Wild Honey Read Free

the stage as she flicked her head, a nervous gesture meant to toss the stray blond tendrils from her face. Despite the nerves, there was a natural grace in the way she held herself, in her sloped shoulders, in the arch of her throat. She was lovely, he admitted reluctantly, she was glowing and golden, with the toned body and vital, healthy presence of a superior athlete.
    His pulse jumped as she looked up, straight at him, peering into the darkness as though she could see him. He knew she couldn’t, but he had the most uncanny sensation of having been caught at something. His heart was beating harder, and the possibility that she could have such an effect on him, that anyone could have such an effect on him, was curious in itself.
    He settled back in the chair, cutting off the response quickly, efficiently, with a simple flex of his steel willpower. The momentary lapse had been almost pleasant, but he needed his wits about him today. There could be no slipups, no mistakes. The only thing that mattered, he reminded himself, was Sasha McCleod’s resemblance to Leslie Parrish. And the fact that the studio’s production chief would be arriving at any minute to hear his decision.
    Up on the stage the woman in question took a long breath and tucked her leg beneath her, obviously nervous. A production assistant was hovering in the background with the script. “Give her the pages, Jimmy,” Marc directed.
    “Right,” Jimmy called back.
    Startled, Sasha jerked around and saw a young man approaching her from the wings. She felt the unsteadiness in her own hands as he handed her a worn, marked-up script which she might have dropped if he hadn’t tucked it so firmly into her grip. “Thank you,” she whispered.
    “Relax,” he said under his breath, a friendly swagger in his voice. “You’re a sure thing. You could be her twin sis—”
    “ Jimmy! One more slip like that,” the disembodied voice warned harshly, “and you’re off this picture. Now, clear out.”
    “Was that necessary?” she demanded.
    “Turn to page thirty-two and read, Ms. McCleod. Or you’ll be the next to leave.”
    Sasha snapped through the pages, found the one he wanted, and began reading. Her voice tight, her spine stiff, she massacred lines that called for a halting, tearful reconciliation with a loved one. “I’m no good without you, Charlie,” she said. “I’ve been crazy with loneliness, Charlie, wild with needing you...”
    Aware that she was killing whatever chance she had left, Sasha also became aware of something else. Above the sound of her own voice she heard the rustle of feet and the low tones of conversation. There was more than one person in the auditorium.
    “Thank you. That’ll do,” a second male voice called out just as Sasha was reminding herself that large amounts of money and a fabulous deal were at stake. Again, Lou Ryan’s words came to her seconds too late. Burn up that script with your interpretation.
    “Excuse me? Sir?” she asked, squinting into the darkness. “I was just getting into the scene, just beginning to feel its rhythms—” She held up the book. “If I could try it again?” Hearing mumbled conversation resume, she flipped back to the first page. “Charlie, oh, Charlie, ” she read, her voice soaked with emotion. “I’m no good without you. I—”
    “Nice,” he called out. “Really, very nice, Ms.
    McCleod, but we’ve heard enough. There’s a dressing room backstage. If you’ll wait there, someone will be with you in a minute.”
    The dressing room was a peeling mess of warped and water-stained plasterboard. Seated on a wobbly folding chair, Sasha contemplated her dismal surroundings. She held out no hope for the role, and as the minutes ticked off, she began to wonder if she’d been forgotten by the limo driver too. The man in the theater had said he’d send someone by for her. Where was he?
    A half hour later she was pacing nervously. Perhaps she’d just leave the way she came in,