Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer, Lee Hollis [ebook reader 7 inch txt] 📗

the floor, her mark, where she was designated to stand during the scene.

Danika wandered away from the gaggle of young actors she had been chatting with, her head down as she tapped furiously on her phone. She finished posting something on Twitter or Instagram or Snapchat, and bounced over to Poppy. “You look fantabulous!” Danika cooed. “Are you nervous?”

“What? Me? No, not at all,” Poppy muttered sarcastically.

Danika giggled. “You’re going to be great.”

“Everybody keeps telling me that, but I get the feeling you’re all just saying that so I don’t pass out.”

A bell rang and the makeup and hair people scattered, leaving only the actors left on the set.

This was it.

The time had come.

Poppy closed her eyes.

Her mind was a blank.

She suddenly couldn’t remember her first line.

She knew the college kids spoke first as they invaded the resort, fresh off the bus from LA, and she knew her first line came sometime after Danika made a comment about how cute the young Latino bellhop was, but she couldn’t remember the exact words she was supposed to say.

This was going to be a disaster.

“Camera rolling!”

Oh, God, Poppy thought, what is my first line?

“We have speed!” the cinematographer called out.

Trent stared into the monitor that was set up on the far side of the reception area so he could watch the scene play out, and yelled, “Action!”

Right on cue, the gang of college kids poured into the reception area, all babbling at once, Danika among them. Poppy stood frozen, watching them conversing with each other, frantically trying to recall her first line.

She caught sight of Matt, hovering over behind Trent, who was leaning forward in his chair, intently staring at the monitor. Matt was beaming.

The next thing Poppy knew, Danika was standing in front of her at the reception desk, wide smile, flashing her perfectly white teeth, saying, “We’re here to check in!”

Yes, that was her cue.

“We’re here to check in.”

Poppy heard herself say, “Welcome to the Sundial, kids . . .”

Of course.

It was that simple.

A few of the rowdier college boys were ogling a pair of female sunbathers crossing through the lobby, and Poppy then turned her attention toward them, launching into a stern list of strict rules they were required to follow at the resort. This had been a tricky line because it was essentially a monologue about how Poppy had owned this resort for decades and was not about to let an unruly mob of sex-crazed college kids run roughshod on her property. Yes, the lines eased off her tongue. All those hours memorizing them had mercifully paid off. She was going to get through this. She only had a few more words to go and then she would be done and the scene would be over when something off to the side of the camera distracted her.

Someone was waving at her.

Ignore it, she told herself. You’re so close to finishing your first scene and not screwing it up.

The waving became more frenetic, more distracting until Poppy couldn’t help herself and glanced over to see Violet excitedly waggling her hand and mouthing, “I’m so proud of you!”

And then Poppy went blank again.

She couldn’t remember the last line in the script.

“Cut!” Trent shouted.

Poppy deflated.

Iris rolled her eyes at Violet. “You ruined the scene, Violet! You broke Poppy’s concentration!”

“I was just wishing her luck,” Violet cried defensively.

“It is obvious you have never been on a film set,” Iris snorted. “Not like me who appeared in many German avant-garde films. I am basically a cultural icon in Europe.”

“Yes, Iris, you’ve told us many times,” Violet said, racing over to Poppy. “Poppy, I can’t apologize enough. I was just trying to be supportive.”

“It’s fine, Violet,” Poppy said. “Luckily we can do it again.”

However, since it was Poppy’s first scene, she had hoped to get through it once without messing up.

She could see Matt in the background giving her the thumbs-up even though she knew he was just doing that to make her feel better. She could also tell he was putting on a brave face, pretending not to be affected by the Dear John text he had received from Heather the night before, something he and Poppy had yet to discuss other than a few back and forth texts.

Trent jogged over to Poppy, who was now huddling with Iris and Violet. “Ready to go again?”

Poppy nodded. “Yes, Trent, I am so sorry I flubbed the line.”

“It was entirely my fault, Mr. Dodsworth-Jones. I was distracting her. Poppy is a wonderful actress who never forgets her lines. If you want to ban me from the set, I will understand, but please don’t take it out on poor Poppy,” Violet pleaded.

“No, you’re fine,” Trent said, confused. “Who are you again?”

“Violet Hogan. And this is Iris Becker. We work with Poppy at the Desert Flowers Detective Agency.”

“Yes, that is true, but I am also a veteran of the performing arts with extensive experience as a chanteuse, in the theatre, and I worked with Fassbinder. He was a pig and he smelled but he was a dear personal friend,” Iris said.

Trent nodded, impressed that Iris knew the well-regarded late German film director. “Well, you ladies are welcome to hang around as long as you want.”

“Trent, I just got distracted,” Poppy said.

“Don’t sweat it. We almost got it. We’ll do it until you get it right. The point is, you were marvelous.”

Poppy raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“I knew I was making the right call. Wait until you see the dailies. You’re a real presence. You bring such gravitas to the scene. I couldn’t be happier. Trust me, Poppy, you’re everything I hoped you would be.” He impulsively grabbed her shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Keep up the good work.”

And then he bounded back over to confer with the cameraman.

Poppy suspected he was just trying to make her feel better and put her mind at ease so he could get through the entire scene at least once uninterrupted.

“See, I knew it was only a matter of time