1
ALISON
A stack of slick headshots splayed out across the table, each impossibly more delicious than the last: piercing eyes, stubbled chins, chiseled abs, anything a girl could ever want. Each as untouchable, and likely vapid, as the last. Also all equally unacceptable. Too loud, too brash, too…weak. No matter how I pushed and prodded and begged and pleaded and changed scenes and reading partners, nobody worked.
“Have we actually hit rock bottom in Hollywood?” Denver tossed his glasses on the reading table and let out a heavy sigh. “All these pretty boys and you’re telling me not one fits the bill?”
I blew on my oppressively hot coffee instead of sighing at my director. Given this was my first big job as casting director, I didn’t want to start hacking bridges before we started rolling. “I wouldn’t say that. We just haven’t found the right Derek Stevens yet. He’s out there.”
“What about Josh Bowen?” This came from Gerald, one of the producers. “He’s attractive. He’s up and coming.”
I carefully arranged my face. It was widely known that Eddie Bowen, a man with too much money and almost as much influence as a big-shot movie producer, invested a hell of a lot of money into Denver’s film with a caveat his son, Josh, would land a role. Denver told me from day one to never feel intimidated by anyone, to cast the best choice and not the one with the most green floating around their aura, but that didn’t stop everyone else on the crew from bringing it up every thirty seconds.
“He read well for Doug Bronson.”
“You mean the guy who occasionally pops up with some lame-ass quip and doesn’t get the girl?” Gerald tossed a handful of corn nuts in his mouth and chewed loudly. He was, without a doubt, my least favorite person on set, and he had full control of Denver’s ear. With or without the corn nuts. “That’s a bit low tier for a producer’s son.”
“We’re in this to the make the best movie possible, right?” I was proud at how level my voice was despite my stomach turning into a million knots. “Josh Bowen might one day be an A-lister, but he’s not today. He doesn’t fit the role.”
Denver pointed at me with his pen, a sure sign he had my back. I guess he wasn’t up for playing Gerald’s games just yet. “If the casting director says he’s not a fit, he’s not a fit.”
“We’re scheduled to start filming tomorrow, or has everyone lost their goddamn minds?” Another handful of corn nuts cleared his salt-and-pepper ‘stache. His dentist must hate him. “We need him cast now.”
“It took the casting department for Harry Potter—”
“This is not a goddamn magical boarding school movie set in the middle of fucking nowhere, Alison. This is not a movie based on books that sold more money than everyone in this room will ever make in their entire lives. You’re out of time.” He cut his eyes to Denver. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Denver turned to me. “Do you at least have someone else in mind?”
This was my time to make an impact. My time to show I knew that the hell I was doing. It was terrifying. I set down my coffee and folded my hands on the table, aiming for a look that read experience and seriousness and all things Girl Boss. “Jack Steele.”
The room went silent, save for those goddamn corn nuts.
“As in—”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t aware he auditioned.” Denver rifled through his dog-eared notebook. “When did he come in?”
“He didn’t.” Dear heart, please don’t explode right now. “But I’d like to bring him in.”
“Jack Steele,” Gerald repeated slowly. “You’ve got to be out of your goddamn mind. He’s a menace to every set he stumbles through.”
“He’s a top-grossing actor.” If I had glasses on right now, I’d take them off to really sell the point. Instead, I leaned back in my chair. “His whole bad boy past only adds additional color to Derek’s character.”
“It’s called acting because they make it up.” More corn nuts. This man must’ve been stressed as hell and I bet a lot of it had to do with his business partner whose last name rhymed with Cohen. “We don’t need an actual ex-con to play an ex-con. This is Hollywood. Jesus Christ, did you forget what we do?”
“He’ll be an immediate sell and built-in marketing.” I dug into my portfolio and slid a headshot into the middle of the table. “He’s perfect.”
Denver chewed on his pen. “He was damn good in—”
“Everything,” I finished for him. “You know I’m right.”
“Yes, but…” Denver shook his head. “This is risky. He is notorious on sets and hiring an ex-criminal could be terrible press.”
“If Chris Brown can still tour, Jack Steele can still act. If you’ve been paying attention, and I have, you’d know he dominates everything he gets involved with.”
Gerald opened his mouth to protest, but Denver pointed to me. “Can you get him in here?”
“I’ll have him in tomorrow.”
“Then we’ll see what happens tomorrow.”
“The others aren’t going to like this,” Gerald said. “This is risking our money here.”
“Every movie is a risk, Gerald.” Denver collected his things and pointed at me for a third time, this one to say goodbye. “Pretending it’s not goes to show you have no business in show business. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back out to the set.”
We all said our goodbyes and gathered our belongings. I couldn’t believe I stood my ground like that against the director and producer, neither of whom were the small potatoes I used to work with. Denver’s last three movies all hit the top three on opening weekend, and not a single movie Gerald touched was ever omitted during award season.
They were film royalty. Royalty I’d clawed and flirted and slashed my way to. Ever since my first director took a chance on me, I’d bent over backwards to secure the best actors for the role, no matter what it was, no matter who it was. My admittedly small reputation centered on that very fact and was likely a huge reason why Denver trusted me now.
It didn’t seem to stop Corn Nut Breath, though.
“You really think you can not only secure a loose cannon like Steele but keep him out of trouble for the entire duration of filming?” Gerald’s disbelief oozed out of him like a thick stink.
I held my breath but smiled brightly. “It won’t be a problem. I’ll get Steele and he won’t cause the studio any grief. I’d stake my reputation on it.”
“Not worth much.” Gerald tossed his final hand of nuts into his mouth and shot the crumpled wrapper into a nearby trash can. It sailed in, sank smoothly, nothing but net. “You better hope tomorrow goes as well as my free throws.”
“Have a good evening, Gerald.”
He disappeared somewhere further into the labyrinthine hallways of the studio, someplace where I was sure all the big shots above my paygrade gathered together to roll in their money and laugh at us peons.
Except I wasn’t a peon anymore, was I? I was the head casting director for a film with a budget three times larger than the last one I worked on. I was working under Denver Latmini, who was widely slated to be the next Ron Howard.
I considered following the salty dust into whatever corridor my lofty title would afford me, but instead I about-faced and slipped between the mammoth set pieces and the jungle of light towers. Tomorrow, filming would kick off with the existing cast members while we hunted down the perfect Derek Stevens. A quick look at the calendar my assistant (I had an assistant!) handed off as I hooked through the parking lot told me there was another full day of readings. The most important one was inked in near the middle.
My tiny Fiesta begrudgingly kicked on and navigated through the thick LA traffic practically on autopilot while I worked Siri like a miniature Devan, who was my adorable real-life assistant. First stop, Jack’s agent. Again.
“I told you, he’s not interested.” Bobby always struck me as the kind of guy who never grew out of that frat boy phase, yet he somehow managed to (loosely) corral big names like Steele and Rivers and Hampton. Show business is a weird one. “I pitched the role and he immediately shot it down. He doesn’t want to get typecast.”
“This won’t be typecasting.” I tried to keep my voice level while I flipped off another driver for cutting me off. I didn’t even use my horn. This time. “Derek Stevens is a tough guy, sure, but the film is about his character arc—”
“You think I don’t know how to read between all the casting director bullshit after fifteen years?” Bobby crunched on something while talking. Dear god, I hoped they weren’t also corn nuts. I smelled an allergy looming on the horizon. “I read the script, Alison. We’re not doing it. This is a shoot ‘em up flick about a dude who pretends to have a heart of gold when he’s really an asshole. Jack might be a big sumbitch, but he’s not going to be that sumbitch.”
“He could make it so—”
“No.”
The bastard hung up. I used this opportunity to lay on my horn thick at the next jackass who nearly clipped my front end. He even got the double bird. Alison Coleman was not fucking around right now.
Okay, so the agent had continued to be a dead end. I’d worked with this before. I could work around this easy. I mean, I didn’t want to have to use this route, but my career was basically hanging in the balance here. A girl’s gotta do and all that.
“I never thought I’d see this number come up again.” That oily voice still caused involuntary shivers. “Did you finally reconsider my offer?”
I gritted my teeth. “As always, I appreciate it, Danny, but I need a different kind of favor.”
“Fortunately for you, I’m in a giving mood.”
“Great. I need you to find out where Jack Steele will be tonight.”
Danny let out a low whistle. “You sure do like them big fish, don’tcha, darlin’?”
“It’s for work. Danny, please.”
He clucked his tongue while he ‘mulled it over’. “Tell you what. I’ll give you this one for free. Next time, though, you owe me.”
“You’re the best in the city, Danny.”
“Stop it. I’ll call you back.”
He cut the call dead just as I pulled into my parking garage. From there, it was a mad dash up to my floor for a quick shower and lotion, followed by a total ransack of my closet.
I massaged some oils into my hair for extra shine, erring on the side of natural beauty. I seemed to be a commodity for certain types of men right now and I wasn’t above exploiting my assets to make this work.
“Hot date?” Sarah, my best friend and roommate, stuck her head in my room. “I could smell you from down the hall. One of these days, I’m going to steal that lotion.”
“Over my dead body.” I finally found what I was looking for in the depths of my closet: the most revealing dress I owned. Tastefully covering all my naughty bits while leaving damn near everything else exposed between lace and mesh. Hooker red to match my favorite shoes and my favorite lipstick.
“Oh shit.” Sarah gaped at me. “You’re actually going for it, aren’t you?”
Phone in one hand, sexy dress in the other, I could do nothing but smile. “Mama’s about to make some Hollywood magic happen.”
“Well, tell Mama to bring home some animal style fries once you’ve finished wiping Steele’s face off the floor.”
“Only if you help zip me into this monstrosity.”
Some perfume and heels higher than my cup size rounded everything off. Siri ordered me an Uber and left me with nothing in the way between Jack Steele and the soaring future success of my career. That man wasn’t going to know what hit him…and he was going to secure me as a great.