Page 17 of Sandbar Summer (Summer Cottage #3)

Chapter Twelve

Goldie Present Day

Goldie woke up thinking about the laughter she’s shared with Hope, J.J., and Libby the night before.

She pulled on her leggings, her tank, her sports bra, and the second pair of athletic shoes she’d packed. Thank goodness she’d packed four pairs.

Kids today called her style “extra.” But Goldie was always this way. She always traveled like she was a movie star.

Of the Sandbar Sisters, outsiders would say Goldie’s dreams were the most outlandish. She always knew she wanted to be a movie star. Growing up, adults told her it was silly. That her dreams were a little girl’s dream, like saying you wanted to be a Disney Princess.

But she wasn’t ever silly about it. She was single-minded. And her dream of being a movie star matured as she did. She wanted to be an actress.

She gave up everything else to make those things real.

The number of things that had to align to get her to where she was were almost uncountable. It started with genetics. Something completely out of her control. She had pretty parents.

At her house in L.A., she had a wall of mirrors in a closet that was bigger than this entire room.

She’d had an automated dry cleaning rack installed too.

Her clothes traveled up and down, and the rows would shift back to front so she could see what she had.

When people visited, it was her closet that they remarked on.

More than the zero-depth pool or the million-dollar artwork. Take that, Carrie Bradshaw.

The mirrors were there, not so she could admire herself, but so she could assess herself unflinchingly. She could see where sagging, wrinkling, or thickening was cropping up. She dieted, exercised, sucked out, or melted off anything that offended the camera lens.

Here, she had one mirror. Goldie couldn’t get the full 360-degree view of the flaws she needed to eradicate.

She ate a lot of food last night and probably had too much wine.

Goldie meticulously calibrated her food, hydration, and supplements to fight every aspect of the natural progression of aging.

Last night was not on plan. Not by a mile.

She’d started with those genes, nothing else.

She got to Hollywood, and people thought she looked like Cheryl Ladd.

When she walked into the L.A. casting director’s office at eighteen, they met with her, thanks to her face, not her talent.

The first job that earned Goldie her union card was a bit part, playing Cheryl Ladd’s daughter in the tv movie, Get Away From My Kids. She had two lines, but that was enough.

Genetics wasn’t everything. She’d pushed the producer of Get Away From My Kids to consider her for his next project, a pilot that didn’t get picked up. But it got her seen, and then from that, she got an audition for the indie that established a buzz.

But it wasn’t just her doing. Mitchell Ozock had seen something in her as well.

He’d guided her away from a Warren Beatty picture that was the biggest box office disaster of the year.

(Kid, if you’re good in it, no one cares; it’s Warren’s picture, if you’re bad in it, this turkey will be all your fault.) Ozock helped make sure she was the only one the director of Beautiful Girls wanted for his movie.

Genetics, the right agent, determination, and then talent.

She had it. But she didn’t take it for granted.

She wasn’t a product of prestigious acting schools out east, but she did take classes.

Acting coach Michelle Danner helped her discover how to approach a part and opened up a world beyond just memorizing lines or being cute.

As she earned money, she invested in personal acting coaches.

They were just as important to her as Pilates instructors.

Casting directors had to like you, directors had to see their vision through you, editors had to make sure your best cuts made it to the final product, and on and on before it even got to the public.

Finally, the audience, they had to see something in you. They had to root for you. They had to believe you were their movie star. They had to be connected to you. And that was intangible. It was unlearnable. It just was, or it wasn’t.

Her career was a combination of all of those things.

But no amount of genetic luck could stop a ticking clock.

She was feeling weird. The amount of warmth, enjoyment, and just plain fun she’d had sitting with her old friends, made her a little panicked.

Goldie had blinders on her life, that’s what made her successful, but this morning it was dawning on her how much she’d blocked out with those blinders.

She’d carefully blocked the very things that made life worth living.

It was too late to change course now. She was only here to hide and figure out how to handle the blowback from the fanboy outrage.

It was great to see the girls, but she needed to get her focus back, her drive to succeed in Hollywood. Because you didn’t just luck into that part, you took the luck and beat it into submission.

Goldie found her phone. She needed to get her agent situation figured out. That was job one. She had been dropped by Scott Ozock. Ozock Group was the biggest game in town, for sure, but not the only game.

It was early in L.A., but she didn’t care.

Agents would be happy to have her on their roster. One she’d been eyeing in particular. She dialed the personal cell of the agent, who she thought might be the answer to her current career dilemma.

“Hedda, it’s Goldie Hayes. How are you?”

“Ha, I’m fine, but I bet you’re not. This town is not happy with you right now.”

“Really, I wouldn’t know. I’m scouting new projects out of town.”

“Don’t B.S. me, I know Ozock dropped you.”

“Please, I dropped him.”

Perception was everything in Hollywood, and she was perceived as poison right now, apparently. The truth was relative, so she needed Hedda to think she was the dumper, not the dump-ee.

“Right, well, you’re side of the story is not the story right now. Look, you know I’ve tried to lure you over here before, but not under these circumstances.”

“Well, since I dropped Ozock, I’m looking for a new situation. I’ve got several options, but I didn’t want to leave you out.” She had zero options, but the way to get work or an agent was to pretend you already had too much of both.

“Look, you know, and I know you’re a huge name. One of the most talented actresses of your generation. But right now, well, you’re poison.”

“Honey, this is not the way to get me in bed with you,” Goldie replied, speaking in the vernacular of her business.

“I’d love to have you on our roster. You’d be the biggest name on it. But right now, you’re mud. The VSU won’t work with you. Not to mention the little social media storm you’re in the middle of with the fanboys.”

“If you’re really serious about wanting to work with me, give me a plan. Show me you’re the right place to be.”

Goldie was trying to Vulcan Mind Meld Hedda. Maybe a little cognitive dissonance would work to get her a new agent? She would make Hedda work for her before the woman even knew she was doing it.

“My first advice is to stay hidden. You’re not going to win if you talk to the press.

They’re out for blood. You’ll look desperate.

Make them wonder where you are. Let ‘em chew on it. You’re a mystery.

You’re someone who doesn’t care if the gaping maw of the Victor Superhero Universe is trying to chew you up.

Let ‘em choke on it. That, my dear, would be badass.”

“I’ll consider your idea. I’ll let you know if I’m interested in your offer.” She knew darn well there was no offer.

“Here’s what I will offer. A little spying. Let me see if I can find out how your dailies looked. Maybe there’s something salvageable. How strong can that current picture be if all it takes to bring down one of their tent pole movies is little ole you?”

“I’m tougher than I look.”

“That I have no doubt about.”

“Talk to you soon.”

“Be like Garbo.”

Goldie hung up the phone.

Her next call was to Tally.

“Tally, I need you to send me a car.”

“What, to the airport? You’re coming back? That’s great, but don’t come to the house. Picketers actually threw an egg at me when I drove in the other day.”

Goldie had planned to send for a car, book the jet, and get back to L.A. to fight.

But Hedda’s advice rang in her ears. And now Tally had warned that the fanboys were still stalking her house.

Her instinct was to go back to Hollywood.

She knew how to be seen in the right places.

She knew how to make meetings happen. Well, she used to.

Mitchell Ozock had done a lot of that; they’d made a good team.

Now that she didn’t have him, she realized how much he had helped ensure that she made the right steps.

Hedda’s advice of staying hidden had to be wrong. Goldie was going back. Tally could arrange the travel. She’d pound the pavement like she had when she was an unknown.

“Tally, why don’t you forward me any important emails, scripts, requests for appearances, interviews, all that?” She’d say yes to a few events. Goldie would work the whole, be famous for being famous thing, just until she was back where she needed to be.

Tally was her gatekeeper. She managed the hundreds of messages that came in. Tally knew what to regard as important and what to politely decline. Goldie would reconsider some appearances that she’d poo-pooed a few weeks ago. Just to get the ball rolling.

“Well, there are dozens of interview requests, all regarding the Victor thing.”

“And?”

“Uh, there are cancelations.”

“I usually have a dozen script backlog.”

“Yeah, some have been withdrawn. I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“I guess you can.”

Goldie wasn’t entirely convinced by Hedda’s idea that she stay out of town, stay hidden. She wanted to fight back and clear her name. But the dearth of messages, requests, scripts, and the like made her see the wisdom of Hedda’s advice.