At Odds With The Heiress. Cat Schield
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“Tomorrow?”
“That should work.”
“What time are you going to pick me up?”
She interpreted his hesitation as dismay.
“You misunderstood me,” he said. “I’m going to check out the storage shed. Alone.”
“You could. But you’ll have a difficult time getting in without the key.” She let her meaning settle in for a couple seconds before she finished, “So, it’s a date.”
“It’s not a date.” The vibration in his tone reminded her of an unhappy rottweiler.
“It could be if you took me to dinner first.” As she plied him with her most beguiling voice, Scarlett wondered if the sound she was hearing on the other end was his teeth grinding together.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Scarlett grinned in triumph. “I’ll be counting the hours.”
First a kiss, now a date. She couldn’t believe her incredible luck. Too bad she didn’t gamble or she’d be raking in the winnings. Practically floating across the carpet, she caught up with Madison.
“I can’t believe how many people are in here,” Madison said as they strolled between the tables. “It’s three in the afternoon.”
“Most people come to Las Vegas to gamble. Wait until later. It’ll really be hopping down here then.”
“I like the way the dealers are dressed up as famous movie stars.”
“My friend Tiberius told me how back in the fifties it was not unusual to walk through the casino and see Lucille Ball, Debbie Reynolds or the Rat Pack. The stars loved coming here.” Scarlett paused, wondering if the seventeen-year-old had any idea who she was talking about, and then saw with relief that she did. “Since I grew up in Hollywood, I thought it made sense for me to bring a little of that glamour back to Las Vegas.”
“What a fun idea.”
It was at that moment that Scarlett remembered Madison was an aspiring actress. “So much fun that I like getting in on the action myself.” She linked her arm through Madison’s and steered her toward the elevators. “Let’s go up to my suite and I’ll show you what I mean.”
Ten minutes later, Scarlett threw open the doors to her “special” closet and waited for Madison’s reaction.
“Cool.”
The fifteen-by-fifteen-foot room was lined with costumes, shoes, wigs and jewelry that Scarlett used to transform herself into various starlets from the fifties and sixties.
“On the weekends I like to get dressed up and wander around the casinos. My high rollers love it and I get to pretend that I’m still an actress.” A mild pang of regret came and went.
“You obviously love being one.” Madison walked toward the costumes on the far wall. “Why’d you give it up?”
Scarlett watched Madison trail her fingers along a hot-pink replica of the gown worn by Marilyn Monroe when she sang “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend” from the 1953 musical Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.
“The simple answer is that when puberty hit I went from a sweet-faced girl-next-door to a bombshell with too many curves.” Scarlett stood in front of the mirror and gazed critically at her reflection. “Neither the producers of That’s Our Hilary nor my not-so-loyal public were ready for Hilary to grow up so fast.”
“What happened?”
“They spun off a few secondary characters into a new show and gave Hilary the heave-ho.”
“That’s terrible.”
“That’s showbiz.” Scarlett skimmed her palms over her hips, thinking about how she’d put on the black skirt to thumb her nose at Logan’s suggestion that she dress more professionally. He didn’t seem to understand that unless she worked really hard to downplay her allure, her innate sexuality came through whatever she wore.
It’s why the parts that came her way after her stint as Hilary were all of a kind. She’d turned down so many offers to play sexy roles that she’d lost count. Being typecast as the bitchy sexual rival of the heroine was not the part she wanted to play. She longed to be taken seriously as an actress, but her agent said none of the casting directors he spoke to could see past her looks to the talent beneath.
“I know my uncle wants you to talk me out of being an actress.”
“Aren’t you a smart girl.” Scarlett caught Madison’s gaze in the mirror. “Smart enough to have a plan for what happens if you can’t make it in Hollywood?”
Madison looked away. “I’m young. I thought I’d give it a few years. If I don’t make it, I can always go to school later.”
Scarlett considered how many times she’d heard a fellow actor say something similar. It was hard to give up your dream of making it on the silver screen when a great part was always the next audition away.
“Or you could see if your parents would be okay with you attending college in L.A. while you take acting classes and audition.” Scarlett could see that Madison hadn’t considered this option. She’d probably been so focused on defying her parents and fighting for the future she wanted that she’d never considered there might be a middle ground. “It might be a lot more work than you intended, but it might also be a way to make everyone happy.”
“I’ll think about it.”
But Scarlett could see the teenager wasn’t quite ready to.
“In the meantime, do you want to be Judy Garland in Summer Stock or Greta Garbo from Mata Hari?”
“How about Marilyn?”
Scarlett laughed. “Not so fast, my young apprentice. First you need to prove to me you’ve got the chops to be Marilyn.”
“I’ve got the chops.”
“Then you won’t have any trouble making a casino full of people believe you’re Mata Hari.”
“You got that right.”
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