No Matter What (4 page)

He’d moved himself to
New York
at the age of nineteen and had spent his days waiting tables and his evenings in acting classes until he’d finally landed a break in an off-Broadway play.
 
Just a small role but enough to make him realise he’d made the right decision in deciding to take a chance.
 

That small role had been a start.
 
After that he’d got one or two parts in small
New York
theatres until a Broadway director had spotted him one evening, met him at the stage door and told him to meet him for lunch the next day.
 
Dubious, but not one to pass up any opportunity, he’d gone to that meeting and had been handed the Broadway break he’d dreamed of.
 

For the first few years of his career it had been stage acting he was known for, winning many awards for his theatre work.
 
Awards he was immensely proud of.
 
But he’d ultimately wanted to work in movies, so he’d found himself an agent who was willing to tout his name around Hollywood to see what opportunities were available, and within a month before he’d packed up his life and relocated back to Los Angeles.
 

The transition from stage actor to big screen star had been easier than he’d imagined, and although it had brought it’s fair share of troubles this town had given him his dream, and he’d be forever grateful.
 
It had given him chances and he was taking every one, which was why he was now branching out into producing and directing – it seemed the natural progression in his already extremely successful career – with this new, soon-to-begin-shooting Reece Brogan and Kenny Ross movie, if they ever got around to finding a seemingly elusive female lead, that was.
  

It had been partly his idea to go for a new and unknown face, although it was slowly starting to feel like a bad one.
 
If they couldn’t find anyone soon they’d have to look at re-testing actresses they’d already seen and the thought of that just drained him.

He leaned over and grudgingly picked up the ‘phone.
 
“Yep.”

“Michael?
 
It’s Vince.”
 
Vince Maine was Michael’s co-producer, his partner in their movie production company, a long-time friend and successful hotel and casino owner from
Las Vegas
.

“Vince, how’s it going?”
 
Michael ran a hand over the back of his neck and hoped this conversation was going to be short.
 
He wasn’t in the mood for business talk tonight.

“Guess what?” Vince went on, a hint of excitement in his voice.
 
“The search is over.
 
I think we might have found her, Michael.
 
Our leading lady.
 
I think we‘ve finally found her.”

CHAPTER 3

India
curled up on the sofa, staring blankly at the TV, not really taking anything in.
 
Last night had been a blur; something like that just didn’t happen to people in real-life.
 
Not people like her, anyway.
 
Famous film stars didn’t just come up to people and tell them they’d be perfect in movies.
 
Life wasn’t that fantastic.

Charley sat down next to her, nudging her gently, handing her a cup of tea.

“Here you go.
 
Drink this.
 
I’ve made some toast, if you want some.”

India
shook her head, smiling at her friend as she took the tea she held out to her.
 
“No, thanks.
 
I’m not hungry.”

Charley settled herself into the corner of the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest as she looked at
India
.
 
“Are you going in to work this afternoon?”

India
shrugged, staring down into her tea.
 
“I don’t know
what
to do, Charley.”

“I’d be packing if it was me.
 
Los Angeles
or
Newcastle
?
 
Hmmm, let me think about that, for about a
nano
second.”

India
looked at her.
 
“Come on, Charley.
 
It’s ridiculous!
 
Nobody just walks up to someone and says ‘
come out to
L.A.
, you’d be perfect for our movie’
.
 
It just doesn’t happen.”

“It happened to
you
.”

Charley couldn’t believe
India
was even thinking about it.
 
If Reece Brogan had walked up to
her
and told her he was taking her to L.A. next week she’d have been packed and out of that flat quicker than you could say Red Carpet!
 
But Charley wasn’t
India
.
 
Charley didn’t always think before she did things.
 
India
sometimes thought too much.

India
took a drink, blowing on the tea to cool it down.
 
“I can’t just go swanning off to
Los Angeles
, Charley.”

“Why not?”

India
looked at her friend again.
 
“So, you think I should just drop everything and bugger off to
America
with a total stranger?”

“He’s not a stranger, he’s Reece Brogan!
 
And he’s gorgeous!”

“He’s a stranger, Charley.
 
I don’t know him; I don’t know anything about what he’s telling me, I don’t know anything about movies or acting … Jesus, this is mad!”

She sat back against the cushions, closing her eyes.
 
“And what about Terry?”

“What about him?” Charley asked, gently taking the mug out of
India
’s hands, placing it on the table beside her.
 
“He’s twenty-five years old, he can look after himself.”

“I mean, what’s he going to say when he finds out I’m thinking about running off to
Hollywood
with Reece Brogan to chase some half-cocked promise of a movie career?
 
You see, just saying it out loud sounds ridiculous.”

“He’s your brother not your keeper,
India
.
 
And if you’re that worried about it, don’t tell him yet.
 
But this is a chance of a lifetime here.
 
You can’t pass this up.”

“I never even wanted to be an actress,”
India
sighed, closing her eyes again. “Never.”

“Really?”
 
Charley settled back into position.
 
“Christ.
 
I
have.”

India
opened her eyes and looked at Charley, smiling slightly.
 
“Have you?”

“God, yes!
 
What I wouldn’t give to walk up a red carpet at my own movie premiere dressed in designer clothes on the arm of someone like Kenny Ross.”
 
She sat forward, looking at
India
.
 
“Kenny Ross,
India
.
 
You have the chance to be in a movie with Kenny Ross!
 
I can’t believe we’re even sitting here having this conversation!
 
You should be out shopping for something stunning to knock him dead with.”

India
sat up and pushed her hands through her long blonde hair, sighing heavily. “It’s a chance, Charley.
 
That’s all it is.
 
A
chance
to be in a movie.
 
I’ve got to do a screen test and God knows what else before I even get that far.”
 
She stood up, pacing the floor.
 
“And I might not even get to
meet
Kenny Ross.
 
If I completely mess up the screen test I could be back on a ‘plane home without having even set eyes on him.”

“You don’t know who you’ll be screen testing with yet?”

She shook her head.
 
“No.
 
Reece couldn’t tell me.
 
He’s got to call the producers, run things past the director ... have I told you who the director is?”

Charley shook her head.
 
“Who is it?”

“Michael Walsh.”

Charley put a hand over her mouth, stifling a little screech.
 
“Michael Walsh?
 
Oh my God,
India
, you
have
to do this!
 
What the hell are you
waiting
for?”

“I’m waiting for sense to kick in.
 
I can’t do it, Charley; it’s not in me to do something like this.
 
And I can’t just give up my job.
 
What happens if nothing comes of it?
 
Which is highly likely.”

“You don’t have to give it up, do you?
 
You’re owed some holiday, just take that.
 
But for heavens sake,
India
, don’t pass up this chance.
 
Come on.
 
Live a little.
 
Throw caution to the bloody wind and do something wild and crazy, something out of character.”

“Are you saying I’m boring?”

“No,” Charley laughed, getting up and walking over to the sideboard.
 
“I’m not saying you’re boring.
 
I’m saying you have to stop analysing everything and just grab this amazing chance with both hands.
 
No matter how mad and ridiculous it sounds. Just do it.”

India
looked at the TV again.
 
They were talking to a famous actress about her new movie.
 
She looked happy, confident, and beautiful.

“That could be you,
India
,” Charley said, rummaging about in one of the drawers.
 
“In a few months time, that could be you.”

“Don’t talk crap, Charley.
 
This is all just one big dream.
 
It isn’t me.
 
I don’t do this kind of thing, you know I don’t.”

Charley turned around and smiled, waving
India
’s passport in front of her.
 
“You do now, mate.
 
You bloody do now.”

***

Terry Steven opened the door of his
Liverpool
home, flung his kit bag on the hall floor and made his way into the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk, flicking the kettle on as he passed.

Training was finished for the day and the afternoon stretched out ahead of him.
 
He’d been asked by the other lads on the team if he’d wanted to join them for a round of golf but his heart wasn’t in it today.
 
For some reason he felt a little on edge, as if something was going on he didn’t know about.
 
He’d felt like that all day and he couldn’t put his finger on why.
 
If anything was up with
India
then surely he’d know about it.
 
He shook his head, almost as if to shake away the doubt.
 
Of course he would, she told him everything.
 
Well, at least she told him she did.

Terry was a professional soccer player.
 
Not hugely famous but he played in the First Division and the money he was on was good.
 
He lived in a modest – in footballing terms – modern apartment on the outskirts of
Chester
and he had a life most men his age would kill for.

Twenty-five years old and single, although not for the want of trying, he was a handsome young man, very handsome in the eyes of some girls, tall with dark brown hair and green eyes and a smile that made his whole face light up.
 
But he was the kind of man who wondered whether the girls he met wanted him for
him
or the fact he was a footballer, and this meant that he found it hard to get close to anyone.
 
He spent more nights in playing computer games and watching sport than he did trawling the clubs of Liverpool and Manchester like most of his team mates, but he still enjoyed the odd night out.
 
Now and again he even allowed himself the pleasure of the company of one or two women, he just never seemed to be able to let himself take that next step into a relationship.
 
Sometimes he wondered if that was because of his parents.
 
They’d had their fair share of problems and growing up in the same house as them had never been easy, especially after
India
had been born.
 
That’s when it had all started to go wrong, really.