“Got it.” Jenna waited a beat. “So listen, when you get up here, to Oregon, you can camp out in the space over the garage until you find a place, if you don’t want to stay in your old room.”
“I’m not seventeen.”
“I know. That’s the problem,” Jenna admitted.
The conversation stalled again before Cassie said, “Listen, I’ve gotta run.”
“Sure. Me too. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Cassie said automatically and cut the connection. She plugged the phone into its charger and attempted to shake off the oppressive feeling that she wasn’t good enough, hadn’t measured up, had always been a problem for her mother. The feeling was like a bad taste that lingered, something you couldn’t rinse away or spit out no matter how you tried. And the fact that Allie had come to LA at Cassie’s urging and had ended up missing only made that sensation dig a little deeper, like needle-sharp talons slicing into Cassie’s brain, making it bleed with guilt. Jenna would be horrified if she realized how Cassie felt, so, Cassie promised herself, her mother would never know. And somehow, she, Cassie, would solve the problem. First step? Locating Allie.
Making her way to the postage-stamp-sized bathroom shower, she stripped off her clothes and let them fall, then turned on the spray. The old pipes creaked a bit and a fine mist, the best her ancient showerhead could deliver, started to steam up the bathroom that felt small enough to be configured for an airliner. She cracked the tiny window, then let the water wash over her.
In her mind’s eye, she saw her sister on the set of Dead Heat, playing the terrified, deranged heroine of the film. Allie’s skin had been pale, her big eyes round with fear as she’d understood that her lover, played with a feverish passion by Brandon McNary, might kill her. The image was from a poster made specifically for the movie with Shondie Kent, Allie’s character, staring into a broken mirror, her lover visible between the cracks.
Allie and Brandon had been perfectly cast, their on-screen chemistry palpable as they’d made love or fought, their combustible relationship offscreen exploding during filming. Though they’d avoided each other when not on the set, while the cameras were rolling, they’d come alive, their interaction believable, the sparks flying. Brandon’s sizzling looks coupled with Allie’s sultry sexuality created a passion the viewer could almost feel.
Cassie shook the vision from her head, letting the spray of the water rinse the day’s sweat and frustrations from her body. Of course she knew Allie was a remarkable actress. Her talent was obvious. That wasn’t the issue, nor really was Cassie’s lack of success. The problem was their relationships with Jenna. Both daughters had “mommy issues” where Jenna Hughes was concerned. Never had it been more obvious than the last time the sisters had collided, the night before Allie’s disappearance. Cassie had made the fateful mistake of wanting to discuss the tweaks to the script of Dead Heat before the final day of the reshoot. Allie had already voiced her concerns, after all Cassie had a bit part in the movie and hadn’t written the script, but both the writer and director had liked the subtle change. Sure, Allie had lost a little screen time and Cassie, cast as the heroine’s sister-in-law, had picked up those precious minutes.
Allie had perceived it, as always, as a way for Cassie to garner favor at Allie’s expense.
All of which was a lie.
Cassie had driven to her sister’s Portland residence through the driving rain, second-guessing herself, all the while wondering if she’d made a huge mistake. As the windshield wipers struggled with a deluge from the heavens, Cassie had squinted against the glare of headlights and told herself she needed to have it out with her sibling once and for all. She’d intended to straighten out any misconceptions and had hoped beyond hope that all their adolescent insecurities and unresolved issues would be put to bed.
What a pipe dream!
The meeting started off rocky as it was immediately obvious that Allie had somewhere else she would rather be. Though she didn’t admit as much, she’d continually glanced at the decorative clock mounted in the dining area. At least three times she received texts on her cell phone. She responded quickly to them, all the while trying to end her conversation with Cassie.