Louis Greene thought that he used to love his job.
He didn’t really remember when, but he knew that there must have been some emotion in his determination to be an actor. He’d spent years fighting his sister’s insistence that he should choose a more normal occupation. His parents, of course, had insisted that it was in his blood, but instead of deterring him like it probably should have, that had only strengthened his determination.
He refused to be anything like his parents, but he had always wanted to be an actor anyway. There was something about that particular form of storytelling that had always appealed to him. He liked the way that all of the separate parts came together to form a whole that was greater than what they all were individually.
Rosemarie didn’t see it that way, but then she didn’t like anything unpredictable. That was probably a result of being raised by party animals. Of course, to her, the perfect job for him would have been something more along the lines of accounting.
And right now, Louis was trying to remember why she wasn’t right.
Louis hated pretty much everything about this show except for the show runner Nabila Salim. Nabila was passionate and professional without letting it go to her head. Louis wished she was working on another project—hell, he wished he was working on another project—but if he had to be working with someone on this project, he was glad it was her. She seemed to sense his, if not reluctance, then lack of passion, for the show, and she tried to accommodate his opinions as much as possible. It made him feel like an ass, but he couldn’t force himself to enjoy something he didn’t.
It was possible that he was just washed up. He was only twenty-six, but when you start at the age of six and never stop, your years start coming pretty fast. It might actually be an appropriate time for a midlife crisis. But that all would have to wait, too. He’d be on this job for as long as he needed to be, and after that, he would move on.
He still got offers for other shows—even movies—and assuming that his reputation and skill weren’t ruined by working on this project, that wasn’t likely to change. Not that Louis thought they would be. He’d read the script, and he knew that there was an audience for it, but if things didn’t get going soon, he wasn’t sure how long he’d last.
The production of Night Mist seemed to be one long procession of problems and postponements.
The latest catastrophe was the death of his co-star.
Louis had met Bran Jacobs a couple of times and he seemed like a decent enough guy, but it knotted Louis's stomach to learn that it was a combination of drugs and alcohol that solidified his fate. Louis couldn’t bring himself to dwell too long on that. It hit too close to home.
A loud trill echoed through the kitchen and Louis nearly jumped off of the barstool he was occupying as he sipped at an iced lemonade. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. One day he’d get used to the damn ringtone, but it was not this day. He might have changed it except that he always worried a softer sound might go unheard at an inopportune time.
He checked the number to make sure it was a business call, then answered.
“Nabila,” he greeted.
“Louis,” she said, sounding relieved that she’d gotten ahold of him. Not that it was hard. Louis never ignored work correspondences. “I wanted to talk to you about Bran’s replacement.”
“Have you found someone?” Louis asked with a frown. It had only been three days and they hadn’t held auditions yet, to his knowledge.
“No, but I wanted to let you know that we’ve got the first round of applications if you want to stop by the studio today and see them. We’re trying to get through this quickly, and I want to have the first live auditions on Friday.”
“Oh,” Louis said, trying not to let any emotion into his voice. “I can head over in about an hour, if that’s all right.”
“Excellent, I’ll see you there,” she said before disconnecting.
Given the choice, Louis would rather not have any part in it, he’d prefer Nabila just pick somebody and get it over with. That wasn’t fair, though. This may not be his ideal project, but it was important to Nabila and the rest of the dedicated cast and crew who were trying so desperately to get this show going, so Louis would do what it took to achieve technical perfection.
Louis cleared the dregs of his lemonade into the sink and flopped down on the couch, head dropping back against the cushion. He tugged at the hairs on his eyebrow with one hand, trying to sort out what the hell he was doing with his life before he needed to get to the studio.
He desperately wanted someone to talk to about all this, but he’d never been great at keeping friends. Rosemarie was his usual go-to for pretty much everything. She’d practically raised him, after all, but he couldn’t go to her about how much he hated this job. Not when he was only here for her.
Midtown was not his idea of an ideal place to live. It had a population of approximately 17,000 people and was so out dated it was sometimes like stepping back in time except for the fact that there was a Starbucks smack dab in the middle of it like some sort of consumerist temple. It was, however, obvious why they had chosen the setting. Even without the consideration of how cheap it was to film here, the town had a certain presence that made it easy to buy into the idea that paranormal activity might occur here.
Whatever the reasoning, Louis didn’t want to stay. He felt trapped between wishing that he could leave this place and knowing exactly what it would mean to be free of it. The guilt at that thought was more overwhelming than the idea that he’d be stuck here forever.
“Lou, can you help me bring these things in?” Rosemarie’s lilting voice echoed from downstairs. Louis jumped up and went down to the garage.
“How was your shopping trip?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow as she opened the trunk.
“Lovely,” she said, squeezing his arm. Louis studied her carefully, something he couldn’t help ever since she had gotten sick the first time. She looked good today. Her face lacked that hollow look it sometimes got after treatment. She had always been a full-figured woman, and the way that the cancer and chemo ate away at her was unnerving to watch. But as long as she was smiling, Louis could put the rest aside.
“Where does this all go?” he asked. It was clear that she had been to the outlet in the city. She’d asked Louis to join her this morning, but he’d had other obligations.
“These two are for you,” she said. “I got you some shirts and boxers.”
Louis'ss brow quirked at that. Even now that he was twenty-six and not ten, she still insisted on taking care of him. She was fifteen years his senior and had the habit of treating him more like her kid than her brother.
“Thanks,” he said wryly. “Though I think I still have a couple pairs.”
“Not really, I threw out the ones with holes. Really, for someone as put together as you, your undergarments are disgusting.”
Louis shrugged. “It’s not my fault no one makes sturdy boxers. Why were you going through my clothes in the first place?” Louis asked as they walked back upstairs, though he was really more amused than exasperated with her.
“To see if you needed more underwear,” she said simply. “Which you did. And those shirts are a medium, but we can exchange them if you need a small.”
“Either you are calling me skinny, or saying that I’m getting fat,” he said.
“Not fat, but you’ve filled out since high school,” she said, then paused for a beat, “just not that much.”
Louis laughed, taking the bags and putting them all where directed. When they were finished, Louis took a seat at the bar. Rosemarie passed into the kitchen, colorful scarf catching in the florescent lights from the ceiling. She noticed the glass in the sink and picked it up, giving him a look as she rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher.
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“I was going to do that,” he said pointedly. “I just got a call from Nabila.”
“Oh?” Rosemarie asked, quirking a brow at him. Louis let out a sigh.
“Asking me to come check out the first auditions. I’m surprised that they’re getting to them so fast after Bran’s death.”
Rosemarie’s lips thinned and she gave a short shake of her head. “I don’t want to hear about that.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Anyway, I’m going to head over to the studio in a bit to help sort through them.”
“Hmm, well, I hope there’s someone good in there, because this show is beginning to seem like it will never air.”
“Tell me about it,” Louis muttered. “Anything you need me to do before I leave? Or while I’m out?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about me, Lou. You go do your work and we’ll have dinner when you get back. I was thinking of making something with chicken. What do you think?”
“As long as it’s not burned,” Louis teased, wrinkling his nose at her.
“You’ll never let that go, will you?” she said, though her laugh was worth the smack he got on the arm. Louis grinned at her then headed out the door.
The drive to the studio was longer than it ought to be, but so was everything in this town. It was tiny, but more in population than in size. Mostly it just gave the appearance of being deserted. You still had to drive twenty minutes to the nearest chain store from Rosemarie’s house and the closest city was a good hour away.
So was the closest hospital.
When Rosemarie had first gotten sick, Louis had asked her to come live with him in the city, but she’d told him outright that she intended to die in her house. Louis had taken her at her word. At first, it seemed like there would be nothing to worry about, the cancer had gone into remission and seemed to respond to treatment but after almost two years of peace, it came back. And this time the doctors weren’t optimistic. Rosemarie hadn’t broken down in front of him, not once, but they both knew it was merely a waiting game at this point.
So instead of asking her to move to Weldstone Harbor again, Louis got on the first flight to Midtown. It was purely coincidence that he’d met up with Nabila and been offered a job. His agent wasn’t happy, but then Louis was never very considerate of her happiness. It was probably leftover entitlement from being a childhood star. Still, he made her money, so she couldn’t complain.
*****
“Oh good, you’re here,” Nabila said as soon as he opened the door. Louis nodded in greeting, hanging his coat by the door.
Nabila was a tall woman with ochre brown skin, long dark hair, and deep-set eyes. She gave the impression of being both friendly and no-nonsense at the same time. She was already seated with a notebook and pen and her computer flipped open to play the auditions.
The viewing room was just a TV set up in a corner of the studio, but they were working on a tight budget. Nothing in this place was very big or expensive and he had been impressed so far by Nabila’s ability to produce exceptional television with the available resources.
“I’ve already narrowed it down to the top ten,” she said. “I want to get the best five here to audition in person Friday. You know we’re on a tight schedule, and if we don’t get him cast soon we’re going to have to reorganize shooting.” Her brows pinched at the thought. Louis could understand that. Things had been hectic from the start and this latest bit of bad luck was happening perilously close to their first scheduled shoot.
“Who do you like so far?” he asked.
“I’m not telling,” she said. “I want your honest opinion.”
“I’d give that anyway,” he said, though that wasn’t entirely true.
“We’ll start with Fitzwilliam Arbor,” she said.
“That had better be a stage name,” Louis said, raising an eyebrow. Nabila chuckled as she played the queue.
By the time they had finished watching all of them, Louis was dreading the coming year even more than he had been before.
“I can tell by your face that you have about the same impression that I did,” Nabila said with a sigh.
“It’s not that none of them will work, but—” he paused, unable to think of how to finish the sentence politely. “These are really the top ten?”
“They’re really the top ten,” Nabila said with a sigh. Louis tugged absently at his eyebrow. There were a couple that he thought might work in the end, but none of them stood out as being a perfect match. Not that Louis had any right to complain. As someone who didn’t want to be here in the first place, he couldn’t really judge the kinds of people who did.
“There were a few that could work. Two, three, and four were all right,” he said.
“But none of them were really right,” Nabila said. “I know. I’m leaving casting open until the last minute, we can hope for the best, but I don’t have much faith.”
“Hmm,” Louis agreed. “Sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“No, no, it’s hardly your fault,” Nabila said with a wan smile. “We’ll figure it out. I appreciate your input.”
Louis glanced over at her then nodded. “If that’s all, I’ll head back for the day.”
“Yes, go ahead. I’ll keep you posted on the auditions.”
Louis nodded again. They really were all wrong. There were a couple that Louis wanted to discount entirely, but he knew that Nabila was stressed enough as it was without him adding to the mess.
*****
The drive home was even slower than the drive there. It was going on 5:30 and rush hour—pitiful as it was—made the trip down the one lane roads painfully slow. Louis considered passing across a double yellow line but decided that Rosemarie would kill him if he died doing something as stupid as that because he was impatient.
When he finally got home it was nearly half past six. He opened the door quietly in case Rosemarie had decided to go to bed early. She usually waited up for him, but sometimes she was too exhausted. Louis slipped his shoes off and tiptoed upstairs. The lights were all on and there was a bustling coming from the kitchen.
Relaxing, he walked normally the rest of the way upstairs to find Rosemarie carefully plating two dishes. Louis sat down on the other side of the counter and watched her. It took a moment for her to notice him there, but when she did, she smiled, gesturing proudly at the plates.
“Not even burned,” she said.
“Smells good,” Louis said, “What is it?”
“I call it chicken . . .” she hesitated, “just chicken, actually. I’ve no idea what it’s actually called. It’s got pesto.”
Louis chuckled. “Thank you for the just chicken, then.”
“Welcome,” she said, dropping a plate and fork in front of him. Louis got up to grab a glass or set the table or something, but Rosemarie shooed him out of the kitchen.
There was a fine line between trying to help her and just getting on her nerves. There were some days when she was so tired that Louis would do just about everything, but there were other days when she would be the one to make him sit down and be quiet. Today seemed like one of those days where it wasn’t worth the fight. He thought that maybe taking care of him made her feel more normal. Louis couldn’t find it in himself to deprive either of them of that little comfort.
“How did casting go?” she asked as she sat down to eat at last. Louis glared at his chicken.
“Nobody will work,” he said with a tight voice.
“They couldn’t all have been that bad. Maybe they are just bad on tapes,” she said. “You never know until you meet them in person.”
“I know they’re all that bad, though,” he said. “One of them was from that show, the one with the raunchy vampires.”
Rosemarie outright giggled.
“Well, maybe he’s not so bad when he’s acting in person,” she said.
“They’re auditioning for TV! They need to be good at being filmed!”
“Hmm, you can at least give them a chance.”
“And actually, he was probably the best of them,” Louis said. “I think it says something that Nabila is willing to give him a chance, because if I was writing in the same genre, I certainly would stay well away from anyone from Lust Story.” He said the name with utter contempt. It was one of those situations where the book had been terrible and the show had taken it to a whole new level. He had actually read it because Rosemarie loved terrible, terrible fiction and sometimes, when there was nothing else in the house to read, you had to make do.
“Which one auditioned, if that’s not a secret?”
“The blond one. Big blue eyes,” he said. “The one that wanted to suck the virgin’s blood.” He gave her a significant look and Rosemarie started giggling all over again.
“He’s cute at least,” she said when she had composed herself. It figured that she knew who he was talking about. She was probably one of three people who actually watched the show all the way through.
Louis refrained from commenting and stabbed a fork into his chicken.
“Say what you will about it,” Rosemarie said, clearly noting the look he was giving her, “I like anything with vampires.”
“And I can’t understand why,” he said.
“Maybe it was the vampire show you were in when you were little,” she said with a nostalgic sigh. He knew she was teasing, but he was still affronted at the accusation.
“They were aliens, not vampires,” he said.
“They did suck blood.”
“Still aliens. There’s a difference.”
“Well, if nothing else, he’ll draw in the hard core vampire fans,” she said. “You know, the ones that will watch literally anything with vampires.”
“Yeah, because the premise of the show wouldn’t do that already.”
“It’ll work out, Lou,” she said.
Louis sighed. “I hope so. I wish this didn’t happen in the first place,” he said. “There’ve been enough issues without having to recast a lead character.”
“It’s terrible business,” she said.
“If we’re lucky, the show will just end after this season.”
“You shouldn’t be hoping for unemployment, dear.”
“It’s better than working on a show that can’t get its shit together.”
“I thought you liked Nabila.”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean that the show likes any of us back.”
“Stop whining and figure it out, then,” she said.
Her eyes were a challenge and Louis felt the familiar sense of appreciation for her. There were few things that could motivate him like that look, the one that said, you can damn well do this, so just solve the problem. Despite her disapproval of some of Louis's life choices, Rosemarie was unwaveringly supportive of him in whatever he wanted.
He rolled his eyes, trying to hold back a smile. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good,” she said, patting him on the hand. “Oh, and Lou,” she said, gaze suddenly serious, “you be careful and stay safe.”
“I will,” Louis said just as seriously.
He understood why she didn’t like his profession, he really did. Their father had died of an overdose and his mother was still in prison for manslaughter while driving under the influence. But Louis didn’t even drink. He wished that he could wipe that worry from his sister’s face, even as he knew he would never stop acting.
Louis wasn’t even sure who he was without that part of himself. He wasn’t sure if he was anyone besides the face he put on for the camera.
Quitting just wasn’t an option.