of age story in East L.A.’ s gangland. Bill hadn’t minded sharing most aspects of what it’d been like growing up in the barrio but there was one thing he never shared with anyone, and never would.
“It could be our first script, Bill. With a hot screenwriter and a hot up-and-coming director…” He jabbed his thumb at himself, Bill. “My parents are willing to be our first investors, although we’d need to raise the rest. I think we can do it.”
Bill paused. “You’re my best friend, Jimmie, but I gotta say no. It took years to nail this first AD spot. Gordon’s still the director on this week’s shoot, but he’s stepping aside and letting me take the reins for a few days. If I pull it off, I’ll be bagging my first directing gig with Sin.”
First AD—Assistant Director—was the number two spot on the set, right below director. As such, Bill was basically the jack-of-all-trades on the set, but that wasn’t good enough. He wanted to call the shots, be number one. Being the oldest of five kids, as well the man of the house after his dad split, Bill had decided early on that the world belonged to those who stayed strong and focused.
And his focus was to make his mark as a film director.
Which meant he said no to anything that got in his way, even his best pal’s business idea.
“Look,” he said, lowering his voice, “if I hear of anyone wanting to start up an indie, I’ll put them in touch with you, okay?”
“Not that I don’t appreciate that, but my first choice will always be you.”
Bill groaned. “Is this the part where I say ‘We’ll always have Paris’?”
Jimmie laughed, gave his pal a friendly slap on the back. “I’ll stop laying on the guilt. Besides, you have better things to do. Do you know how many guys would kill to fill in for the director on a cattle call for babes in bikinis?”
Bill caught Mandy’s wave. Next audition was ready.
“Yeah, it’s a burden, but somebody’s gotta do it.”
He gave a go-ahead nod to Mandy, a small gesture toward a big career. People like Jim just didn’t get it.
IN THE BACKSTAGE TENT provided for those auditioning to be extras, Ellie checked herself out in a mirror, amazed yet again at her transformation from a goth chick to this bad-girl blonde in a good-time bikini. Most of it thanks to Sara, who’d woken Ellie up at the crack of dawn and helped wrangle her into beach babe shape.
Ellie looked around at the other extra wannabes hanging out in the small blue tent. They’d all shown up at 7:00 a.m. to sign up, and in the hour since, they’d spent their time primping, talking and drinking the free coffee from one of several urns. Free, but disgustingly bad-tasting coffee, although no one except Ellie seemed to notice.
Which was the only bad thing—besides her bad-girl blond hair—about this whole adventure. Now that she was here, she was psyched to audition. It felt silly but fun to try out for a walk-on part on Sin on the Beach. And although it felt a little odd, it was nice to do something for herself instead of everybody else.
“Ellie Rockwell?” asked a harried teenage boy wearing a Sin on the Beach festival T-shirt and khaki shorts. He looked around the tent while speaking in low tones into his headset.
“Yes?”
“You’re next. Follow me.” He hurried away, reporting his movements to whoever was on the other end of the headset. “She’s here. Yes. Ellie Rockwell. Maybe.”
Maybe? What did that mean?
He held open the flap to the tent for Ellie to follow. She grabbed her bag of makeup in one hand, her bag containing her killer stilettos in the other, and followed.
They sprinted across a patch of hot sand and into another tent, this one huge, white and air-conditioned. Ellie paused, relishing the blast of cool air. The area was buzzing with people, props, equipment. In the far corner, next to a table set with rolls, fruit and drinks, a man sporting a handlebar mustache, lime-green turban and a gaudy Hawaiian shirt was pouring himself a big glass of iced tea. He looked up at Ellie and winked.
Oh, hold me back.
“You’re up,” the boy said, motioning toward an opening in the tent. “Walk onto the stage, head to the microphone and answer their questions. Afterward, exit stage left.”
“Who’s they?”
“Assistant director, casting director, maybe one of the producers.”
Her stomach flip-flopped. These were the bigwigs, the muckety-mucks, the top dogs who ran her favorite show. Okay, sitting with all the extra wannabes, it had been easy to think this was fun and silly. But knowing who she’d be auditioning in front of, suddenly this felt freaking scary.
“Stage left?” she rasped, kicking off her sandals. She cleared her throat. “Where’s that?”
“The far side of the stage.”
She slipped on a stiletto. “Did you say there’s a microphone?”
But he was already engrossed in another conversation over his headset. Catching Ellie’s gaze, he impatiently pointed toward the stage and mouthed an emphatic “Go!” before zipping away.
She quickly stepped into the second stiletto, trying to ignore the little voice in her head telling her to run away, she’d only make a fool of herself, people might laugh, she could fall on her face….
Straightening, she sucked in a shaky breath. If I can’t tackle one silly audition, how do I expect to tackle a new business venture?
She walked onto the stage.
BILL WATCHED the next girl walk hesitantly out onto the stage. She walked stiff-kneed, staring wide-eyed at the audience that was mostly made up of friends of those auditioning, some crew, a few hungover partiers. When she reached the microphone, she stopped and smiled awkwardly.
She was pretty, in a Kirsten Dunst kind of way, with her short, fluffy blond hair, dimpled smile and pert nose. The kind of girl one saw a hundred times a day in L.A.
And yet…not.
Something about her was different, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Something provocative, simmering just below the surface…
“Look at those shoes, man,” muttered Jimmie, sitting taller in his seat.
Bill’s gaze dropped down the nicely filled black bikini, down long, coltish legs to a pair of black patent stilettos with silver chains. Whoa. That something different was hardly below the surface, it was just below the shapely calves.
“Tell us your name, where you’re from and something special about yourself,” prompted Peter, the casting assistant in charge of extras, into his hand-held mike. Nearby sat Mandy, talking on her cell phone while eating a doughnut.
The young woman leaned forward, at which point Bill noticed the edge of a tattoo peeking over the top of her bikini top. A spiderweb?
She spoke so closely to the mike, it sounded
