The Little Barmaid Page 2

  “Oh?” I still didn’t know what she was getting at, but it’s not exactly every day that a movie star sits me down and chats with me.

  “Yes, I just had the most wonderful idea while you were singing.” More fake smiles. More shiny, white teeth (not pointy though). “I can easily do the dancing and the acting in the film, but I’ve got to find a solution to the problem of my voice. And I think you’re the perfect solution to that problem.”

  “You want me to record your vocals?” I asked. “Like through voiceover work in a studio?”

  She nodded, grinning. “Exactly like that. Your voice and my face, acting, and dancing. We’re a combined triple threat.”

  I’d never done professional voice work, but I knew perfectly well that a foot in the door was something that I badly needed. Plenty of popular actors started out doing voice work, and I knew it was a viable career path. Although I would have preferred someone to offer me a starring role in something, being someone’s singing voice was a solid second choice. I mean, it’s not like I had a ton of choices, period. I had to take what I could get.

  “That sounds good,” I managed to say, jumping for joy inside.

  I was—maybe—going to be in a movie!

  “There’s a catch though,” Ursula told me. “You won’t be credited, and you can’t tell anyone—not anyone—that you’re the real voice. I’ll be the one that gets the credit for your voice. But I will make it up to you. You’ll get cast as a chorus girl in the film so I’ve got you around. Plus, that will let you get your hours to join the Screen Actors Guild and give you a credit to start working on your own. I’ll also pay you really well.”

  I felt my mouth fall open in shock. I wouldn’t get the credit for my work on the film?

  “I’d be a chorus girl?” I asked, thinking that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. At least I’d be in the movie. “But no one would know I was doing your singing?”

  “That’s right,” Ursula said. “You’d need to pass the dance audition tomorrow, but you have a degree in dance, don’t you? Your uncle said you did.”

  I nodded. “Yes.” I paused. “Well, musical theater. Singing and dancing.”

  “Really,” Ursula was continuing (I don’t think she was listening to me), “this is a good deal for you. You’ll get to appear in a major film. And you’re going to be getting good experience and being paid real money.” Ursula grinned. “This all should be easy for you. You’ll get two paychecks and be in a film. So, what do you say? Do you want to be my secret voice on this production?”

  I didn’t know much about Hollywood voice work. I didn’t know much about Hollywood period. My uncle, while influential and well-connected, was much bigger in rock circles than he was in film ones. But this sounded real. And exciting. Plus, Derek Prince would be on the film.

  “I—I don’t know,” I managed to say. “I’m definitely interested though. I would like to know more about how this would work.”

  Ursula smiled warmly. “Of course, you do. I’ll have my lawyer reach out to you right away. We’re going to need you in the studio as soon as possible. Since this will all be a big secret, you’ll have to sign some paperwork that’s not exactly standard. But it’ll be worth it for both of us. I promise.”

  She got up and prepared to breeze out then, leaving me frozen and confused. Then she paused. All the color and warmth drained out of her. Her eyes fixed on mine, leaving me cold. I sank into my chair.

  “You can never, ever tell anyone about this,” she said to me. Her tone was icy. “I’m offering you more than anyone ever gets offered in Hollywood. But you must keep your mouth shut unless I’m telling you to sing. Forever. Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  Ursula’s good humor returned in a rush, but now it felt forced and false. I wondered which of the two versions of the woman I’d just seen was real. “Great!” she said, grinning at me eagerly. “I’ll send over all the paperwork right away.”

  I needed to get out of here for a few minutes. My brain was too full.

  3

  Derek

  At what point does a costar’s flirting constitute a hostile work environment? Because I was afraid I was going to develop PTSD from my time around Ursula Jones.

  “We should go get a drink after this,” Ursula had said to me inside the bar, batting her eyes and leaning into me suggestively. We’d just arrived, and I was already uncomfortable. This was ostensibly meant to be a chance for the casting folks to scope background talent, but it felt far too close to a date with the way Ursula was all over me.

  “I’m exhausted,” I told her, gently disentangling her hand from mine under the table. “I think I just need some rest.”

  “We could always Netflix and chill at your place if you want to get away from the crowd,” she suggested. Her voice in my ear was a sweet, eager whisper.

  “I think I have a call coming up that I forgot about,” I said to the entire table. “Excuse me for a moment.”

  Fifteen minutes later and my fake call had turned into a thousand-yard stare outside Sebastian’s.

  Ursula Jones, my potential future costar, had a huge, obvious, sexually aggressive crush on me. While she was pretty enough, the feeling was not at all mutual. Ursula—a hungry, rising Hollywood starlet with an ego the size of a whale—was very much not my type. She was mean to her assistant, short with anyone who wasn’t telling her what she wanted to hear, and clearly couldn’t take a hint. So, when I stepped outside to take a break from her constant, inexplicable come-ons, I wished I could just slip out into the night and disappear. The day had been incredibly long.

  It was a shame too, because I’d been curious about Sebastian’s. Since learning about it as the part-time hangout of my brother’s girlfriend Cindy, I’d done some research on the bar. It used to be a huge deal back in the seventies and early eighties. All the big music acts used to frequent it back when it was a rock club. And its proprietor, Sebastian Cross, was something of a legend as well. Apparently, he’d been a key source of new acts and talents. But instead of looking at all the cool stuff on the wall and listening to karaoke, I was sulking outside.

  And sulking was definitely the right word. Today had been annoying and long. Ursula and I were both being courted by the studio to star in a movie musical directed by one of my brother, but instead of having the opportunity to actually sing with Ursula and see if we had much chemistry, she’d insisted that all her vocals would be done in the studio. She’d spent most of the day flirting with me instead, although I had to admit her dancing was excellent.

  “This is the one,” my agent had promised me. “The surge in new movie musicals is going to be your ticket to EGOTs, and this one is the cream of the crop. You’re getting to play the Cary Grant role here, and Ursula will be Mae West. You’re a perfect couple. It’s a match made in movie history.”

  The musical was an adaptation of 1933’s ‘She Done Him Wrong,’ one of Cary Grant’s first major films, and one of Mae West’s best-known ones. It was a great story, dramatic and explosive. The musical numbers were big, bright, and exciting. And to top it all off, it was all done in period costumes.

  It had to be enough. I needed this film to work. I was one Oscar away from achieving my EGOT goals, and my damn brother had just beaten me to an Oscar. I knew that the original song from this musical would probably push me over the edge. Plus, the script and the music were simply amazing. It had taken more than a year for me to find my next project, and now that I finally had, I was eager to get started. That is, if Ursula could actually do her part.

  “I’m concerned that we still haven’t heard Ursula sing,” I’d told my brother Holden this afternoon.

  “Well, she’s sending in her audition tape any day,” he’d replied. “So, I wouldn’t get concerned just yet. Her agent assures us that she’s excellent. Apparently, she’s just so much of a perfectionist that she’s not comfortable singing live.”

  “You don’t think it’s weird she won’t sing live though? No
t even just with me?”

  He’d shrugged her shoulders. “I think Hollywood stars have always been weird and are getting weirder ever year. As long as she sounds good on the tape, we’re good. It’s not like you’re singing live in the movie. Maybe she’s just shy.”

  Ursula did not seem shy. She seemed the opposite of shy. I still thought it was weird. Especially when she seemed so game to dance and act through the romance scenes with me at our table read.

  In the fading light of the evening, I was so distracted by my own thoughts that I failed to notice the bachelorette party pulling up in front of me. By the time I realized what was happening, a group of ten women had appeared around me and began approaching from every angle. I was surrounded.

  “Oh my God!” A woman with a pink ‘maid of honor’ sash squealed. “You’re Derek Prince!”

  This must be how a deer feels when the wolves close in, I thought distantly. They look hungry.

  “I love you!” One woman screamed almost directly in my ear.

  “Will you come inside and dance with me?” Another screeched, grabbing for my hand to draw me inside.

  At the same time, a different woman grabbed the other hand. “Want to sing a duet?” she crooned. I was now being pulled, literally, in two different directions. Given that both my arms were currently occupied, another woman stepped up directly in front of me and angled my head down to look at her. I flinched at the personal contact.

  “We’re going to a strip club later, want to come?” she winked at me.

  They were all talking at once. And they were all very, very drunk despite the fact that it was early in the evening.

  “Wow ladies,” I stuttered, attempting to back out of the situation. I pulled my arms out of theirs and tried to get some space around myself. They were seriously in my bubble. “I’m flattered, but if you could just give me a little room—”

  My requests fell on deaf ears. This situation was a disaster. The entire bachelorette party had phones in their hands--that is, unless their hands were on me. There were way too many unwelcome hands on me, and they were wandering. My claustrophobia spiked. There had been a time in my career when I would have gone with this situation no matter where it led, but that time was past. All I wanted at the moment was a chance to catch my breath.

  “Excuse me—” I tried again.

  “You should come inside with us!” The bride insisted. “My future husband wouldn’t mind me making an exception to our vows for you!”

  “You’re so handsome!”

  “I’ve seen all your movies.”

  “You’re my favorite actor.”

  I like female attention. Don’t get me wrong. I like it a lot. Find me an actor or red-blooded man that doesn’t like gobs of feminine attention, and I’ll happily get a picture with said unicorn. But being surrounded by ten highly excited, handsy, aggressive, drunk women is more sexual assault than sexual gratification, especially after experiencing the small-scale version of this encounter with Ursula all afternoon. I needed to get out of this situation, and fast.

  When I saw a vintage Volkswagen beetle convertible driving by at only a few miles per hour, I thought I was saved. The choreographer of the production, Mia, drove a bright yellow one. She must have seen me being mobbed and decided to come bail me out. Bless her. She was just in time. The women were working on the buttons of my shirt and two had already been plucked off by their prying fingers.

  “Sorry ladies,” I said, pulling away and darting to the curb. “I’m afraid I’ve got to go.”

  I dove into the passenger seat. In a move that would put my action-movie dominating brother Peter to shame, I smoothly managed to shove my six-foot-two body over the door and down into the bucket seat.

  “Go!” I yelled. “Quick!”

  The beautiful redheaded woman sitting in the driver’s seat was not Mia. She immediately started to scream. At the same time, she stomped on the gas and we shot forward into traffic. First, we smacked a curb. Then, she twisted the wheel the other way and nearly sent us into the broadside of a bus until she pulled back and zipped across traffic. Finally, and still screaming, she boarded a highway on-ramp in a panic.

  4

  Ariel

  When the man jumped into my car out of nowhere, I screamed and almost killed us both. I was still screaming thirty seconds later. He scared the ever-living shit out of me. After the bizarre offer I’d just received from Ursula Jones in the karaoke bar, I was hardly able to think. And now this. Instant passenger.

  My squeals cut off into a single, high pitched note. There was that high C. Beautiful.

  “What the fuck?” I screamed at the intruder. Better articulation of my shock and fear was not possible at the moment. I was unable to think or drive effectively. I screamed at him again. Maybe if I screamed loudly enough, he’d vanish back to wherever he came from. “What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?”

  “Sorry! Can you please pull over?” the stranger asked me. His voice was infuriatingly mild like he was shocked at my reaction to his sudden appearance in my passenger seat.

  I swerved, pulling through multiple lanes of insane LA traffic and listening to the chorus of honks. A semi slammed its ear-splitting horn, nearly deafening me. We were on a six-lane highway with no shoulder. Pulling over was not an option. A bunch of people flipped me off and I waved them off. I had an issue here!

  “Pull over!” the man insisted.

  “Don’t tell me how to drive!” I screeched. “Get out!”

  The only thing louder than the angry reactions of the other drivers was my heartbeat rushing blood through my veins. My adrenaline was at a new level. I hadn’t known it could go this high.

  “I’m not jumping out of a moving vehicle onto a freeway!” he protested.

  “Why not?” I taunted, trying to get somewhere I could dump his crazy ass off. Preferably a nice public place. Like a police station. “You were perfectly happy to jump into one!”

  “I thought you were someone else,” the man said.

  I twisted the wheel again, trying desperately to get us off the highway. Another barrage of angry horns and middle fingers ensued when no one wanted to let me over. Dammit.

  “You know somebody that likes it when you hop into their car? Are you insane?”

  He laughed. Laughed! “Says the woman driving like a maniac!”

  I glared at the road. I couldn’t look at him or we’d both bite it. I was going to get us off this highway if it killed me. Which it might. I turned on my blinker and prepared for another attempt.

  “This is not my fault,” I grated out. “Nobody made you hop in my car like a psychopath. We’re going to the police station where you’re gonna’ get arrested.”

  “Please just pull over,” he entreated. “I swear I’ll get out immediately. Anything to get away from your bad driving.”

  “Excuse me?” Finally, I had the opportunity to exit. I took it at five times the normal speed, slammed on the brakes, and drifted around the corner into an alleyway. I brought us to a stop, panting. “Do you want to repeat how this is all my fault?”

  “Sorry! Sorry!” the stranger was saying, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean to scare you or be rude. Really. I needed a rescue and thought you were someone else.”

  I turned to stare at him.

  I gaped.

  It was Derek Prince. There was a movie star sitting in my passenger seat.

  When I stopped arguing and started staring, Derek seemed to relax a bit. He held both hands out in front of himself like I was a wild animal. At the moment, I felt like one. As the moment lengthened and the silence stretched, he slowly lowered his hands.

  “What the fuck? Why are you in my car?” I breathed. My voice was raspy now that I wasn’t screaming my lungs out.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said again, drawing a hand through his mussed hair uncomfortably. “Really. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was being mobbed by those women…”

  He gestured at his shirt, wh
ich had two buttons pulled off of it. It took me a moment to process what I was seeing. Other than a tousled, sexy Derek Prince that is. I gulped in a mouthful of air, distantly realizing that I’d been holding my breath.

  “Wait. The bachelorette party did that to you?” I stuttered.

  He nodded. “Are you with them?” For a moment, he looked concerned that he’d just jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. He’d be right, except I was much too starstruck to put the moves on him. If I had moves. Which I didn’t. I might be able to dance but I have all the savoir faire of a kitchen trivet. I could no more seduce Derek Prince than I could fly.

  I shook my head at his absurd question. “No.” I laughed. “Definitely not. I just work at Sebastian’s. I’m a waitress there. I’m Ariel Cross by the way.”

  I extended a hand formally and he shook it, sending a little thrill through my body.

  “Derek Prince.”

  As if I didn’t know exactly who he was. I used to have a poster of him hung over my bed. I’d daydream about meeting him and now I was meeting him. I’d daydreamed about other things too, lying in my bed and staring up at his poster, but that was neither here nor there…

  “I heard we had a bachelorette party coming.” I told Derek, basically babbling. I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “We have to book those parties early because they tend to get a bit rowdy and we can only accommodate one at a time.”

  “They were definitely rowdy,” he said, shaking his head and looking vaguely ill. “They weren’t even in the door yet.”

  “So, you jumped into my car to escape them like you’re James Bond.”

  He laughed. “Was it that good?” His tone was teasing. “Why thank you.”

  I couldn’t stop my hysterical giggle. “I’m not sure. I was too busy screaming. It might have been more of an Austin Powers moment and I just didn’t realize it.”