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“Good, because I propose you agree to a few more things,” he murmurs before turning me into a puddle of agreement beneath him.





“Hit ‘em, knock ‘em over—with an attitude, with a word, with a look.”—Marlon Brando





Lucas





TWO AND HALF MONTHS AGO


“Hey, boss,” Nova calls out to me where I sit in a director’s chair on set. “We’re about forty in of forty-five.” I nod in acknowledgment, and she leaves me to prep. Satisfied with what I’ve rehearsed, I let my eyes drift from the script to the clouds above trying to blink away the fatigue. I refuse to let it slow me down. Body aching from lack of sleep, I stretch my neck and arms as exhaustion threatens to set in. Batting away my needs, I think of Maddie, of the way she worked me constantly to rid me of all selfish thoughts while she prepped me. Though she mercilessly drilled into me that the emotions of my characters mattered most, Maddie had her own points of weakness. In all our years together, I can only think of one time that she begrudgingly revealed them to me.

I take the cracked cement steps to her trailer and knock twice before I open the door.

“Maddie,” I call softly before I close it behind me. Sunlight streams through the window past the sheet in the empty living room. I never take my shoes off at home, but I do at Maddie’s because she keeps her carpets clean. Sliding them off, I call her name again.

“Go home, boy,” she orders from her bedroom. “We aren’t running lines today.”

Too excited to mind her, I run to her bedroom. “I brought you something.”

“Lucas,” she scolds when I reach the threshold and see her lifting to sit in her robe. She doesn’t have any makeup on, and there’s an empty bottle next to her nightstand.

“You aren’t supposed to drink, it will dry out your skin.”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” she says, gathering tissues and tossing them in the seashell covered wastebasket next to her. “I’m tired, boy, run on home. We can run lines tomorrow.”

“It’s okay, I just,” I approach the bed and hold out the drawing. “I made you something.”

She straightens up further, and her eyes focus on the paper I have in hand. She takes it from me and studies it until her eyes start to spill.

“I didn’t want to make you cry,” I say, backing away.

“You drew this?” she asks, her voice chalky. “It’s pretty good.”

“They told us to draw stars,” I say, thinking myself clever. “So, I drew us. My teacher got mad, but I don’t care.”

Maddie begins to cry again, and I cautiously approach the bed. “If you feel bad, I can get you some medicine. I think we have some at home.”

She shakes her head, sniffing and pulls a used tissue to her face to wipe her tears away. “I’m not that kind of sick.”

“What’s wrong?”

She waves me away. “I heard from my old agent today, just a little sting of rejection. It will pass.”

“You weren’t right for the part,” I declare because that’s what she taught me. “Or the part wasn’t right for you.”

“There are no parts left for me, Lucas,” she sighs.

“It’s just not your time, you have to keep your head up. I’ll get you some juice.” I race to the kitchen and grab her favorite glass from the sink, rinse it out and fill it up with carrot juice. Back in the bedroom, I thrust it at her, spilling a little on her comforter and wincing when she sees it.

She cracks a smile and shakes her head. “I’ve created a monster.”

“You know it, Dame,” I say, chucking her chin.

Laughter erupts from her as she sets the juice down and motions for me to come closer. “You know better than to toss that word around.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come closer, Lucas. Let me look at you.”

Swallowing, I take a step forward as she scrutinizes me. “Wow, look at you. You’re getting so big. Hopefully, you grow into that nose.”

“I’m eleven tomorrow.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “And then you’re sixteen and then you’re fifty-six. Do yourself a favor and remember that.”

Unsure of what she means, I just nod. “Okay.”

“Hit them hard, or they’ll forget about you before the tape runs out,” she says on a shaky voice just as another tear falls. Climbing up into the bed next to her, I throw my arm around her like my favorite character Terrance does in The Sky’s Limit.

“I won’t forget about you, Maddie. I promise.”



Pushing from my chair, I roll the script in my hand and walk toward my mark.

This one is for you, Maddie.





Mila



Humming to the radio, I drive down the stretch of road leading to our beach house, hopes for the night floating around my head, a bag of supplies in my back seat. It’s only when I’m close to home that I see endless rows of cars parked on either side of the street. “What in the hell?” I mumble after clicking my signal to see our driveway full. I manage to find a spot several houses down. Giving myself a little pep talk, I carry the bags that originally felt light in weight that now weigh heavy in my arms as I’m forced to haul them to the house. The sun beats down on my shoulders and music blares from all corners of our home as I approach. Opening our front door, I feel a thud and peek my head around. A man I’ve never seen greets me. “I think you might have the wrong house, miss. This is Lucas Walker’s place.”