Heartthrob (12 page)

The crowd scattered.

Susie McCoy’s father was so pissed, Jamaal wouldn’t have been surprised if he started shooting firecrackers out of his butt.

Speaking of butts, the man was butt-ugly to start with, and it didn’t help matters one bit when he started shouting and great big, gross purple veins began sticking out from his forehead and neck.

Jamaal sat back behind the line of cameras, settling in to watch the show. He’d come down here to check out
both Susie and Jericho as they worked. He had today off, but there wasn’t much to do in Grady Falls, South Carolina. He snorted. Now that was the understatement of the year. There was
less
than nothing to do in this cultural wasteland.

So he’d thrown on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and wandered over to the set to see what was going on.

The truth was, the action on set intrigued him—even when he wasn’t one of the people in front of the cameras. He hadn’t been involved with that many movies for it to have become mundane—at least not yet.

As far as what was going on right this moment—Jamaal honestly hadn’t expected to find himself watching an episode of the McCoy’s Private Freak Show and Circus. Still, checking out the amazing purple-necked man wasn’t without
some
entertainment value.

Russell McCoy had come raging into town behind the wheel of some pretentious rental car. It had been obvious two seconds after he’d arrived that he wasn’t here as a loving father paying a visit to his daughter.

No, Susie McCoy’s moms seemed to be the lucky winner of the Russell McCoy shouting sweepstakes. She was the target of all the noise, and she looked as if she were literally being hammered into the ground. She seemed to get smaller and smaller with each of ol’ Russ’s harsh words.

Production assistants hovered around them nervously, like flies. Vic Strauss kept looking in Russell’s direction, as if he were milliseconds away from having someone turn a fire hose on the entire pack of ’em.

“What were you thinking?” Russell was bellowing. “How could you possibly allow her to be in a movie with him?”

The
her
he was referring to was Susie, and the
him
was Jericho Beaumont.

Jericho was lying back in a lounge chair, waiting for the
camera to be set for the next shot. His eyes were closed, as if the war raging around him had nothing to do with him.

Susie, though, was looking as if she were praying for God to open the sky and smite her with a bolt of lightning.

Jamaal couldn’t blame the girl.

“Have you read this script?” Russell had more than a passing resemblance to Jabba the Hut in this light. “There’s no way Susie is ready for this.”

Susie’s moms said something Jamaal couldn’t hear.

“I saw the last few takes,” Russell told his ex—and everyone else in a five-mile radius. “She was awful.”

Susie cringed, and Jamaal cringed along with her. Susie’s moms spoke again, and again Jamaal couldn’t hear what she’d said.

“I don’t give a damn!” Susie’s father had not yet run out of things to say—too bad for them all. “Let them wait! They’re going to have to put the production on hold anyway, because they’re going to have to recast Susie’s part.”

Jericho’s eyes opened at that, and Jamaal knew that the negative energy he’d picked up from the man during the last series of shots hadn’t been his imagination. Jericho was less than impressed with Susie’s performance.

And, yeah, Jamaal had to admit that after Jericho made the scene, Susie
had
tightened up. She got stiff—self-conscious. But who could blame her? If she was anything like Jamaal, Jericho had been her hero since the beginning of time. It wasn’t easy to drop that sense of awe and suddenly become peers with your own personal God. And Jericho, the fool—he had really let the ball drop. He’d done absolutely nothing to make the girl feel more comfortable. In fact, as far as Jamaal could see, he’d done his damnedest to make Susie even more uptight.

So she blew some lines. Big deal. Everyone blew lines now and then. But with Jericho looking as if she were intentionally wasting his own personal stockpile of time …

So, yeah, Susie’s performance over the past few hours had been less than perfect. But what Jericho and her father hadn’t seen was how she’d breezed through the close-ups they’d done before either of them had arrived on set. She was just a kid, but when she was relaxed and comfortable, she was a complete pro. And she was damn good. Shit, she was beyond good. She had Jamaal completely believing she was Jane Willet.

Susie stood up now and faced her father, looking for all the world as if she were going mano a mano with a fire-breathing dragon. She knew she was going to be burned to a crisp, but she was gonna do it with her head held high.

“They’re not going to recast my part,” she told him. “I’ve signed a contract. Even if I wanted to back out now, there’d be a lawsuit.”

A car pulled up, and the producer, Kate O’Laughlin, got out. She came charging onto the scene like the cavalry to the rescue.

Up until this morning, Jamaal had figured she was pure window dressing. She was Vic Strauss’s ex—he’d thought for sure she’d only been given a title and a desk to play office with. Kind of like, “Yeah, sure, honey—you can be producer. Don’t hurt yourself with that stapler, babe …”

But this morning, Kate had stuck herself directly in the middle of what was looking to be a very bloody fight between Jericho and his warden, Hollander. She’d diffused a rather huge bomb. And afterward, when Jamaal had made discreet inquiries, he’d found out she was indeed the producer in responsibilities as well as title. The woman had a brain to go inside that Maserati-style, performance-ready body.

And as far as today’s early morning fight went, most folks on the set didn’t know who Hollander was or his connection to Jericho. There was even some speculation that the two men were longtime companions—although
anyone with eyes in their head could see how completely foolish an idea that was.

It hadn’t taken Jamaal long to figure out Hollander was Jericho’s very own personal, live-in prison guard. And something had happened this morning in cell block thirteen that had pushed Jericho too far.

But Queen Kate had taken command, raising that wispy little voice of hers to a lion’s roar, until everyone’s ears damn near rang.

Jamaal had never been on a movie set where so much of the shouting had gone on behind the cameras.

Right now, as Kate approached the battling McCoys from the rear, Jericho pushed himself to his feet and sauntered toward them from the front.

This was going to be good. Because even though Kate had managed to break up the fight earlier, and even though it seemed—by the lack of Hollander’s presence here this morning—that she’d jettisoned the man, Hollander
had
been her minion. And Jamaal was willing to bet that Jericho had a thing or two to shout at Kate himself.

But Jericho didn’t shout. And he didn’t address Kate; he spoke to Russell McCoy. “You know,” he said in his good ol’ boy drawl, “it wouldn’t be a contract violation if both you and the creative staff came to the mutual decision that Susie’s not quite right for this part. I mean, it happens sometimes. Actors take parts that they’re not able to handle, but they don’t find that out until after the filming starts.”

The look on Susie’s face was heartbreaking. She turned away, tried to hide it, but Jamaal saw her pain, clear as day. Jericho had just announced that he believed Susie was not up to playing the part of Jane. Jamaal respected the man as a fellow actor, but what he had said was
way
harsh. And way unnecessary—because it wasn’t even remotely true.

Kate’s voice was sharp. “Excuse me,” she said to
Jericho. “I thought this was an issue between Mr. McCoy and Ms. Turner. I’m not sure why you’re involved.”

“I was just suggesting—”

“There’s no way I’m going to allow my daughter to spend the next two months with some junkie,” Russell interrupted. He turned and fired a shot at his ex. “Are you some kind of mental deficient? What were you thinking to let Susie near
him
?”

Susie wasn’t anywhere near Jericho. In fact, Susie was gone.

Jamaal turned to look for her and saw her drifting toward the craft table that had been set up in the shade. She looked at the collection of snacks and fruit that were laid out there, but didn’t take anything. As he watched, she bent down to open a cooler filled with cans of soda, but again didn’t take one out. She let the lid fall closed as she just crouched there, unmoving, her head bowed.

Jamaal started toward her. He whistled as he approached, but even then, she didn’t seem to hear him coming.

“Hey,” he said, and she jerked her head up, startled.

The kid was crying. Jamaal’s stomach tightened. With her wide blue eyes filled with tears, she looked about eleven years old. Two tears escaped, making tracks down her cheeks.

“You’re messing up your makeup.”

“They’re all out of root beer,” she told him.

He frowned. “Really?” He lifted the lid of the cooler and reached in, pushing the icy water and cans around. There was definitely no more root beer. But there was one last can of cream soda. He took it out, letting the water drip off of it before he handed it to her. “Give this a try. It’s not root beer, but it’s kinda like a distant second cousin.”

She straightened up, no longer eleven years old, but suddenly much older—cool, efficient, and ageless. “Would you mind getting Mindy for me? She’s one of the makeup
assistants. Usually I can cry without ruining my makeup, but this time it got away from me.”

Jamaal took the soda from her and opened the top. “How do you cry without ruining your makeup?”

“You kind of tip your head forward and let the tears fall out of your eyes.” She demonstrated.

“You, uh, cry much?”

She forced a smile. “Only when there’s no root beer.”

Jamaal nodded. “Uh-huh.” He held out his hand. “I’m Jamaal Hawkes.”

“I know.”

“And you’re Susie McCoy.”

Her hands were tiny, her nails bitten down nearly to the quick.

“
Susannah
McCoy,” she corrected him.

“Susannah. Okay. That’s … that’s a very pretty name. I can see why you wouldn’t want anyone to shorten it.”

She took a sip of the cream soda and made a face. “God, this is sweet.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Great, huh?” He reached for the can. “May I?” She handed the soda to him, and he paused before drinking. “You sure you weren’t crying because you have some deadly disease that’s passed by sharing cans of soda?”

Her smile still held a trace of Hollywood fake. “No. Would you mind finding Mindy? She’s the really pretty black woman who’s around here somewhere …”

“No problem.” Jamaal took a long drink of the soda. “I happen to be a magnet for really pretty black women. Just … If you don’t mind, can I say something first?”

Her shoulders narrowed as if she were preparing for him to hit her, and again something shifted in his stomach.

“Look, Susie—Susannah. What Jericho and your father said … About you not being up for this part? They’re both completely full of shit.”

She wasn’t expecting him to say that, and it caught her off guard. “Thanks, but—”

“No buts. They’re wrong. Don’t you lose your self-confidence. And don’t you dare let Jericho intimidate you into getting all tight. He walked in here thinking he knows you. I know it’s not fair, but now you’ve got a job to do—you’ve got to prove him wrong. And cut the SOB some slack at the same time. This is the first big picture he’s done sober in years. He’s probably carrying around a trunkload of his own self-doubt.” He handed her back the can. “Okay?”

She nodded. She was so serious. Dear Lord, who ever would’ve guessed he’d be standing here giving advice to Susie McCoy? The thought made him grin. “You know, I’ve been a big fan of yours since
The Thing in the Basement.
”

“That was my first movie.”

Jamaal sat down on the cooler. “Yeah, I know. I’ve seen ’em all.”

Her eyebrows rose. “
Slumberparty
?”

“Shit, yeah. I even saw
Slumberparty Two.
Well, okay, I waited for the video. But I saw it. You were good.”

She rolled her eyes. “Too bad the rest of the movie sucked.”

“No sequels. Repeat after me. No sequels. Come on.”

“No sequels,” she said with a smile that didn’t look as if it were about to break. When it was real, she had a knockout, killer smile.

“Good girl. Now when Vic and Kate come knocking at our doors with an offer of two mill each to do the sequel to this movie—after it sweeps the Oscars, of course—”

“Of course.” She giggled.

“What are we going to say?”

“No sequels.”

“What are you
nuts
? You’re really going to turn down two million
dollars
for a picture that’s probably going to be great despite the fact that it’ll be a sequel?”

Susannah McCoy laughed aloud.

Mission accomplished. Jamaal stood up. “I’ll go find Mindy for you now.”

“Jamaal.”

He turned to look back at her.

“Thanks for the soda.” Her smile was shy now. “I’ll, um, see you around?”

Holy shit. He’d done more than make her laugh. He’d made her have a crush on him. Susie McCoy had a crush on
him.
Jamaal smiled back at her. “Yeah, sure. I’m not going anywhere.”