Excerpt from Chapter 1
A laughing gull swooped over the set, its beady eyes scanning the terrain for some crumb or discarded goody. Not finding
any humans with sucker flashing on their foreheads, it perched on the largest camera and proclaimed ownership with a loud
squawk. It was about the only sound that afternoon except for the dull thumping of lazy waves collapsing on the sand a few yards
away.
The sun’s orange ball mushroomed in size as it teetered on the horizon ready to call it a day but there was no relief from the
stifling heat as the sand clung mercilessly to the July heat and radiated it like a convection oven. Sweat dribbled down our chins
and necks. Humidity clung like plastic wrap. The weather alone was more than enough to bring on a deathly lethargy. Instead, an
inexplicable energy pulsed through the group as actors and assorted members of the crew held their collective breath in
anticipation of his direction.
“Okay, action!” Alex Conner shouted. Arms and legs flew into frenzied motion. Cameras whirred missing no detail. Lines
were delivered with perfect accents. Emotions flowed on cue. The whole orchestrated scene looked real, at least for those few
seconds.
“Cut! Cut, CUT!” Alex jumped up and down as he yelled. His ice blue eyes raked over each actor. “That’s not it. The
mood’s wrong! Time is short. You’re panicked. Show me the need, the urgency, that life defining action that says all or nothing.
Use the surf, this heat. Let it build your emotion.” He glanced at the sky. “This light won’t last much longer. We’ve got to get it
this take!”
Another gull swooped over him and mocked him with its high-pitched cackle as it dropped a white blob on his shoulder.
Alex’s gaze did not waver from his light meter. He shouted, “Ready? Then action!”
Nothing was required of me in that scene, so for a brief time I was free, able to watch it all from a distance, detached and
removed, as if I were floating in another world, no longer bound by the physical laws of this one. However, as the surf lapped at
my ankles and I grasped my hair, pulled it off my neck and splashed a little water across my shoulders in a futile attempt to cool
off, my stomach roiled in anticipation. My time was coming, fast. Then, I would be the center of his attention. There was no
escaping what he wanted. Problem was I knew I couldn’t deliver.
My stomach’s antics brewed a restless energy in my gut, its fermentation expanding to the point I couldn’t sit still. Back and
forth, I paced until I collasped into my chair under the large canvas canopy. The scene came to its conclusion, and I was sure it
would be pronounced perfect. But, when I spied him running his long fingers through his honey hair, I knew what was next.
“No! No, no, no!” Alex’s voice was softer, but there was no mistaking the steel girding each word he uttered. No one
moved. Actors, frozen in the scorching heat, stared at their director as if he were divine. What stirred such unwavering reverence
for this man who demanded nothing less than perfection? Who could live up to his expectations? Certainly not me.
Whatever his power, it captivated most everyone touched by it. I was not immune. For me to be near Alex was the same as
putting dry, brittle kindling next to a roaring flame. Every fortress, every shield I erected about my heart crumbled with just a
glance. My desire to acquire perfection in his eyes drove me without mercy, and I hated him for that.
When Alex’s little speech ended and the steam settled, the actors quietly resumed their assigned positions for what seemed
like the hundredth time that day. The scene ran its course as the sun slipped beneath the horizon and stippled the heavens with a
fading gold dust. A dreamlike luminescence sparkled in the air, and the world was draped in an ethereal cloak of magic. For a
short moment, it was that Magic Hour directors and photographers coveted. It was that time of day when the light shimmered
and the world bathed in surreal light. It was an illusion; just as I deluded myself into thinking all could be well. Oh how I wished
the feeling would last, that I could grasp its elusive tendrils at any time in life. But, Magic Hours, like the peace I rarely attained,
never lasted. As quickly as it arrived, it faded and took with it any illusions of well being I desperately hoped for.
“It’s just a small scene, nothing to it,” Alex had said just that morning. “It’s nothing but an old staircase in an old hotel. So,
you walk down some stairs with a smile on your face. What’s so hard about that? You’re Jeanne Horne, Hollywood’s darling.
You’ve nailed performances way more challenging. You’ve stretched yourself beyond your limits and now you don’t want to do
something as simple as smile?”
I can’t do it. I can’t do it. The chorus looped through my head. With each repeat, the panic level rose. Alex had no clue
what immense terror the old hotel’s massive stairs stirred in me. No one knew, for to admit to the fear would be to admit I was
imperfect and too many waited, ready to throw that reminder in my face at any opportune moment.
A tumble down those steps on a stormy afternoon when I was only seven had started it all. As an adult, that monster
staircase in the middle of the W. Grand Hotel’s lobby turned my stomach to ice and threatened to stop my heart just at the sight
of it. I’d never figured out why. Therapy was useless and pleas to God for intervention hadn’t worked. So I’d stuffed that fear
into the dark, hidden places of my soul and pretended it didn’t exist. My plan had worked perfectly until now.
In less than an hour, I would face the ogre of those stairs. As if I were a butterfly, no weight on my shoulders, no burdens
to bear, I would be directed to float down the monster, smiling with each step. If I succeeded, it would be the performance of my
life. If not, I would be strapped in a straight jacket for the rest of my life.
I reached for my squeeze bottle and took a long gulp of Margaret’s sweet tea as Alex commanded the actors to repeat the
scene one more time. I slumped in my chair and tried to concentrate on the methods, the techniques, the movements, anything to
take my mind off what I knew was coming. A vise gripped my skull, however, squeezing the air and my brain to the point I
thought I would pass out. A dizziness that had haunted me relentlessly for the past few weeks slowly tilted the world. My head
drooped as the bottle slipped from my fingers and rolled across the sand. The sounds of the actors and the surf faded.
“Jeanne!”
My heart slammed into my throat and I jumped. Alex was standing over me.
“Can’t you stay awake for even one take?”
“I’m... I’m still not feeling too well.”
He stooped over until his eyes were level with mine. As he peered at me, it felt as if ice crystals had formed on my face.
Then, his gaze warmed and his voice softened as he brushed a grain of sand from my cheek. “Jeanne, I thought you were over
all that.”
“Guess not.”
He continued to study me as if trying to understand the mysteries of life, and suddenly he grinned. It set his eyes on fire,
and the ice melted. I took his outstretched hand, and he pulled me to my feet.
“You know the stair scene is next. Cameras are already in place, lights too. By the time you finish with wardrobe and make-
up we’ll be ready to shoot.” He frowned. “What’s the matter? You knew it was on the schedule today. For sure, we can’t put it
off any longer. Everyone’s asking me why. People are talking, Jeanne. They...”
I locked my eyes on his. “Please,” I whispered. But the word died on my lips. He wrinkled his brow.
“The movie hinges on this scene. You know that.” He squeezed my hand. “Besides, if we get it wrapped now, then we’ll
have even more to celebrate tonight!”
“Celebrate?” My stomach churned. “Alex, I can’t, uh don’t you remember, I…” My past and future were racing toward a
head-on collision, and I didn’t have enough insurance to cover the damage.
Alex stooped so that his eyes were level with mine. With an intensity that stopped all movement except his lips, he
whispered, “I believe in you Jeanne. I always have, you know. When will you believe as well?” Before any movement in the
world could resume, his lips grazed a warm trail across my cheek.
As he trotted across the sand toward a row of dunes standing guard between the ocean and the old hotel beyond, I watched
the muscles ripple under his t-shirt. I should have felt warmed, encouraged, reassured even. After all, wasn’t it what I had wanted
for so long, his approval? Instead, it all went swish right past my face and not even a few crumbs fell off and hit me.
Alex scrambled over the dunes and up to the broad, palm-tree lined courtyard of the W. Grand Hotel, the crew’s temporary
home during our location shoot. The proud structure had guarded her stretch of the Atlantic for over fifty years while offering her
gracious hospitality to all who entered her doors. That was everyone, except for me. Those awful old stairs resided in the center
of that structure. Now my entire career, it seemed, hinged on my ability to walk down those steps with a smile on my face and no
cares on my shoulders. I wasn’t sure my acting ability was good enough to do it, despite what the critics said.
At the entrance to the old hotel’s cavernous lobby, I stood by the door and tried to smile. I tried not to look at the stairs, or
the shiny marble floor leading to them. I tried not to hear the childish voices that echoed in my head, screaming at me, terrifying
me. I tried to blot it all out, but the world listed and began to spin. Towering before me, swelling in size and squeezing all other
images from my vision, was the monster staircase. The cold in my stomach flashed across my body, and my knees dissolved into
jelly. I flailed my arms, grabbing for something, anything to steady me. What I found was a floodlight attached to a tripod no
stronger than I. We crashed to the floor with a loud clatter. Oh God, help me! I thought I shouted, but nothing left my lips.
Just before the world stopped spinning and became black, a familiar voice whispered, “Get this in her now before it’s too
late!”
A laughing gull swooped over the set, its beady eyes scanning the terrain for some crumb or discarded goody. Not finding
any humans with sucker flashing on their foreheads, it perched on the largest camera and proclaimed ownership with a loud
squawk. It was about the only sound that afternoon except for the dull thumping of lazy waves collapsing on the sand a few yards
away.
The sun’s orange ball mushroomed in size as it teetered on the horizon ready to call it a day but there was no relief from the
stifling heat as the sand clung mercilessly to the July heat and radiated it like a convection oven. Sweat dribbled down our chins
and necks. Humidity clung like plastic wrap. The weather alone was more than enough to bring on a deathly lethargy. Instead, an
inexplicable energy pulsed through the group as actors and assorted members of the crew held their collective breath in
anticipation of his direction.
“Okay, action!” Alex Conner shouted. Arms and legs flew into frenzied motion. Cameras whirred missing no detail. Lines
were delivered with perfect accents. Emotions flowed on cue. The whole orchestrated scene looked real, at least for those few
seconds.
“Cut! Cut, CUT!” Alex jumped up and down as he yelled. His ice blue eyes raked over each actor. “That’s not it. The
mood’s wrong! Time is short. You’re panicked. Show me the need, the urgency, that life defining action that says all or nothing.
Use the surf, this heat. Let it build your emotion.” He glanced at the sky. “This light won’t last much longer. We’ve got to get it
this take!”
Another gull swooped over him and mocked him with its high-pitched cackle as it dropped a white blob on his shoulder.
Alex’s gaze did not waver from his light meter. He shouted, “Ready? Then action!”
Nothing was required of me in that scene, so for a brief time I was free, able to watch it all from a distance, detached and
removed, as if I were floating in another world, no longer bound by the physical laws of this one. However, as the surf lapped at
my ankles and I grasped my hair, pulled it off my neck and splashed a little water across my shoulders in a futile attempt to cool
off, my stomach roiled in anticipation. My time was coming, fast. Then, I would be the center of his attention. There was no
escaping what he wanted. Problem was I knew I couldn’t deliver.
My stomach’s antics brewed a restless energy in my gut, its fermentation expanding to the point I couldn’t sit still. Back and
forth, I paced until I collasped into my chair under the large canvas canopy. The scene came to its conclusion, and I was sure it
would be pronounced perfect. But, when I spied him running his long fingers through his honey hair, I knew what was next.
“No! No, no, no!” Alex’s voice was softer, but there was no mistaking the steel girding each word he uttered. No one
moved. Actors, frozen in the scorching heat, stared at their director as if he were divine. What stirred such unwavering reverence
for this man who demanded nothing less than perfection? Who could live up to his expectations? Certainly not me.
Whatever his power, it captivated most everyone touched by it. I was not immune. For me to be near Alex was the same as
putting dry, brittle kindling next to a roaring flame. Every fortress, every shield I erected about my heart crumbled with just a
glance. My desire to acquire perfection in his eyes drove me without mercy, and I hated him for that.
When Alex’s little speech ended and the steam settled, the actors quietly resumed their assigned positions for what seemed
like the hundredth time that day. The scene ran its course as the sun slipped beneath the horizon and stippled the heavens with a
fading gold dust. A dreamlike luminescence sparkled in the air, and the world was draped in an ethereal cloak of magic. For a
short moment, it was that Magic Hour directors and photographers coveted. It was that time of day when the light shimmered
and the world bathed in surreal light. It was an illusion; just as I deluded myself into thinking all could be well. Oh how I wished
the feeling would last, that I could grasp its elusive tendrils at any time in life. But, Magic Hours, like the peace I rarely attained,
never lasted. As quickly as it arrived, it faded and took with it any illusions of well being I desperately hoped for.
“It’s just a small scene, nothing to it,” Alex had said just that morning. “It’s nothing but an old staircase in an old hotel. So,
you walk down some stairs with a smile on your face. What’s so hard about that? You’re Jeanne Horne, Hollywood’s darling.
You’ve nailed performances way more challenging. You’ve stretched yourself beyond your limits and now you don’t want to do
something as simple as smile?”
I can’t do it. I can’t do it. The chorus looped through my head. With each repeat, the panic level rose. Alex had no clue
what immense terror the old hotel’s massive stairs stirred in me. No one knew, for to admit to the fear would be to admit I was
imperfect and too many waited, ready to throw that reminder in my face at any opportune moment.
A tumble down those steps on a stormy afternoon when I was only seven had started it all. As an adult, that monster
staircase in the middle of the W. Grand Hotel’s lobby turned my stomach to ice and threatened to stop my heart just at the sight
of it. I’d never figured out why. Therapy was useless and pleas to God for intervention hadn’t worked. So I’d stuffed that fear
into the dark, hidden places of my soul and pretended it didn’t exist. My plan had worked perfectly until now.
In less than an hour, I would face the ogre of those stairs. As if I were a butterfly, no weight on my shoulders, no burdens
to bear, I would be directed to float down the monster, smiling with each step. If I succeeded, it would be the performance of my
life. If not, I would be strapped in a straight jacket for the rest of my life.
I reached for my squeeze bottle and took a long gulp of Margaret’s sweet tea as Alex commanded the actors to repeat the
scene one more time. I slumped in my chair and tried to concentrate on the methods, the techniques, the movements, anything to
take my mind off what I knew was coming. A vise gripped my skull, however, squeezing the air and my brain to the point I
thought I would pass out. A dizziness that had haunted me relentlessly for the past few weeks slowly tilted the world. My head
drooped as the bottle slipped from my fingers and rolled across the sand. The sounds of the actors and the surf faded.
“Jeanne!”
My heart slammed into my throat and I jumped. Alex was standing over me.
“Can’t you stay awake for even one take?”
“I’m... I’m still not feeling too well.”
He stooped over until his eyes were level with mine. As he peered at me, it felt as if ice crystals had formed on my face.
Then, his gaze warmed and his voice softened as he brushed a grain of sand from my cheek. “Jeanne, I thought you were over
all that.”
“Guess not.”
He continued to study me as if trying to understand the mysteries of life, and suddenly he grinned. It set his eyes on fire,
and the ice melted. I took his outstretched hand, and he pulled me to my feet.
“You know the stair scene is next. Cameras are already in place, lights too. By the time you finish with wardrobe and make-
up we’ll be ready to shoot.” He frowned. “What’s the matter? You knew it was on the schedule today. For sure, we can’t put it
off any longer. Everyone’s asking me why. People are talking, Jeanne. They...”
I locked my eyes on his. “Please,” I whispered. But the word died on my lips. He wrinkled his brow.
“The movie hinges on this scene. You know that.” He squeezed my hand. “Besides, if we get it wrapped now, then we’ll
have even more to celebrate tonight!”
“Celebrate?” My stomach churned. “Alex, I can’t, uh don’t you remember, I…” My past and future were racing toward a
head-on collision, and I didn’t have enough insurance to cover the damage.
Alex stooped so that his eyes were level with mine. With an intensity that stopped all movement except his lips, he
whispered, “I believe in you Jeanne. I always have, you know. When will you believe as well?” Before any movement in the
world could resume, his lips grazed a warm trail across my cheek.
As he trotted across the sand toward a row of dunes standing guard between the ocean and the old hotel beyond, I watched
the muscles ripple under his t-shirt. I should have felt warmed, encouraged, reassured even. After all, wasn’t it what I had wanted
for so long, his approval? Instead, it all went swish right past my face and not even a few crumbs fell off and hit me.
Alex scrambled over the dunes and up to the broad, palm-tree lined courtyard of the W. Grand Hotel, the crew’s temporary
home during our location shoot. The proud structure had guarded her stretch of the Atlantic for over fifty years while offering her
gracious hospitality to all who entered her doors. That was everyone, except for me. Those awful old stairs resided in the center
of that structure. Now my entire career, it seemed, hinged on my ability to walk down those steps with a smile on my face and no
cares on my shoulders. I wasn’t sure my acting ability was good enough to do it, despite what the critics said.
At the entrance to the old hotel’s cavernous lobby, I stood by the door and tried to smile. I tried not to look at the stairs, or
the shiny marble floor leading to them. I tried not to hear the childish voices that echoed in my head, screaming at me, terrifying
me. I tried to blot it all out, but the world listed and began to spin. Towering before me, swelling in size and squeezing all other
images from my vision, was the monster staircase. The cold in my stomach flashed across my body, and my knees dissolved into
jelly. I flailed my arms, grabbing for something, anything to steady me. What I found was a floodlight attached to a tripod no
stronger than I. We crashed to the floor with a loud clatter. Oh God, help me! I thought I shouted, but nothing left my lips.
Just before the world stopped spinning and became black, a familiar voice whispered, “Get this in her now before it’s too
late!”
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Emerald Beach