Fade To Black. Heather Graham
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To be fair to herself, Marnie had been young when their show had been canceled—barely twenty-four. And Cara had been...
Well, hell. Not twenty-four.
The cancellation of their show—Dark Harbor, the story of a town inhabited by vampires and other strange supernatural beings—had been a true death knell for her career.
* * *
It was playing out beautifully, as if it had all been rehearsed. Here, Actors’ Row, the lineup...a dog, an old dude from some mostly forgotten weekly flick...and then...
Yes, them. The cast from Dark Harbor.
And it was coming closer and closer...
He could feel it.
He didn’t know exactly when, and he hadn’t known that he would feel this...exhilarated!
But it was alive, kinetic...wired! With anticipation.
Yes, it was coming...
Soon. So soon. He could almost taste it on the air.
* * *
For Cara, there hadn’t been a lot of great offers to follow the lamented demise of Dark Harbor. A few little bits, guest star gigs, here and there. Her agent tried her best.
But when no decent acting offers were forthcoming, there were always conventions. And there had been talk—just a rumor so far—that there might be a Dark Harbor reunion show. A producer had apparently been a huge fan and now wanted to bring them back.
So far, though, none of the core actors had been approached. Or so they all claimed.
It was still just speculation. And she didn’t dare believe the rumor—it was too painful. But then again, she had seen a tall guy with a superhero T-shirt under his blazer walking around, watching them all. Someone had said he was Vince Carlton, a cable show producer and director.
The money from a reboot might not be huge. Still, Cara’s agent had mentioned a call that suggested such a thing might be possible—if so, was she willing?
Of course!
Anything would be better than eight-by-ten-picture money.
But it would all be too depressing to believe that it might happen—and then have their hopes dashed on the rocks of Hollywood capriciousness.
For now, fan conventions and picture sales were important.
Thankfully—for Cara and the rest of the cast—there was Marnie. She was like the best kid in the family, the one who looked after and took care of her siblings. She would always make the group complete and show up when needed, helping them all survive the torment of comic cons.
There had been five main players in the series. Cara had been the matriarch of the supernatural family, and still, she’d admit, was the least of the five characters.
But Marnie’s role—that of Madam Zeta—had become beloved, and her character was now a classic. Therefore Marnie was the most important person in their group.
And sometimes they weren’t invited—or offered any kind of prime slots—unless Marnie agreed she would be with them.
The show had ended five years ago.
Their days in the sun seemed to be over.
Sometimes, Cara wasn’t sure if she was more bitter toward the no-name Blood-bones of the world, the Malcolm Dangerfields—with their hundred dollars a pop for a photo—or Marnie, who would always just take her damned lemons and make lemonade.
No! Cara thought. Once again, she wasn’t being fair to herself.
Not fair. She loved Marnie. The woman couldn’t help being gracious and elegant and kind. She was blessed with a sweeping headful of burnished brown hair and bright blue-green eyes, legs that were certainly what men considered to be wickedly long and a patrician face with perfect features. She was also quick to smile, quick to sympathize and ready to help out. It was her presence here that had allowed them to sell many pictures. Madam Zeta had been the darling of the show. And Cara knew that while she loved Marnie, she was envious, as well. None of Marnie’s fault—she was simply still young, and Cara was not.
She realized she was staring at Marnie, who looked back at her curiously.
“I’m not a bad person, am I?” Cara asked her.
“Of course not! You can be a bit Hollywood jaded, but hey, we’re in Hollywood. That’s to be expected,” Marnie assured her with a shrug and a grin.
“Madam Zeta, Madam Zeta, Madam Zeta!” Someone was screaming again, racing up to the Dark Harbor booth.
It was a man, tall, gangly and blond and fairly good-looking; when he called out, a few other people turned away from the Blood-bone character on the floor and paid attention to the little group of five in the Dark Harbor booth.
“Oh, cool! It’s the whole cast!” someone else cried.
And suddenly, Comic Con was good. People had heard. Lots of people were looking at the booth with real interest.
Fans began to come up, and before Cara knew it, they were all signing the best cast picture they had. It featured Marnie as Madam Scarlet Zeta, the family psychic with superhuman strength, who also earned them what they needed to keep up their decaying mansion and most often ferreted out the deadly creatures in Dark Harbor. On each side of Marnie, the rest of the cast was gathered: Roberta Alan as Marnie’s older sister, Sonia Zeta, the family member granted the power of cloaking those around her; Grayson Adair playing Nathan Zeta, brother of Scarlet and Sonia, the family member gifted with ability to freeze vampires; Jeremy Highsmith as Theodore, patriarch of the family and the bearer of the legacy that allowed the family to fight off evil and protect the town.
Also, of course, there was Cara herself, as Elizabeth, the dignified and elegant matriarch, caring mother, ever aware that her children met far too much danger, and ever ready to give her life for theirs.
They had that one photo that could be pretty damned hot—that family photo. When it was signed by all of them, it sometimes became a collectible item—sold on internet auction sites to overseas fans for more than they ever got for it. That photo often kept a roof over Cara’s head. It was their priciest at fifty dollars, whether they were all in attendance at an event or not. It was up to the buyer to hunt down the rest of the cast if they wanted the complete set of signatures.
And they were all there that day. Now the ball was rolling!
They could sell hundreds.
Naturally, it was that one that young, tall and good-looking man wanted, except that he also wanted a few solos of Marnie—though none of the others. She always chatted and tried to get people to buy more, but it didn’t even matter that they weren’t buying more.
The young man had started an influx of people. They were buying the cast photo.
“Madam Zeta! Mrs. Elizabeth—all of you! Amazing,” the young man said.
“Marnie Davante,” Marnie said, smiling and taking the young man’s hand. “And you’re...?”
Who cares? Cara wondered. Just sell him a picture.
“David Neal,” the young man said. “We actually have an appointment next week.”
“Oh?”
“Stage managing position,” he replied.
“Oh, wonderful!” she said enthusiastically.
“Marnie does love kids,” Cara put in.
Jeremy Highsmith—on Marnie’s other side—cleared his throat. “I think we have a bit of a line forming.”
“Oh,