But Teddy wasn’t a total asshole, so the first question he asked was “Is Winnie okay?”
“She’ll befiiiine,” Steph said, in a voice that clearly conveyed how much she cared. “The word is that it was an ayahuasca ceremony gone wrong—also at UnFestival. Do you know how easy it is to get dehydrated on the mesa? Even before you start shitting yourself? Anyway, she’s in the hospital now and hooked up to all sorts of IVs. Her agent thinks another few days and then a discharge with strict instructions to rest.”
“So no movie for her,” Teddy said numbly.
“No movie for her. By the way, if anyone asks, she’s being treated for exhaustion.Notfor puking in a tent full of vegans and DJs.”
Right. No one would want sweet Winnie Baker’s reputation tarnished—and Teddy definitely didn’t want the movie tarnished by association. No, he needed his new production company to appear five thousand percent aboveboard, so that no one would dig too hard and find out that Teddy Ray Fletcher was the same man who owned Uncle Ray-Ray’s, a porn studio specializing in—well, less stuff than it used to, now that his daughter was in her twenties and spent every family meal lecturing him about creating ethical mission statements. Last Thanksgiving, she and his son made him identify Uncle Ray-Ray’s core values.
Core. Values.
“So if I were you,” Steph went on, “I’d round up your director and get that shit recast ASAP. Sweet babyJesus, did you see that? And on a unicycle! Only in Silver Lake, am I right?”
Assuming that Steph was talking to her Uber driver again, Teddy wisely chose not to answer, already stuffing everything on his desk related toDuke the Hallsinto his briefcase—another present from his ex-wife.
He was going to fix this. He was going to juggle Fletcher Productions and Uncle Ray-Ray’s so smoothly that no one from the Christmas movie would ever, ever know about his career making porn. He had not figured out how to make separate IMDb accounts (andhow to furtively use his great aunt Phyllis’s address for a new LLC) for nothing!
I can fix this, he told himself as he forced the briefcase closed and bolted for the door.I can still make this work.
After all, how hard could it be to keep his two worlds separate?
Three hours later, Teddy was sitting across from his director in an airport Chili’s Too glowing with chili pepper string lights and mini Christmas trees at every table. He was trying to pull folders out of his briefcase while also choking down a molten-hot mozzarella stick.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You’re flushed.”
Teddy fumbled some folders on the table and then dabbed at his forehead with his napkin, hoping he wasn’t sweating too much. His pale complexion showed every degree of flush and every stipple of sweat. It made him self-conscious.
“This is stressful stuff, but nothing we can’t handle,” he said, trying to sound smooth and in control. He’d dealt withany number of porn catastrophes in his day, but unfortunately, the stakes were a bit higher here than having to recast a performer with hemorrhoids. “Obviously, it’s less than ideal having to make this decision in the airport right before your plane leaves for Vermont, but ayahuasca is unpredictable.”
“Words to live by.” The director sighed. She was already pulling his folders across the table over to her side. Even as she sat in a booth made of vinyl and old crumbs, there was no hiding that indefinable celebrity aura she gave off. Gretchen Young had high cheekbones, flashing eyes, and warm medium brown skin—all of it finished off by long, waist-length twists, a nose piercing, and casual overalls that had probably cost as much as his watch.
“And how hard do you think it will be to get someone else to Vermont in time?” she asked, spreading the headshots across the table. “There were a few other women whom I liked at the audition, but with the shoot happening over the holidays and the short notice...”
“We’ll make it work,” Teddy said with a confidence he absolutely did not have. For one thing, the turnarounds on these Christmas movies weretight. Two weeks—three at the most. And with the actual filming set to begin in two days, he’d have to get their new actress out to Vermont by tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. WhileDuke the Hallswasn’t exactly written in iambic pentameter, he assumed Winnie’s replacement would want a day or so to read over the script and familiarize herself with the story.
And for another,worsething, the little Vermont town where Gretchen wanted to shoot the movie—Christmas Notch—hadonly one opening in its little Vermont schedule: during the actual, literal Christmas season. And while they wouldn’t be shooting on the twenty-fifth, they’d be right back to work on the twenty-sixth, meaning that whoever took Winnie’s role would have to be okay with potentially missing Christmas at home.
Jesus. He needed another mozzarella stick. He shoved the breaded lava into his mouth and tried to remember that thing his son had told him about mindful breathing.
“Fuck,” Gretchen breathed suddenly. “Who is she? We didn’t see her at the audition, did we?”
“Uh,” Teddy said through his mouthful of food, racking his brain.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a headshot with nipples before,” Gretchen added thoughtfully.
The horror slid through him in slow motion, as hot and gooey as the burning mozzarella lodged in his throat. He lowered his eyes to the table and saw what Gretchen was looking at: a picture that had most definitelynotcome from theDuke the Hallsfolder. He mentally rewound to three hours ago, when he had been shoving any and all folder-like objects into his briefcase, flustered and hurrying like hell so he could catch Gretchen before her flight.
And now here he was, looking at a still from Uncle Ray-Ray’s latest porn shoot and not a headshot forDuke the Halls.
Gretchen traced a long finger over the woman’s face. “She definitely wasn’t at the audition. I’d remember her. Who is she?”
Teddy tried to put his hand over the rest of the folder—if she kept going through these pictures, she was going to see morethan just nipples—and sound completely and totally nonchalant. Like this was no big deal. Like Gretchen didn’t have her finger on a picture of one of the hottest alt-porn stars of their time.
“She’s very talented,” Teddy said, the nonchalance difficult to muster as he coughed down some stubborn mozzarella. “But she normally does edgier stuff. You know”—he cast around for the right nonporn word—“provocative. Artistic risks and stuff. Not really Hopeflix fare.”
“She’s exactly what I want,” Gretchen said, still looking at the photo. “She’s perfect for the part of Felicity.”
“Uh...”
