Melting. She could feel herself melting a little. “I’ll be sure and tell her all that, and how you are trying to impress me with orchids, just like you try to impress all the girls.”
“Okay, now, we covered that,” he reminded her amicably. “I don’t give flowers to all the girls, and I only gave orchids to you. And besides, you love orchids. You should be impressed,” he added with a captivating grin.
“Aha!” she said, pointing at him accusingly. “But I don’t love orchids anymore. That’s what you aren’t getting.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Message received and duly filed away.”
“Well. Good.”
He glanced down, his gaze roaming her body to her shoes and back. “Hope you’re limbered up.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding adamantly, “I’m limbered.”
He chuckled as he walked away, and she wondered if she’d really just won the battle. And damn, he did look fine walking away, the tenacious, persistent, charming bastard.
She was still admiring his butt when Trudy joined her and looked in the direction Leah was looking. “What did Lover Boy have to say?” she asked.
“Him? Nothing,” Leah said, and turned away. “So how’d you do with Jack?”
Trudy snorted. “I had to take a number. What a dilemma, huh? I want one of the guys, and he hasn’t noticed me. One of the guys wants you, but you won’t take sloppy seconds. . .” She sighed. “It’s enough to make a grown girl come to work without makeup.”
“At least you already have a boyfriend,” Leah muttered, stealing another glimpse of Michael as he stopped to talk to a Starlet, noticing how his smile lit up the whole bay . . . not to mention the Starlet. Christ, there were a lot of women on this film!
“Please,” Trudy snorted. “Rick is easy, that’s all. Come on, let’s go smoke before they begin torturing us for the day.” And linking her arm through Leah’s, Yin led Yang out the door.
THE blocking was more difficult than any of the women had anticipated. They worked through tuck and rolls, then diving belly flops onto the mats. And before lunch, they practiced flying backward, with Jack and Michael catching them.
Over and over again, they flew, and over and over again, Michael caught Leah, his arms going around her, holding her tight. Every catch reminded her of being in his arms—in a cab, on the subway, on Rex’s boat, in bed. Every bit of contact took her back five years, to a man she loved but who had been a lie. Every bit of her memory was really a phantom, of someone who hadn’t really existed, who claimed to have loved her and had left her. That’s what made it so painful now—as tempting as his entreaty was, she couldn’t trust him . . . could she?
By the time the lunch hour rolled around, Leah couldn’t wait to get outside and away from the conflicts in her head.
She grabbed her bag, walked out, and checked her cell. There was a call from her agent, Frances. While Trudy was yakking the ear off of a Serious Actress, Leah walked off in the opposite direction of the commissary and wandered around the back lot, looking for a little peace and quiet to return the call. She finally parked herself on a box and dialed. “Hey, Frances, it’s Leah,” she said when she got Frances on the phone.
“Oh hi, sweetie. Well, the WB folks want a brunette for the part of Chloe, so they are passing on us.”
“But I can dye my hair!” Leah cried.
“There is no need to do that. They are looking for a brunette they like. They just didn’t like you that much.”
Leah’s shoulders sagged.
“Don’t take it personally,” Frances said cheerfully. “These things are all about looks first, talent second.”
“Did they say what they didn’t like?” Leah asked, thinking it might be her delivery, or her hands, something she could work on.
Frances snorted. “Sweetie, they didn’t like you,” she said. “I have to run—the other line is ringing,” Frances said, and clicked off.
Damn. It was a little hard not to take it personally when a casting director just didn’t like you. Leah sat on the box, her chin on her fists, thinking for a long time until the rumbling of hunger in her belly could no longer be ignored. She got up, started walking, heavy-footed, to the commissary.
As she made her way, a man with the dark, sexy look of an Hispanic or Italian actor stepped out from between two buildings. “Pardon me, pretty lady, but have you a light?” he asked with a lovely smile.
“I don’t smoke,” Leah said, wishing that she did in this case, and continued on.
But the man was quickly at her side, walking with her. “Neither do I smoke. Very ugly habit.”
“Then why did you ask for a light?” she asked laughingly, looking up at him. He was definitely handsome—square jaw, jet-black hair, deep brown eyes, olive skin. “And why do you have a cigarette behind your ear?”
“No!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide. “There is a cigarette on my ear?” He reached up, grabbed the smoke and tossed it aside, then swept his arm wide. “There. You see? I do not smoke.”