The Cinderella Hour by Lisa Silverthorne

Author:Lisa Silverthorne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elusive Blue Fiction

14

In the oak paneled den, Jack sat down in an overstuffed leather burgundy chair, a light, a camera, and Devin Von Fossen in his face. He drummed his fingers on the arm, glancing from Devin to the door. What he wanted most of all was to jump in a car and escape the constant barrage of people and cameras. He rubbed his palms against his thighs, feeling claustrophobic with Devin in his face like this.

Everything was starting to feel like his SanFran Confidential days, sending his stomach roiling and the need for a few lines of flake aching through his system. Something to help him cope, roll with the punches, and that you’re nothing voice that whispered in his ear 24/7. His ex, Rachel made sure that voice was a permanent fixture in his head.

“Stop filming,” said Devin to the cameraman who hefted the camera off his shoulder. Devin turned back around, scrutinizing Jack and Jack wanted to flee. “Jack, are you all right?” Devin asked, his brow furrowed.

He sighed. “Just feeling a little hemmed in, that’s all.” He needed that leveling hit of flake, that jolt of confidence to get him through this thing.

“Roy, Bill, why don’t you wait outside a few moments. We won’t be long.”

“Sure,” Roy the steel-haired cameraman mumbled and turned toward the door. Bill the ginger-haired lighting dude nodded and followed Roy outside.

Then it was just Jack and Devin in the dim lit room filled with bookshelves, a shiny, cherry wood executive desk, and two overstuffed leather chairs. Everything had that smoker’s smell to it, overlaid with vanilla and lemon oil. But he could still smell that tinge of stale smoke in the air.

“Okay, Jack, talk to me,” said Devin, his gaze intense as he leaned toward Jack.

Jack leaned back in the chair, his heart rate slowing a little. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Just got a little claustrophobic, that’s all.” He took a deep breath then let it out again. “I’m doing better now that the camera’s out of my face.”

“You sure, Jack,” said Devin, squinting. “I think you’re a little strung out.”

“Strung out?” His eyes widened. “I’m not a shooter, okay? Let’s get that cleared up right now. I’m going to be pissed if that shows up in a tabloid somewhere.”

Devin held up a hand. “Calm down, Jack. That’s not what I meant.” He reached into his tan suit coat pocket, that over-bright Hollywood smile returning, and pulled out a small silver case. He opened it and laid it on the end table beside Jack.

Flake. With a razor blade and glass pipette.

“Join me in a snort?” he asked.

Jack’s brain was screaming on fire now. Nearly a week and a half since he’d felt that alert on top of the world feeling, that clarity that got him through his days. He craved the energy he used to have, that buzz that got him through twelve-hour shoots and seven-day work weeks.

But he was in thirty Gs to Lenny’s boss.

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