“But he does care about making a good movie.” Julia shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m defending Stephen Deneford, after all he put us through.”
“Maybe he’s learned from his mistakes,” said Vinnie. “Maybe he’ll be glad for the chance to make amends.”
“If that’s true,” said Julia, “then we have something in common.”
Her friends wished her luck, and after they hung up, Julia knew exactly what to do next. She phonedPatchwork’s lead editor, apologized for calling on a Sunday, and asked her to put together a video of clips from Paige’s brief appearance in the season five finale. “Think of it as an audition reel,” she said, “for a director who’s particularly hard to impress.”
Julia heard the scratch of a pencil on paper. “Got it,” the editor said. “Anything else?”
“If I could have it by tomorrow noon, that would be fantastic.”
“No problem. I’m on it. Paige is a sweetheart. I’m happy to help.”
“Even so, I know this is a big ask, especially on such short notice. I owe you one.”
“No, you don’t,” the editor said, surprised. “I owed you one. After this, we’ll be even. Not that I keep score among friends.”
Julia felt tears spring to her eyes. Someone in thePatchworkfamily still considered her a friend. Then again, that might mean only that the story of her betrayal hadn’t traveled very far yet. “What favor did you owe me?”
“You don’t remember career day at Los Cerritos Middle School? You made my niece’s day—no, her year. Her students were so impressed to have a genuine TV and movie star in their classroom.”
“Oh, right, that.” Julia had entirely forgotten. She did more appearances than she could reasonably keep track of, which was one reason why she employed an assistant. “That was, what, ten years ago? You don’t owe me a thing. I did it for the kids.”
“If you say so. As it is, I’m now my niece’s favorite aunt, so your Oscar-worthy highlight reel will be ready first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll messenger it over.”
Julia thanked her, and after they hung up, she checked her messages again, as she did throughout the day. She finished her Cross and Chains block, answered scores of neglected emails, wrote a heartfelt thank-you letter to accompany the gift basket she planned to send to the Elm Creek Quilters—all without a single word from Deneford.
And time was of the essence. If Deneford hadn’t yet given the role of Emily St. Aubert to another lovely ingenue, he surely would soon.
The next morning, Julia checked her messages, and did some deep breathing exercises to help deal with the frustration of feeling ignored. A few minutes after eight o’clock a messenger dropped off the DVD with Paige’s highlight reel, and watching it distracted herfor a little while. She held out until ten o’clock before she gave in and phoned Deneford’s office yet again.
The young man who answered greeted her with polished cordiality. “Mr. Deneford said we might be hearing from you,” he said after she identified herself, sounding thoroughly pleased by his boss’s prescience. “He’s not available to take your call today, but he’d be happy to schedule that lunch you requested.”
“Wonderful,” said Julia. “How soon can we arrange that?”
“Let me check his calendar.” The assistant hummed thoughtfully. “I see here that Mr. Deneford has availability at noon on the thirtieth. That’s a Tuesday. Would that work for you?”
“But that’s two weeks from tomorrow. This is urgent.”
“I’m so sorry, but that’s the earliest he could do lunch.”
“Okay. How soon could he give me a half hour in his office?”
“Let’s see.” A soft, rapid clicking of a keyboard followed. “Hmm. Same day, nine o’clock in the morning. Is that any better?”
“Not by much, no.” Julia thought quickly. “Very well. Put me down for lunch at noon on the thirtieth, but please contact me immediately if his schedule clears and we can meet any earlier.”
“Will do, Miss Merchaud. I’m jotting it down on a sticky note as we speak.”
“Thank you,” Julia said. “I appreciate your help.” And she meant it too. Deneford was obviously dodging her, but that wasn’t his assistant’s fault.
The Cross-Country Quilters had asked her to keep them posted, so she sent a group email lamenting her lack of progress. “That sounds so frustrating,” Megan replied within a minute. “Can you go over his head?”
“Not really,” Julia typed, but then she paused, thought for a moment, and tapped the delete key until the words were gone. “Maybe,” she wrote instead, hope kindling. She sent off the email and reached for her Rolodex.
She hadn’t spoken to Stephen Deneford’s mother in months, notsince their paths crossed at a Make-A-Wish Foundation fundraiser in May, but Lillian had a delightful sense of humor and a strong sense of justice, and Julia always enjoyed their conversations. Julia could only assume that Stephen took after his father. Lillian wasn’t one for email, so Julia phoned instead, muffling a sigh of relief when Lillian greeted her warmly, as if they were longtime friends who had spoken only days before.
“I have a very important personal favor to ask of you,” Julia confessed after they had spent a few moments catching up. “In return for hearing my pitch, I have something exclusive to offer you that any dedicated fan ofA Patchwork Lifewould covet dearly.”
