My heart flips once, then twice, as my legs turn to jello and she disappears beyond the black glass. Lydia mumbles something incoherently, gripping my arm and making me nearly topple over. “That was Julie Rays! Julie!” she squeals.
I stare back at her, bewildered. I should know that name. I should know everyone on set. It was my job at the agency to know anyone worth knowing in this industry. But for the life of me, my mind is blank. I force a smile and nod my head as Lydia gathers her composure. Her smile is infectious; her confidence, her everything.
Julie Rays. I say her name in my head over and over. “Oh, shit. Julie Rays.” It finally clicks and my eyes widen as I search beyond the glass for her figure, but she’s gone. Julie’s an up-and-coming actress. The star of not one, but two new top-rated shows on television last year. I should have recognized her in a heartbeat. She’s one of the hottest actresses right now and she just walked past me only a few feet away.
“Oh my God, do you think she’s on the same set?” I ask Lydia, who lets a sly smile slip onto her face. We don’t know a single thing about the stars of the show. To control publicity, NDAs are standard before shooting begins.
“Don’t leave me,” I tell Lydia as she starts to move toward the building. The request comes out in a single breath and more like a desperate question than anything else.
“There’s no way I’m letting you go anywhere without me,” she says with a wink and pulls me toward the doors. Lydia doesn’t even break her stride as the doorman pulls the all-glass door wide open and tips his head to greet her.
My feet move in unison with Lydia’s pace as I take in the expansive lobby. The high ceilings make the ambient sounds echo in the large room. To the right side is an open-concept restaurant and I only take a quick glance. There are high-end shops on my left and an enormous fountain in the very center. Just beyond, there’s a large mahogany desk that spans the length of the open lobby. The reception desk. Right where we’re headed.
One of the four women behind the desk looks up at us with a smile, her platinum blonde hair pulled back tightly into a high bun. Everyone in here oozes wealth and sophistication.
“You’re fine,” Lydia whispers to me and her voice makes me turn to her. “If you could stop gripping me like you’re about to float away, I’d appreciate it,” she says.
I instantly let go of her arm.
It’s just that … I’m intimidated. There’s no other way to put it. I’m terrified I’m going to fail. That I’ll ruin this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
“You’re seriously going to do fine,” Lydia says, practically reading my mind as we come to a stop in front of the desk.
Before I can even utter a response, she’s already moved on and is giving our names to the receptionist, Alexis, or so it says on the shiny silver tag above her shirt pocket.
“And how can I help you, Miss Parker?”
“We’re here for filming with Mr. Stevens,” Lydia says and adds, “The fifteenth floor, I believe.” Her soft smile and elegance speak of confidence and certainty. Sure enough, the receptionist nods and reveals key cards, swiping them in something I can’t fully see next to her computer.
I swallow the lump in my throat and look around the large lobby, watching as the men and women, each dressed in varying degrees of wealth, move across the tiled marble. The ceiling is domed and so high I have to crane my neck to see the etched designs along the coffered ceiling.
I wonder if they can tell I’m a girl from outside the city. One of the ones who stares out of her window at night and memorizes each building that’s lit up off in the distance. No one special, and destined to stay in the same town where I grew up.
My mother insisted that a college degree wasn’t necessary. She loved having me work with her in the corner shop selling secondhand antiques and collectibles. I did it for years, but going to school was a chance to get closer to the bright lights of the city. Every year inching nearer, but knowing within four short years I’d be right back in the suburbs, working at my mom’s shop and making her proud.
One day, I’m just a marketing student. The next, I’m taking an internship under Nancy Welsh, a well-known agent.
I shouldn’t have applied; all it did was upset my mother, who didn’t understand, and pulled me closer to a life I didn’t think I was supposed to lead.
Within two weeks, I was practicing line readings with a client and up-and-coming actress, Lydia Parker, sweet and seemingly unassuming. But Lydia is cunning, and she knows the ways of this industry. It wasn’t an accident that we were practicing lines in the coffee shop that the director, Stevens, frequented. What Lydia wants, Lydia gets.