Celluloid Memories (10 page)

“And your point?” McCoy asked dryly. He sat forward, bracing his forearms on his desk as he faced her earnestly. “Look, this business is not about being fair. Directors and producers in this town have notoriously short memories. They're like kids in a candy store. There is
always
another pretty face to grab their attention and twist their libido.”

As he talked McCoy could see the change come over Cherise. It was fascinating to watch as she switched from drama queen to cool and calculating, taking in the cold hard facts. He was not unsympathetic to her complaint, but he wasn't going to gloss over the reality.

“I don't know if there's much I can do to run interference for you, Cherise. I'm not in the business by choice, and for a good reason. I don't like playing games, and I don't like kissing ass. Sorry to be so crass, but you have to understand what you're getting into. The only question now is, how badly do you want this role, and what are you willing to do to get it?”

“I deserve this role,” Cherise said bluntly. “And I'm the best actress for it.”

“Fine. How are you going to convince the studio?”

She pursed her beautiful mouth, deep in thought, and finally arched a brow at him.

“I'm going to demand that they honor their commitment.”

“And?”

She blinked, thinking again. “I'm going to remind them that I have a signed contract.”

“Better. What else?”

“I'm going to ask the producer if the other actress was being considered because she's white.”

“That's a daring move, but be careful about pulling the race card. It could backfire badly, and you can never use it again. Blackmail has its limits, even here.”

Cherise pulled herself straight, looking more like the determined young starlet who'd walked into his office for the first time more than a month earlier.

“Maybe I won't have to go that far this time. I'm going to show them my audition tape and point out why I'm the best actress for the part. Then I'm going to suggest they give the other actress another part…or write one for her.”

“Now you sound like a pro. Have your agent or manager review the contract. If all else fails you got them there,” McCoy advised.

 

“Oooh. This is the life.”

Savannah smiled at Donna's contented sigh. Through her dark glasses she watched as Donna came up on her elbows from her prone position in a poolside lounge chair. She shook her head; the woman had the
nerve
to be wearing not just a two-piece swimsuit, but an actual bikini. Fortunately, she observed, Donna also still had the lithe toned body of the dancer she used to be. Her short wild hair was tied back from her face with a bright scarf, and she wore oversized dangly earrings.

“It
is
a beautiful day,” Savannah said, stretching out her own slender legs and resting the notepad she'd been writing in on her thighs.

“No, it's not just a beautiful day. It's a
fabulous
California day,” Donna corrected, gracefully righting her body to a sitting position, and adjusting the top of her suit that covered her boyishly flat chest. “There's a huge difference. I can't believe I was reluctant to leave New York.”

“It's a major dance center. That's where your career was,” Savannah reminded her.

“Yeah, but New York had weather,” Donna said dryly. “The first thing I wanted to do when I moved out here was sell my boots and umbrellas.” Savannah laughed. “And the first time I flew back east to visit family I thought I would die from the cold. And it was only September. Maybe I'm a California girl at heart.”

“Maybe. If you were blonde, from the valley or 90210.”

Savannah and Donna turned their attention to Kay, who'd been napping, stretched out on her stomach on another lounger under the partial shade of a jacaranda tree. Kay rolled her curvy bod and adjusted her chair to a more upright position. A straw hat and sunglasses protected her toffee-colored features.

Donna made a dismissive gesture. “Most people in L.A. are from somewhere else. Just like in New York.”

“I'm from Atlanta, but I belong here.” Kay nodded.

“Makes no difference where you're from. People go to New York because of publishing or theater or fashion or art or dance,” Donna said.

“But you're here,” Savannah reminded her. “Why did you come here? Why does anyone come to L.A.? I mean, yeah, there's the film business but most people don't make it, do they?”

Donna and Kay exchanged silent considering glances. Donna shrugged.

“I don't know. Maybe because they think they're going to make it. It's all about having a dream. In California anything is possible. I came because I was in the chorus of the film version of a Broadway musical. I thought I'd just go on getting work, so I never left.”

“In L.A. it's okay to fail,” Kay added. “I mean, not that failing is such a great thing, but there's always something else you can do. People give you a second chance. They don't much care what you've been or done before.”

“Is this all about your father?” Donna asked, squinting at Savannah as she reached for her plastic tumbler of lemonade.

Savannah rested her head back against her chair. “Maybe a little. You know he left his family behind to come out here and act.”

“Yeah, and all things considered, Vann, he did good. He had a career,” Donna said.

“He did keep in touch, didn't he? You did see him and spend time with him over the years, right?” Kay asked, but didn't wait for an answer. “You're so lucky, Vann. Some folks get the bug and forget all about where they came from. You know the kind I'm talking about.”

Savannah didn't answer. She had the feeling that Kay was not talking about the likes of a Rae Marie Hilton. After all, how many people could there have been like her who managed to slip in under the radar and not get found out eventually? Savannah knew that there were movie people who made a lot of money, and rubbed elbows with the Hollywood elite, who acted like they'd gotten where they were on talent alone. But she also knew that was almost never the case.

“What are you writing? You've been scribbling all afternoon. Working on a biography of your father?” Donna asked. She got up and walked to the edge of the pool, where she sat and dangled her legs in the cool water.

Savannah glanced down at the legal pad she'd been writing on. She lifted the pad and hugged it close to her chest, as if guarding her work. “Just notes. I'm still sorting through his papers and there are a couple of things I want to remember to follow up on.”

A cell phone suddenly rang. Realizing it was hers, Savannah answered with an absent hello.

“I hope you're doing something fun.”

It was a second before she recognized McCoy's voice. “Oh, hi.” Did she sound pleased to hear from him again?

“I'm not interrupting anything, am I?”

It crossed her mind that he might be fishing, but couldn't understand why he would feel the need to. “Not at all. I'm just hanging out at the pool in my backyard with some girlfriends,” Savannah said, watching as Kay joined Donna at the pool edge to begin their own animated conversation. “And you?”

“I'm at my office.”

“Don't you know it's Saturday?”

“I had some work to take care of. This call is the one break I've allowed myself.”

Savannah hesitated, finally smiling. “I guess I should be flattered.”

“I hope you don't mind if I get a vicarious thrill from your afternoon with friends.”

Savannah laughed lightly. “I'm sure you can do better than this. And there isn't anything I can do about, er, giving you a thrill.”

“Sure there is. Invite me over.”

She was silent for a brief moment. It seemed a very provocative suggestion. Was he serious? “You mean you don't have one of your own? I'm talking about a pool. I thought it was a law that anyone living in L.A. had to have a pool.” Now it was McCoy's turn to laugh.

“Actually, I do. There's one on the roof of my condo in Santa Monica. I think the last time I was actually in it was five or six months ago.”

“Poor baby. Woogie woogie?” Savannah cooed, as if she was comforting a contrite child.

McCoy cracked up.

His hearty laugh made her smile. She'd surprised even herself by goading and teasing him.

“You're right. I shouldn't complain.”

Then she realized that Donna and Kay were listening to her one-sided conversation with baffled expressions. Savannah lowered her voice and grew serious.

“McCoy, thanks again for all that stuff you gave me. I really appreciate it.”

“Mac, please. I thought it would mean more to you than to me. I'm a fan of your father's work, but you're family and will want to keep as much as you can for posterity, right?”

“I'm thinking of organizing all the programs and announcements and newspaper articles into some sort of usable system. Maybe by years, or maybe by individual projects.”

“That's a great idea. Are you also planning on giving some or all of it to a library or college? That way people will be able to research his career.”

Savannah drew up her knees and leaned forward, her legal pad now sandwiched between her chest and thighs. “Do you think people will really be interested in the collected works of Will Shelton?”

“Absolutely. For a black actor especially, who's been around for more than twenty years, there's not only his contribution, but his major influence on other blacks in the industry. Your father made it. He survived. He will be remembered.”

“Thank you,” Savannah said quietly.

“For what?”

“Reminding me that Will Shelton was more than just my father. I can't keep him all to myself, can I? I have to share who and what he was.”

“No need to thank me. I think you already knew that. Otherwise you wouldn't be taking your time to sort through what would otherwise be a bunch of old papers and notices. Find anything interesting?”

Savannah thought immediately of the box found in her father's closet. She glanced covertly at Kay and Donna again, but both had now slipped into the pool to gently swirl about as they talked and laughed together.

“I'm not sure. I'm reading through so much right now, I'm just trying to get my head around all the information.”

“I understand. Well, let me cut you loose to enjoy the rest of the day. I have at least another hour here before I can leave.”

“Would you like to come over and join us?” she blurted out suddenly.

“I appreciate the invitation, but I do have plans for later. Thanks anyway.”

“Sure.”

“Can I get a rain check?” McCoy asked quietly.

“A rain check?”

“Can I hold that invitation for a later date, to be announced?”

Savannah shrugged, not believing for a minute that McCoy was being anything but polite. “I guess.”

“Good. You take care.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

Savannah barely had time to put her cell phone down before Donna and Kay were wading to the side of the pool nearest her chair. Standing side by side, both women rested their forearms and hands on the tiles and regarded her steadily, just their heads visible, their oversized sunglasses making them look like aliens.

“What?” she asked, trying to give her attention back to her writing, but only hearing McCoy's laughter as she did an instant replay of their conversation.

“Don't give me that wide-eyed ‘what,'” Donna said. “Who was that and why haven't we heard about him before now?”

“Yeah. And what's up with that baby talk?” Kay added.

Savannah felt flustered but maintained her calm demeanor. She shook her head. “No one important.”

Donna and Kay hummed a droll “uh-huh” in unison, indicating their skepticism.

Savannah gave in, exasperated. “That was the other driver from that accident I had. I told you about it. He just wanted to make sure I was okay. I thought that was pretty decent of him.”

Donna climbed out of the pool, dripping water as she walked to her lounger to retrieve a towel. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you declare the man a major jerk at the time of the accident?”

Kay followed behind Donna, her hips and breasts swaying with a soft sensuality capable of effortlessly drawing men to her. “That accident was over a month ago. How long does it take to apologize?”

“He can't be that much of a jerk if you stayed on the phone with him for almost twenty minutes, laughing at what he had to say,” Donna said coyly, settling gracefully again on her lounger.

“I'm still waiting to hear about the baby talk,” Kay said.

Savannah merely smiled at the good-natured ribbing of her girlfriends. She realized that she liked having a harmless secret that kept them guessing. Of course, she had to wonder herself. McCoy was a good-looking man, more than gainfully employed, and he was straight. He was already a Master of the Universe, on the black side. Not bad. Not bad at all.