Unforgettable: Book Three (A Hollywood Love Story #3)(16)
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Her husky voice is warm and genuine. “But these experiences are put into our lives to enrich it and draw from.”
“Yes, I agree.” My voice is shaky.
“Let me ask you, why do you want to become an actress?”
“It’s always been a big dream of mine. I pursued it and gave up. I’m finally ready to lead my dream and land it.” I paraphrase the wise words Bella shared with me at the spa with conviction and passion.
Smiling warmly, she folds her shaky hands in her lap. “Let’s get down to business then. What have you chosen to perform?”
“Juliet’s last soliloquy from Romeo and Juliet.”
Her smile widens. “Excellent. Please begin.”
“Where would you like me to perform it?”
“On the stage, of course.”
I stumble onto the stage. Drawing in a deep breath, I launch right into it. After a little bit of a rough start because I’m jittery with nerves, the words flow. Getting down on my knees, I transform into Juliet, the tragic maiden who falls in love with a devastating man she can’t have who has taken his life to be united in death with her. In my mind’s eye, I see my Romeo—Brandon—before me, his beautiful face permanently etched in my brain.
“O happy dagger
This is thy sheath
There rust and let me die.”
In true method actor fashion, I channel all my emotions and memories of him into my words. Tears spill from my eyes as I plunge an imaginary dagger into my heart. Oh the pain! I collapse onto the stage floor, so emotionally drained from my performance that I can’t lift myself up. Three faint claps sound in my ears.
“Bravo!”
I slowly raise my head and, with tears streaming down my cheeks, face Bella. She’s glowing.
“That was absolutely brilliant! The highlight of my otherwise mundane day and, by far, one of the best auditions I’ve ever witnessed.”
I’m waltzing on a cloud, in a state of disbelief. “Really?” I ask, my voice a mere squeak.
“Yes, my dear. Only one other student blew me away like that.” A wistful smile spreads on her lips. “And he went on to win a Golden Globe.”
Brandon. She must be referring to him. My chest tightens. “Does that mean I’ve been accepted to your program?”
“My dear, please show up next Saturday morning for your first class. Horatio at the front desk will give you the course list and syllabus on your way out. And if you need any financial aid, please let him know. We’re well-endowed thanks to our generous alumni.”
I’m still speechless and on my knees when Horatio enters the theater and wheels Bella away. A rollercoaster of emotions sweeps through me. Shock. Excitement. Happiness. I’ve been accepted to the Bella Stadler Academy of Acting! By Bella herself! And then suddenly, I realize I’m probably crouched on the very spot Brandon stood upon many times before. Perhaps he even lay right here playing Romeo. A powerful, painful connection to him rips through me as a sob pushes into my throat. There’s still a knife in my heart that I can’t pull out.
Zoey
I live for my acting classes. I attend three mornings a week and all day on Saturdays. Ranging from “On Camera Scene Study” to “Intensive Shakespeare,” they get my mind off Brandon, though I would be lying not to say they keep me connected to him in some sick way. Though I’ve never seen her again, Bella is some kind of medium that keeps his spirit alive as much as I want to bury it.
The classes also help me stop dwelling on my mother’s killer—Frank Donatelli. To my frustration, Pops’s investigation has been moving forward at a snail’s pace; the elusive Donatelli is nowhere to be found and clues to his whereabouts don’t abound. Though Brandon’s hit and run may be connected to Donatelli, I refrain from asking my father about the status of that investigation. All I know is that Pops’s colleague, Lieutenant Mancuso, is handling it.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize I’ve discovered a passion. The acting workshops are intense, but I love them. They give me the chance to completely transform myself into another person and not hold back. I’m able to act out my emotions and be a master of my actions and words. While memorizing lines can be challenging, with my eidetic memory, it’s a piece of cake, much to the envy of my classmates. Both my peers and instructors think I have real talent. I’m humbled. Many want to know if I’ve had previous experience. I tell them I took a few acting classes after high school, but wasn’t serious. I don’t, however, tell a soul that I was Brandon Taylor’s personal assistant. No one needs to know.
Nor do I tell anyone about my birthday. On Monday, May eleventh, exactly one month to the day that I fled from Brandon and Cannes, I turn twenty-five. I have no big plans. I’m just having dinner with Auntie Jo and Pops. Auntie has promised to make me my favorite meal—her delicious roast beef with mashed potatoes and Yorkshire pudding. It’s been a while since I’ve had a real meal. Between work and my acting classes, I’ve been surviving on take-out and ramen noodles. You’d think I’d stuff myself to fill the emptiness I still feel so often, but it’s just the opposite. Heartache has decreased my appetite. If there’s one thing for which I can be beholden to Brandon, I’m the thinnest I’ve ever been in my adult life. I’m a size eight. Okay, a plus size by Hollywood standards but a dream size for me.