the first time in months. She wasn’t calling Alika. Alika was calling her. At long fucking last. She picked up without hesitation, hoping silently for an offer, an audition, anything to get her feeling like she was working again. Alika Moore had been dodging her calls for weeks, so to have her reach out now had Carly’s heart hammering with anticipation.
“Hey, Alika. Just catching some rays.” Carly forced a smile because she knew it would make her sound happier. She always made a point to sound breezy and successful, even though they both knew her career was circling the toilet. “How’s your day?”
“Been busy out there,” Alika said. She had a lot of clients, and Carly was now probably low priority after her star had fallen so publicly. She was lucky her agent hadn’t dropped her altogether. “I’m calling because, wonder of wonders, we have an offer on the table.”
Carly closed her eyes and thanked heaven above. “Tell me it’s Barrow’s latest film. I don’t even mind auditioning for him, which we both know I haven’t had to do in a while. Plus, he loves me, so it would just be a formality.” She and director Jay Barrow had been talking about working together for the past two years, and his new film had the perfect role for her. She’d read the script three times, reveled in the dialogue, the rich characterization, and the fantastic plot twist toward the end that would have audiences talking for weeks. She was ready to report when and where they needed her.
“I called on it already. They passed.”
Carly started to speak and stopped. She turned around and stared at her white cabinets with the glass insets. That didn’t make sense. Jay told her she was a favorite actress of his and he was dying to work with her. “Did you tell them I’d audition? I’ll prove what I have to prove.”
“I told them you’d audition. I told them you’d be in bed every night by eleven. I told them they could have your firstborn. They passed, Carly. They’re all passing, and if we don’t do something to turn this around, this whole hands-off Carly Daniel policy that’s circulating the studio system is going to be permanent.”
Carly frowned. She’d behaved badly, partied too hard, and taken advantage of her status in Hollywood, imagining she’d be solid no matter what she did, including holding up production when she’d failed to make her call times. She’d fallen into the Valley of the Stupid and was paying for it mightily. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if that hotheaded director hadn’t run to every media outlet who would listen and exaggerated all that had happened. It didn’t matter how sorry she was, or how vehemently she planned to be different moving forward. No more late partying. No more late arrivals, no more pushy opinions, and definitely no more hookups who would tell all to the tabloids. She truly regretted that one night with the Norwegian woman who sold compromising photos of them to The Inquirer. Her kingdom for a time machine. Yet she’d been on the straight and narrow for months now, and no one cared. Well, maybe until now. She backtracked to the important part, leaving the Barrow news in the past. “But there’s an offer?”
“Not one you’re going to be thrilled with, but if you ask me, we’re lucky to get it.” There was a weariness in Alika’s tone, and the words themselves didn’t bode well, either.
“Okay, I guess. Tell me about it?”
“The McAllister Theater in Minneapolis is mounting a production of a new play, Starry Nights.”
Carly squinted and noticed absently her tan was in great shape. That was a bonus, at least. “Like the Van Gogh painting?”
“The script is inspired by the painting, yes, and I’ve gotta be honest with you, it’s good. The director, Ethan Moore—no relation, by the way—has offered you one of the two lead roles.”
Carly shook her head, picked up her smoothie, and walked. “But stage work? Think about it, Alika, no. That’s not who I am. It’s not what I do.” She sighed dramatically. “If this offer was Broadway, then maybe. I could at least