car roared away.
“The show must go on,” she muttered.
Dragging her suitcase behind her, Kelly crossed a small courtyard and stepped through the wide glass doors into a cool, quiet lobby. A pretty receptionist sat at a sleek modern desk in front of a glass wall. Sofas and chairs were scattered about in small conversation groups and a bank of television monitors hung from the ceiling behind the receptionist’s desk.
Kelly pasted a smile on her face and stepped up to the desk. “Hello, I’m—”
“Miss Castelle,” the receptionist completed. She quickly punched a button on her switchboard. “Hi, Jane. It’s Mindy. Miss Castelle is here.” The receptionist looked up. “She’ll be right out.”
“Is there somewhere I could freshen up?”
“Oh, they’ll be taking you right back to wardrobe and makeup.”
Kelly blinked in surprise. “Makeup?”
“You’re scheduled to start shooting at…” Mindy peered at her computer screen. “In a half hour.”
“I—I thought we’d have a meeting or a read-through. I didn’t think we’d—”
“They work on a really tight schedule back there,” Mindy said, a hint of an apology in her tone.
Kelly bent down and frantically searched through her carry-on for her script. She’d glanced at it on the plane, but if she was expected to start taping in thirty minutes, then there was still work to do. She hadn’t even thought about her character’s goals and motivations. She’d assumed they’d cover that at the read-through.
Oh, hell, what was she worried about? It was skit. A six-minute skit for a local talk show. It would air once and then fade into television obscurity.
“Miss Castelle?”
Kelly struggled to her feet, the script clutched to her chest. “Yes?” The woman standing in front of her was dressed in a funky vintage shirt and black jeans that hugged her slender legs. Her bleached hair was cut in an asymmetrical bob that only makeup artists and wardrobe stylists could pull off.
“I’m Jane Kurtz,” she said. “Welcome to Atlanta. I’m just going to take you back to wardrobe and then we’ll get you into makeup.” She glanced at her watch. “How was your flight? Hartsfield can be a nightmare but you seemed to have survived it all right.”
She held the door open as she let Kelly pass, then led her through a maze of hallways. They came to an open door and Jane stepped inside a large room filled with floor-to-ceiling racks of clothing. “This is Karen Carmichael, my new assistant,” Jane said.
Kelly smiled at a dark-haired woman in her late twenties, dressed in a wildly patterned smock. A purple streak colored her ragged bangs and a tiny diamond glittered from one of her nostrils.
“Size two,” Karen said. “And five-six?”
Kelly nodded. “Good guess.”
Jane grinned. “See, Karen, I knew there was a reason I hired you. Although your ability to guess my weight to the pound is not a talent that I want you to cultivate.”
“One hundred and sixteen,” Karen said, with another glance at Kelly.
Kelly gasped. “Wow. That’s incredible.”
Karen looked at Jane. “Couldn’t you just kill her? The last time I weighed one-sixteen I was in seventh grade.”
Jane chuckled. “I’ll kill her after we’re done taping.”
Kelly glanced between the two of them and saw the humor in their eyes. “You can take some solace in the fact that I’m probably at least five or ten years older than each of you.” She paused, then held up three fingers, followed quickly by all five.
“Nicole is going to flip out,” Karen said. “You don’t look thirty-five. And you’re supposed to be the older woman in this skit.”
“Don’t worry,” Jane said. “The guy she’s working with looks really young. It’ll work. And the lights always add five years.”
They continued down the hallway to the makeup room. Jane placed Kelly’s bag beneath the counter, then sat her down in a chair in front of a wall of mirrors. A television monitor hung from the ceiling, the sound barely audible.
Kelly stared at her reflection. “My hair looks horrible.”
“I’ve got some miracle hairspray. We’ll just tip you upside down and give it a shot and then touch up with a curling iron.” Jane ran her fingers through Kelly’s hair. “Lovely color,” she said. “Who does your color?”
“No one,” Kelly replied.
“You do it yourself?”
“No, I don’t color my hair. Why, do you think I should color it?”
“No. Don’t touch it. I’m just surprised you haven’t found any gray yet with your hair as dark as it is.”
In truth, Kelly had found more than a few gray hairs at her temples. And she’d been methodically plucking them out, rather than admit that it might be time to visit a good colorist. But now that she wasn’t going to be an actress anymore, she wouldn’t have to worry. Women had gray hair in the real world. “Not yet,” she lied.
As Jane worked, Kelly reviewed the script. Just Between Us was an interesting hybrid of all the best elements of talk shows. The host, Eve Best, presented sexy topics, laced with humor and spontaneity, ranging from celebrity gossip to the latest trends in fashion to personal relationships. Lately, the producers had been using skits that resembled reality television, with small scenes interspersed through the show to highlight an upcoming segment. The title on Kelly’s script was “In Praise of Younger Men.” The smaller segments pointed out the pitfalls and pleasures of an affair with a younger man.
“Hello. You must be the older woman.”
Kelly glanced over to find her “younger man” standing in the door. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but seeing the typical Hollywood “himbo” as her acting partner brought a twinge of disappointment. The guy was gorgeous in that obnoxiously pretty way that was sure to make him look ten times better on screen than she did.
“Hi,” she said, forcing a smile. “Kelly Castelle.”
“Bryan Lockwood,” he countered with a nod and dazzling white smile. “Say, can we move this along? I’ve got an 8:00 p.m. flight back to the coast and I can’t miss it. I’m meeting with Hanks’s people tomorrow morning about a part in his new film.”
“Tom Hanks?” Kelly asked.
“It’s a big part. My agent says I’m perfect for it. And later this week I’ve got a meeting with Cruise’s new production company. The last thing I want is to screw that all up because of this silly job.”
“We’re almost ready,” Jane muttered.
“Cool. I’ll see you on set,” he said, giving Kelly another dazzling smile.
“What an ass,” Jane muttered a few moments after he’d left the room. “That guy was a nightmare in the chair. I had to redo his foundation three times until I got that sun-kissed, west-coast, Laguna Beach shade that he wanted.” She placed her hands on Kelly’s shoulders and met her gaze in the mirror. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. He’s got a receding hairline. I give him two more years before he’s going to need plugs.”
“Thanks,” Kelly said. “This whole job is really taking a toll on my ego.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Jane assured her. “Look. That classic profile, that perfect nose. Those cheekbones couldn’t get any higher.” She grabbed a pot of lip liner. “And look at this mouth. All those women who get their lips plumped up have got to be green with envy when they see yours.”