just see a little spot here that needs touching up.”
Unfortunately, driving slowly wasn’t an option on the 405, which was where I now found myself. And I couldn’t very well pull off, could I? How would I explain this to a police officer if he noticed my car on the side of the road? “Sorry, officer, but my grandmother’s eyeliner took precedence.”
“A lady always has to look her best in public,” Grandma said, opening the container.
Hmm. Well, at least she wasn’t driving. It could be worse.
Seconds later she gave a little yelp, and I glanced away from the road long enough to notice the thick black smudge under her left eye. She reached for a tissue and did her best to clean it up, but when we arrived at the studio, I noticed she still looked like she’d just climbed out of the boxing ring. Hopefully no one would pay much attention. They were all used to her eclectic look by now, anyway.
I pulled up to the door to let her out before parking the car. Grandma eased her way out. She turned back, showing off her gown and makeup. “Well? What do you think?”
“Very Grace Kelly–like,” I said with a nod.
“You think so?” She grinned. “If only Fred Astaire would sweep me off my feet.”
The Lord, with his wonderful sense of humor, provided just the right opportunity to play out this fantasy. Rex Henderson happened by, took one look at her, and let out a whistle. “As I live and breathe, it’s . . . wait, let me guess.” A few seconds later, he snapped his fingers. “Grace Kelly in the flesh. A vision of loveliness, as always.”
Grandma’s cheeks—already heavily blushed—turned crimson at his words.
“Aw, go on with you,” she said. He offered up a shrug, and she punched him in the arm. “No, go on with you. You were saying?”
Rex chuckled. “I was saying that Fred would like to escort Grace inside the studio.”
He offered his arm and she took it, then turned back to me with a grin. “You know what I always say, KK. It’s not the men in your life that counts, it’s the life in your men.”
I paused until it registered, then responded, “Mae West. I’m No Angel . 1934.”
“1933,” Grandma corrected me. “And you’re right, KK. I’m no angel. But I did play one once in a movie.” She disappeared into the studio on Rex’s arm.
After parking the car, I joined them inside. Something about walking into Studio B put me at ease every time. I thought it weird that I often felt more at home on a television set than in my own house. Maybe it was because the house really belonged to my grandmother and carried her signature. Her mark. This place—albeit completely fabricated—was my home. The Stars Collide set was my favorite. With its childlike qualities, it really looked like a children’s talent agency. I loved the kid-friendly colors and decor. I also loved the furniture they’d chosen for my living room set. That’s where I’d been when Scott—er, Jack—had kissed me for the first time. Seeing it brought back lovely memories.
Hmm. Thinking of Scott made me wonder where he was. My heart fluttered in anticipation. I thought again of the words in the script. Angie had fallen in love with Jack and was ready to tell him so. How long would it be before I could honestly convey my feelings to Scott as well? Oh, if only I could find him.
I rapped on his dressing room door, then popped my head inside after a few seconds of silence. Nothing. I made my way to the round-table reading room to see if perhaps he’d already ventured inside. Nope. Not wanting to appear anxious, I headed back to the set, my thoughts shifting to other things.
Ironically, Scott wasn’t the only one missing. I searched through the various crew members in search of our director, but Mark was noticeably absent. I needed to run a couple of things by him before we did the round-table reading. If only I could find him.
“Where’s Mark?” I looked around, perplexed.
“Oh, he’s gone today,”
Unfortunately, driving slowly wasn’t an option on the 405, which was where I now found myself. And I couldn’t very well pull off, could I? How would I explain this to a police officer if he noticed my car on the side of the road? “Sorry, officer, but my grandmother’s eyeliner took precedence.”
“A lady always has to look her best in public,” Grandma said, opening the container.
Hmm. Well, at least she wasn’t driving. It could be worse.
Seconds later she gave a little yelp, and I glanced away from the road long enough to notice the thick black smudge under her left eye. She reached for a tissue and did her best to clean it up, but when we arrived at the studio, I noticed she still looked like she’d just climbed out of the boxing ring. Hopefully no one would pay much attention. They were all used to her eclectic look by now, anyway.
I pulled up to the door to let her out before parking the car. Grandma eased her way out. She turned back, showing off her gown and makeup. “Well? What do you think?”
“Very Grace Kelly–like,” I said with a nod.
“You think so?” She grinned. “If only Fred Astaire would sweep me off my feet.”
The Lord, with his wonderful sense of humor, provided just the right opportunity to play out this fantasy. Rex Henderson happened by, took one look at her, and let out a whistle. “As I live and breathe, it’s . . . wait, let me guess.” A few seconds later, he snapped his fingers. “Grace Kelly in the flesh. A vision of loveliness, as always.”
Grandma’s cheeks—already heavily blushed—turned crimson at his words.
“Aw, go on with you,” she said. He offered up a shrug, and she punched him in the arm. “No, go on with you. You were saying?”
Rex chuckled. “I was saying that Fred would like to escort Grace inside the studio.”
He offered his arm and she took it, then turned back to me with a grin. “You know what I always say, KK. It’s not the men in your life that counts, it’s the life in your men.”
I paused until it registered, then responded, “Mae West. I’m No Angel . 1934.”
“1933,” Grandma corrected me. “And you’re right, KK. I’m no angel. But I did play one once in a movie.” She disappeared into the studio on Rex’s arm.
After parking the car, I joined them inside. Something about walking into Studio B put me at ease every time. I thought it weird that I often felt more at home on a television set than in my own house. Maybe it was because the house really belonged to my grandmother and carried her signature. Her mark. This place—albeit completely fabricated—was my home. The Stars Collide set was my favorite. With its childlike qualities, it really looked like a children’s talent agency. I loved the kid-friendly colors and decor. I also loved the furniture they’d chosen for my living room set. That’s where I’d been when Scott—er, Jack—had kissed me for the first time. Seeing it brought back lovely memories.
Hmm. Thinking of Scott made me wonder where he was. My heart fluttered in anticipation. I thought again of the words in the script. Angie had fallen in love with Jack and was ready to tell him so. How long would it be before I could honestly convey my feelings to Scott as well? Oh, if only I could find him.
I rapped on his dressing room door, then popped my head inside after a few seconds of silence. Nothing. I made my way to the round-table reading room to see if perhaps he’d already ventured inside. Nope. Not wanting to appear anxious, I headed back to the set, my thoughts shifting to other things.
Ironically, Scott wasn’t the only one missing. I searched through the various crew members in search of our director, but Mark was noticeably absent. I needed to run a couple of things by him before we did the round-table reading. If only I could find him.
“Where’s Mark?” I looked around, perplexed.
“Oh, he’s gone today,”
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