Secrets of a Hollywood Matchmaker Read online

  Secrets of a Hollywood Matchmaker

  Backstage Romance, Volume 2

  Gigi Blume

  Published by Sodasac Press, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  SECRETS OF A HOLLYWOOD MATCHMAKER

  First edition. December 19, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Gigi Blume.

  Written by Gigi Blume.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  1: Bad Bad Beans - Emma

  1 | TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY | Jaxson

  2 | THE GAME IS AFOOT WITH FABULOUS SHOES | Emma

  3 | DOG PEOPLE | Jaxson

  4 | BESO DE ANGEL | Emma

  5 | EXTRAVAGANT PURCHASE | Jaxson

  6 | GAL PALS | Emma

  7 | PERPETUAL STATE OF SYMMETRY | Jaxson

  8 | EMOJI DATING | Emma

  9 | SPAGHETTI FACE | Jaxson

  10 | MONARCH OF THE SEA | Emma

  11 | A DISTURBANCE IN THE FORCE | Jaxson

  12 | ROAD TRIP | Emma

  13 | ALL ABOUT TAN LINES | Emma

  14 | FRANKFURTER PARTIES | Jaxson

  15 | BE MORE CHILL | Emma

  16 | DON’T BLINK | Jaxson

  17 | ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM | Emma

  18 | COFFEE IN BED | Emma

  19 | JAZZERCIZE, DON’T EAT THOSE FRIES | Jaxson

  20 | STRICTLY PROFESSIONAL | Emma

  21 | SHIPPING | Emma

  22 | SIMPLE-MINDED CREATURES | Emma

  23 | HURRY UP AND WAIT | Jaxson

  24 | SEEING RED ON THE RED CARPET | Jaxson

  25 | GOODBYE, HELLO | Emma

  26 | S’MORE BAD JOKES | Jaxson

  27 | BADLY DONE | Emma

  28 | WE’LL ALWAYS HAVE PARIS | Jaxson

  29 | MAD WORLD | Emma

  30 | LESSONS FROM UNCLE HERSHEL | Emma

  31 | ZIP IT | Jaxson

  32 | WHATEVER IS TRUE | Emma

  EPILOGUE | FOUR WEDDINGS AND A MUSICAL | (One Year Later) | Emma

  1: Bad Bad Beans - Emma

  It was a perfect mixture of sunny and crisp for a January afternoon in Bel Air. The massive grounds of Pemberley Estate were transformed into a grandiose carnival for my great Aunt Stella’s charity event. All the big names in Hollywood made an appearance at some point in the festivities to flaunt their philanthropic pageantry and fake smiles, whether it be during the activities of the day or at the posh gala in the evening. I still couldn’t believe Stella talked Will Darcy into donating his house for the day. Then again, my aunt had a way of sweet talking anybody—even a misanthrope like Will.

  Jaxson Knightly, my dearest friend in the whole wide world, placed a heavy, sure hand on the small of my back. His touch always gave me a sense of rightness. He was formidable and timeless—like a mountain range or... The Beatles. In short, he was the best thing ever. I offered him a side wink and a cheeky grin as we weaved through the many tents and rides scattered across the lawn. Families from every walk of life were in attendance—many of the youth there were recipients of the Gardiner Arts Foundation which Aunt Stella founded in her late husband’s name. Jax and I searched the crowd. Stella was bound to be in there somewhere, most likely conjuring up some sort of hare-brained scheme.

  I gazed wistfully at the food booths.

  “All this searching is making me hungry. I could go for some of those deep-fried Oreos.” The queues were bonkers. If the press didn’t have their cameras pointed directly at me, I’d have already bulldozed my way to the front of several concessions stands. I could imagine the headlines on the gossip sites in my mind: Hollywood Starlet Emma Woods Turns into The Hulk at Charity Fundraiser. I couldn’t help it if hunger made me temporarily insane. Sue me.

  Jaxson produced a Fiberlicious Bar seemingly out of nowhere and offered it to me. “I’m way ahead of you, sweetie.”

  I glared at the packaged heath food like it was an abomination. “Did you have that in your trousers pocket this whole time?”

  He bent his head to whisper in a deep rumble. The lilt of his Australian cadence paired with softness of his breath tickled the shell of my ear. “There’s more where that came from.”

  Gracious.

  “Do you happen to have a corn dog hidden in those pockets, mate?” I joked, but my lame attempt at an Aussie accent came out more like drunk cockney pirate. Jaxson’s eyes glistened in response.

  “I’m afraid not.” He squinted to read the label. “Just nuts and cranberries and chia seeds...... some honey—”

  “What’s a girl to do to get a hot dog on a stick covered in corn batter?” I was assaulted by the aroma of deliciously tempting carnival food—gastronomical faire fare I never got to have growing up in England. I promised my aunt I’d support her charity, but the truth of it was, I came for the tour de grease, not a blasted Fiberlicious Bar. “Or one of those funnel cakes?”

  “We’re not staying long, remember? Since you decided to skip the gala tonight.”

  “Are you still cross about that? We always give our tickets to a young performer. Why do you want to go so bad this year?”

  Jaxson frowned. “I want to see the inside of that house. I hear there’s a bowling alley and a luxe movie theatertheatre.”

  “Don’t tell me you have a man crush on Will Darcy. Here’s a ditty for you. His house is almost as big as his ego.”

  Pemberley was a beautiful estate—the house itself an iconic tribute to the heyday of Hollywood. I’d heard stories of the many parties hosted there several years ago—a long time ago when the previous owner still lived.

  “It’s good to have a friend with a movie theatre in their house,” Jaxson argued. “I’d like to have an intimate screening for Field of Hearts.”

  I grinned at Jaxson. He was always working even when he wasn’t. That director brain of his. Field of Hearts was his new project. A movie musical set during the American Civil War. Another Jaxson Knightly film where I had the distinct pleasure of wearing a corset, but this time I got to sing. And Jax? He was stepping in front of the camera for the first time in his career to play my romantic lead.

  Did I practice my kissy face in front of the mirror to prepare? Only on days that end in y.

  “I’d rather leave before we run into Will, if you don’t mind,” I pleaded.

  Jaxson laced his fingers through mine and squeezed. “We’re not leaving until I get you in the Zipper.”

  “If you value the clothes you are wearing,” I said, with a posh English air, “I suggest we stay far away from that vomit gyrator.”

  Jaxson burst into such a hearty laugh, all the cameras turned in our direction, catching the image of his bright smile with a wave of clicking shutters. It would be on the front page of celebriteaser.com within the hour, and shippers could have something to talk about.

  “I’ll give you a hundred dollars to go to that vlogger over there,” he said, trying to curb his laughter, “and use the words zipper and gyrator in the same sentence.”

  “For your ears only, darling,” I said with a coy smile. “Come on. Where can we hide?”

  “There’s the silent auction,” he said, pointing to an open-air tent. “We could bid a ludicrous amount of money on a hand- knit scarf.”

  I glanced casually to the silent auction tables. It would suffice to pass the time. Besides, one cannot have too many scarves.

  We had not hadn’t entered far into the tent when Jaxson was already adding his name to several lists. One in particular waswas a large box wrapped simply in brown paper.

  “What on earth are you bidding on now?” I asked, shaking my head.

  Jaxson turned his gaze slight
ly towardstoward me as he filled was filling in his bid. His olive eyes sparkledwere sparkling with a mischievous glint asand he wagged his brows in animated enthusiasm. “A mystery box!”

  I glanced at his bid. “Fifteen hundred dollars? It could be a year’s supply of dental floss for all you know.”

  He laughed. “Or perhaps a collection of novelty hats.”

  “Or the contents of someone’s junk drawer,” I added.

  “Oooh.” He grinned adorably. “A collection of old Playbills.”

  “Bread.”

  “Stale bread.” He laughed.

  “The Tilneys.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “The Tilneys wouldn’t fit.”

  “Not in the box,” I cried. “Over there. Don’t look around. Maybe they won’t see us.”

  Morgan Tilney and his son Clay were casually ogling ogled the Harley Davidson up for auction. They weren’t bidding. Just peacocking about. I snatched Jaxson by the arm and tucked into the far corner.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed.

  I pulled him closer to me, hunching over a table of gift baskets. His face was so close to mine, I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. The scent of fresh oranges and fine musk reached my senses, and I almost forgot my name.

  “If they see you...,” I said, regaining some composure, “they’ll bother you until you direct their next picture for free. What are they doing here, anyway?”

  Jaxson turned his face slightly towardstoward mine and winked. He was so intoxicatingly close, his lips barely an inch from mine. I’d kissed those lips once before. It was a moment of unguarded impulse. One glorious moment we chose to tuck away.

  He burned his gaze into mine and whispered, his voice raspy, coaxing,. “The zipper Zipper doesn’t sound so bad after all, now does it, Emma?”

  “I... uh.”

  Someone cleared their a throat behind us.

  “There you are.”

  We’d been found. But the voice did not didn’t belong to the two men we were actively avoiding. No. It was a queenly, matronly voice. A voice that brought me home to England. A voice I loved—my aunt Aunt Stella. Jaxson and I turned slowly to meet her reproachful stare.

  “What are you two conspiring?” she said rather fiercely. If anyone were to jump to conclusions, it would be her.

  “Bidding on things, of course,” I blurted, dashing my attention to where I’d last seen the Tilneys. I couldn’t see them anymore. Maybe they’d left.

  Aunt Stella peered behind me to the gift basket up for auction, then squinted at Jaxson and said, “Infant girl gift set. Hmm.” And turning to me added, “A little early to know the gender, don’t you think?”

  I whipped my head back to the auction table, and the skin on my cheeks flushed. The basket Jaxson and I had been so intimately huddled over was filled with assorted baby items in pink. The highest bid was three hundred dollars, and it had my name attached to it. I must have added my name without realizing it. Or Jaxson did it.

  I turned back to my aunt. “Now who’s conspiring?”

  She laughed and held her arms open for an embrace. Jaxson and I each kissed her cheeks, and then Jax—the gentleman he was—grazed his lips on the back of her hand. “Lovely as ever, Mrs. Gardiner.”

  “You need not stand in ceremony for my sake, dear Jaxson,” she said flippantly. “You may call me Dame Stella.”

  It was then that I then noticed the movement of a petite form behind my aunt. She was a tiny young woman with shiny brown hair and bright wide eyes. She shiftedwas shifting her weight, looking around absently, feigning interest in the auction items. Aunt Stella followed my gaze to the girl and extended a hand towardstoward her in an invitation.

  “I’d like you to meet my friend Beth,” she said proudly. “She is the best Edith I have ever seen on stage.”

  A shade of pink washed over the poor girl’s face as she shook each of our hands in turns. “I’m sure that’ is an exaggeration,” she said with a laugh.

  So Thisthis was the actress my aunt was telling me about; the irreverent talent in her production of Pirates of Penzance and the current subject of her matchmaking endeavours. If the poor girl only knew the unequal match my aunt had in store for her, she’d run far, far away. FAR away.

  “My aunt is a great exaggerator,” I said, returning her hand shakehandshake. “But never about theatre, and never about talent. I’m Emma.”

  “Yes,” she said rather wryly, “I know.” She held up her phone. I recognized the tweeter app open on the screen.

  “Beth has been helping me find you lot on the twit-box,” said Stella. “What did Emma say to you that was so amusing, Jaxson?”

  I looked at the picture displayed on the screen. Seriously? It couldn’t have been more than five minutes since our vomit gyrator conversation, and there was the photo of Jaxson mid laughter, holding my hand like a life linelifeline.

  “I just followed the hashtag gardinerartscharity.” Beth shrugged. “I swear I’m not a stalker.”

  “It’s okay,” I replied dismissively. “My mum cyber stalks me all the time.”

  Back in England, Mum took it upon herself to monitor all my social media fan sites. She ran about three quarters of them.

  “Enough chatter,” my aunt spat. “I need a favour.”

  I didn’t like the way this conversation was headed, but I knew better than to interrupt.

  “I was scheduled to sing A Pair of Ducks tonight at the gala,” she continued, “but the chap cast as Frederic had an emergency. So I need you two to sing something from your Field of Whatever musical.”

  “What?” Jaxson and I cried in unison.

  “We haven’t started workshopping,” said Jax. “We don’t even have the finished score.”

  “Surely you can sing something,” groaned Stella, then quickly added, “Do you know anything from Pirates of Penzance? You can sing Frederic’s part.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” said Jaxson.

  “Besides,” I chimed in, “We’re not planning on staying for the dinner.”

  “OhOh, my dear Emma,” she said, laughing. “I was quite prepared for that. You lot never stay for dinner, although heaven knows why. I invited Beth and the other actor to fill your seats, but now he had to cancelcancel, and I have tomust give away Jaxson’s place again. Good grief! This messes up my seating chart completely.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I said dismissively.

  She sighed. “I could always ask Clay.” She stoked her chin thoughtfully. “That would at least fill a seat. Still need a singer, though...” she trailed off, exploring somewhere in that brilliant brain of hers.

  “You’re going to give Jaxson’s seat away to Clay Tilney?” I blurted. “A fifty-thousand dollarthousand-dollar dinner?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars?” cried Beth unexpectedly, then quickly covered her mouth.

  My aunt huffed. “Well, you didn’t want it. It’s very kind of you to donate to the fundraiser, but I can’t very well have empty seats at my table.”

  “But Clay?” I protested. “He’s not a young performer.”

  “What difference does it make to you, Emma?” Jaxson interceded. “We gave up our seats, so leave it be.”

  “In any case,” rallied my aunt, “I have’ve got to take care of this quandary. Come now, Beth. Let’s find Will.”

  I could hear the retreating sound of Beth’s protests as the two women walked away from us; Beth’s feeble excuses to prevent a meeting with Will Darcy.

  “I’d try to avoid Will, too, if I were her,” I snickered, half to myself. I could feel the weight of Jaxson’s disapproving glare in an instant.

  “What?” I said with only a brief glance at his frown.

  “Emma,” he began, pausing for a moment in an effort to be diplomatic, “Do you think you could be a little less...”...”

  “A little less what?” I cried defensively. “Awesome?”

  “No. I like your awesome. But that’s not what I want to s
ay.” He sighed.

  “Cheeky? Saucy?” I supplied.

  He turned to face me and cupped my cheeks. The toes of his loafers tapped against my fabulous Luis Vuittons.

  “A little bit of congeniality will serve you well. You don’t have to have tea with the Tilneys or the Darcys, but at least give them the benefit of the doubt.”

  It disquieted me to no end how he could so easily slip into the role of director—even off-camera. Besides. I liked Will’s little sister. She was cool.

  “Can we go back to joking about gyrating carnival rides?”

  He exhaled deeply and ran his fingers through his glorious mane. It looked even better messed up.

  “Just try to tone down your aversion to Will Darcy and Clay Tilney. And Henry Crawford...”...”

  “Okay, okay. I get it. I’ll be more chill.”

  “And maybe make some friends.”

  Friends? I had...... people.

  What were the classifications of a friend anyhow? Did it mean I had to have their number on speed dial? The only numbers I had on my mobile home screen were Jax, my agent, and my mum. AlsoAlso, Ming’s delivery line because they were too archaic to have an app.

  “You’re my friend,” I said innocently. “Right?”

  “Yes, of course, but... you need a female friend. Someone to binge eat ice cream with, someone who you can call at three in the morning just to talk, someone to share secrets with over margaritas and pedicures.”

  I studied him for several moments wondering where he was going with this. I was perfectly happy binge eating ice cream with him. And I loved our phone conversations until the wee hours of the morning. What did it matter if he wasn’t female? I didn’t even particularly like getting pedicures. Those salons seemed a little dodgy to me.

  Plus, I now had that song Being Alive from Company stuck in my head thanks to Jax. Someone to talk on the phone, someone to share Rocky Road, someone who’s secrets I’d share, and make me aware... la la la... aliiiive... Eh, I just made up my own lyrics. It’s cool.

  I was quite mindful, however, that arguing with Jax was an exercise in futility.