Reel (Hollywood Renaissance 1)

I don’t mention that the Canon Holt asked me to audition for his next movie. Only my agent and Takira know. He said it was for a small part, but who even knows if I really have a shot?

“It will happen. Especially after seeing you perform, I have no doubt. I know it was demanding.” She gives me a probing look. “How’s the joint pain?”

“Manageable. I’m doing yoga and taking turmeric. It seems to be helping.”

“And if your ANA levels start spiking and I recommend a steroid or something stronger like prednisone, will you listen?”

I set my jaw mulishly. I’ve done the research. Some of the drugs most people take with this diagnosis are as hard on your body as the disease itself, with side effects like osteoporosis, weight gain, and eyesight issues. I’ll do everything in my power to manage this naturally for as long as I can.

“It won’t come to that,” I reply after a few seconds.

Dr. Ansford’s raised brows beg the question again.

I roll my eyes and heave a resigned sigh. “If it comes to that, then yes. We’ll try it your way.”

11

Canon

“Do we really need to have dinner?” I ask as Evan and I climb the steep driveway of Lawson Stone’s house in the Hollywood Hills. “I just want him to sign off on Neevah so we can offer her the role.”

“Shit gets done at dinner,” Evan reminds me. “Besides, I hear he has a kickass wine cellar.”

“I’m sure he can’t wait to show it off.” I ring the doorbell. “I actually am hungry. This food better be good.”

“Even if it’s not, you need to—”

The door opens and a breathtakingly beautiful woman stands at the entrance. Her face is delicate and sharp, fragile, like it was etched from porcelain, but with a bold nose and amber-glazed skin stretched taut over flaring cheekbones. She can’t be any taller than maybe five-two, and her black hair is shiny, center-parted, and hangs in textured waves to her elbows.

“Good evening, Mr. Holt,” she says, smiling at me somewhat stiffly before shifting her glance to Evan. “And you must be Mr. Bancroft.”

“Uh, yeah . . . that’s me. I am,” Evan says. He’s usually a little smoother than that, so I shoot him a surreptitiously curious glance. He’s looking all dazed and confused.

“Welcome.” She steps back to allow us inside. “I’m Law’s wife, Linh. He’s wrapping up a call. Please come in.”

We enter a grand foyer with an intricate stone chandelier suspended from the ceiling.

“That piece is incredible.” Evan tips his head back to study the light fixture.

“Thank you,” she says. “My father made it.”

“Your father?” I ask, looking from her to the chandelier. “Wow.”

“He’s a sculptor. Chap Brody. It was a housewarming gift.”

“Chap Brody is your father?” Evan’s mouth hangs open in uncharacteristic awe. It takes a lot to impress my jaded production partner, but apparently this does it. Chap Brody is the only Black sculptor I know by name. Real talk, he’s the only sculptor I know by name, period. That’s not really my thing as much as it is Evan’s.

“You’ve heard of him?” Linh asks with a pleased smile.

“Of course.” Evan looks almost boyish in his enthusiasm. “I’m kind of an architecture geek, and I’ve come across his work in a lot of cool spaces. He’s a genius.”

“So he keeps telling me.” She laughs, leading us down a stark white corridor lined with vases and busts and various other pieces displayed in dimly lit alcoves.

Lawson collects beautiful things—the most beautiful of which is his wife. He’s one lucky man. By the way Evan can’t take his eyes off Linh, he must agree. We’re trailing her into their living room and I elbow him, giving him my what the hell face. Seriously? He’s going out like that in the man’s house? He gives me a confused look like he has no idea what I’m talking about, but he knows.

“Wine, or something stronger?” Linh asks. “I have appetizers here, too, while we wait for Law.”

The appetizers are various combinations of vegetables, fruit, and seafood. Also some kind of dumpling in a brown sauce, all of which Evan and I devour. We load up small plates and sink into the luxurious white couch at the heart of the living room. Through a wall of glass, an aqua-blue infinity pool glitters under strategically placed floodlights, but Evan seems more interested in the view inside the house than out. Linh’s Black and what I’m guessing to be Asian ancestry blend beautifully. I can count the times he’s looked away from her.

“Mom, I’m stuck.”

The statement comes from a young girl, maybe ten or so, standing at the foot of a staircase. She’s a replica of Linh, but with fairer skin and silkier hair.

“Oh.” Linh rises and tops off our wine. “I’ll be right back. Algebra calls.”