Carmie was petite, almost as short as Jewel, but heavier in the hips and thighs. She had butter-cream skin, textured copperred hair that dangled in tight curls around a wise face, cheekbones that any professional model would kill for and wide-set brown eyes that drew attention away from the sprinkling of freckles that marched across the bridge of her upturned nose. At forty-three, she was as hip, sassy and attractive as a woman ten years younger.
“Thanks for coming over so fast,” Jewel added, sounding a tad apologetic, knowing how bad traffic on the 405 could be between Ladera Heights and her home in Brentwood. Monday through Friday, Carmie managed Jewel’s correspondence, kept her calendars on track, organized her wardrobe to ensure that Jewel’s clothing delivered a diva punch without looking slutty, did the grocery shopping and most of the cooking. In fact, Carmie was an excellent cook who enjoyed showing off her skill, with special meals for her busy, on-the-go employer.
“Sure you didn’t have plans this morning?” Jewel asked.
“Nope. Just like I said, coming over now is fine, but I’ve gotta leave here by two. Hair appointment that I can’t afford to miss.” Carmie removed her reflective sunglasses and stuck them into the side pocket of her purse. “I stopped by Royal Street Market and picked up a pint of mango sherbet for dessert.” She plunked her leather patchwork purse down on the gold-flecked granite counter separating the kitchen from the breakfast area and then stuck the sherbet in the freezer. “So, what do you want for dinner?” Carmie asked as she went to the sink and washed her hands.
“Something simple, light and in the fridge…ready for me to heat up and serve.”
“No problem.” Carmie paused, frowning. “And what’s that you’re eating?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at Jewel’s plate.
“Cinnamon sweet rolls.”
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong? Only time you make those things is when something or someone’s gotten to you.”
With a flick of her wrist, Jewel dismissed her assistant’s comment. “Nothing’s wrong. In fact, things couldn’t be better. Guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” Jewel feigned, pushing her plate aside.
“Well, I’m not surprised you’re stressin’ out and eatin’ all that sugar,” Carmie stated with the authority that came from three years of working for the actress, “with all that’s been going on. First, Brad up and dies, then you get a stunt director in charge of your show and next, some Koreans try to shake you down on your way home. I told you, you need a driver. Why you insist on driving yourself around L.A. I don’t understand. Los Angeles can be a dangerous place for a woman out and about alone. You need to be more careful. If I could afford it, I’d keep a chauffeured car on call 24/7 ’cause driving is one thing I could easily give up.”
“First of all, I didn’t say they were Koreans. Asians. That’s all I said,” Jewel clarified, having anticipating Carmie’s reaction to what happened.
“Okay, Asians,” Carmie conceded. “Doesn’t matter who they are, they oughta be arrested for trying a stunt like that.”
Jewel ignored the remark and went on. “And second, I don’t mind the driving. Being alone in the car with my music is kinda nice. Makes me feel safe, not insecure or helpless. As if I can really take care of myself.”
“Is it the freedom you like or the control?”
Carmie’s question was dead serious, giving Jewel pause. As a television actress, she was surrounded by people assigned to take care of her makeup, her hair, her body, her schedule and even the meals she ate. It seemed as if some eager man or woman was always standing nearby, prepared to do things for Jewel that she had once enjoyed doing for herself. Driving her own car to work every day was her last hold on an independence she was reluctant to give up. However, she had to agree with her assistant. “All right. I want both freedom and control! So what? And please don’t play Doctor Phil with me today, okay?”
With a louder-than-usual huff, Carmie bobbed her head up and down. “All right. Don’t want my advice? I’ll shut up.” She went back to getting her meal together, while commenting over her shoulder. “My son has all of those Terror Train DVDs and I’ve watched ’em with him and his friends a few times. They’re absolutely wild! The body count is so high you can’t keep up with who’s killin’ who. And the sex? Whew! It’s a whole lot raunchier than anything you’ve ever done on P & P. Closer to soft porn, I’d say. You think Taye Elliott’s gonna spice things up in the bedroom between Caprice and Darin? Let ’em get down and dirty? Do some serious lovin’, you know?”
Jewel made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat. Spice things up? Get down and dirty? Hell, no! Caprice was sensuous, seductive and sexy. Nothing remotely close to soft porn was going to appear on a network show. Surely, Taye Elliott knew how far he could push the censors, didn’t he? If not, she’d make sure to discuss that with Taye tonight.
“Have you seen any of his movies?” Carmie inquired, opening the refrigerator to remove a bag of grated cheese.
“No, of course not.” Action flicks are not my thing.
“Well, why don’t you rent one, watch it before he shows up tonight?”
“Think I should?” Why? So we can talk car chases and rollovers all evening? Or analyze fake orgasms and equally fake tits?
“Absolutely!” Carmie was emphatic.
“Well, I’ll think about it,” Jewel vaguely responded, wondering if Carmie might have a point. Perhaps viewing Mr. Elliott’s work would give her a better feel for his creative approach as well as ammunition for any disagreements they might have over his vision for P & P. “Are they in stock at Movieland?”
“Oh, I’m sure they’d have all of ’em,” Carmie replied. “But you’d better get over there before noon. After that, all the good movies are gone.”
“Hmm, maybe I’ll do that,” Jewel decided, leaving the kitchen and heading toward her bedroom.
Passing through the den, she paused at the bay window overlooking the shimmering aqua pool that swept the curve of the flagstone patio. Her favorite pink rosebush was in flower, creating a vibrant splash of color against the lush green foliage in the yard. She smiled, recalling that Brad Fortune had given her that rosebush as a housewarming gift when she first moved in. She loved her house in Brentwood. It was small enough to manage on her own, yet large enough to entertain a crowd of friends when she felt like throwing a party. The one-story Mediterranean white stucco house was the perfect home for her, where she, Brad and Sonny had spent quite a few Saturday afternoons by the pool, running lines and drinking margaritas while strategizing Caprice and Darin’s next moves. Jewel shuddered, throwing off the memories, unable to imagine doing the same with Taye Elliott.
Leaving the den, Jewel went into her bedroom to retrieve her purse and her car keys. Hurrying through the kitchen, she called out to Carmie, “Be right back!” While waiting for the garage door to rise, she tried to calculate how many Terror Train films she could watch before Taye showed up at six o’clock.
Chapter 7
When the phone rang, Taye clicked Pause on the remote control and stilled the image of Caprice Desmond kissing Darin Saintclare in the backseat of a dark limousine. The episode of The Proud and the Passionate that he’d been watching was the last of Brad Fortune’s work and from it, Taye had been able to detect nuances in the characters that he wanted to recapture when he took over as director.
Now, he checked the caller ID on the phone, saw the name “Elliott,” paused, took a deep breath and then reached for the handset.
“Hey, Cliff,” he said, greeting his younger brother, the only member of his family to whom he spoke on a regular basis.
“Taye.