The Little Barmaid Page 4

  “I got a job today,” I told him. “In a movie. I’m going to be in a movie. So, how’s that for a compelling argument?”

  It wasn’t technically true. Not yet. But it would be.

  “You got a job?” My dad sounded stunned, which was not exactly a comforting reaction. “How much does it pay?”

  I frowned. I didn’t know yet. “Enough.”

  He laughed. “So, nothing?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Then basically nothing,” he said.

  “There’s more to life than money,” I told him.

  “But there’s nothing that will make life harder than having none.”

  My dad cared so much about money. Money was nice and all, and I’d grown up with a good amount of it, but it wasn’t everything. It wasn’t enough to trade my dreams of performing for. I hated studying. The thought of going to law school for three years was about as appealing as an internship in pig farming. It just wasn’t my thing.

  There were a lot of girls out there who wanted to go to law school. Let them have the spots. They deserved them way more than me, and they probably didn’t have overbearing moms and dads who were willing to do God-knows-what to get their kids in. I didn’t even want to think about what my dad offered the dean. I bet it had a lot of zeros on it.

  “I don’t want to go to law school. I don’t like that you got me in without my knowledge. I didn’t deserve to get in.”

  It was majorly unethical. It probably wasn’t illegal because my dad was way too smart for that. But whatever he did wasn’t ethical, I knew that much. He’d taken someone else’s spot in that class and given it to me, a girl who didn’t deserve it.

  “Listen, Ariel, I love you. I’m doing this because I love you. Come home. Enroll in classes. Take the LSAT. Forget about this silly dream of yours. I let you major in whatever you wanted in undergraduate. I even thought a performing arts degree was a good idea. Easy A’s, you know? But it’s time to grow up now. Your mother and I have been incredibly patient. But you need to wake up. You’re not going to be the next big thing.”

  “You don’t know that,” I said. It hurt to be rejected at auditions, but it hurt even more to be rejected by my own parent. He never thought I had any talent. He only allowed me to pursue the arts because it made me ‘well rounded’ on applications.

  “I do.” He sighed. “Sweetie, you’re special and talented but compared to what’s out there… you’re not special enough. I’ve been an entertainment lawyer for twenty years. I’ve seen a million girls like you trying to make it. Believe me, you’re better on this side of the desk.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  I’d been giving half-answers and equivocations for going on a year now to my mom and dad about my law school prospects. Any time I tried to be direct it just resulted in a fight. But now I had a job. He had to see that things were different now.

  The silence between us stretched again. I prayed he was listening to me. Finally seeing my side. Or at least caring about what I wanted. That would be an improvement.

  “I guess you will be,” he said.

  My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I am,” he told me. “I’m dead serious. You’re cut off. Effective right now. You can have your allowance back when you come to your senses.”

  I froze. I wasn’t making nearly enough working at Sebastian’s to survive. If this thing with Ursula didn’t work out, I’d be broke. I’d be forced to move home and then I’d really be at my family’s mercy.

  “Fine,” I stuttered. “Great. I’m ready. I’ve got an opportunity that’s going to make me famous. Just you wait.”

  “Oh, I’m waiting,” my dad replied confidently. “I’m waiting to hear you walking in the front door. You’ll be home in a few weeks when your opportunity doesn’t pan out. Then we’ll have a serious talk about your future.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I snapped. I hung up and immediately checked my savings account. Five hundred dollars. I had five hundred dollars and… I rifled through my purse for my tips from Sebastian’s… twenty-six dollars and fifty cents. Five hundred twenty-six dollars and fifty cents doesn’t go far in LA, even with the reduced rent I was paying to Sebastian.

  I could officially afford another month and then I’d be broke.

  This plan needed to work out. I was willing to make any sacrifice necessary. Because giving up on my dreams and letting my dad win? That wasn’t going to happen. Not when I’d just met Derek Prince.

  7

  Ariel

  “How was the dance audition this morning? You nailed it right?” Sebastian asked me the following afternoon. Just as promised by Ursula, I’d received all the paperwork and had spent the remainder of last night and most of this morning reading through it. It wasn’t exactly written in plain English. Luckily for me, both my parents are lawyers. I’m better at reading legalese than the average bear.

  I shrugged my shoulders, which felt a bit sore after all the exercise. “Not too bad,” I answered when Sebastian repeated his question because I’d zoned off. “I thought it was pretty easy. I should hear back tomorrow.”

  Fifteen years of dance lessons had paid off pretty well. I could high-kick with the best of them. A lot of other girls can too, though, so if I didn’t have a foot in the door with the help of Ursula Jones, I doubted I’d have a chance in hell to get the job. There are too many talented young women who can sing and dance in Hollywood. Without some kind of an advantage, I could spend my entire life trying to break into Hollywood, or at least the next decade until I was just too old to break in.

  “And how does the contract look?” Sebastian asked me.

  I shrugged again, trying and probably failing to play it cool. “About what I expected. Total secrecy or they can sue me into the year three thousand.”

  The contract required that I never under any circumstances reveal that I was the voice behind Ursula Jones. She would have absolute rights to my voice on the production, and afterwards. I’d get a small residual for any recordings, but other than that, I would be totally signing over my voice. I would be required to record my parts in secret, after hours. I’d be bound to unlimited re-recordings if the production required it.

  I’d be required to lie to anyone who asked me either directly or indirectly about my relationship with Ursula. I couldn’t speak to her unless spoken to on set or off. I wasn’t to ever speak to the press. And I was to do everything in my power to ensure that Ursula came off in the best light possible. Anything that I did that ran counter to that goal in any way would be considered breach of contract. I’d basically be her slave. But the rewards were very real.

  “So, are you going to do it?” Sebastian asked. “Are you going to sign over your voice for the movie?”

  I bit my lip. “I think so.”

  “Even though you won’t get credit?” Sebastian asked. He cocked his head to the side. “That might end up being kind of frustrating.”

  I nodded my head, pushing my meticulously straightened auburn hair behind my ears. “I know. I’m conflicted about it. But I know if I don’t jump at this opportunity, I’ll regret it.”

  Meeting Derek Prince had also influenced my decision, but I didn’t want to say it. Ever since I’d met him, I’d been unable to stop thinking about him. In fact, I almost messed up my choreography at the audition because of it. I powered through and did fine, but he was definitely on my mind.

  “I’m excited for you,” Sebastian told me, “even though it’s going to mean I’m going to need to hire another waitress.”

  “Just don’t hire a permanent one,” I reminded him. “Nothing is guaranteed. I might wash out.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll get another job after this one,” he said confidently. “This is the foot in the door you needed.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said uncertainly. I needed him to be right.

  “Don’t worry,” Sebastian told me. “I won’t hire
anyone right away. But I know this is just the first step for you. Once you get out there and people start seeing what you can do, roles will start happening for you. And I don’t just mean chorus girl roles either.”

  I smiled at him. It was nice to have someone in my corner. My parents certainly weren’t.

  “Are you going to have your mom or dad look over the contract?” Sebastian asked, reading my mind.

  I swallowed. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  My dad had literally just cut me off when I finally told him that I had no desire to go to law school. He’d promised me that a few months of failing at my dream would wake me up to reality. He expected me to come to realize that I didn’t have the talent or connections to make my Hollywood dreams come true and then to come crawling back to him and his oppressive expectations for what my life should be. I knew it would be a hard adjustment not having a credit card to finance my spoiled, pampered lifestyle, but I actually thought it might do me good in a way that I don’t think was his intention. I believed that I could work for a living and still pursue my dream, and now that I was right on the cusp of achieving it, I wasn’t going to let him sabotage it.

  “It might be a good idea,” he said mildly. “I know your relationship with your parents has been kind of strained lately, but your dad is one of the best entertainment lawyers out there. He could probably help.”

  “I can’t afford him,” I joked. My dad averaged a few thousand dollars an hour for reviewing documents. He’d become very rich on his specialized skills.

  “You’re his daughter, I’m sure he’d make the time,” Sebastian said gently. “And I’m sure he’d want to.”

  “I’m not so sure,” I said, feeling the familiar sting of parental disappointment. “I don’t want to bother him with it.”

  Besides, I’d already signed the contract and sent it back to Ursula. Assuming I’d passed the dance audition, and I’d be stunned if I hadn’t, then I’d be starting production on ‘She Done Him Wrong’ next Monday. I was excited and scared to have a shot at my dream. And getting to see Derek Prince again, even if it was just on a crowded soundstage, sounded pretty fantastic too. Maybe we’d even end up going out to dinner.

  8

  Derek

  “We finally got the first vocal recording from Ursula’s people,” my studio connection Clint told me when I met him for our production meeting the next Monday. We were meeting in his office. Collaborating with my brother Holden on this project was one of the few things that made working with Ursula worth it, but both of us were just small potatoes compared to Clint. I met with him once a week to discuss things. “You’re going to want to hear it.”

  I snapped out of my daydream reluctantly. I’d been thinking about the girl from Sebastian’s, Ariel. Again. I hadn’t been able to get my mind off her for a solid week. I’d had dream after dream of a different version of that night’s events where I’d taken her home with me and made her mine. She’d said she was a dancer, and my fantasies all capitalized on her, um, flexibility. I liked a girl who was limber and adventurous, not to mention sarcastic and funny. It was a silly fantasy, I was supposed to be focusing on my career with unequivocal resolve until I got my dang Oscar, but I couldn’t resist it.

  I hadn’t texted her yet. I hadn’t figured out what to say. But it was only a matter of time. Eventually I’d come up with something clever and start a conversation.

  She’d really been something, that little Ariel Cross. She was spunky, athletic but still feminine, and so pretty with her long red hair and cute freckles. She was probably too young for me. After she stopped screaming at me, that is. But that was legitimately all my fault. I’d probably scream if someone came dropping into my car out of nowhere.

  And Ariel had been funny and friendly too, despite the absurdity of the whole situation. I thought she had liked me back, although maybe she was just nervous. I hadn’t been able to forget her at all. I did get her number, although instead of calling I supposed I could just go back to Sebastian’s if I wanted to find her since she said that she worked there. I’d been trying to come up with some kind of cover story for why I should. I didn’t want to come off as creepy, as having leapt into her car like a crazy person had probably not made the greatest first impression on her.

  “I thought you’d be more excited,” Clint said, drawing me back to the here and now. He was staring at me interestedly.

  “I am!” I insisted. “I’m very excited. This is my excited face.” I attempted an excited face.

  He laughed. “You look worried. Or maybe constipated.”

  “I’m excited.”

  Since I was acting in as well as helping to choreograph some of the movie, I did need to hear Ursula’s voice. I needed to know what she sounded like so I could really conceptualize the music and feel like I understood it. The piano part was nice and all, but it didn’t convey any human emotion.

  “Lay it on me,” I said, expecting nothing much. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

  “I think you’re going to be surprised,” Clint said, smiling mysteriously.

  “Pleasantly surprised?” I asked. What if Ursula sounded like a bad Stevie Nicks impersonator? Or was tone deaf? We’d be right back at casting square one.

  He rolled his eyes. “Just listen.”

  I prepared myself for mediocrity. Ursula had been texting me almost daily over the past week. I didn’t know how to let her down gently. I had to work with her, so I couldn’t just tell her off. And my attempts to firmly but politely tell her that I had no romantic interest in her seemed to fly over her head. I was left just ignoring most of her texts. It seemed like the safest bet.

  Clint punched play on his sound system and we both listened to the familiar opening chords of Ursula’s first number. Then, the vocals started. My lower jaw hit the floor.

  Ursula’s voice wasn’t merely beautiful. It was phenomenal. Clear, crystalline, and powerful, Ursula’s soaring soprano was technically ideal. But it was her phrasing and delivery—the emotion behind her voice-- that really made her performance so completely unique and totally unforgettable. Her singing voice was so unlike her speaking voice. I felt like I could listen to it for hours, totally entranced. Mae West was a throaty, sexy alto, but somehow the song worked with a lighter, younger voice.

  From the first bar to the final reprise, I sat stunned. Hypnotized. When the recording finally shut off, I reached over and played it a second time, just to make sure the first time hadn’t been an elaborate auditory hallucination. It wasn’t. The second time it was even better, because I was able to hear the details now that I wasn’t so surprised.

  “Is that really Ursula?” I stuttered eventually. “She’s—she’s just incredible.”

  Clint nodded his head with a bemused expression on his face. I could tell he shared my stunned reaction, although this obviously wasn’t his first time hearing the recording. Then again, Clint was a studio bigwig, not a musician. He couldn’t possibly be as impressed as I was. “She really knocked it out of the park, huh?”

  “This is going to be a huge hit.”

  I could already see the rave reviews now.

  Clint’s mouth drew up into a wide smile. “I could have told you that.”

  I’d been fairly lukewarm on the production up until this moment, and even more lukewarm on Ursula, but now, I wondered if I wasn’t in love with her. Is it possible to fall in love with someone on the sound of their voice? I didn’t know. Then I remembered her repellent personality and banished the thought.

  “Do we have the next song?” I asked, eager for more. I could listen to that voice all day. She could sing ‘Row Row Row Your Boat’ and I’d listen to it. If only Ursula’s speaking voice were half as lovely as her singing one.

  Clint shook his head. “No. Not yet. In the next couple of days.” He paused. “So, does this mean you’re officially on board for this project with me?”

  I’d been equivocating until I heard Ursula sing. But now, I nodded enthusias
tically. “Yes. I’m definitely on board now.”

  “And Holden?”

  “He was only holding out because I was.”

  “Good, because the studio wants you and Ursula to start promoting it like last week and I want to start shooting immediately. What do you think about dating Ursula, just casually, until the premiere?”

  I blinked at him. “What?”

  “For publicity purposes.”

  “You’re joking,” I stuttered.

  “I’m really not.” Clint’s expression was utterly placid. “From a promotional angle, this is the best move.”

  I froze. He was serious. “I know this is a movie set in the 1930’s, but you can’t tell me who to date.”

  “It’s just a suggestion. You know that costars who seem romantically linked can drive ticket sales. It can even drive Oscar buzz. Think about it.”

  Ordinarily I’d be pragmatic. I usually was. But not at the moment. All I was thinking at that moment was whether Ariel had gotten cast as a chorus girl. I wanted to see her again.

  9

  Ariel

  “Step-ball-change, step-ball-change, kick, kick, high kick, two steps and then a double pirouette,” the choreographer told us, walking us through a simple routine. She was a no-nonsense woman named Mia in her late forties, elegant, cold, and precise. She reminded me of every ballet teacher I’d ever had. “Let’s take group one, then group two starts on the kick. Five, six, seven, eight…”

  It was hour four of day one of rehearsals for the chorus and my feet were already tired. It had been almost a year since I’d worn my character heels, and damn were they still every bit as uncomfortable as I remembered them being. The shoes were designed to be the most comfortable heels you can dance in, but really that’s not saying much. Dancing in heels is not for the weak nor inexperienced. I would need to pick up some Epsom salts on the way home.