Ghost Light

Chapter 2 - Tumbling Down - Charlie's POV

The phone rang. It was buried somewhere deep in the recesses of my apartment, which was a wreck. Standing still in the middle of the mayhem, eyes glancing from pile to pile, mentally taking note of the laundry that needed to be folded, papers that needed to be sorted, bags that needed to be packed, my hands held out at the ready as if balancing me above the layer of chaos, I suddenly saw one particular stack of papers vibrating, unlike the others, and emitting a soft, muted light from somewhere beneath their dark recesses, and while I would like to think this was a sign from the literary Gods that this particular pile was the plot line to go with, instead the commotion caused papers to start tumbling down to the floor, mixing with a whole mess of other plot lines, and that is the thought that sprung me into action, darting toward the phone, fumbling it as I tried to catch the errant falling pages, only to finally slap my hand down hard on the pile, putting all my weight behind it as I tried unsuccessfully to swipe the answer button, cursing under my breath as I tapped at the screen vigorously, finally succeeding, and holding it up to my ear. "Hello?"

"If you would just stack those things in a cabinet made for that sort of thing, we could avoid this type of frantic, breathy, creepy greeting I get at least once a week." Lizzy, my best friend and manager-of-everything-technical-in-my-life greeted me in a bored tone, used to these shenanigans by now.

"Why did you call?" To be fair, she never calls unless it's important, she is an adamant texter of all else needing to be passed on. So my eagerness and bluntness was not out of being rude, but I still grimaced in apology, even though she couldn't see me.

"Don't make that face, you'll get wrinkles," Lizzy said, making me laugh. "Laugh lines are much more acceptable, but that's still pushing it."

"Point. Get to it." I started skimming pages that had fallen as I went, sorting them back into their proper piles, and frankly tempting the idea of making them all into one massive burn pile in the backyard.

"Oh! Yeah! James is all on board for the reading-"

I stopped listening there, freezing the motion I had just been in the middle of, paper clutched tightly in my hand, as I lifted my eyes to stare blankly across the room, almost as if I expected him to be standing there. I thought the studio had been bluffing when the said the wanted James Nelson to read for the part, not only because I had ever seen him play the antithesis of what the role would require, but because it was James Nelson, megastar and leading man in every bright and shining movie ad you saw nowadays, films with CGI, 99% of them filmed in front of a green screen, and the other 1% in some breathtaking, should be CGI but are actually real places on earth, the kind of places that make you add a new destination to your dream vacation list, without knowing the name of it, just "that place from that scene in the thing", but you'll always know exactly where you mean.

I tuned back in, my fantasy destination reeling mind coming to a grinding halt at the words, "The producers have all but offered him the job, letting him know it all hinges on you, because you still wanted him to read."

Opening my mouth to make it speak words, nothing but my jaw moving and empty noise seemed to be happening for a good minute or so, aside from a weird, screechy, but soft, pterodactyl like noise that must have been my brain communicating it's lack of understanding at this curve ball. Since when had my life become something that would discover the fate of an international movie star based in a table reading of a book I couldn't even bring myself to put my real name on, simply to avoid the limelight as much as possible? It wasn't like I had it out for the guy, I just wanted everyone else to have a chance, too, all the budding stars and starlets ready for their big break.... And maybe he just wasn't right for the role. I tried lamely to shrug, hoping my shoulders would add emphasis to my words, but even their less than emphatic reaction to my thoughts proved my point. I was being irrational and I knew it.

But this was my story, I had every right to coddle it.

"Oh really?" I finally managed to ask, clearing my throat. "When?"

"Tomorrow morning, if your schedule will allow it. I already checked, so don't even try, it does. I'll email you the sections they want to use, and they said their typical off camera reader is sick, or something, so you may have to do some readings off camera for a bit, especially with James Nelson, since he is their leading choice at the moment-"

"If it's my choice, why do I have to read? I need to pay attention!" My argument was valid.

However so was her rebuttal. And I had a feeling she was grinning maniacally on the other end. She would not rest until I was as uncomfortable as possible to her amusement.

"Because he is up for the lead, and you made the stink, so since you intend on having such a large hand in the production of this series, you have to bond and get along with the actors, and the best way to do that at this moment is some off camera reading. It's not like you have to kiss the guy, or anything."

"They are making me have chemistry tests and I'm not even going to be appearing on screen." My dead pan seemed to add fuel to her fire.

"Just be ready, I will pick you up at 8:00 AM tomorrow. Oh, and dress nice. No yoga pants, no elastic bands, period, and your shirt has to be the right size, not baggy and loungey, or short and from grade school that somehow still fits you, and if you wear a novelty tee, so help me-"

"You leave me and my quirky, funny, and completely in style T-shirts alone, I won't embarrass you, dear God. At this point you're lucky I'm not going in my PJs!"

"Wear the onsie you bought last Christmas and you die. Try me. I dare you."

"So hostile-"

"Just please, dress like the badass author you are for once, instead of the comfy hermit you are deep, deep down."

"For you, terrifying manager of all things I don't understand? Anything. But no heels. I draw the line there. I don't need to be walking in death traps, my own two feet try to kill me enough for that nonsense."