Читать книгу Passionate Premiere - Deborah Mello Fletcher - Страница 11

Chapter 3

Guy took one last lap around the enclosed track. Dwight Brooks, his personal trainer, waited with a stopwatch at the finish line. Dwight had spent the past three hours putting him through his paces, and Guy was past ready to be done.

Guy came to an abrupt stop in front of his friend, bending forward at the waist, his palms pressed against his upper thighs as he fought to catch his breath. Dwight slapped him heartily on his back.

“Nice! That was one of your best times,” he said, jotting notes into a small notebook he’d pulled from his back pocket.

Guy nodded, inhaling deeply. He stood upright, his hands moving to the line of his hips. “Thanks, but it feels like you have me training for a marathon and not a movie.”

“Same difference,” Dwight answered with a shrug of his shoulders.

Guy chuckled. “I hear you,” he said as the two moved in the direction of the locker room.

“So, what time is your audition?” Dwight asked, eyeing the watch on his wrist.

“Soon. I have just enough time to shower and change.”

“This one’s big, huh?”

“Big enough,” Guy said as he unlocked the metal enclosure that housed his personal possessions. “I’m auditioning for Dahlia Morrow,” he pronounced, lifting his gym bag from inside the locker.

“Sweet!”

“Yes, I hear she is,” Guy said, a smirk pulling at his full lips.

Dwight laughed. “And I presume the part is, as well?”

Guy laughed with him. “It’s a great role, actually. I loved the script,” he said. “I’m thinking it’s destiny, too, because I was just telling my family that I wanted to meet her. Apparently, she and my sister-in-law are old friends. So, I’m thinking it’s fate in action that I mention her name and now I’m auditioning for her.”

“I’m sure it is,” Dwight agreed. He extended a closed hand in Guy’s direction, and the two men bumped fists. “I’ve got to run. Good luck with your audition,” he said. With a slight wink of his eye, he added, “And the woman. I will see you tomorrow, same time.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Guy responded as he headed in the direction of the showers. “But go easy on a brother next time.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen. I have a reputation to maintain, too, you know!”

Guy waved goodbye, chuckling heartily as he watched his friend exit the gym.

Stripping out of his sports clothes, Guy stepped into a warm shower, allowing the spray of water to cascade over his face and down his broad chest. As he lathered his deep caramel–complexioned skin with a spice-scented body wash, the thick suds painted his naked form with a luxurious froth. His muscles had finally begun to relax beneath the rise of the warm mist, and he savored the sensations, stretching the tightness out of each sinew.

He heaved a deep sigh. He had only been half kidding when he’d said that fate was directing his footsteps. His agent’s early morning call had come as a complete surprise. Both of them had been stunned that the casting agent for Dahlia Morrow’s next film had requested he meet with the lady herself without asking him for a screen test.

Despite his own A-list status in the industry and a long list of blockbuster movies under his belt, he was still occasionally made to jump through hoops for leading men roles in movies that he didn’t actively pursue or have a hand in producing. And despite the many leading men roles out there, the selection for black males was still a bit slim. But filmmakers like Dahlia Morrow were attempting to change the dynamics, and some sort of cosmic fate was bringing the two of them together.

Stepping out of the shower, he reached for an oversize white towel, swiping at the dampness against his skin. Thirty minutes later he was dressed and headed out to meet providence, hopeful that Dahlia Morrow, and kismet, were about to grace him with favor.

* * *

Although it had already been a very long day, Dahlia couldn’t help feeling like the rest of it was going to be well worth her efforts. But as she disconnected her cell phone, turning the ringer to vibrate, she couldn’t hide the frustration that painted her expression. Finding funding for her movie was proving to be the bane of her existence; the studios had been a huge disappointment to her. Despite its accolades and having grossed over fifty million dollars in box office receipts, Victory’s Daughter was still considered “underperforming” by industry standards, and that fact had potential investors for her next film all too ready to tell her no.

But the box office wasn’t a true measure of the film’s worth. Nor did it speak to the film as art or the merit of her next venture. So telling Dahlia no only served to make her want to prove them all wrong, moving her to consider investing her own money into the project. A prospect her attorneys, financial advisers and friends were adamantly against.

Doing what she loved shouldn’t be so hard, she mused. But Hollywood was ruled by a patriarchy with black women existing only along the sidelines of the industry. Although perceived as a liberal, diverse space that welcomed creativity and difference, the film industry was still overwhelmingly white and male—a good ol’ boys club in full control. It made it difficult at best for Dahlia to do what she loved.

Despite women making films for more than one hundred years, Kathryn Bigelow had been the first woman to win an Academy Award for directing, taking home the prize. Dahlia was the first woman of color to claim the honor and, at the age of twenty-eight, also the youngest filmmaker, male or female, to be honored. But women filmmakers of any race or age had yet to experience the same levels of success as their male counterparts, and Dahlia was intent on changing that. Wanting more than anything to just tell good stories, she had to be diligent and persistent and, like every black woman who was making films, she had to be resilient.

Dahlia took a sip of her bottled springwater, tapping heavily against the tabletop with the pen that rested between her fingers. She glanced down at the diamond-encrusted watch that adorned her slim wrist. She’d arrived early for her casting, and she still had a few minutes before the actor she was meeting was due to arrive.

The casting agency had scheduled this appointment. If she’d been able, Dahlia would have canceled without giving it a second thought. But she needed to stay on schedule, and staying on schedule meant finding a male lead and locking him into contract as quickly as possible. So canceling hadn’t been a real option for her.

Dahlia looked down at the IMDB résumé the casting agency had faxed over to her. She was meeting one of Hollywood’s golden boys, the infamous Guy Boudreaux. His professional résumé was a plethora of some very big box office successes; his recent portrayal of the new James Bond authenticated a career that would surely go down in the history books. Having spent the past evening watching two of his independent films, Dahlia could not deny the man’s talent. His ability to capture the essence of his characters and breathe life into them surpassed his youthful twenty-eight years and made him exactly what Dahlia was looking for in her male lead.

A commotion at the restaurant’s entrance drew her attention. She looked up to see Guy Boudreaux as he was accosted by an eager female fan. He stopped to sign an autograph, and there was no missing his welcoming demeanor as he posed for a picture with a family of five, chatting with the group as if they were old friends.

Dahlia’s eyes widened with interest. Guy Boudreaux was imposing in stature, standing just over six feet tall. Dressed in a black silk suit and white dress shirt opened at the collar, he was quite the male specimen. His chest was broad, flanked by wide shoulders. His legs were long, and the slacks he wore nicely complemented the hard, full curves of a very high backside. His complexion was dark caramel with the faintest undertone of buttercream, warm and delectable as it stretched taut over clearly defined muscles. A crown of black dreadlocks hung past his shoulders, and just a hint of facial hair, the beginnings of a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, complemented his chiseled facial features. He was a Greek Adonis with an artistic aura, his look a nice blend of bohemian flair and classic styling. It was clear that he wore his confidence like a neon blanket draped over his torso, bright and abundant. The man was handsome beyond words, and Dahlia felt her breath catch in her throat as he crossed the room in her direction.

“Ms. Morrow, Guy Boudreaux,” he said as he extended a large hand in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dahlia lifted her gaze to meet his, feeling overwhelmingly starstruck as words failed her. She nodded as he clasped her hand beneath his, shaking it firmly. His palm was silky smooth as it glided over hers like a sensual kiss.

“May I sit down?” Guy asked, amusement crossing his expression, her hand still trapped beneath his.

Dahlia took a deep breath as she nodded her head, slowly pulling her hand from his. Her fingers tingled, the sensation sweeping like wildfire through her body. It was intense and disturbing, and she tried to stall the feelings by clasping both of her hands together in her lap. “Excuse me,” she said, clearing her throat. “Of course, have a seat, Mr. Boudreaux.”

She eyed him keenly as he slid into the leather-covered booth beside her.

“Please, call me Guy. I hope I’m not late,” he said, his gaze still locked with hers, a brilliant smile of pearl-white teeth beaming at her.

She shook her head, desperate to clear the cloud that had mysteriously consumed her. “No, you’re right on time actually,” she finally answered. “And it’s definitely a pleasure to meet you. Your reputation has preceded you.”

“Yours, as well,” Guy said with a light chuckle. “Congratulations on your recent victory.”

Dahlia smiled sweetly. “Thank you. I hope you know that I’m looking to do that again with this new project.”

Guy gestured ever so slightly with his head, a warm smile filling his face. “I’m thinking that won’t be a problem. It’s a great story, the script is on point and with me as the lead character, it can’t help but be a success,” he said teasingly.

Dahlia chuckled warmly. “So, tell me what you really think,” she said.

“Seriously, this project has great potential, and I think I’d be a wonderful asset to your vision. But if I can ask you one question?”

“Of course.”

“Tell me more about the story. When I read it I got the sense that there was some background history there that wasn’t being told.”

Dahlia smiled, her eyes locking with his. She nodded her head slowly, her thoughts drifting ever so briefly. Guy was right, and his intuition gave her reason to pause.

“There is history there. My history. The lead characters are modeled after my grandparents. They met in 1935 when my grandmother was barely fourteen and my grandfather was sixteen. They were inseparable from that moment on. Both of their parents had forbidden them to be together and they were defiant, doing exactly what they wanted instead. And when Granny became pregnant at a young age, it set off a chain of events that neither of them were really prepared for.”

“And they really did meet in a dance hall?”

Dahlia nodded her head. “My grandmother was an extraordinary dancer. She loved the music and being out on a dance floor. And my grandfather loved her and whatever it was that she loved.”

“Your grandparents, are they still living?”

She took a deep breath, a hint of tears misting her eyes. “No. He passed on when I was just a little girl, and my grandmother died last year. She was ninety-one.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Dahlia shrugged her shoulders as she took another deep breath. The memory of losing her beloved grandmother still haunted her. The woman’s passing had been expected; the family had sat vigil for almost a week in one of the best hospice facilities in the city. But even the knowing hadn’t been able to minimize the tremendous hurt that had completely devastated Dahlia when the moment had come.

There was no missing the emotion that passed over Dahlia’s face. Guy found himself taken aback by her expression. The pain of it felt like a needle prick through his heart, and in that moment he would have done anything to take the hurt from her eyes and make everything well again. He resisted the temptation to reach out and touch her, to strum his fingers against the back of her hand and down the length of her arm.

As if reading his thoughts, Dahlia pulled her hands back into her lap. She met his gaze, and his stare was like a soothing balm. Guy smiled. The warmth of it seared through her like a bolt of lightning. She gasped lightly.

Clearing her throat, she finally said, “I am still fine-tuning the script. I’ve also felt like there was something that was missing in the story line, something I haven’t been able to define yet.”

Dahlia then tossed him a smile of her own. “What I can tell you is that when they met, my grandmother had snuck out of the house to see Nat King Cole. He was performing at that dance hall. He was in his teens himself, his own career just beginning.”

“Nat King Cole! Amazing!”

“Granny thought so, too. She was enamored with the man and always said that Nat would be her second husband if my granddaddy didn’t act right.”

Guy chuckled softly. “Good to know. ‘When I Fall in Love’ and ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’ were two of my favorites of his.”

Dahlia’s smile widened, pleasantly surprised that he was even familiar with the late crooner’s bibliography.

Taking note of the astonished look in her eyes, Guy laughed heartily. “I am an old soul,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Interesting.” Dahlia leaned forward in her seat, her elbows coming to rest on the table as she clasped her hands beneath her chin. She sat in quiet deliberation for a brief moment before continuing, “I’ll be honest with you, Guy, it’s looking like the studios are not going to back this project. Not as I had hoped they would. It seems that I will be producing this film independently, on a significantly lower budget, but I intend for it to rival any mainstream film production out there.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that I won’t be making a million plus for this role?”

“Not even close. Still interested?”

Guy met her gaze and held it, intently studying the delicate lines of her features. Dahlia Morrow was a stunning woman. Even more beautiful than the magazine images of her that he’d seen. She had beautiful eyes, dark seductive orbs that a man could lose himself in if he were so inclined. Her full lips parted ever so slightly, her tongue snaking past to quickly lick the line of her mouth. When she did he felt an unexpected surge of heat through his groin. He suddenly reached for her bottle of water and took a deep swig.

Eyebrows lifted, Dahlia laughed at his forwardness. “We can order you your own drink if you want,” she said, still giggling softly as she snatched her water bottle from his hands.

Guy grinned sheepishly. “Umm...that’s umm...not necessary,” he muttered. “You looked like you didn’t mind sharing.” His expression was teasing as his eyes locked with hers for the umpteenth time.

There was a pause as they sat staring at each other, both grinning widely.

“You’re funny,” Dahlia said, finally breaking the silence.

“Not as funny as you are, Ms. Morrow!”

Dahlia rolled her eyes.

“On a serious note,” Dahlia said, deliberately changing the subject, “this movie is proving to be more of a challenge than I anticipated.”

“You’re a beautiful, black woman trying to move a mountain, Dahlia. No one said that would be easy.”

“No, they didn’t. Nor did they say my wanting to move that mountain means you or any other man has to be there pushing with me.”

Guy smiled. It was an easy lift to his mouth that warmed Dahlia’s spirit. “What kind of a man would I be if I wasn’t willing to give a woman who is so determined a helping hand?”

Dahlia considered his question before responding. “Not the man I would want starring in my next movie,” she said as she extended a manicured hand in his direction. Dahlia didn’t miss his holding tight to her fingers a second longer than necessary, nor did she miss the heat that seemed to rise out of nowhere and radiate between them. She pulled her hand away, fighting not to show that she was uncomfortable with the sensations sweeping over her, vulnerability painting her expression.

Grateful for the alarm, she stole a quick glance at her smartphone as it vibrated against the tabletop. “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Boudreaux,” she said as she stood up, moving to leave. “I will give your agent a call and make a formal offer. Welcome to my movie.”

“The pleasure will be mine, Ms. Morrow,” he said as he came to his feet. He tossed her a quick wink of his eye. “And thanks for the water.”

Dahlia laughed warmly. “Don’t thank me yet, Guy!” she said as she made her exit.

Guy stared intently after Dahlia as she eased her way out of the room. His eyes were not the only ones to follow after her, and he had to appreciate the view along with her other admirers. Dahlia Morrow was captivatingly beautiful.

Guy smiled widely, his gaze skating the lines of her formfitting dress. The red silk garment she wore was like wet paint slathered over the curves of her full bustline, thin waist and lush derriere. The woman had curves, a Rubenesque figure, all the stuff that could make a strong man beg on his knees for her attention.

As the waiter paused at the table, depositing the unpaid tab for that one bottle of water, Guy had to laugh, completely intrigued by Dahlia. As he deposited a twenty-dollar bill onto the table, he hated to admit that begging on his knees had surely crossed his mind, if only for a very brief moment.