Chapter One
I was being punished. I didn’t remember doing anything bad enough to deserve this, but clearly I had a lot of bad karma built up.
“What do you mean she’s not coming?“ I barked into the phone.
If my voice rose to a slightly higher pitch than usual I wasn’t surprised. I had a good reason. Anyone in my position would have the same reaction.
I knew the producers were pissed after the whole One Straight Guy at a Time fiasco—although, honestly, was it my fault that only one member of the all gay cast turned out to be actually gay? It wasn’t like I had a crystal ball that could backup my clearly-inadequate gaydar.
But this punishment was above and beyond.
I turned away from the cast and crew—which, as of right now, consisted of the cameraman, several horses, and a fat orange cat—and said, “You tell her she either gets her designer princess butt down here right now or I will personally sue her for breach of contract and—“
The line went dead and, after three loud beeps to let me know the call had dropped, I heard only silence. I glared at my phone. No signal. No freaking signal.
I was being punished. Big time.
“Problem Cass?“
I dreaded turning around to face Eddie. The cameraman was the size of a taxi—and not an ordinary four-passenger sedan taxi, one of the giant minivan one reserved for swarms of tourists with more luggage than sense. He was fast as a panther, though, which was why I’d snagged him as my go to cameraman for this job.
Besides, if I was going to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere for two weeks, I wasn’t going there alone.
I chomped my lips together and dragged in a confidence-building breath. Dust filled the air and, now, my lungs. I started hacking so hard Eddie came over and pounded on my back.
“Th-thanks,“ I said, between coughs, trying to recover the air he’d knocked out of my chest. Sucking it up, I straightened my spine and turned to face him. “The merry princess isn’t coming.“
Now, Eddie might look like a bear—big, broad, and scruffy-faced—but he was normally as sweet as my friend Bethany’s pecan pie. So when he let out a string of expletives, I knew I wasn’t exaggerating the situation.
“You know what happens if you tank this segment?“ he asked.
I gave him a humorless look. Of course I knew. Bye bye, Cassie Bishop, production manager. Hello, Cassie Bishop, you want fries with that?
The big boss had given me one more chance. Just one more. If I could produce the pilot of a new show, Try It On, without incident, he would consider—consider—putting me back on the list. Being on the list was Plan A for climbing the ladder of career success, all the way to an Emmy, an Oscar, and a Golden Globe at the very top. Being off the list was… well, I refused to consider that possibility. I had to make Try It On a success.
Try It On was one of those reality shows where seemingly normal and sane people (and I use those terms in the most liberal sense) give up their ordinary lives for two weeks to experience something completely different. Episodes in the works included a stay at home mom who would live the life of a Park Avenue princess, a school teacher who would play the part of Broadway star, and a motorcycle shop owner would try to hack it as a park ranger. Filed under the why-would-anyone-do-something-so-dumb category of TV shows, as far as I was concerned, but a gig is a gig and I need to get back on big boss Bud Gorman’s good side. My career in television was just taking off and I needed to stay on the right track.
“If I don’t shoot this pilot, on time and on budget,“ I replied, sliding my hands into the back pockets of my black jeans, which were now more dusty red than black, “I’m toast.“
Eddie just nodded.
Think, Cassie. Think.
The pilot episode was supposed to star a Hollywood trust fund diva—Gorman’s wife’s cousin’s niece or something like—spending two weeks learning how to be a cowgirl. Like, a real life, riding the range and roping the cattle cowgirl.
According to the little brat’s patronizing agent, she’s currently sunbathing in the south of France with no intention of visiting the Lone Star state anytime soon. Which leaves me short one trust fund diva and on the verge of total career disaster.
I jammed my fingers into my black curls. There had to be another way. Who said it had to be that particular spoiled rich girl? Or even an actual spoiled rich girl at all?
Maybe I could call Bethany.
No dice. She was busy making her boutique work and planning her wedding—to one of the aforementioned non-gay gay cast members of my last production, by the way.
All my friends from college were either climbing corporate ranks or raising a pack of babies. All my friends from film school, the ones who hadn’t given up on the industry and fallen off the face of the industry planet, were hard at work in their own careers.
“Here comes your cowboy,“ Eddie said.
I followed the direction of his gaze and saw a cloud of dust rising up from the road that led to our location. If you could even call that unpaved strip of dirt and gravel a road.
Okay, what did you think? Are you ready for the next installment?
Tune back in tomorrow for more...
