Seduction (5 page)

TERRA CALLED
ten ticket brokers, but they were all sold out. She should've known that it would be hard finding tickets to Madonna's concert at the last minute. She read about the concert in the newspaper and called Sage before she had the tickets in hand. The concert was the perfect excuse to see him again without seeming like she was scheming. Only now, Terra was beginning to panic. If she called him back and said that they were just going to dinner, he'd know that she had lied about the tickets. Terra's plan was to slowly change her attitude toward Sage. She had told him on more than one occasion that she thought of him as a “play brother,” but now that he was heading up a major movie studio, “play brother” would soon be replaced with “lover.” Terra wasn't worried about making the transition from friends to lovers. She knew that Sage absolutely adored her, and based on his feelings, she'd have him jumping through her designer hoops within weeks. However, she still had to proceed with caution. Terra didn't want to blow her chances by acting too desperate.

“Hi, I'm calling to find out if you have tickets to see Madonna tonight?” she asked the eleventh ticket broker of the day.

“I only have four left,” he said matter-of-factly.

Relieved, Terra exhaled loudly into the receiver. “I need two front row tickets.”

“I don't got no front row seats. The closest I got to the stage is the fifth row. You want 'em or not?” he asked curtly.

Terra thought for a minute. She told Sage that she had front row seats; now if she showed up with fifth row seats, he would know that she didn't have the tickets when she'd called to invite him. On the other hand, fifth row was better than no row. “Yes, I'll take them,” she said reluctantly. She was tempted to turn him down and call another broker, but based on her previous calls, this guy was probably her best bet. This was Madonna, after all, and the prime seats were obviously already gone.

“That'll be twenty-five hundred dollars. I take MasterCard, Visa, and AmEx. What card you gonna use?” he asked, getting right down to business.

“Twenty-five hundred dollars!” she shrieked. Terra could more than afford the tickets, but she'd rather pay twenty-five hundred dollars for a nice pair of boots instead of for a concert that would be over in a few hours. Though she was an heiress, she was frugal when it came to certain intangible things and extravagant with others like designer clothes, shoes, and handbags. She had a closet full of Birkin Bags, in a rainbow of colors, and with what she paid for the pricey Hermès purses, she could have easily funded a small third world village.

“Look, lady, I ain't got all day; either you want 'em or not, 'cause if you don't, someone else will easily take 'em off my hands,” he said, trying to seal the deal.

“Yes, I want them.” She took out her black AmEx and rattled off the numbers. “Can you have them messengered over to my apartment?”

“That'll cost you an extra fifty.”

“Fifty dollars for a messenger?”

“You can come pick 'em up yourself or you can have them delivered, your choice.”

Terra considered sending her driver, but she didn't want him getting caught up in midday traffic; it was already eleven forty-five and she had an audition at two-thirty, so sending him across town and back at this point was out of the question. She knew that the ticket broker was inflating the costs, but she had no choice. “Okay, add the delivery charge to my card,” she said, and gave him her address.

The look for Terra's Dove audition was “All American,” so she pulled her hair back in a tight knot, applied a thin layer of gloss to her lips, and dressed in a simple white shirtdress with mauve ballerina slippers. Her appearance was young and fresh, just like she had stepped off the pages of
Glamour
. Though her look was perfect for the audition, it was too straight-laced and boring for a Madonna concert. Terra threw a change of clothes in a tote bag, called her driver, and told him to meet her out front at one-thirty.

While she waited for the tickets to arrive, she read over the script that Feodora had faxed over earlier that morning. The lines were simple, and she repeated them in the mirror.

“Beauty this natural”—she rubbed the side of her cheek—“comes from only one beauty bar…Dove,” she said, holding up a bar of soap and flashing a fresh smile.

As she repeated the line for the sixth time, the doorman rang up. “Ms. Benson, you have a package. Should I have him come up or shall I sign for you?”

“Sign for me, please, Jim. I'll be right down.”

Terra grabbed the script and her tote bag and headed out the door. She picked up the envelope from her doorman, walked to the car, settled in the backseat, and pulled out the script, but before she could go over the lines again, her cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hey, Girl, what's up?” It was Lexi.

“I'm on my way to an audition, what are you up to?”

“I was calling to see if you wanted to grab lunch, and then go over to Barneys. My personal shopper called and said that the new Marc Jacobs bag is in, and I wanted to pick one up before they sell out.” Lexington's life consisted of sleeping, shopping, partying, eating, and dating, not necessarily in that order. Her only ambition in life was to spend her parents' hard-earned money, and once she got married—in the very far future—she would then spend her husband's hard-earned money.

“I'd love to zip over to Barneys, but after the audition, I'm meeting Sage for dinner and then we're going to see Madonna at the Paramount.”

“I tried to get tickets for that concert, but it was sold out. Sage must have ordered those tickets months ago.” Lexi had every single one of Madonna's records and books. She loved everything about “The Material Girl,” from her “I don't give a fuck” attitude to her choice of husbands. Lexi had the biggest crush on Guy Ritchie
and
Sean Penn.

“Sage didn't buy the tickets. I did,” Terra told her.

“Why'd you do that? I thought he was so in love with you. Why isn't he wining and dining you like before? What happened?” Lexi asked, full of questions.

“Nothing happened. The tickets are just a lure to get him out. I told you I plan to charm my way right into his bed. I'm sick of going on these auditions, and Sage's new studio will be my salvation.”

“When you're standing center stage at the Kodak Center accepting your Academy Award, don't forget to thank your girl for all the years of love and support,” Lexi said, selfishly thinking about herself as always.

“Who's my girl?” Terra asked, teasing her.

“Don't be funny. I expect to be by your side at every red carpet event you attend. You know how I love the paparazzi!” she said with a smile in her voice.

“Lexi, I swear I've never seen anyone who loved being photographed more than you. I think you should hire a private coach and study acting, so you can attend the industry events on your own merit,” Terra suggested.

“Girl, I'm not trying to work. I just want the glory without the guts. I'll leave pounding the pavement and going to auditions to you,” she said cavalierly.

“Oh, I forgot that I was talking to Ms. Lazybones.” Ever since they were kids, Lexington wasn't interested in anything but playing dress up and going to tea parties. Now that they were grown, the only thing that had changed was that the tea parties were at the Four Seasons, and she dressed in her own couture outfits instead of her mother's.

“I'm not lazy. I just prefer to spend my time having fun. Life's too short not to enjoy every single second,” she said without shame.

“Life is short. That's why I'm taking the elevator straight to the top and skipping all of those unnecessary stops in between,” Terra said.

“I heard that. Well, have fun tonight and let's get together before the week is over.”

“Okay, talk to you later,” Terra said, and flipped her phone shut.

The car was pulling up in front of the audition site on Forty-fourth and Broadway by the time Terra had finished her conversation with Lexington. She didn't have time to go over the lines again, so she stuffed the script back into her tote and climbed out of the car.

“Leroy, I don't know how long I'm going to be. This might take five minutes or five hours. You just never know with auditions,” she told her driver.

“That's okay, Ms. Benson. I'll park over near Tenth Avenue, because the traffic around here is crazy,” he said, looking out of the windshield at the gridlock in Times Square.

“I'll call you ten minutes before I'm ready to leave. That should give you plenty of time to get here,” Terra said before walking into the building.

The auditions were being held at a casting agency on the sixteenth floor, and when Terra stepped off of the elevator, she gasped at the sight before her. Hundreds of beautiful girls were taking up every square inch of the hallway leading to the agency's door. There were blondes, brunettes, redheads, short hair, long hair, black, white, Asian, and Latina; every nationality under the sun seemed to be represented. They were all dressed similarly in white outfits with their hair pulled tightly into buns. Each face was scrubbed clean—with Dove soap no doubt—with only a thin layer of gloss on the lips. Terra thought that she had clinched the look of the “All American Girl,” but every actress here had the same exact idea. She maneuvered her way to the receptionist.

“Hello, my name is Terra Benson and I have a two-thirty appointment with the casting director,” she said haughtily.

“Here”—the receptionist handed her a number—“take this and wait your turn,” she said, barely looking up.

Terra read the number “205” and put the orange ticket on the desk. “Excuse me, but I have an appointment. I'm not here for the cattle call.”

“Look, this is an open casting, so either you wait or you leave. The choice is yours,” the receptionist said in no uncertain terms.

FK hadn't said anything about an open casting. Terra was tempted to call her agent and tell her that she was leaving, but she knew that Feodora would be incensed. Besides, her days of waiting around for an audition would soon be over. She picked up the number and fought her way back near the elevators where there was room to breathe.

Nearly three hours later, her number was finally called, and she walked unenthusiastically into the audition room.

“Let me have your ticket,” said the casting assistant. She then asked, “Do you have a head shot and résumé?”

Terra handed over the number, then reached into her bag and gave the woman her comp sheet. “Here you go.”

The woman quickly looked it over and wrote “205” on the top left-hand corner. “Stand over there.” She pointed to a black taped X on the floor. “State your name, and then speak your lines directly into the camera,” she instructed.

Terra put her tote on the floor by the door, walked over to the X, straightened her shoulders, exhaled, said her name, and began her lines, “Beauty this natural”—she rubbed her cheek—“can only be Dove.”

“Cut,” yelled the director. “The line is ‘Beauty this natural comes from only one beauty bar…Dove.' Not ‘can only be Dove.' Run it again. Are you ready?” he asked Terra.

“Yes.”

“Take two!” he yelled.

“Beauty this natural comes from Dove,” she said, forgetting the rest of the line.

“Cut!” he yelled again. “You forgot to rub your face, and you forgot the rest of the line. Okay, this is your last chance,” he spat out.

Terra was so nervous at this point that she jumbled up the lines and added a few new ones, “Dove is a natural beauty bar, and you can only get this face from Dove.”

“Get her out of here! She's wasting my time,” yelled the temperamental director. As Terra was leaving he added, “And next time learn your lines!”

Terra rushed over to the door, snatched up her tote bag, and nearly ran out of the room. She was beyond embarrassed. At home in front of the mirror she had the lines down cold, but in front of the camera, the words just wouldn't come out right. It was like she had some kind of unexpected stage fright. Terra jabbed at the elevator button. She wanted to escape with a quick exit but the elevator was taking forever. As she waited, she pulled out her cell phone and called Leroy.

“I'm ready. Get here as soon as you can.”

“No problem, Ms. Benson. I'm on my way,” he said and hung up.

When Terra reached the lobby, she pushed through the revolving doors and rushed out of the building, but Leroy was nowhere in sight. Traffic was gridlocked on Broadway and on Forty-fourth Street, and she realized that it would take him at least ten minutes to come across town.

“Damn, I should've called him twenty minutes ago,” she said aloud, and began pacing the sidewalk like a madwoman.

The more she paced, the angrier she became. Walking blindly into an open call had rattled her nerves. She couldn't believe that she had blown a stupid commercial with only one line. Had Feodora told her it was a cattle call, she definitely would not have gone. She hated being grouped with the other wannabe starlets. Being an heiress, Terra was born with an innate sense of entitlement. Her last name held open doors that were closed to the masses, and she wasn't used to being treated like a commoner.
Well, once Sage gets his studio up and running, I won't have to subject myself to these humiliating cattle calls anymore.