The Beginning Read online

  Off Screen

  The Beginning

  J.A. Armstrong

  Text © Copyright 2018 Bumbling Bard Creations

  All Rights Reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced without permission.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter One

  Addison Blake yawned and sipped her coffee. “Exactly how did you convince me that this was a good idea?” she asked her friend.

  “You need to be seen,” Tamara answered.

  “I’m a writer, not an actor. I think you’re missing something here,” Addison said. “Writers are heard, not seen, Tam.”

  “Well, in this town a writer is rendered silent unless that writer makes connections. And that, my friend, means you are required to be seen if you ever hope to be heard,” Tamara countered.

  Addison rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, come on, Addy. What could be so painful about an afternoon full of attractive women?”

  “Attractive, unavailable women,” Addison reminded her friend. “Don’t tell me that you actually think you’re going to get lucky at this thing?” She laughed. “Last time I saw the tabloids, none of these ladies batted for our team.”

  Tamara shrugged. “Eyes on the prize, Addy. This is a forum on women in television. It’s the law of averages.”

  “Are you still stuck on that ten percent nonsense?” Addison asked playfully.

  “Statistics don’t lie,” Tamara replied.

  “No. They don’t put out either.” Addison winked.

  “Laugh it up, Addy. This is why you live in seclusion.”

  “I do not live in seclusion. Here I am with you—again—attending some insanity you have dressed up as necessary for my career just so you can try and bed some up and coming actress,” Addison said.

  “Ooo! Up and coming—I like that idea.”

  Addison chuckled. “You’re as dirty minded as you are pathetic.”

  “That’s why you love me! Now, come on—admit it, it can’t hurt either your prospective career or my prospective love life.”

  Addison hated to admit that there was a degree of truth in Tamara’s reasoning about everything. She’d been in Los Angeles for two years, and she’d yet to find a way to break through into mainstream television or film. She’d managed to make ends meet in a variety of ways. She had published short stories, worked as a production assistant on several independent films, tutored, and even managed to have some success writing erotica under a pen name. Still, Addison had failed to meet her ultimate goal. Being seen was—in point of fact—often necessary if a person ever hoped to have her voice heard in this town. The people you knew were sometimes equally important to your talent. Addison had considered throwing in what she called The Tinseltown Towel and teaching English, or perhaps attempting to sell a novel. Changing her focus might be easier. For Addison, it would equate to quitting, and Addison Blake was no quitter.

  After college, Addison briefly took the safe road. She taught English to middle school children while pursuing her Master’s Degree at night. She moonlighted as a writer for several blogs and managed to land a short gig as a guest columnist for a well-respected news forum. In her heart, Addison wanted to write great screenplays or create the next iconic television show—the one that could capture hearts decades after its end. To some in her life, moving to Hollywood seemed frivolous. Addison refused to let the skeptics deter her.

  She’d always possessed an insatiable curiousity and was open to explore new things. She’d forayed into drama, music, and debate club. Despite her less-than-stellar coordination, Addison had endeavored to try gymnastics, dance, and every sport her school offered. She’d determined that if she could survive a soccer field and a balance beam, Hollywood should be a cinch. That’s what she told herself when she packed her bags and headed to the west coast, and that is what she continually reminded herself now. She sighed with resignation, took another sip of her coffee, and followed her best friend into a small hotel ballroom.

  ***

  “I appreciate you taking the time to be here,” Matt Reese said.

  Emma Bronson smiled. “I appreciated you inviting me,” she replied. In truth, Emma was tired. She would have preferred to spend this Saturday afternoon at home relaxing with a book by her pool. Her chosen career came with some realities and expectations that occasionally frustrated her. Naïvely, she’d once imagined life as a television personality would be a fairytale—somehow, adoration would lead to fulfillment. She’d achieved adoration. She hadn’t expected the criticism that accompanied it. And, fulfillment? That remained elusive. Red carpets and magazine covers did not guarantee happiness. Emma’s saving grace remained her love of acting. Her work continued to challenge her mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. It provided an escape from the everyday realities that existed away from a television set. Emma had always understood that success on the screen would mean attention would be paid to her personal life. She’d underestimated the scope of that attention. At times, the need to play a role when the lights fell, and the cameras went dark exhausted her.

  Life in Los Angeles differed immensely from the small Kansas town where Emma grew up. Her parents had encouraged her to pursue her dreams. Emma possessed more than the good-looks people immediately noticed. She was also enormously talented. Her teachers and family noticed Emma’s gifts at an early age. She missed the comfort of familiar faces that she could trust.

  Emma arrived in Tinseltown at the impressionable age of nineteen when she received her first speaking role in a feature film. She only had a few lines to deliver, but the performance been enough to turn heads, and Emma found herself launched like a rocket into mainstream celebrity. Acting proved all she had hoped—celebrity had not. Emma’s success and the media’s focus on every aspect of her life often led people to assume she was cocky. She carried herself with confidence, but Emma was somewhat shy. She wasn’t insecure. Her small town upbringing fostered her friendly, yet reserved demeanor. Trust was a precious commodity—one that Emma had learned to grant with care.

  Particular attention was paid to her love life. Emma had dated a few men. The media constantly linked her to some actor or athlete. Emma often pondered the word linked. The only link she felt to most of the men she was strongly encouraged to be seen with, was that they both had the misfortune to be thrust into the spotlight. That, and she generally had the same amount of attraction to them that they did to her—zero. Only once in her eight years in Hollywood had she allowed herself to connect honestly with someone. The beginning felt like the perfect romance. The ending reminded her of an epic disaster film.

  Emma met Kevin McMahon by chance after her car broke down on the highway. The mechanic had, saved her bacon, as he liked to claim. He was a handsome Texas boy whose good manners and southern charm lured Emma quickly. Her relationship with Kevin had briefly provided Emma with a sense of normalcy amid the falsity that seemed to permeate her life. His attentiveness faltered when he realized that Emma would not serve as his fast-track guarantee to a life of ease and comfort. After their split, he’d pummeled Emma to anyone in the press willing to listen, calling her a “cold fish whose looks could not hope to conquer her shallow personality.” Emma wondered what writer had scripted the clever description for her former lover. She was posi
tive he’d not crafted the vicious words. Some people would do and say anything for five minutes of fame or a few bucks.

  The fall-out from her relationship left Emma suspicious of new people who seemed to have the best of intentions. She relied on the few people in her sphere who’d known her before her success on television, and the family and friends back in Kansas who still only regarded her as Emmie. It was ironic, but in the bright lights and constant swirl of larger-than-life personalities, Emma Bronson felt incredibly alone most days. Most of her attachments were superficial and short-lived. At least, an event like today’s occasionally produced honest conversation and genuine interest in her opinions. Unfortunately, experience taught Emma that when she allowed herself to continue those conversations on a personal level, an expectation of introductions or career advice were usually attached. Other times, people anticipated a guarantee of immediate success or fame simply by association.

  She looked at the event’s host and smiled. “I’m going to head over to that lovely table and grab a much-needed coffee.”

  “There’s no need for you to do that,” Matt told her. “I can have someone bring you whatever you would like.”

  Emma nodded. “That’s generous, but I prefer to make my own coffee. It’s a proportion thing.” She winked. “Too much cream, too much sugar, or not enough—well, let’s just say that makes for a grim Emma. Grim Emma is not the role anyone wants me to play today.”

  ***

  Tamara continued to lecture Addison on the importance of creating opportunities. “Forget when opportunity knocks,” she told her friend. “That’s bullshit. It never knocks. You have to invite it over first.”

  Addison’s response was a mumbled, “yeah, yeah, yeah.” She rolled her eyes when Tamara became distracted by a tall brunette and headed off without another word. Moderately annoyed at the direction in which her Saturday seemed to be headed, Addison huffed and turned away abruptly. She instantly collided with something solid.

  “Oh! Sorry.”

  The sound of an oddly familiar voice snapped Addison from her haze. She lifted her eyes slowly and found a hand instinctively patting a coffee stain on her jacket.

  “I wasn’t paying attention—clearly,” the woman admitted as she shook her head and made a futile attempt to brush away the coffee with her hand.

  Addison fought to disguise her amusement when she realized who was speaking to her. “I think this one might fall under the umbrella of shared blame,” Addison offered.

  Emma Bronson lifted her eyes sheepishly.

  Addison winked at her and pointed to the small splash on Emma’s blue blouse. “See? Of all the people you could collide with, you chose Super Klutz,” Addison said.

  Emma smiled at the pair of hazel eyes sparkling mischievously at her. “Super Klutz, huh?”

  Addison feigned sadness.

  “That’s terrible,” Emma said dramatically.

  “It’s been a lifelong challenge,” Addison explained.

  “So, then, am I forgiven?” Emma asked. Addison’s unflinching demeanor intrigued her.

  Addison opened her mouth to answer when a hand reached Emma’s shoulder.

  Matt Reese cast an incredulous gaze in Addison’s direction. “Ms. Bronson? Is everything all right here?”

  Emma kept her attention on Addison. “I made an abrupt U-Turn is all,” she explained.

  “Well, we need to get you up front before the rest of the masses arrive,” he said.

  “I’ll be right there,” Emma assured him.

  He watched as the actress returned her focus to the stranger across from her and offered Addison another wary stare.

  Addison smiled until he conceded his defeat and walked away.

  “I think I ruined your jacket,” Emma said.

  “I think I destroyed your hope for coffee."

  “Not exactly comparable damage,” Emma sighed.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Most days I find coffee is a greater necessity in this town than a jacket—even if it is leather,” Addison said.

  Emma grinned. “You must be a writer.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  “Writer is a liberal term, Ms. Bronson.”

  “Ms. Bronson?” Matt called to Emma urgently.

  Emma ignored him. “You have me at a disadvantage,” Emma told Addison.

  “Addison,” Addison replied.

  Emma felt a hand on her arm. Matt attempted to pull her away. She stopped the motion abruptly. “I’ll be right there,” she scolded him. She looked back at Addison. “Do I owe you a jacket?” she asked playfully.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. We’ve covered the important issues, Ms. Bronson,” Addison flirted. Did I just flirt with Emma Bronson?

  “Emma,” came the reply. “I think after such an intimate catastrophe first names are appropriate.”

  “Fair enough—if you let me buy you a coffee.” Addison heard the words escape her lips. It felt as though someone else had spoken them.

  “No can do.” Emma shook her head.

  Addison felt her stomach lurch violently at the perceived rebuke but maintained her footing and smiled. She was so busy concentrating on appearing unaffected that she almost missed Emma’s next words.

  “I am a coffee snob,” Emma explained. “Specific tastes. Plus, I made the U-Turn—I’ll buy,” she said as she was finally forced away.

  “Uh, Addy?” Tamara’s voice suddenly rang in Addison’s ear.

  Addison ignored her friend. Her sight was set upon the beautiful actress being corralled at the front of the room.

  “Hello! Earth to Addy! Come in, please.”

  “What?” Addison asked without shifting her focus.

  “Were you or were you not just talking to Emma Bronson?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean, not exactly?” Tamara asked. She followed Addison’s line of sight to the front of the room, and her eyes flew open.

  “She just looked over here at you,” Tamara observed.

  Addison returned a warm smile to the actress.

  “Umm, Addy? What were you two talking about?”

  “Coffee.”

  “Coffee? You had Emma Bronson in front of you, and you talked about coffee?”

  Addison unconsciously licked her lips when Emma made a point to look her way again. Something about the actress captured Addison’s imagination. “She’s a snob,” Addison whispered.

  “Figures,” Tamara groaned.

  “I wonder where she’ll take me.”

  “Excuse me?” Tamara asked.

  “For coffee,” Addison said as she finally began making her way to a seat.

  “Emma Bronson asked you to go for coffee?”

  “No. I asked her, I think. Yeah. That sounds right.”

  “You asked Emma Bronson out? Are you insane?

  Addison laughed and turned to her friend. She pointed to the damp spot on her coat. “We had a fender bender with our coffee cups,” she explained.

  “I bring you here so that I can meet some new people and you—you of all people, wind up having coffee with Emma Bronson.”

  Addison shrugged.

  “She’s straight, you know?” Tamara gloated.

  “Aren’t they all?” Addison replied cheekily.

  Tamara laughed. “Well, make sure you order a triple whatever with everything they can add—like gold. She’s loaded.”

  Addison rolled her eyes. She had no interest in Emma’s celebrity nor her money. She’d recognized Emma immediately. She hadn’t given a single thought to what that meant or how anyone might perceive their coffee date. She hoped that Emma hadn’t either. Addison couldn’t remember the last time she craved a cup of coffee so badly. As the next two hours wore on, she silently prayed that the woman who commanded the attention of the entire room was equally thirsty.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m sorry, Tam,” Addison said sincerely.

  “Yeah. Ditching me
for the hot chic.”

  “I’m not ditching you, and it’s just coffee.”

  Tamara smirked. “I’d ditch me too.”

  Addison laughed. “You really should be a writer, Tam.”

  “Why?”

  “You have an overactive imagination."

  “Oh, I could certainly imagine some scenes for Emma Bronson to play.”

  “All right,” Addison stalled her friend’s commentary. “I’ll call you later.”

  Emma waved to Addison from the stage.

  Addison smiled. “Talk to you later,” she told Tamara.

  “How much later?” Tamara asked playfully.

  Addison rolled her eyes.

  “The later, the better,” Tamara called playfully after her friend.

  ***

  Emma led Addison to a small table. “Your friend isn’t mad, is she?” she asked .

  “Mad?” Addison asked. “Tamara? Do you mean mad as in angry or as in the Hatter we all know and love?”

  Emma chuckled. “Another struggling writer?” she guessed.

  “No, I’m afraid that’s my shtick. She’s just a struggling lesbian.”

  Emma laughed. “Is that worse?”

  Addison shrugged. “In Tamara’s mind? Absolutely.”

  Emma watched Addison closely as she sipped her latte. She couldn’t recall the last time she had felt at ease with someone she hardly knew. Normally, Emma felt inclined to step back quickly and place a measurable distance between people who showed an interest in her—particularly anyone with a desire to work in the industry. One too many times, she had discovered that an overture of friendship had been nothing more than a means to an end. People saw Emma, they even spent time with her, but most people never truly listened to what she was saying. They expected someone other than Emmie Louise Bronson, the girl who loved to stay up late with a bucket of popcorn smothered in copious amounts of butter while she watched bad horror movies. They didn’t pay attention to the young woman who enjoyed reading philosophy by the pool, but who could never spend more than a few minutes in the sun without an umbrella or a T-shirt—lest she find herself auditioning for Red Lobster commercials. Most people saw Devin Stone, the character Emma had played for the last five years on the hit crime drama, Found. Or, in some cases, they anticipated a perfect baby doll—a woman who woke up looking exactly like the image they saw on magazine covers. Emma was often tempted to explain that there was no Photoshop option for her bathroom mirror.