“Diva III”

“They’ve cast Dane Seward in place of Jim Carmichael.”

Ellie cocked a brow. “What happened to Carmichael?”

Her agent looked deliberately vague. “Some sort of medical emergency.”

“The cold sore popped up again, huh? Well, it would only have made the love scene slightly more disgusting.” She eyed the manila folder lying on the desk blotter. “So, who is Dane Seward and why did he get the call instead of anyone else?”

“He’s just been signed to the studio. Louis wants to pair him with an actress whose star power won’t crush him before he gets off the ground.”

“If that’s meant to be a compliment, Bernie, it’s way off the mark.” She made no effort to hide her disappointment. She had played against a few lightweight leading men with some success, but Jim Carmichael was meant to be her chance at the big time. A predatory sleaze within the biz, he was also a huge draw and Ellie had been hopeful that enduring his whiskey-soaked kisses over six weeks of filming would raise her own box office profile.

“You know what I think?” Bernie inquired, sitting back in his chair. “I think you’re strong enough on your own. I think you can carry this film and make this kid a star alongside you.”

“What do you mean, ‘alongside’? I don’t want to be half a studio act.”

“You’re not listening to me, are you?”

“I’m listening,” she snapped.

“Forget about your ears for a second,” Bernie suggested. He used his fingertips to push the manila folder toward her. Ellie picked it up, flipped it open, met startlingly smoky eyes in a glossy eight-by-ten.

“Whoa,” she said, reverting to her rural childhood accent.

“I figured you’d say that,” Bernie remarked with a smirk.

Ellie made herself look past the photograph to the resume behind it. Bit parts, walk-ons mostly, a few supporting roles in minor theatre productions, none on Broadway. Why the hell did the studio boss think he could act?  And that he could act with her? “This isn’t his real name, is it?”

“Of course not.”

She couldn’t carp. Her own surname had been tailored to give it a Hollywood snap. She’d been lucky to keep “Eleanor”, else Auntie wouldn’t have believed she had made it to the movies. She was tempted to ask, but on second thought decided against it. Better to know him only by his stage name in case his mother hadn’t wanted him.

“Shouldn’t a fellow named ‘Dane’ be blond?”

Bernie growled. “Ellie …”

She tossed the folder back onto the desk and stood up to leave. “Relax, Gramma, I’ll be a good girl. He’d better be able to act, though. A new name did nothing for Finn Harker.”

“Who?” Bernie asked.

“Exactly,” Ellie said on her way out the door.