“Colby Bright. Love your work on Shallow End,” he says, and I don’t even think he’s mocking me.
“All right. Settle down,” someone yells.
A hush falls over the set.
“Go head,” Mr. Southgate says.
“Uh.” I stare at my script. “Are there any—”
“Nope. Let’s see how you interpret the role first, Mallory. We’ll go from there.”
Great.
Recalling how nervous I was my first few weeks in L.A. I don’t need direction or to have the lines memorized. I am Brittany, the fish out of water. The hopeful girl with a world of opportunity in front of her. The words come out easily and I only have to glance at the script a few times.
“Interesting interpretation,” Mr. Southgate says slowly. I can’t tell if that means he’s happy, impressed, or annoyed.
“Can you try the first scene with a little less of the tight-assed stiffness?” the casting agent calls out. “Looser. More sugar.”
Doesn’t sound like I impressed him.
Colby leans in closer. “He’s just testing you to see how well you take direction.”
We go through the scene and for some reason, I interpret “more sugar” as “southern belle” and end up doing my best Pamela impression—swaying hips, slow southern drawl, and all. And my character’s supposed to be from Nebraska.
Mr. Southgate and the casting agent are doubled-over laughing when we finish. My cheeks flame. Marilyn handed me an almost-guaranteed role and I blew it.
“That would have been perfect on Plantation, Mallory,” he says, naming one of his older shows. “Ignore Kurtis, darling. Your first interpretation of Brittany was divine.”
Kurtis side-eyes Mr. Southgate. “We’ll let you know, Mallory.”
Dismissed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mallory
The dull throb of exhaustion beats against my forehead as I slip my key into the front door lock. The last week of filming has been one sixteen-hour day after another. I’ve called Marilyn to ask about the Ocean Ave. audition so many times, I’m pretty sure she’s started dodging my calls.
Inside our house, Chaser’s rushing around the living room, stuffing his wallet in his pocket and searching the coffee table for something. All I’ve been looking forward to tonight is a nice, quiet evening home together, but he appears to have other plans.
He stops and smiles when he sees me. “Hey, how was your day?”
“Long. Where are you going?”
My clipped answer wipes the smile off his face. “We have a gig tonight.”
“What? Why? Where?” My voice rises in pitch with each question. I blow out a breath to calm myself. As we move closer to the date when Chaser has to leave to record the album, the more I resent any time we have to spend apart.
“Last minute thing Thom set up for us at the Cathouse. Supposed to be a big ‘surprise’ show.”
“Aren’t you guys too big to play the Cathouse now?”
He cocks his head. “The second I start thinking like that, is when this all goes away.”
“You know what I mean.” I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue with him. Obviously, this is a done deal. I can’t help the disappointment digging into my chest. “You just came off a huge tour. You’re about to leave to record an album and go on another tour.” Oh, I hate the bitter tone that crept into my voice on that last couple words.
Chaser notices it too. His face twists with annoyance. “We still need all the exposure we can get, Mallory.”
“I was looking forward to spending time with you tonight,” I admit. “That’s all.”
His face softens. “Me too. Believe me, I wasn’t thrilled when Thom called.”
Join the club. I’m never happy to hear from Thom. I keep that to myself as I walk down to the bedroom. Chaser follows and stands in the doorway, watching me undress.
“Thom also wants us to check out a band he thinks would be a good fit to open for us.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall.
“Why don’t you sound more excited about it?”
He shrugs.
“Who’s the band?”
“Iron Kiss. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of them.”
“The name sounds familiar. Are they not a good fit? Musically, I mean?”
“They’re all right. Their lead guitarist does some interesting stuff. Their image is similar enough to ours.”
“You still seem hesitant.”
He shrugs. “I’ll sound like a massive hypocrite.” His mouth twitches. “They have a big party reputation.”
“Ahhh, I see. You don’t want to be Shooting Fences, killing everyone’s fun with their sobriety coach.”
He doubles over laughing. “Jesus Christ, I hadn’t even thought of it that way, but yeah, I guess so.” Shaking his head, he wipes the smile off his