Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Oh. Wow.”
She hands me a tin pan of something. “Brownies,” she says. “Not the special kind. Sorry.”
“Probably for the best,” I say. “I’m not getting any work done as it is. The last thing I need is a cannabis-induced nap.”
“Marigold,” she says, reaching a hand toward me. “But please, call me Mari. Never Mary. Never Marie. Mar-ee,” she says, enunciating. “I tried to make Gold work for a good year, but Gold doesn’t flow well with my husband’s last name. Longsetter. Gold Longsetter. Sounds like a dog breed.”
I laugh, unsure if I should. “Nice to meet you, Mari. I’m Petra.”
“Petra Rose. I know who you are. We watched that movie you wrote.”
I can feel my chest heating up. If she watched the movie, and she knows my name, it makes me wonder what else she’s heard about me. “Well, I didn’t write the movie. I just wrote the book it was based on, but—”
She dismisses my next thought with a wave of her hand. “Yeah, I work in Hollywood—I know all about how these things run. Your idea, your book, your movie. That’s how I see it, anyway.” She motions with her head. “Can I come in? Won’t stay long, I promise.”
“Um. Sure.” I open the door wider, and she makes her way in, her heels clacking on the concrete floor. She sighs as she makes a circle, taking in the kitchen.
“I just love it in here. I tried to get Louie to let us move in after the remodel, but he said it makes for the better rental.” She pauses her circle and looks straight at me, her dress coming to a stop a few seconds after she does. “Guess he was right, because it attracted a big-time celebrity.”
“Oh. I wouldn’t say I’m a . . .”
“Not you. Not to say you aren’t a big-time celebrity, but I wouldn’t gush over you that way. It would be improper. I was talking about Michael Showalter. He stayed here a few years back. Before the remodel, but still, I’ll give Louie the credit anyway because I’m a good wife, but Michael stayed here two whole weeks and even left a five-star review with his actual name on it. It’s the review we highlight on our website now.”
She can see on my face I have no idea who Michael Showalter is, and I can tell she can tell because she rolls her eyes, waving a hand. “I forget, you’re a writer, not an actress. He’s a director. Big time. Well, medium time. Either way, he wrote the review right there in our guest log,” she says, pointing to a guest log sitting on the credenza beneath the television. “Said it was the best vacation he’s ever had. It’s on page thirty if you want to read it.”
Mari motions toward a barstool for permission to sit, so I nod. She slides it out and takes a seat. “Did Louie tell you I’m an actress?”
“He started to talk about it, but I think the conversation got derailed.” I walk into the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?” She doesn’t seem like she’s keen to leave immediately, so the least I can do is be hospitable to this woman who would be the most unrealistic character if I wrote her straight into a book.
“Got any wine?” she asks.
“I do. Red, is that okay?”
She nods. “Me and Louie lived in Los Angeles most of our lives. We met there. He was a gripper, and I was an actress. I still act, but mostly just stuff for the ID channel. You know those murder-type shows? The short documentaries?”
“I do,” I say, pouring her a glass. I slide it to her. “They’re my favorite pastime.”
She picks up the wineglass with the elegance of an old Hollywood actress. “I do the reenactments. You know how in the documentaries they’ll be talking about a woman who gets murdered by her grandkids and they have those silent reenactments with people who pretend to be the murderer, or the murdered, or a detective? That’s me, I’ve played dozens of different characters. I’ve done so many of them, I’d probably get recognized if I still lived in Los Angeles.”
When I don’t respond, or laugh, she pegs me with a pointed stare. “You are in your head, girl. That was a joke,” she says, taking another sip of wine. “Shockingly, and contrary to what it may seem, I’m not that self-absorbed to think I’d be recognizable, although most people in the industry do think that about themselves. Boy, do I have stories I could tell you about some of these people you see on your television every day. I won’t, because I’ve signed too many NDAs throughout my career, but if you get me drunk enough . . .”
She says the last line like a tease. A dare to pour her more wine. “Have you ever done any movies or shows I’d know?” I ask. “Or do you mostly stick to reenactments?” I’m just trying to keep up with her at this point so that I don’t seem so quiet.