You think?
“Perhaps you did, honey.” Elizabeth stroked her sister’s hair reassuringly. Now was not the time to lecture her about the evils of drinking. Lydia probably wouldn’t even remember the conversation. “Can I take you home?”
Lydia nodded shakily. “I don’t want George to see me like this.”
I suppose it doesn’t matter if she does the right thing for the wrong reason. She put her shoulder under one of Lydia’s arms. “Here we go.”
But Lydia wouldn’t budge. “If I go home, Dad will see me.”
“So?” Their father wouldn’t chastise Lydia; both parents were far too lenient on their youngest daughter. They would probably laugh it off as “networking.”
“He’ll give me a look!”
Elizabeth was tempted to laugh, but she knew what Lydia meant. Their father was the king of sarcastic expressions.
“You can come home with me,” she told her sister. “Jane won’t be coming home tonight.” She’d been spending a lot of time at Charlie’s place recently. “You can sleep in her bed.”
I am not jealous of Jane, Elizabeth told herself. She’s dating a gorgeous movie star and staying at his beautiful Hollywood Hills mansion while I’m taking our drunk sister back to our hole-in-the-wall apartment. I’m not jealous. It would be harder to bear if Jane weren’t such a sweet person, but Elizabeth truly wished her sister every happiness in the world. And although she liked Charlie, she wouldn’t want to date him.
Lydia turned back toward the toilet. “I think I’m going to barf again.”
Elizabeth sighed and held her sister’s hair as she hunched over the bowl. Think of this as a learning experience, she told herself. Preparation for medical school. Maybe I’ll be a gastroenterologist.
She tried to breathe through her mouth as the smell of vomit permeated the air.
Or maybe I’ll be an eye doctor.
Chapter Nine
The next few days passed uneventfully. Shooting happened on schedule, and Elizabeth was mostly successful at avoiding Will. When they did interact, she kept it brief and professional. In one of her rare moments of downtime late on Wednesday, Elizabeth stood beside Lydia as Roberta filmed reaction shots from extras, including George, who was in a baseball cap and a windbreaker. The scene was the site of a car accident, and the extras were playing gawkers in the crowd.
It was painfully obvious why Roberta hadn’t chosen George for a larger role. He definitely believed in the “more is better” school of acting. He showed surprise with a wide-open mouth and reacted to the accident by cringing as though afraid of being hit with flying shrapnel.
George had started the scene in the front of the crowd, but every time Roberta re-shuffled the extras, he had more and more people between him and the camera. No doubt most shots of his face would end up on the cutting room floor.
“Isn’t George the hottest guy ever?” Lydia sighed.
Elizabeth shrugged. “I suppose.” George’s scruffiness was attractive, but many other men were more appealing—like dark-haired brooding guys such as Will Darcy. Not that it meant anything; Will was still a jerk. Gorgeous, but a jerk.
It was a shame George wasn’t a better actor. His presence had enlivened the set as he cracked jokes, organized groups to get lunch together, and kept everyone entertained between scenes. His open, friendly disposition had charmed everyone—except Will, who stayed in his trailer when George was around, which only confirmed George’s stories about the Darcys as far as Elizabeth was concerned.
She liked George. She did. But at the same time, he made her uneasy. He didn’t seem to have the most stable lifestyle. “You’re better off with someone closer to your age.”
Lydia laughed. “I thought older men were supposed to be more mature. Oh, and did Mom tell you?” She grabbed Elizabeth’s arm in excitement. “He’s getting the funding together to produce an indie movie.”
“Really?”
“And he wants me to play the female lead!” The words burst out of Lydia.
“That’s great.” Elizabeth tried mirror her sister’s enthusiasm. But Hollywood was full of people putting together deals that didn’t go anywhere. “What’s the screenplay about?”
“It’s called Alien Meatballs Escape from Alcatraz.” Lydia watched as George “tripped” and “fell” while trying to escape a swerving car. “Of course, it’s a musical.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said faintly. “You don’t have a lot of singing experience.”
“I was in Once Upon a Mattress in high school.”
“Well, yes, but the school paper likened your performance to a screech owl being waterboarded.”