Someone I Used to Know - By Blakney Francis Page 0,18

daughter. He’ll play Barbies with her until even I’m ready to pull their little blonde heads off.” She smiled warmly. “Alfred is just a little more selective with his trust than most people.”

That was something I understood all too well. I gave the big man one more once-over, deciding that by the end of the summer I’d break into his circle…or at least get a smile out of him.

“Fran!” Madeline’s familiar voice snapped. She was sitting in one of the chairs with her back to us, glaring through the mirror. “Quit distracting her. Adley, I need you.”

“It was nice to officially meet you, Fran.” I intentionally lingered. Madeline might have been Fran’s boss, but she wasn’t paying me.

Another member of the infamous entourage had arrived at Madeline’s side a step before me, taking up the only space left available where the hairdresser wasn’t working.

“The director stopped me earlier to gush over your performance yesterday. I told her about all the work we’ve been doing on emotional connectivity, and she agrees the power of your skill has improved greatly.” The older woman’s voice was light and fleeting, her words as quick as a chirping bird, with the same excitable flow. “I told you that our perseverance would pay off!”

I expected Madeline to call the white haired lady on her bullshit. Madeline’s improvement came from a better understanding of what drove the character, not whatever method-acting nonsense this lady was carrying on about. Instead the young redheaded actress remained stoic as she stared at her reflection, absorbing the woman’s words.

I learned right then and there to never underestimate Madeline Little’s drive. There was no task too outrageous, no bit of pride too large, and no line that she wouldn’t cross when it came to being the best actress she could.

“Thank you, Ms. Louna. We’ll work on my diction during the break I have after lunch,” Madeline told her acting coach, dismissing her, if not politely, then certainly efficiently.

I couldn’t help but wonder how much Ms. Louna got paid to feed off Madeline’s insecurities. Judging by the vintage Chanel suit I watched her walk away in, it was a pretty penny. I looked around the room, realizing that without Ms. Louna and with Alfred standing out of sight beyond the door, the only person left of Madeline’s people was Fran, who stood in the corner tapping away at her iPhone.

“Your crew is running a little thin today,” I observed conversationally. There wasn’t anywhere for me to sit, and I felt awkward standing, so I tried to prop myself up on the counter. The move scattered the hairdresser’s utensils in every direction, earning me a mean look from the heavily pierced woman. Great, I’d made another friend.

“If you’re referring to my mother, she’s stuck in legal all day negotiating the terms of my press junket. Rusty is only here in the afternoons to prepare my meals, and my life coach is in my trailer, narrowing down the list for my next project.” All her answers were matter of fact and so foreign to me, it was like she was speaking a different language.

I was temporarily mesmerized by the hairdresser’s skillful hands, as they quickly separated Madeline’s long, auburn locks into sections, before twirling them around a curling iron. The punk looking woman’s movements were so graceful and sure, they reminded me of dancing. As a ballerina, you’re expected to make the most painful, complicated skills look simple, like they’re as easy as floating through the air. If you’re really talented, you can even convince yourself that you’re flying. It was the best feeling in the world.

Unexpected and horrifying, a long forgotten burn of longing lit into me, reminding me that I’d never have that again.

Maybe that was the real reason I wanted to help Madeline. One of us deserved to get to keep our passion.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Adley Adair.” Declan swaggered over to the chair beside Madeline’s. He had a way of sprawling across things like he was trying to see how much space his body could take up. With a leg thrown over one arm and his body slouched low enough to prop his head on the back, I’d say he conquered the chair quite nicely.

“I don’t have time for your teasing today, Davies,” she told him seriously. “I’ve got a character to devour.”

And suddenly, her predatory gaze was back on me. Declan’s smile was amused, peppered with genuine warmth, and it was most certainly not directed at me. It