California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (97 page)

He stared at the prop trailer. Someone was trying to derail his career. Why? Life in Hollywood could be vicious, but nastiness usually stayed with the on-camera folks. Who would want his job so much they were willing to screw up the shoot?

He and Beth Ann had agreed not to hire a security guard, figuring the remote location would be safe. Maybe they’d been wrong.

He went to find the director to tell her what he’d discovered and what he planned to do about it.

• • •

“What happened that had Beth Ann all riled up?” Mandy asked Sally after they’d been working for a while Monday morning.

“Someone broke into one of the prop trailers—stole some stuff.”

“Why on earth would someone do that?” Mandy took fruit from the refrigerator and chopped. “What did they take?”

“A light and a storage box. The light will keep them from night shoots. The box is crucial to the story, and they’ve already shot several scenes with it. The thefts will delay shooting.” Sally paused and looked at Mandy. “That’s bad news for James.”

Mandy shook her head. She may have her own problems with James, but from everything she’d seen, he was a good location manager. “What are they going to do about it?”

“James needs to go to LA to get stronger locks and pick up replacements for the things that disappeared once he can find them.”

Someone knocked on the door.

“C’mon in,” Sally yelled.

The door opened, and a man with the same Southern California good looks as James entered.

“Hi, Doug,” Sally said. “What can I do for you?”

He held out the coffee thermos. “Empty. Since I wanted to come up here and introduce myself to your assistant, I offered to get it filled.”

“Sure.” Sally took the pot to the opposite end of the small kitchen.

“Doug Lambert.” He held out a hand to Mandy.

His grip was warm, but not overbearing, kind of like his easygoing smile.

“Good to meet you,” she said. “How’s it going?”

“The shoot, you mean?”

Mandy nodded.

“Outside of the prop trailer problem, things are going well. I think James should have insisted on a security guard, in spite of the location, though. Maybe he’ll get one up from LA.”

She bristled at the implied criticism, but didn’t say anything. Everyone was entitled to an opinion.

Doug must have sensed her disapproval. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to cast aspersions. Nothing I’d say to Beth Ann, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Here’s your coffee.” Sally handed him the thermos.

“Thanks. I’ll see you around.”

After he left, Mandy said, “Good looking, guy.”

Sally chuckled. “Maybe he could give James a run for his money. By the way, how was your hike?” Sally rolled veggies and lean turkey in corn wraps for the gluten-free, lactose-intolerant crowd.

“Fine.”

Although she didn’t look, Mandy knew Sally was rolling her eyes at her lack of answer. She needed to change the subject. “How did you get started in the movies?”

Sally glanced at her as if debating whether or not to let her off with a one-word answer.

Mandy studiously chopped apples.

“It was an accident, really,” Sally said. “I was going to be an accountant.”

“An accountant? Really?” No way could Mandy imagine Sally behind a desk totaling up numbers and arguing with the IRS.

“Yeah.” Sally chuckled. “Imagine that. I was interning at a CPA firm my senior year at UCLA. One of our clients was a catering firm. They didn’t have a clue about finance.”

Their knives clicked on the cutting boards.

“Did you help them?” Mandy asked.

“I tried. But they were too sure of themselves—two young guys who knew everything already.”

Mandy knew the type. There were a few of them who’d tried waiting at the grill, but left after management refused to listen to their fantastic ideas. “So you took over.”

Sally shrugged. “Eventually. They needed to sell. I had the money to buy. My parents had trouble accepting my decision. They wanted me to have a ‘safe’ career.”

“Do they still talk to you?”

“They died about ten years ago—within two weeks of each other—but they forgave me years ago when they realized how happy I was.”

Metal spoons scraped against stainless steel bowls.

“When was the last time you talked to your dad?” Sally asked.

Mandy hadn’t derailed Sally after all. “Never.” Mandy threw the bowl into the sink where it landed with a loud clank.

“How come?” Sally asked. “And take it easy with the kitchenware.”

“Why do you care?” Mandy knew she was being snippy, but she didn’t like anyone prying into her relationship with her parents.

“Dana gave me my first big film to cater. He’s a good guy.”

Silence reverberated against the metal walls.

“You should reach out,” Sally said. “Your mother’s version of the truth may have been distorted.”

“I don’t care.”

“Maybe you should.”

There was nothing else to chop.

Sally walked toward her. “What’s really going on, Mandy? You don’t seem as happy as you were in July.”

Mandy put down her knife and leaned against the counter. She needed to talk to someone.

“My life’s a mess. I’m already in my mid-twenties, and I don’t have a career, my mother is crazy, and I can’t seem to get a decent man interested in me.”

“I see.” Sally grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and poured coffee in each, adding a dollop of milk and several large teaspoons of sugar to hers before handing one to Mandy.

“You told me you had a catering business,” Sally said.

“I can’t seem to get it off the ground. I don’t know how to market like the other women I know. Sure, people who know me or hear about me from people I know hire me, but I can’t get a real business off the ground. I’m just no good at anything.”

Sally took a sip of her coffee. “That’s how I eventually built my business—word of mouth. It’s effective, but it does take a while. Most people who start out in business don’t know what they’re doing in the beginning. Why are you being so hard on yourself?”

Mandy drank from her own cup, the bitter brew echoing her doubting thoughts.

“I should be able to do something with my life, shouldn’t I?”

“What are you running away from?”

Being crazy.
Of course, if she actually told Sally that, her boss would fire her in a New York minute. She put down her mug.

Sally took another sip of her coffee and leaned back, as if she was considering something weighty. Her voice was soft when she spoke. “I was just starting out in the business when your parents broke up. There were lots of rumors swirling around, particularly about your mother. She’s bipolar, isn’t she?”

There had to be something else to chop.

“As I said, your father gave me my first catering job while he was still a location manager and many more after that. We became friends of a sort.” Sally hesitated, as if she was figuring out how best to tell her story. “According to him, Lola would be desperate for his affection. She’d spend weeks in her room asleep. Then one day, if he still hadn’t given her what she considered enough, she’d look for it elsewhere, flaunt her indiscretion. He’d look the other way, figuring it was his fault for being too involved in his work. Then he’d try to make it up to her. She’d come around, and everything’d be okay for a while.”

Mandy vaguely remembered her parents screaming followed by broken plates, jewelry flushed down the toilet, and slamming doors. She began to scrub the dishes. “Lola insists Dana was the unfaithful one.”

Sally shrugged. “I’m only telling you what he told me. Word around town is Dana Russell is a decent man.” She touched Mandy’s arm. “I really think you should talk to him, give him a chance to tell you his side of the story. Maybe not knowing the whole truth is getting in your way of happiness.”

If Mandy didn’t have to help Sally get ready for lunch, she’d bolt out the door and run as far as she could away from this conversation.

Sally put her coffee cup down. “Mandy, can I talk to you about something?”

May as well get it over with.
Mandy nodded.

“I’ve worked with you a while now,” Sally said, her eyes steady on Mandy’s. “You’re a good employee and a creative cook, friendly and outgoing, in spite of what sounds like a rough childhood. Sometimes we get stuck in life. All our best thinking can’t get us out of our muddle. That’s when it’s good to talk to someone—a therapist, a minister, a coach, or someone like that.”

Mandy faked a grin. “I’ve got you.”

Sally’s look made her want to crawl into bed and hide.

“If you want to fix the problems you talked about—career, boyfriend, etcetera—you’re going to need to start with yourself. When the shoot’s done and you’re back in Costanoa, see someone, Mandy.” She put her hand back on Mandy’s arm. “I care about you, girl. Do it for me.”

Talking to someone who might commit her like her mother? Not likely.

All of a sudden there wasn’t enough air in the trailer. Mandy pulled off her apron and placed it on the counter. “I’ll be right back. I forgot something.”

She fled the small confines and headed away from the set, across the meadows as fast as she could.

Jays screeched, and squirrels scolded her from the lonely trees scattered about the meadow. Mandy’s breath grew ragged, her lungs unaccustomed to running in the thin mountain air.

She stopped near one of the large boulders that littered the meadow. Alert for snakes and other slithering critters, she made her way to it and sank down next to its embrace, hidden away from the trail.

The tears she’d been fighting since she bolted from the trailer spilled out. She buried her face in her arms, to still the keening noise she knew would echo across the field.

What am I going to do?

She didn’t want to turn out like her mother. Lola was a caricature of herself, an aging actress desperate for the love of the crowd. In her heart Mandy had always known her mother’s version of the truth was limited, but it hadn’t seemed worth the effort to invite chaos into the house by questioning her mother’s words. Life had been crazy enough as it was.

Crazy. Am I going to turn out to be as nuts as the woman who raised me?

God, she missed Costanoa, her friends, and her routine. Maybe that’s what kept her stable. Lola was right—Hollywood’s fast-paced living wasn’t for her.

Except Mandy enjoyed the excitement and pressure of the job. Changing a starlet’s pout to a delighted moue entertained her. The stress of the job made Mandy feel more alive than almost anything she’d ever done.

Was she ready to go back to the humdrum reality of Costanoa?

Tears started to flow again. This time Mandy allowed herself to cry.

A few minutes later, a deep voice startled her. “What’s the matter?”

She jumped up.

George Stubbins grabbed her arms. “Easy now. Didn’t mean to spook you.”

His grip was firm—too firm.

She shook her arms, and he let go. “I’m fine. Thanks. How’d you see me?”

“I was on my way to the set and I saw you bolt from the cook trailer.” He grinned, but the expression wasn’t reassuring.

“And you followed me?” She moved away from the trail to put more of the rock between them.

He splayed his hands. “You looked upset. I was worried.”

“Yeah.” She took another step away from him.

He closed the distance between them. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Mandy. Did you ask your mother about me? We had a real sweet time together.” He put his hand on her arm again. “I treat women really well.”

She looked at the offending hand, but he didn’t take the hint. If anything, he gripped her arm tighter.

She scanned the meadow, but the few tourists were dots near the tree line.

“You’re real pretty, Mandy.” He stepped into her space.

She could smell his coffee-laced breath. Her stomach churned, and her mind raced as she tried to channel her inner movie adventuress. With George’s bulk there wasn’t much she could do physically.

But she was an actor’s daughter.

After commanding her stomach to stay still, she turned into George and placed her right hand on his chest. “How nice of you to say so, George. I haven’t talked to my mother about you yet, because I wanted to keep you all to myself. She’s the jealous type, you know.”

His hand relaxed a bit, and he laughed. “She sure is.”

Just a little more. She rubbed her hand on his flannel shirt, playing with the buttons as if she was going to undress him.

“We can have a real good time, but this place is a little public,” he said.

She placed her left palm on his shirt so her hands were about a foot apart, and forced her face into a pout. “When can we meet, George? I do want to get to know you better.” A wheedling tone should do the trick. It always worked for Lola.

He released her arm.

She shoved him, spun, and ran.

“I’ll get you, bitch!” George yelled.

As much as she wanted to, she didn’t pause to give him the finger.

Her lungs were aching by the time she made it back to the safety of the trailer, but she felt higher than she had in days. She didn’t need anyone’s help to handle a jerk like George Stubbins; she could do it on her own.

She didn’t have to be a victim.

Even if her mother’s illness was passed on to her, there must be answers. Things had changed. Doctors knew more. Didn’t they? Tomorrow she’d leave after her shift and go down to the valley. She’d spend the night in Yosemite Lodge with Internet access
and
a private shower.

Heaven.

• • •

By 5:00
P.M.
the next day, she was basking in hot water streaming from her own personal shower. Water sluiced over her skin, rinsing off the suds from the Shea butter soap she’d brought from home. Coconut scent teased her nose from her shampoo and conditioner.

Paradise was hot water in a freshly cleaned shower.

After toweling off, she climbed into her sweats and turned on her tablet. She spent the next hour surfing the Internet, searching for information on bipolar symptoms and treatment, trying to avoid desperation as she saw terms like hospitalization, electroconvulsive therapy, and psychotic episodes.