Ella was so nervous about going to the movie set Tuesday morning. Would she trip over some wires when she got there? Would anyone look at her and talk about her behind their hand to someone else? Would they say, “That’s the woman who came on board because of Hank? Maybe she can’t even act?”
Or did only Isabel and Samantha know how she got the part?
She had no idea. She simply had to hold her head up high.
“You’ll be amazing,” her mother said that morning as she held Ella’s cheeks between her hands. She had tears in her eyes. “Your papa would be so proud. He is proud.” She looked up to the ceiling and blew a kiss. Luckily, they were in the living room, not the kitchen, where Jupiter would have been the recipient of Mama’s affection. No, her kiss went all the way up to Heaven.
“Thanks, Mama.” Ella had tears in her eyes too. “It’s not a big part, but yes, Papa would be excited for me.”
“Don’t forget your nonnas!” said Nonna Boo. “We’re proud too.”
She and Nonna Sofia were snug in the new recliners Cosmo had sent down from New York. They were ergonomically designed, he said, especially for beautiful ladies from Sicily who didn’t feel like pushing themselves out of their chairs. These chairs pushed them out without their help. The seat cushions rose up and gently placed the nonnas right onto the carpet.
“That’s right,” said Nonna Sofia. “Samantha Drake better watch out.”
Ella heard that over and over that morning. She’d stopped by her mother’s, leaving Hank on his own with that big box of doughnuts her friends had left them. At a nerve-wracking time like this, she needed her family too.
But now she was on the movie set. She’d been preparing for it in her head, and it was nothing—absolutely nothing—like what she’d imagined. Nobody was lounging around with clipboards, staring at the morning arrivals, ready to size them up. In fact, when Ella got to the portion of a block of King Street that had been cordoned off and was surrounded by trucks, including the “Desi” and “Lucy” restroom truck, which was found on most movie sets, she couldn’t find anyone, and that was because they weren’t there, according to a police officer watching all the equipment. She’d been supposed to meet the cast and crew in a nearby music hall, a sort of glorified bar with a massive floor and a stage at one end, a popular watering hole and music venue for regional and even national acts. They were going to do a read-through on chairs on the stage, and on the floor was going to be another big breakfast spread.
Ella was legitimately hungry now. She hadn’t had time to eat at her mother’s, and that had concerned both Mama and the nonnas. They’d tried to get her to have a little grappa to soothe her, but she reminded them that nine o’clock in the morning wasn’t anywhere close to happy hour. She needed to be sharp on set.
She hoped Hank wouldn’t be watching her, to make sure she was living up to the description of her he’d given the producer and director. On the other hand, she hoped Samantha would be more interactive today. After all, they were doing several scenes together.
Her nerves came back when she walked through the doors of the music hall. Lots of people milled about, plates in hand, filling up at the breakfast buffet. She caught the back of Hank’s head and her heart leaped. She didn’t want to be happy to see him, but she was. Samantha was next to him, her hair done up in a gorgeous chignon. They were talking animatedly as they strolled over to a picnic table and sat down. No one joined them, Ella saw.
“Hi, I’m Ella Mancini,” she said to a person with Bluetooth earbuds and an iPad, not a clipboard.
“Great,” the girl said, and tapped on her iPad. “Gotcha signed in. Why don’t you get some breakfast? The read-through starts in twenty.”
“Okay,” said Ella, and then was left alone. People walked right by her and didn’t even notice she was there. In this crowd, she was a big nobody. But that didn’t mean she had to be ashamed of her small role. No, it meant that she was a genuine actor who took parts for the love of the dramatic arts. She did this because it was like breathing to her. She couldn’t imagine never being able to act in a play. Or in this case, a movie. She had to be around a stage or a set. Not that she had a whole lot of experience on a set, but she had a little. She’d been in several commercials in New York.
“Fine,” she said under her breath. And then realized, with utter shock, that she hadn’t read the script they’d sent over for her to peruse the night before—
And she’d never even noticed.
Because she’d been out with Pammy and Hank at dinner, with his professional cohorts. And when they got home several hours later, Ella did her best to avoid Hank by making Pammy cheese toast under the oven broiler, which fascinated Pammy, who had only used toaster ovens and pop-up toasters before that night. But then Hank wanted some cheese toast because Ella had bought really good Jarlsberg and Irish cheddar, and while she was cutting it, she realized she did too, especially because she’d bought a loaf of brioche, her favorite kind of bread.
So they sat around the kitchen table eating gooey cheese toast and drinking Prosecco, and they never discussed the movie for even one second. Ella tried not to directly address Hank, focusing instead on how Samantha had behaved to Pammy outside the yacht club and what it was like for Pammy to grow up in Oregon. And then right as they’d decided to call it quits for the night, they went to play pool at the Blind Tiger. And there Pammy asked Hank how he’d met Ella, and he went through the whole Serendipity 3 story very quickly. He’d been a busboy. He’d met Ella there and vowed to meet her again, four years later, after she graduated.
And they had. Neither one had forgotten their date.
“And that was that,” he said, and then had lousy luck sinking all the solid balls on the green baize top of the pool table.
At least for a while, that was that, Ella had thought, and went on to beat both Hank and Pammy at pool. And while she appreciated that Hank didn’t linger over the details of their relationship with a bunch of sappy, romantic comments, she also felt sad that their love story didn’t matter anymore.
And now here she was the next morning standing in a music hall, picking up a paper plate to fill it with eggs and grits and bacon. The brave Mancini in her decided she was going to be social and sit at a table with people she didn’t know and leave Hank and Samantha to themselves. She wasn’t going to run after either one of them.
Of course, she wasn’t supposed to anyway. They were the stars.
So she sat with two camera grips and a makeup artist. They’d all been to school in North Carolina to learn their trade, and over the course of their training, they’d become NASCAR fans, which she knew nothing about. But she managed, somehow, to engage with each of them and have a good time. And finish off her plate. That would make Mama happy.
However, Ella wasn’t happy. She watched Hank and Samantha ignore everyone and stay chitchatting at their own private picnic table. Samantha was beautiful when she was engaged. It was why the world and the camera loved her. The expressions she could conjure!
She was using them to full effect on Hank.
“Look at the lovebirds,” one of the camera grips said, and laughed. He sounded a little bitter.
“Isn’t it too early for that kind of talk?” asked the makeup artist, with a wry lift to one of her brows. “I mean, come on. It’s his first day. Give him a break.”
“Those kind of people don’t work on the world’s usual timelines,” the grip said. “And ten years’ difference in age is nothing. Especially with the miracles plastic surgeons work these days.”
“That kind of flirting is everywhere,” the other grip said. “They’re no different from us. If I were straight, I’d want to hook up with Samantha the first day I met her if I had the chance, wouldn’t you?”
The first grip shrugged. “Sure. But gossiping is fun. It makes the day go faster.”
Ella didn’t know what to say. She focused on finishing up her coffee. Inside, she felt stupid for caring that Hank and Samantha were already being talked about as a couple.
“Have you ever met either one of them?” the second grip, the one without a chip on his shoulder, asked her.
“Yes,” said Ella. She wasn’t going to lie and be caught out about it. “I had dinner with them last night.”
“Whoa,” said the makeup girl. “That’s a big deal.”
Ella balled up her napkin, picked up her plate and plastic utensils, and stood. “I’d never met Samantha before. But Hank and I are friends from back in our audition days in New York.”
“Ohhh,” said the grouchy grip. His neck got slightly red.
“Just friends,” Ella said. “And we lost touch ten years ago. But I have to be honest because you’ll probably hear this from another source: Without Hank, I wouldn’t have this part.”
“Really,” the second grip said, sounding fascinated.
“I know I can handle it,” Ella said. “But when the other actor withdrew, Hank got me in. I live here and do a lot of community theater. I gave up my professional acting ambitions long ago. I’m a full-time matchmaker. My colleagues are filling in for me at work, and my part is very small. But it’ll be fun.”
“I love your attitude,” said the makeup girl. “It’s refreshing to see someone not so ruthlessly ambitious, who’s here for fun. God, I’ve almost forgotten what that feels like, doing this gig for fun.”
Ella felt a twinge of guilt. She’d been daydreaming about making a comeback. About getting a second chance. That was ruthlessly ambitious, wasn’t it? And she was agreeing to live with her ex just so she could get a part in Forever Road!
“But you have a lot to prove too,” the first grip said. “I feel that in you.”
“I guess I do,” said Ella. “How many actors get to be in a scene with Samantha Drake? I’m in three, and I’m really grateful.”
The makeup girl smiled. “Thanks for letting us know how you fit in. There’s nothing worse than finding stuff out that you wish you’d already known before you spout off at the mouth. Which we just did.” She angled her head toward Samantha and Hank’s table.
“No big deal.” Ella chuckled. “But I’ve made it a practice not to gossip on set.” Looking back on her short couple of years working as an actor in New York, she saw that that was true. She’d been a professional. She’d been the same way in community theater—refused to become involved in the various soap operas that developed over the course of a show. “It’s tough, considering how juicy the stories can get, but I got more jobs the less I was involved in the drama.”
“You’re speaking in past tense,” said the second grip. “Girlfriend, you’re here. Now. You’re back.”
Ella felt a thrill at those words. “Wow,” she said, “thanks for helping me feel I belong.”
“I want to hear about your matchmaking job,” the makeup girl said.
“Me too,” said the grouchy grip. “I have no luck in love.”
But the read-through was upon them. The girl with the Bluetooth earbuds stood up in front of everyone at a mic and told them to find their places. A rush of nerves shot through Ella. She couldn’t believe she was doing a read-through without ever having seen the script.
She was living dangerously, she supposed. And why not? What did she really have to lose here? It wasn’t like she had a lot of lines to say, anyway. Not to mention that she had Two Love Lane and a very rich life in Charleston. She glanced over and saw Hank, still talking to Samantha. He caught her eye—she saw him light up, which made her heart beat faster—and he gestured for her to come over.
She gestured back that it was time to go to the stage: she pointed at an invisible watch on her wrist, then pointed at the circle of chairs. But she smiled too. They could be friends. That wouldn’t hurt anything, as long as they were friends from across the room, like now.
Don’t believe it, a warning voice inside reminded her. Even from across the room is too close.
Samantha caught her smile right before it disappeared and looked pointedly away, moving toward the stage like a swan. Ella had to wonder whatever happened to girl power when it came to Samantha. Or was she all about it, and Ella simply didn’t know her well enough to understand how she worked? If Ella were a big star, she would never look away from another woman in a smaller role who was only trying to be friendly—
And had secret, nefarious plans to make Samantha her best friend.
Oh, well. Maybe that was what kept Samantha so removed, at least from her. She might sense Ella wanted to ride her coattails to some great acting role. Even famous people wanted to be valued for themselves, right? Surely, they didn’t want to be seen as nothing more than a rung on a ladder to someone else’s dream.
Hank had told Ella just last night walking home from playing pool at the Blind Tiger that it had been great to be there. No one had bothered him. Usually, he had people cozying up to him all the time, wanting something from him. It got old, he’d said.
Pammy had retorted, “Save your famous-people problems for people who care.”
And Hank had challenged her to an arm wrestle for that remark once they got back to the house. Apparently, they used to do that growing up, and they were fairly evenly matched. A few minutes later, they were sitting at the kitchen table again, and he won, but Pammy said it was because she was laughing so hard and that she’d beat him next time. Hank then challenged Ella to a thumb wrestle, and she said no, her thumb needed working out, and she only played games she could win, like Scrabble.
They vowed to play Scrabble soon. And next thing they knew, Pammy left the kitchen. She’d drunk too much at the Blind Tiger. Ella and Hank had to awkwardly head to their rooms at the same time, so Hank stayed downstairs to wait while Ella was in the bathroom upstairs getting ready for bed. She hustled and jumped into bed and forgot to shut her door. So he shut it, and before he did, said, “Good night. Tonight was fun,” and she said, “Yes, it was. I’m glad I beat you at pool.” He chuckled and said, “What a gracious winner you are,” and she laughed, and said, “Thanks for including me in the dinner.” And he replied, “My pleasure.”
And then they both sort of froze in silence at the word “pleasure” and he shut the door, but too slowly, and she lay in bed a whole hour thinking of how cute he was, especially his butt and his shoulders when he’d leaned over the pool table. And then she tried to forget by remembering her birthday that long-ago night, when he’d forgotten it, and she’d gotten no ring or surprise party but just that news about him getting the movie, and how the next morning, they’d split up.
And she cried again before she fell asleep.
Why was she crying all these years later?