Everything About You Read online

  LOVE IS SERIES #5

  “…love…it is not proud…” 1 Corinthians: 13:4

  EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU

  Lisa J. Lickel

  Copyright 2016 Lisa J. Lickel

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cover Art by Joan Alley

  Edited by Susan M. Baganz

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means without the permission of Prism Book Group. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Published by Prism Book Group

  ISBN-10: 1-943104-42-5

  ISBN-13: 978-1-943104-42-0

  First Edition, 2016

  Published in the United States of America

  Contact info: [email protected]

  http://www.prismbookgroup.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  DAY ONE

  DAY TWO

  DAY THREE

  DAY FOUR

  DAY FIVE

  THE LAST DAY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DEDICATION

  For my friend and writing muse, Gail.

  Thank you every day for sharing your gift of story and gift of encouragement.

  DAY ONE

  Late Morning - Exterior

  The man grasped her gold pen and studied it like he’d never seen a writing instrument before. Shelly Colter hoped Pettibone’s quirk choice for a replacement in the romantic lead knew how to use it. If only he wasn’t so rugged, so handsome. Or could be… Waving her hand in front of her face to dispel the disagreeable farm odor wafting from his dusty navy blue t-shirt and jeans, she pointed again at the line on the contract. Springtime in the country. Wisconsin. At least it was a nice day, plenty warm enough outside for short sleeves and pure sunshine. “Right here, Winston. Sign your name. Mr. Pettibone, the company owner, has already signed, and I’ll be your witness. Filming is behind schedule, and we have a lot of work to do.” She wanted to add the tired cliché “time is money,” but she doubted he’d hear.

  Sounds from the contemporary western movie set around them, the best boy calling for more extension cords, a pow-wow among the writers and Jordan the director, created a familiar, exciting cacophony. Harry from costuming waited anxiously in her shadow, fiddling with the measuring tape around his neck and shifting from foot to foot. Winston was a different build from the recently fired celebrity. Harry had spent weeks creating and fitting a wardrobe on that loser, Seth Taylor. Shelly’s publicity campaign now needed to be redrawn too, so Harry was by far not the only person to lose work.

  Food service set up a coffee buffet under a spreading oak in young leaf on this June day. Shelly was hungry, but nerves made her choke at the thought of anything but coffee. Winston Daniels, the man she was supposed to turn into a heartthrob in less than a week, seemed distracted by everything and kept looking up at every clash of equipment or prop placement.

  So much pressure—could Shelly do it? She was good at her work. Pettibone trusted her.

  “C’mon, Danny.” Jen, Winston’s sister, stood next to him, trying to encourage him.

  “Time is of the essence, Winston,” Shelly said in her steel-coated tone. Pettibone had given her five days, including this one, to whip a country hick into the next mega-movie-star sensation, and she couldn’t afford to waste a second.

  “You sure?” Winston whispered to his sister, a small thing who’d struggled to get baby fat off in time for her role as the best friend of the female lead. It was quite a coup for Jen, since she’d only had walk-ons and a couple of commercials under her belt.

  Jen whispered, “It’ll pay for the…”

  Shelly tapped her foot. “Are you in? Because there are plenty of other actors who would jump at this role.” There weren’t really. Pettibone had run Seth Taylor off the set early this morning when he’d shown up too high—again—to even remember what role he was playing. Filming was in disarray, and costs were rising. Pettibone was determined to make the Academy Award cut-offs this year, and if Shelly couldn’t bootjack this new guy to fit the bill of a swoon-worthy romantic rancher, it would be a long, lonely path to owning her own publicity company. Or getting another job in public relations. Anywhere. She wanted to hurry—if only Winston would cooperate. A little faster.

  As soon as Winston dotted the “i,” she snatched the paper contract and shouted at Pettibone’s assistant. She waved for Harry to start taking measurements for size and fit. Winston was bigger than Seth. The new wardrobe meant more costs, but that wasn’t her concern.

  “We can talk while you’re being fitted,” she said. “Fred, get that camera out of here. Not now. I’ll tell you when we’re ready. You’ll just make him nervous.”

  “Pettibone says I’m to film it all. We’ll use the footage for publicity later.”

  “That’s my job as publicity director to decide what to use for promotion. Everyone understands that.”

  “We do. Don’t get twisted up about it.”

  Before she could get into a really good rant, Winston tucked his elbows against his side and turned pale. “E-everything? But I don’t know what to say. I haven’t even read any lines.”

  Harry frowned and lifted Winston’s arms straight out from his sides again.

  “And you are all supposed to do the vlogs. At least once a day,” Fred muttered. “Even you, Shell. Probably all the time for him.”

  “What’s that?” Winston.

  “Video logs, like a spoken diary.” Shelly set her hands on her hips and walked around Fred, circling Winston, thinking about what she’d say in her vlog and what she’d have to tell Winston to say. “I’ll explain it later—no time now. Harry, how much more?”

  “Getting there.” He clicked a few keys on his tablet. “Nice shoulders. Good hips. Long legs will help with the action shots. Six-one? You work out?”

  “Uh, sorta.”

  Shelly winced at Winston’s pronunciation. “First thing…well, second…no, third thing we must do is work on your voice. I think we’ll call in Roma. Jen, what are you doing here? Don’t you have to be somewhere else? As if there aren’t enough distractions. Winston, listen up! Harry, line up wardrobe from the third date scene, you got it? The one where they’re at the—”

  “I’m on it!” Harry trotted away.

  Shelly reached up an uncomfortable distance—he was taller than she’d thought—to take Winston’s jaw and turn his face left and right. “Face straight ahead, please.” What angle would capture those delicious grooves alongside his mouth? Thank goodness his ears were normal. “Smile. Wider. Show me teeth. Are you listening?”

  The future megastar took a step back, stuck his thumbs in his belt loops, and looked down at her five-foot-two height. “First of all, I didn’t quite catch your name. Secondly, I don’t know what’s going on, and third, don’t I need a script to study, or something?”

  “Shelly Colter, company promotions manager. My job is to make sure you are turned into the public face of this film. You are a complete unknown, and why Pettibone insisted on stuffing not only an unknown but a completely untried actor on his film I have no idea, but I will make it work. Fortunately for you, stepping into a Seth Taylor role will jumpstart the publicity, but I must insist it stay positive. Are you a drug or alcohol user? Involved in a messy divo
rce or break-up?”

  He shook his head.

  “Anything else I should know about that could negatively affect this publicity campaign?”

  “Just what you see. I’ve never acted before. Except in a play once, uh, in school.”

  Shelly smiled. “Well, this movie is a lot of action, so I think you’ll be all right. You already do…farm work, I believe?”

  At his nod, she let her smile slide into a smirk. “Since you’ll be portraying a rancher, you’re partway there.” She studied him up and down again. “Hair next. Then a preliminary photo shoot. Margo, the production assistant, can explain how we do things on set, what’s expected of you in your role, and the AD…” At his blank look, she amended, “Assistant director can teach you blocking. When Roma gets here, she can help you with proper pronunciation. We’ll have your teeth bleached.” Shelly narrowed her eyes. “Winston Daniels will become the next new Hollywood buzz boy and a household name by Thanksgiving. The picture is expected to release at Christmas. Come.”

  By the time she’d taken five steps, she realized Winston was not behind her. “Winston?”

  He stood there, brooding, feet shoulder-width. Shelly might have been interested in him, tried to flirt with this handsome hunk of guy, if she wasn’t in such a rush and he wasn’t so…aromatic. “What?”

  “You seem to have some mighty case of pride, there, Miss? Missus? Colter. You might find people a mite more willin’ to work with ya if you didn’t treat them worse than I treat my cows.”

  Shelly raised both eyebrows. “We have a very tight deadline. Your contract is specific about that. You will receive a sweet reward and a bonus if you do what I say. If you do not, you will be fined just as handsomely. Now follow me.”

  When she peeked back to make sure he obeyed her order, Winston’s forehead had grown worry lines and his arms hung limply at his sides. “I don’t remember that in the contract.”

  “It’s there, I assure you.” She turned, stepped over some taped electrical cords, and ducked under a boom, glad to hear his boots in her wake.

  “At least call me Danny,” he said. “My own name’s good enough. Don’t know why ya had to go changing it around backwards and all. Folks around here will laugh.”

  “You are now Winston Daniels, a role model for every boy and man in America, Europe, Australia, and Asia. Everyone will want to do what you do, look like you, wear what you wear, talk like you—be you. You are not a Danny with a crooked haircut who wears shirts with ragged collars, slouches except when on camera draped against a white fence, or mumbles with a backwoods accent when he speaks. Got that? And don’t let your upper body lead the way, like a bull moose. Stand up straight.”

  *

  Day One - Early Afternoon - Interior

  Danny Winston ground his boot heels into the woodchips sprinkled on the ground of the movie set as he followed the skinny, dark blonde dictator on a rampage toward the big ugly rows of monstrous trailers parked on the other side of McCormack’s barn. Enduring taunts and insults and traipsing around the neighbor’s hayfield was not what he’d expected to be doing today. No matter how many zeroes were on that paycheck. If he was going to move the new batch of calves to the side forty, he needed to check and mend the fence. Dad would have to meet the agricultural consultant by himself after lunch. As Danny played out the to-do list in his mind, he tripped over some kind of cord lying in wait to make a man look like a fool.

  “Try to keep up, Mr. Daniels.”

  And there she was, laughing at him again.

  Why had he signed that contract?

  He needed money for the new operation, that’s why. Just a couple of months’ work, Jen said. Then he could develop his fish farm and the contracts to supply all the markets and restaurants he dreamed of to make the business a success.

  Jen. Huh.

  Danny managed to stop before running into the open door in front of him. That Colter woman grinned like she wanted to give him a black eye with the door knob. He grinned back and bowed. One thing for sure, he’d never turn into one of those Hollywood types like that Taylor jerk. All drugged up and divorced three times with kids by different women. Not that Danny was a huge movie star fan and all. But he did need to keep reminding himself how a person of godly character would act in this bizarre situation. Maybe that’s why he was here. To be a role model? He was certainly not up to that task.

  He sat in the barber chair and felt the drape being tucked around his neck. The dictator held up a glossy eight by ten of Taylor. “Cut like that.”

  “This comin’ outta my sal’ry?” Danny asked, hoping to lighten the tension.

  “No,” Blondie gritted out.

  Danny smiled and closed his eyes. Backwoods accent, eh? She really had no sense of humor. Okay, then, how to be a role model without offense. This would take some figuring. The fussy guy with the big camera on his shoulder followed them inside.

  “You’ll have a chance to get comfortable talking to a camera,” Shelly told him. “Just do what Fred says. I’ll be back later.”

  Danny winced at the slam of the metal door.

  He looked up at the scissors above his eyes, about to take a chunk off the top. “She always like that?”

  The woman, harried with bitten nails, hesitated. “I don’t really know her. I only do hair.”

  Fred, standing to the side in the cramped space, set his camera on a tripod near the door and held up his hand. “Look this way, Winston.”

  Two rings on Fred’s fingers flashed like discordant rainbows. Danny blinked. “My name’s Danny. Danny Winston, not Winston Daniels.”

  “Not here, it isn’t. Play the game right, and we can all go home sooner.”

  If that’s what it took, Danny would go along. Unless he was asked to compromise his morals. He started to nod until a tug on his hair reminded him he was currently a captive to a pair of sharp scissors. “I kin do that.”

  “Keep your head still,” the woman said.

  “Can. Can do that,” Fred called out. “Turn him a little this way, please. Thanks.”

  “Kin what?” Danny asked.

  “The word is ‘can.’ Enunciate correctly.”

  “Oh.” Danny wanted to laugh at the grizzled man in a black knit turtleneck and fancy flat golfing cap teaching him how to speak. “Don’t they want a normal accent? You know, to make it more real? Then folks would believe it’s me talkin’.”

  “The movie business ain’t real, honey,” the hairdresser said. He met her sympathetic eyes in the mirror. “I thought everybody knew that.”

  Danny’s face grew warm. He’d have to watch what he said if he didn’t want everyone thinking he was stupid besides inexperienced. Maybe he could treat this like he was pitching to that business show—the one where rich folks decided if they would invest in a start-up. He probably should have tried that instead.

  “Okay, camera’s rolling. Turn this way and talk about what’s going on.” Fred stepped back. “Pretend we’re not here, and you’re talking to ah…one of your cows. See the red light here, on top? Look at it.”

  “Like it’s milking time?”

  “Sure, sure,” Fred said, and put his hand over his mouth before he switched on a bright light.

  Danny closed his eyes and slowly opened them, figuring he’d have to get used to the brightness. “I just did it again, didn’t I?” Danny didn’t expect an answer. He should talk about what was going on? He cleared his throat. “Uh, honest? I had no idea what was going to happen this morning. So, my little sister Jen, she got this part in a movie. Some of it’s being filmed here in Wisconsin, see, because the company gets a good deal, and when she asked me and Dad to come watch, how could we say no? So, there I am, getting her a drink of water—she has to stay hydrated on account of the baby—can I say ‘nursing’ on camera?”

  Fred, hand over his nose and mouth, nodded.

  “Anyway, we come after milking, and I’m just handing her a bottle of that fancy water and all of a sudden a light shines on m
e, like it’s from heaven or something. Crazy. I couldn’t see anything. I thought I was going before a firing squad. Then this voice, like God’s voice I guess, it says, ‘Repeat after me.’ No lie. So I do. I say stuff like, ‘Nadine, I never loved anyone, not even myself, until you showed me how.’ And ‘I’m betting all I am on saving this little bird. I swear, it’ll be the last stand I take if you’ll be here waiting for me at the end. You are everything to me—all of you, the good and the bad—I love everything about you.’ Pretty corny, but I do it.

  “Next thing I know, there’s a pen, a gold one mind you, in my hand, papers under my nose, and my sister whispering in my ear. This mad woman, and I mean angry-mad, not nuts, though I’m not so sure, she’s in my face, turning me around and looking at me like a side of beef.”

  Fred doubled over with laughter. The hair cutting lady said nothing was real. Danny knew that, and he’d bank on it. But he’d turn the joke on them. This money was the one real thing he’d been offered and he needed it. If it meant dressing up, acting weird for a few weeks, getting his picture taken, and talking to a camera like it was GiGi, his best Guernsey milker, he’d do it. ’Sides, it was kinda fun making all these serious folks laugh instead of looking like they were late for church. He’d acted once in high school when he’d gotten roped into the play, and it wasn’t horrible.

  He stared at that little red light, accidently tugging against the pull of the hairdresser about to trim off some more of his hair. “Sorry. I’m doing this for the money, make no mistake. I can pretend to be someone I’m not for a while, and if it helps that woman save her job, then I’m okay with that. I’m not okay with people refusing to accept the fact the world is changing. No one knows how real food gets to your table. We’re already killing off the natural habitats for animals and, uh, plants for you vegetarians out there. I happen to milk cows and raise beef cattle. And I’m aiming to start fish farming cuz the oceans aren’t gonna be fit to live in anymore. I’m just thinking ahead, being a faithful steward, like it says in the Bible. And if that Miz Colter is gonna make me a household name, you kin—can—bet it’s going to include warnings that we all need to step up and do our jobs to prevent a global catastrophe. You betcha.”