Changing the Script Read online

  Alex rubbed her head.

  But what if…she did the impossible? What if she took a leaf out of Caroline’s book? Big risk, huge gain…if I succeed.

  A tiny flame of challenge curled inside. Imagine if Hollywood’s much-mocked “worst script” could be turned into something good? What would that do for her reputation? This could make or break a career. Besides, she’d never been to New Zealand before. So maybe it’d be fun, seeing somewhere new.

  On top of that, hadn’t Caroline said in her email that Chloe Martin was its star? In one of those six degrees of separation things, Alex’s best friend, Bess, and Chloe’s best friend, Summer, were dating each other. That connection meant Alex had encountered Shezan’s star fairly often in her social circle.

  The New Zealand woman was likable, laid-back, dry, and amusing. That was a relief. Divas were a nightmare Alex could do without, especially given the drama she’d have ahead with such a low-quality script. A script she’d make sure was improved drastically if she took the project.

  So…really, taking this job would be like doing her friends a favor, wouldn’t it? Ensuring Chloe’s role was improved, not to mention helping all those poor chilly Amazons get a better shake. Hell, Alex was practically doing a service for humanity.

  Ugh. So lame. She tapped her glass with a short fingernail… Maybe if she made a list. She was good at lists.

  Alex set to scribbling on a napkin.

  Cons:

  Crash and burn if I don’t pull it off. Everyone will know.

  Hollywood is watching closely and I may not get a second chance after this.

  Pros:

  Chloe is cool—no diva drama.

  I’ll be seen as a genius if I succeed.

  Pay off the IRS…happens even if the film tanks.

  Amazons!!! (Scratch that. You are not fifteen.)

  Her last point made her roll her eyes. That reminded her. Grabbing her phone, Alex looked up who was doing Shezan’s costumes. Who would she have to growl at to get something less prurient on the design board?

  The name staring back at her made her do a double take. Only recently signed to the production, apparently, was one Skye Storm—the brilliant costume designer Alex had worked with on one of her first films, Heaven’s Blood. Never a more talented, warmer, or eccentric soul had she encountered.

  It was weird that Skye was doing Shezan when she had her pick of films these days, but Alex wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. As she imagined the possibilities ahead, her stomach began to calm. Two wildly creative, un-mainstream brains working on this could actually produce something original.

  Right. Alex added Skye’s name to her pros list. She studied it for a moment.

  Am I seriously thinking of doing this?

  Caroline joined her again, looking suitably contrite. “Sorry about that. Studio VPs are like toddlers. They always want your attention now.” She cocked her head. “So, you were saying something about how you don’t think this is the film for you?”

  Alex shook her head. “I was actually saying I don’t think I can see a better way to challenge myself than with Shezan.” She smiled. “I’m good to go. No doubts.”

  Caroline’s eyes slid to the napkin with Alex’s list scribbled over it, and her lips quirked. “Yes. I can see that.”

  “Well, no doubts now,” she corrected with a grin.

  “Excellent.” Caroline signaled for the check, clearly done with the conversation, her mission accomplished. “I’ll have the contract sent over in an hour. You’ll need to be in New Zealand ASAP. Shezan’s EP, Quincy Blackman, has been down there already for a few months. He’s going stir crazy without a new director to move things along. Be a dear and Skype him the good news and put him out of his misery. I’ll send you his details.” She rose as the check arrived. “Welcome aboard. The studio will be delighted.”

  Alex nodded, her stomach dropping in freefall at her fate being officially sealed, before remembering her manners. She thanked Caroline for that cup of bad, village-saving coffee and watched, numb, as the executive floated over to the counter to pay. She couldn’t back out now.

  Her phone beeped a reminder of an upcoming appointment. Already?

  Time flies when you’re selling your soul.

  Alex was packing furiously early the next morning when her phone rang. She knew who it’d be without looking. Elizabeth “Bess” Thornton—Alex’s best friend, fellow Brit, and formerly America’s most-hated TV villain—often multi-tasked with calls at this time of day.

  “Hello, Bess.” Alex tossed rugged brown boots into her bag. “This is an ungodly hour, even for you.”

  “Did I wake you? I’m terribly sorry.” Bess’s voice came in tight puffs down the phone. Rhythmic footfalls on a treadmill slapped in the background.

  “Not this time.” Alex held up two jackets before tossing the thicker one in with her boots. “Where’s the fire? It’s barely six.”

  “I heard the news from Skye.”

  Already? Alex should have guessed. “Of course you heard.” Skye Storm wasn’t just a costume-designing genius but LA’s networking queen. One of the side effects of Bess being involved with Skye’s daughter, Summer, was that Bess now got all the industry gossip first.

  “You didn’t even think to talk to me first?” Bess asked. “Why not? Aren’t we friends?!”

  “Ease up, love. I only signed the contract last night!”

  “Contract?” The rhythmic running ceased abruptly. “Alex? Are you directing a new film?”

  “Wait, aren’t you calling about Shezan?”

  Bess’s hiss at the name of the movie was probably not a good sign. “No! I called because Skye says a lot of industry people are furious with Bettina for screwing up their taxes. I assumed you were caught out, too, so I called to check. What’s this about Shezan? Isn’t that the diabolical Tarzan/Sheena rip-off everyone’s shredding? That thing Chloe’s starring in?”

  Alex winced. “Well, I think it’s more a ‘reimagining’ than a rip-off.”

  “Oh, yes, they’re reimaginatively ripping off someone else’s ideas and making it worse.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Not that…” Bess sucked in a deep breath. “You’re saying it’s not just pretty girls bouncing around in leather bikinis?”

  “Well, no, not bikinis. It’s more like this tiny, skinny piece of leather loin cloth—”

  “And this is what you’ve signed on to? This?”

  “Well.” Shit. “Yes?”

  A ragged breath followed. Then damning silence. Finally: “Good God, Alex, why?”

  “It’s a challenge.” She hoped that sounded more convincing to Bess’s ears than it did to her own. “I want to see if I can take a movie everyone is writing off and turn it into something worth watching. If I do that, everyone will be talking. Besides, I won’t be alone. I’ll have Skye transforming the Amazon costumes into something powerful. And it might even be fun to try something new.” There, that sounded plausible, didn’t it?

  “Alexandra, last time I checked, you create indie masterpieces about intense emotional journeys using esoteric societal metaphors. You don’t do fun.”

  The upside and the downside of best friends was how well they knew you. “Fine! That isn’t the only reason I’m doing it.”

  “So Bettina did mess up your finances?”

  “Yeah. And now I have a tax bill only Shezan can fix.”

  “Which is why I called. Why not come to me?” Bess sounded hurt.

  Back when they’d dated, Bess sometimes got this tone to her voice, silently asking whether Alex would like any financial help. Alex’s gut reaction was the same now as then.

  “Look, you’re my best friend. And that’s why.” Alex willed her to understand. “Money is complicated, and it creates a messed-up dynamic. People act weird. I don’t
want that between us.”

  “It doesn’t have to be weird. Money’s just…” Bess cast around for a word. “…a tool that can make problems disappear. I have more of it than I know what to do with now. I’d love to help you if you’ll let me.”

  “No, Bess. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but it would be weird. For me. Every time I looked at you, I’d know that I owed you. Even if it was just a loan, still, I’d think about it all the time. I don’t want that. I love us as we are—equals. I’d do a hundred Shezans before I took a cent from you.”

  “I really wish you’d let me help.” Bess sighed. “But I understand.”

  “Thank you. And it’s better this way, trust me. Besides, if my bold, insane plan comes off, and I turn this trash into something good, this could end up being the best decision of my life.” She slapped on her most confident tone to sell it.

  “All right. If you’re sure?”

  Sure? Oh hell, not even close. “Yes. Absolutely. But thanks for the thought, love.”

  “Well.” Bess sounded mollified. “If you change your mind, I’m only a call away.”

  “I know. And it’ll be fine. One movie and everything’s solved.” How simple it sounded. Life was never that easy.

  “Okay then. Keep an eye on Chloe and Skye out there in the wilds. You know how close they are. Chaos will be their middle names.”

  “Oh lord.” Alex laughed, picturing them up to mischief together. Skye had virtually adopted Chloe as another daughter. “I’ll probably come back to LA having aged twenty years, with a shock of white hair.” Alex ran her fingers through her short red strands.

  “If anyone could pull that look off, it’d be you.” Bess sounded affectionate. “I’ll leave you to it.” She rung off.

  It was nice to have Bess’s solid faith in her. She didn’t doubt Alex’s abilities to pull off this impossible plan. If only Alex could convince herself as easily.

  CHAPTER 2

  Lost in Translation

  After thirteen exhausting hours squeezed on a plane watching more syrupy family movies than she had the stomach for, Alex now found herself cooped up in a rental car. Not ideal given what a nervous driver she was when off the beaten track. Still, New Zealand didn’t have that many people, did it? So, she’d be fine.

  Thick grasses; huge, jagged ferns; and fat, towering trees crept in on either side, with moss-covered trunks as shaggy as carpet. The vegetation was so densely packed up against the road that driving felt like being shot through nature’s torpedo tube. Except twistier. And much colder.

  Alex hadn’t anticipated the way New Zealand’s icy blue fingers could somehow claw their way right inside her jacket and button-down shirt until she felt the chilled hand flat upon her chest. Even with the heater on, she was shivering. Not for the first time, she considered detouring to the nearest town to pick up some thermals. If only she had any clue where the nearest town was. On account of the fact she was a little…disoriented. Sidetracked? Okay, fine, she was lost.

  Somehow between Auckland International Airport and here, she’d gotten all turned around. She’d given up trying to figure out the confusing GPS two minutes after leaving the airport, and when she’d stopped to fill up her car and ask for directions, she’d merely been told to turn right at a nearby dairy.

  Mystifyingly, no cow-milking farms had materialized, and the only business she’d passed for miles was a cheery convenience store. The car’s map book had gotten her this far, but now nothing made sense.

  She glanced around again, sure she’d been past here already. The road signs looked suspiciously like ones she’d seen half an hour ago. It made no sense. Alex liked things that made perfect sense. Logic, lists, and problem-solving were her middle name. Ordinarily.

  A huge, gnarled tree jutted into the ominous skies. Okay, that she definitely recognized. Damn it. She was going in circles.

  Her gaze swept the stunning landscape. Any other day, she’d slow right down and admire the vibrant green scenery, but she had a film set to get to. Specifically, a rented farmer’s paddock just outside the tiny town of Ika Whenu, near the only slightly less tiny Te Aroha. She should reach it if she ever got out of Mangatarata Forest. Which was looking like a big if. She’d have to pull over and consult the map book again.

  She remembered the road suddenly widening at a clearing in the next mile or so. So she’d be able to stop there, figure out her bearings, and…

  Oh bollocks. There! Right there! Alex stomped on the brakes. She’d gone right by it.

  Putting her car into reverse, she backed quickly into the small clearing, then turned off the engine and exhaled. Glancing around, she noticed she was blocking a small dirt lane beyond which lay dense forest.

  Suddenly, a roaring black blur burst out of a hole in the scrubby bushes. The motorcycle looked about a second away from slamming into the side of her car.

  No! Alex’s eyes widened, her hands frozen on the steering wheel as she gasped.

  Half a second to impact.

  Hunching her shoulders, Alex braced herself for the hit.

  At the last moment, the motorcycle swerved sharply as its owner wrenched the machine down on its side, flattening it to just miss the nose of the car.

  Even so, it was so close that one spinning, horizontal rear wheel passed under the front and came back out again. The machine continued on its trajectory, propelled along in a sickening, screeching slide across dirt and undergrowth before coming to a rest in the middle of the road in a fiery trail of sparks.

  Oh fuck!

  Alex flung open her door and sprinted over to the unmoving, black-leather-clad rider, who was pinned under the bike.

  “I’m so sorry!” she called. “I didn’t know that was an actual road.” Stupid comment.

  “Well, now you do.” The reply was low, annoyed, and unmistakably female. It was accompanied by a pained grunt. “Forestry Road’s where the Maramarua Forest dirt-bike trail ends.” She looked past Alex to her car. “You’ve blocked the exit where bikes slow down before they turn onto the main road.”

  “Sorry, I just got here.” Alex’s gaze swept the downed bike and its rider. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’ll know when I’m vertical again.” The woman tried to shift and gasped. Her face contorted under the open-faced, black, retro-style helmet. “My leg’s stuck. Do you think you could make yourself useful and pull the front up a little while I…?” The woman stopped mid-sentence and peered up at Alex. “Oh. Never mind.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the size of a sparrow. It’d probably kill you. Even faster than you almost killed me.”

  Alex glanced down at herself. Her thin, black, tailored pants, jacket, and white shirt didn’t exactly bulk out her frame. And okay, she was kind of…well…waif-ish. Genetics and all that. Her nerdy black-framed glasses didn’t help her look any more solid, she supposed. But she had muscles, if you hunted for them, and…

  Who am I kidding? The last time a cameraman in the field had asked her to shoulder his unit while he changed a cable, it had almost pinned her to the ground.

  Adrenaline was kicking in now, though. Couldn’t people do amazing acts of strength in a crisis? She’d read that somewhere. With a firm step forward, Alex grasped the handlebars, gave the woman a determined look, and said, “Don’t count me out. I may surprise you. Ready?”

  With a skeptical look, the woman said, “Guess I don’t have much choice.” She bit her lip, braced her arms against the bike, and nodded.

  Alex could do this. She would! She pulled with all her might. Astonishingly, the bike shifted. And then shifted again. It moved almost a quarter of a foot.

  Yes! Sparrow, my ass!

  Then, to her horror, her back gave out. The handlebars started to slip. Her strength left her like a deflating balloon as the weight of the bike wrenched down on her trembling arms. “No…nonono
no… Bollocks! Watch out!”

  The metal deadweight dropped back onto the woman’s hip and thigh with a sickening thud.

  Pain flared across her face, and this time her groan sounded like it had been wrenched out of her.

  So much for adrenaline.

  Silence descended for a few moments as they eyed each other.

  “You’re right,” the woman finally spoke, irritation etched on her features. “That was surprising.”

  “I’m really sorry!”

  “Guess I’ll have to do it myself.” She suddenly flung her arms up and pushed the bike hard, baring her teeth under the strain. This time the machine lifted a full foot from the ground.

  Jesus. Alex jumped in to help, despite the woman’s frosty glare, and between them, the chassis lifted enough for her to slide her leg out, then the rest of her.

  For a moment, the woman lay there beside her bike, dazed, dragging in deep breaths, and staring at her dented machine. Then she made to stand.

  “What are you doing?” Alex asked in alarm, waving her hands in frantic “stop” gestures.

  “I have to get my bike off the road before it causes an accident.” Her voice became dry as she added, “Well, another one.” Her expression hardened. “Do you usually just fly off roads into clearings without looking? I saw you go past and thought it was clear, but the next second, you’re shooting backwards like a maniac to block my path, leaving me nowhere to go.” She gritted her teeth as she edged herself onto her knees.

  “Um, should you be moving at all?” Alex fumbled through her pocket, digging out her phone. Did I switch on global roaming yet? She couldn’t remember. “I should call 9-1-1.”

  “Fat lot of good that’ll do in New Zealand.” She placed one hand on the ground in front of her. “Calling 9-1-1… You’re American then? You sound English.”

  “Born in London, now living in LA.”

  The woman didn’t answer as she shifted her weight forward onto her hands and knees and took a deep breath. Then promptly vomited.