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“The initial in-person auditions are early tomorrow, then dinner tomorrow night. Tuesday, they plan to have all three of you do a scene with Bernardo, as if they’re shooting the movie.” Ana’s voice almost had a stern air to Rakell's ears, like she wanted to ensure her client knew how crucial this was. “They’ll also have the other lead actor there—James Albright, who’s playing the father. He’ll just be watching. As you know, Bernardo is playing the father’s business associate. They’ll review the scene and make a decision within a week. I’m assuming I’ll know early next week. It’s positive that Bernardo specifically asked for you, and he has only seen the Sports Illuminated covers, along with the black and white commercials you did for Leather and Lace.”
Rakell laid back on her bed in the small bedroom listening to Ana clearing her throat. “Rakell, as I said, a few scenes would require you to be in a bathing suit, and one scene in the movie would be topless. In this movie, the father’s best friend and business partner develops an unusual obsession with his friend’s daughter. In the audition scenes, you will be wearing a bikini. And, of course, they have already seen you in a swimsuit,” she added, a quick jab of laughter vibrating through the phone. “I guess that’s a silly statement because the whole world has seen you in a swimsuit.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true. Somehow, this seems different,” Rakell said, sitting up straight, pulling her shoulders in, before breathing in deep. “But I want this, I really do.”
“Then, over the next two days, show them what they want and how you can mold into any character. I’ve seen you shift when the camera is on you, so I know you can do this,” Ana reassured her.
Rakell didn’t miss the message in her agent’s tone and words: give your all…whatever that takes. Rakell knew how to do that. She knew how to put herself aside and be whoever was needed at the moment. You have no idea how many people I have been, Rakell thought. “Yes, I can do this.”
“I’ll let you go so you can read through everything and get your clothes ready. I suggest something youthful looking for the audition part tomorrow, like a low-cut sundress. I suppose it’s obvious that your body snagged their attention. Then tomorrow evening, something sexy…” She could hear Ana swallowing through the line before she went on. “Think, a little black dress, heels, but not too high. I think Bernardo is approaching six feet, like every other Hollywood actor,” she stated in a jolt of laughter. “So heels, black dress, simple jewelry…and don’t forget that demure smile.”
Ana spoke like she was reading from a grocery list. Rakell couldn’t stop the churning she felt inside, the sensation that she’d moved on from the escort world but was now being tossed into a parallel universe. “Okay, yes,” she answered robotically, reconciling the “to-be” list in her head. Don’t be Rakell; keep your thoughts to yourself and give them what they want.
“And Rakell, do not share any of this with your roommate. She knows Shaina, and we don’t want her to get wind of what you're wearing, or even that you’re her competition. She may already know, but I’m not sure. We don’t want to give her any edge. I have an in with the casting director’s assistant, so that’s why I know so much about who else they’re looking at.”
“I don’t think she’d…” Impulsively shot from Rakell’s mouth before she stopped herself. Everyone was competing in this town. Which is why Austin would always be home; she couldn’t picture living in L.A. full-time. She needed Austin to retreat to—to know her friends were truly her friends.
Almost mirroring the thoughts in Rakell’s head, Ana started lecturing. “Believe me, you think the modeling world in Europe was competitive? You have no idea what actors trying to land a part—forget about a substantial role with Bernardo—will do. I’m sure you can only guess. Just let me say, the less the competition knows about you, the better off you will be.”
“I just moved in with Vee. I didn’t know her before I answered the ad, but she works hard. She’s a hostess at The Beverly Wilshire. She puts in long hours…” she added, not masking the defensiveness in her tone.
“Rakell, I know exactly who she is. Masie Vera Simmons graduated from high school in Mississippi and goes by Vee because Masie sounds too hick-like and Vera sounds too old. She’s been taking voice lessons to lose her country accent. I would say it isn’t just Southern but pure hick-country. Yes, she’s a beautiful girl, but she’s well aware that making it in this industry is difficult, and she’s more than willing to make money in other ways, so smartly, she works at a place where a lot of eligible men hang out…well, in this town eligible is ill-defined. Vee has no qualms about batting her eyelashes, showing some skin, and letting that twang accidentally slip out. I know her agent well. We both went to UCLA for undergrad. Her agent has warned her that this business has a fine line; she can flirt at the edges but needs to be cautious.”
“She must have gotten some pretty good jobs because she drives…”
“A brand-new electric Porsche, a bonus for being a hostess at Jacobson’s extravagant Hollywood parties. On that note, if you are ever invited to one of those parties, it means you’ve made it or the town knows you’re climbing the ladder quickly, so never refuse an invitation to the Jacobson Estate.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Go read through everything, practice, but not too hard. You want to come fresh and appear naïve yet intelligent. Hollywood executives froth at the mouth with the thought of the next ingénue. You could be that, coming out of nowhere from a ranch in Australia, then found herself on the Jumbotron.” Her voice took on a saccharine tone. “Yes, I quite accidentally…”
“That was an accident,” Rakell interjected, defensiveness driving her voice. “I didn’t plan that.”
“Rakell, like I said, when I gave Sports Illuminated permission to release your identity…I don’t care how it happened, it was brilliant. And all the speculation surrounding you and one of the biggest playboys in the NFL. Well, it was genius as well. Now get to it; this role may very well get you asked to the Jacobson Estate in a short time.”
Rakell halted the sigh that had been building in her lungs, but felt compelled to reiterate to Ana…hell, the world, that getting the approval of rich men was not her goal. She’d done that in the most direct way and she knew how depthless they were—there was nothing fulfilling about rich men thinking you were something for a moment in time. “A Jacobson invite is not really on my list of career goals.”
Ana cut her off with a chuckle. “It will be. I had to learn this the hard way, going between Austin and L.A. In this town, there’s a motive, or let’s say, an end goal behind every gesture, whether it be a party invite, dinner out, coffee, a stroll on the beach, or a callback. Everything is infused with a motive…regardless of who you are. You’ll learn that lesson soon enough. You’ll learn…the more you are exposed to people with money and power, you’ll see that nothing is motive-free.”
Rakell shook her head, fighting the urge to say, believe me, I know. Yet she hadn’t thought of pursuing acting as a stepladder of favors. She’d told herself it was based on talent and a drive to endure, to go the long haul. “Okay, I will make a strong showing tomorrow. I’m excited about the opportunity to be considered for a role that isn’t a background blonde bubblehead with one line or a head nod.” She let out a short chuckle. “Thank you. I’ll call after the audition.”
“Good luck,” Ana added just before the line went silent.
“Sure, mate, luck,” Rakell uttered to the wall as she sat down at the small, whitewashed desk beside her bed, opening her computer to review the script.
Chapter Five
Naïve to Death
The screenplay opens with a young woman, Emmerson, the daughter of a Wall Street billionaire, asking her father’s business protégé (a man who appears to be in his forties) to rub sunscreen on her as he’s walking around the pool at her family’s Hampton Estate smoking a cigarette. He hesitates, and she demurely says, “Please, I’ll be in so much trouble if I burn.” The man edges his gaze to her, looks away, then rakes his eyes over her young, taut body, as if contemplating his next move, then, as if bringing himself back to reality, shakes his head briskly. “No, I suggest you call for Cecilia,” he says sternly. The young girl rolls to her side and sits up on the side of the lounge chair, her chin tilted downward, looking up at the man. “Our maid is busy.” Her eyes scan the back of the house; then she looks back to the man. “Uncle, you don’t want Daddy to be mad at me, do you?” Her eyes fixed on him as she reaches behind her back, her fingers pinching the string of her bikini top; the camera pans to her hand, then to her eyes growing wide, brimming with a naïve seductive air, before panning to the man's face, then to his fingers as the burning cigarette drops to the ground.
The screen flashes (Twenty Years Earlier), and the scene around the pool transforms into a party: It’s a clear, sunny day with balloons, a bouncy house, a clown, adults dressed for the summer pool party, children splashing in the pool, a young man who looks to be in his mid-twenties, tan and lean, sitting in a chair watching the pool, working as a lifeguard while a toddler runs up to him and says, “Mommy said you're like my uncle. Is that true?” A huge smile stretches across his face. “Emmerson; I’m honored. Yes, you can call me Uncle.”
Rakell’s phone buzzed to life, breaking her attention.
Matt: Hope you got our message. Sorry, Jonathon insisted on singing HB…dreadful!...Send
Rakell: Yes, I did. Thank you. Love you both. I’m glad he’s not in a choir. ??…Send
