Carly started to speak and stopped. She turned around and stared at her white cabinets with the glass insets. That didn’t make sense. Jay told her she was a favorite actress of his and he was dying to work with her. “Did you tell them I’d audition? I’ll prove what I have to prove.”
“I told them you’d audition. I told them you’d be in bed every night by eleven. I told them they could have your firstborn. They passed, Carly. They’re all passing, and if we don’t do something to turn this around, this whole hands-off Carly Daniel policy that’s circulating the studio system is going to be permanent.”
Carly frowned. She’d behaved badly, partied too hard, and taken advantage of her status in Hollywood, imagining she’d be solid no matter what she did, including holding up production when she’d failed to make her call times. She’d fallen into the Valley of the Stupid and was paying for it mightily. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if that hotheaded director hadn’t run to every media outlet who would listen and exaggerated all that had happened. It didn’t matter how sorry she was, or how vehemently she planned to be different moving forward. No more late partying. No more late arrivals, no more pushy opinions, and definitely no more hookups who would tell all to the tabloids. She truly regretted that one night with the Norwegian woman who sold compromising photos of them to The Inquirer. Her kingdom for a time machine. Yet she’d been on the straight and narrow for months now, and no one cared. Well, maybe until now. She backtracked to the important part, leaving the Barrow news in the past. “But there’s an offer?”
“Not one you’re going to be thrilled with, but if you ask me, we’re lucky to get it.” There was a weariness in Alika’s tone, and the words themselves didn’t bode well, either.
“Okay, I guess. Tell me about it?”
“The McAllister Theater in Minneapolis is mounting a production of a new play, Starry Nights.”
Carly squinted and noticed absently her tan was in great shape. That was a bonus, at least. “Like the Van Gogh painting?”
“The script is inspired by the painting, yes, and I’ve gotta be honest with you, it’s good. The director, Ethan Moore—no relation, by the way—has offered you one of the two lead roles.”
Carly shook her head, picked up her smoothie, and walked. “But stage work? Think about it, Alika, no. That’s not who I am. It’s not what I do.” She sighed dramatically. “If this offer was Broadway, then maybe. I could at least think of it as a bonus on the old résumé, but some dusty old regional house?”
“It’s not just some regional house.” Alika seemed frustrated again. “It’s the fucking McAllister. Well respected. Coveted in artistic circles. It attracts top echelon directors, actors, and designers, all because everyone wants to work at The McAllister at least once in their career. Don’t just blow this off, Carly. I can’t guarantee there’ll be another offer.”
“You honestly think I should do this?”
“If you want to reestablish yourself, this is a fantastic way to do it.” Alika had put on her serious voice, the one she used when she tried to get Carly to see things from her point of view. The serious voice tended to be right, so Carly paid attention. “Go back to basics. Act your ass off in this play, and let the reviews sell you to Hollywood all over again for the credible work you did. Remind them you’re an actress and not a headline.”
Carly dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. Not only did stage work not appeal to her, but she’d never done any theater. Zilch. Not even in her tiny high school back in Oregon. Her first audition had been for a television guest spot when she was nineteen, and that had quickly led to her first film cameo at twenty. Since then, the water had been warm in Hollywood, and her star had continued to rise until she was the name selling films. Nine years later, as she approached her thirtieth birthday, she could definitely say that star had fallen. And hard.
On the other hand, how hard could it be to transfer what she did to a live performance, right? She was a good actress. She knew that much, and acting was acting. “Can I think about it?”
“You can, but why?” Alika drew out the last word. Carly could imagine Alika’s hair vibrating the way it did when she was frustrated. “Would you rather float around in your pool some more and sip mimosas? I can let you get back to that. I have other clients who are interested in working.” One of Carly’s favorite things about Alika was that she rarely sucked up and instead told it like it was. “Or we can begin building your career back to what it was, one brick at a time. The McAllister is a brick, baby girl.”
Why did Alika have to be so tell-it-like-it-is? Carly sighed and tapped her countertop about eight hundred times. Her pool guy stole another glance at her in her bikini, and she closed her sheer cover-up tighter around her body. “Fine. Take the offer. There’s a dude gawking openly at my breasts, and I’d like to say something positive happened today.”
“Gawking at you? What else is new?” Alika chuckled. “Report his ass to his supervisor immediately. Also, as your friend, I’m happy you see the light. I’ll send over the contract as soon as I have it. This is the right move. The McAllister is big.”
“When do I have to be in—I’m sorry, where the hell am I going, again?”
“Minneapolis. They want you there for the first rehearsal next week. The theater will be in touch to arrange your travel once we’ve signed. Start flexing that acting muscle again.”
“On it. Maybe you’ll visit?”
“Doubtful. I must wheel and deal so we can all eat.”
Carly sighed as she tried to keep up, tried to imagine waking up in Minneapolis next week, and tried not to swear in frustration at her agent, who was merely the messenger. “Alika. Level with me. Is this whole thing really necessary? I mean, can’t we just send Warner Brothers a fruit basket and hope they tell the others?”
“Baby girl, if you want to see your career ever again, then I’d say yes, you need to pay some dues. Fruit baskets can be for later.”
It wasn’t how she’d imagined she’d spend the next three months of her life, but then when had life ever been predictable? She’d go to Minnesota, of all places, hang out at an old boring theater, and show everyone in show business that, after everything, she was a safe bet. That was right. Carly Daniel would play ball, and she’d play it well. Maybe she’d even make a new friend or two in Minneapolis. That part, she’d never had trouble with.
She harnessed all her energy. “All right. Next week it is. Do you have a script for me?”
“I’ll send it right over. And Carly? This is the right move. You gotta trust me on this. It’s a desert out there for you. You’re crawling on your hands and knees in search of water.”
“Jesus, that’s a depressing image.”
“It’s your life. Seek out that oasis. It’s in Minneapolis.”
Carly clicked off the call and caught her reflection in the glass. She pulled her blond hair from the clip holding it back and felt it tumble down past her shoulder blades. She stared out at her infinity pool that overlooked all of the Hollywood Hills. It was August. She had maybe six months until she couldn’t afford this house any longer, unless something changed. Life was about to shift dramatically for her, but Carly was up for it. She wondered what Minneapolis was like in the fall.