Chapter 1
Leyla
“Thank you so, so much.” Leyla squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears, her heart fuller than it had ever been.
The award was smooth and heavy in her hands, a representation of the dreams and hard work that had been a part of her life for years.
“It’s a true honor to be standing here today, accepting this award,” she went on. “I want to thank the Academy, my friends—”
A sharp knock interrupted the speech.
Opening her eyes, Leyla caught sight of her reflection in the living room mirror. The fantasy dissipated, the “award” clutched against her chest becoming a rolling pin once again. There was no audience, no stage, no gown that cost thousands of dollars draped across her form.
It was just her, a twenty-nine-year-old unknown actress wearing blue jeans in the middle of Austin, Texas.
“Coming,” Leyla called, pretty sure she already knew who it was.
Sure enough, London stood on the other side of the apartment’s front door.
Leyla’s best friend’s face scrunched at the sight of the rolling pin. “Are you baking, or planning on fighting off intruders with that thing?”
“I was visualizing,” Leyla laughed. “You know, getting in the feeling place of my desires.”
“Hmm…”
“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy.” Spinning on her heel, Leyla walked back into her living room.
London didn’t need an invite. She practically lived at Leyla’s anyway, even though her own apartment was literally right across the hall.
“We watched that video together,” Leyla added, depositing the rolling pin on the kitchen counter and continuing to the bathroom.
“I remember.” London leaned against the bathroom’s doorjamb and watched as Leyla dug around in her makeup bag.
“Then what’s that face for?” Leyla laughed.
They locked gazes in the mirror, and London scrunched up her freckled nose.
“The idea of baking made me hungry. You wanna make some muffins?”
“I have an audition.”
London straightened up. “Ooh. That’s right. For a… gas station commercial, right?”
“An oil company. ClayFuel.” Leyla located her favorite lip liner and leaned close to the mirror to apply it.
“Nice. What time do you think you’ll be back?”
“I’m sure it won’t be that long. The audition is downtown.”
“Think you can let Sharkie out this afternoon?” London asked. “Amanda asked me to cover her shift at the salon.”
“Yeah. Course.”
Though London’s pug could be a lot to handle due to his constant wheezing and whining for food and pets, he was also adorable.
Leyla straightened up and inspected her reflection. “I’m not sure how to do my eyes.”
“Mascara. Nothing else.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” London said. “You’re already gorgeous without makeup.”
“Thanks. That’s sweet.”
“And true.” London peeked into the makeup bag. “Ooh. You got that new plumping gloss.”
“I think I should do some eyeshadow,” Leyla decided.
“Okay, but really. You look great. Just a touch of gold sparkle.”
Twisting her lips, Leyla fluffed her straight, black hair. She wasn’t sure she was as beautiful as her friend claimed, but she was definitely unique. There weren’t a whole lot of actresses of Middle Eastern descent in the Austin scene, so oftentimes, roles calling for that type went to her by default.
Still… it wasn’t always easy making a living as an actress, even though Leyla hustled like nobody’s business. As a rule, she treated every audition like the opportunity of a lifetime, since that was the type of mindset that encouraged her to always give her all.
“Thanks, babe,” Leyla said. “If you think I look good, then hopefully ClayFuel’s CEO will think the same.”
“He’ll be there?” London’s eyes went wide. “That’s nerve-racking.”
Leyla shrugged. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
A beep drew her attention from the mirror. Taking her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, Leyla found she’d just received an email.
The little letter icon on the screen made her stomach twist.
She’d sent a lot of emails in the last two months. Made a lot of calls. Shaken a lot of hands. Kissed up to a lot of rich people.
Mostly, though, she’d weathered a lot of rejections.
“You okay?” London asked.
“Yeah, I… I’m fine.” Leyla tapped on her email app. If she didn’t check it now, she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it.
“Is it a message from an investor?”
“Potential investor,” Leyla reminded London.
“Hey. Calling them ‘potential’ isn’t getting into the feeling place of what you want.”
Leyla looked at her over the phone and laughed. “Yeah. That’s true.”
“So, what’s it say?”
Leyla quickly scanned the email. Even though she hadn’t gotten her hopes up, her heart sank a little.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she reported.
London frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Most people don’t even respond, so it’s nice to get an email back.”
For eight weeks, Leyla had been contacting philanthropists around the city, looking for funding for her feature film script. She’d expected securing the moolah to be a challenge, but she’d never imagined this level of difficulty.
Tons of people told her the story was great. The problem was that no one wanted to take a risk on a first-time filmmaker. Forget that Leyla had a decade of experience acting in film and television.
“Well,” London said, “there are more people out there.”
Leyla couldn’t meet her eyes. She wanted to believe that. She needed to believe that.
It was just hard.
The budget she’d figured out for the film rested at three hundred thousand. Last year’s crowdfunding campaign had only pulled in ten thousand.
She would have used the momentum from that to immediately hunt for private investors, but life had gotten in the way.
Or, rather, death had gotten in the way.
“Right.” Leyla pocketed the phone. “It’ll work out.”’
Even as she said it, she knew it was false positivity. Nothing in the last year had worked out. Even though things had to get better at some point, it was hard to have faith blue skies would return after so many cloudy days.
“How are you feeling about this audition?” London asked.
“Like I’m really wishing the job paid hundreds of thousands.”
London made a pouty face. “This is typical. You know that. If you don’t get funding for this script, there’s always the next one.”
Leyla’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to think about the “next one.” Right then, the only thing that mattered was getting this movie made.
It had been her mother’s dying wish that Leyla not wallow in grief, but instead to get out and live her life to the fullest. For Leyla, that meant making the movie inspired by her mother’s life.