Chapter One

“This has been a big year for Sara Silver. In April, her self-titled solo album debuted at number one with the first single, ‘Never Alone,’ topping the charts for three weeks. The next release, ‘Street People,’ quickly became this year’s song of summer. Now, she’s golden again. Her role as Bridget Keogh in the biopic Enough has earned her a Golden Globe nomination for Best Supporting Actress.” The tiny blonde turned from speaking directly into the camera to face the couch where Sara was sitting. “For those who don’t know the story, tell us about the film.”

“It’s about the seventies band Kindred Strangers and the three months they spent recording their iconic album Enough.” Sara shifted slightly. “Before the recording sessions began Bridget Keogh, and her bandmate and good friend Rose Nash made a difficult decision. Kindred Strangers was a hugely successful band, but the women were miserable. Rose had been in a relationship with guitarist Keith Dalton for years, but his drug addiction was taking its toll on her.

“Rose’s decision to end her relationship encouraged Bridget to make her own changes. Her husband, Peter, who was also in the band, had a series of increasingly public affairs.

“But this isn’t a story of women done wrong. Bridget and Rose took control of their futures and decided Enough would be the band’s last album, and that they would do all they could to create a masterpiece that would carry them forward in their careers.”

“An incredible story,” the interviewer said. “Things have been pretty incredible for you lately. How does it feel?”

Sara gave the woman a practiced smile. “It’s been an amazing time. I can’t tell you how much the fan support for the album means to me. It was unnerving branching out on my own.” She paused. “But, the opportunity to do Enough and play Bridget was a dream come true. She’s an incredible talent.”

“I’ve read you had the opportunity to meet Bridget Keogh. What’s she like?”

“Very warm and open, which surprised me since she’s known for being shy. Fortunately for me, she believed the story of that phenomenal album was worth telling.”

The interviewer leaned closer to Sara, her eyes calculating. “Were there any parallels to your own life story?”

A variation of this question had been asked in every interview she’d done for the movie. No one asked her directly about the backstage pictures from her band’s last tour or the rumors of her own drug use and rehab. Sara crossed her legs but made sure to keep her upper body relaxed. Rather than move away from the interviewer’s intrusion into her space, Sara leaned in. “Deborah, are you asking me if I’ve been in a relationship with any of the guys in the band?” Deborah’s eyes widened and she laughed nervously, and Sara knew she’d once again successfully avoided the question. Just to make sure, she added, “Well, as you know, I exclusively date women, so…” She shrugged.

Deborah shifted in her chair, trying to regroup. Sara wanted to roll her eyes. Straight people were so easy to distract. They were never quite sure what to do if she was the one who brought up being gay. Usually they stumbled over themselves trying to prove they were “okay” with it.

“Let’s talk about the album. How hard was it to break away from Range Street?” she asked, referring to Sara’s band.

Sara had also been answering this question for months, and the words came out of her mouth without needing thought. “I don’t think of it as breaking away. We love each other, but when you’ve grown up together and made music for as long as we have, at some point you realize your worldview is limited. We decided it was time for us to gain new experiences so we could come back together stronger than ever before. I know it’s worked for me. The producers and musicians who worked with me on my solo album taught me so much. I feel very blessed.”

“So, what’s next? Another Range Street album?” She paused. “Another movie?”

“I’ve gone nonstop from the end of the Range Street tour to recording my album, to making and promoting Enough. I’m looking forward to a little time off. After that?” Sara lifted her palms. “We’ll see.”

But Deborah wasn’t going to let it go that easily. “Will we see you on the big screen again?”

“If the right opportunity comes up, we’ll see.”

“Sara Silver, Golden Globe nominee and best-selling solo artist, thanks for being here.”

Sara leaned forward to clasp the woman’s left hand with her right. “You’re welcome. Thank you for inviting me.”

“And we’re out,” a disembodied voice announced.

“Thanks, Deborah,” Sara said as she stood. “You’re always so easy to talk with.”

The woman seemed genuinely touched by the compliment. She wrapped one arm around Sara’s waist in a side hug. “I think you’re going to be getting a lot of calls,” she whispered.

Andrew Neiderman, her agent, greeted her with a frown as she walked off set. “Never admit you don’t have something lined up.”

Sara took her purse from him and pulled out a water bottle. After a long drink, she said, “Andrew, I liked acting. A lot. But I don’t know if I want to be an actress. There’s nothing wrong with just being a singer.”

“You got nominated for a Globe your first time out. There’s interest in you. We just need to find the right script.” He led her out of the building to the black SUV parked at the curb. Holding the door open, he said, “Get some rest. You want to look good on the red carpet.” He started to shut the door, then pulled it back open. “Don’t forget the interview with Rolling Stone next week. You’re the cover. It’s a—”

“I know, Andrew. I’ll be ready, I promise.”

* * *

Mika Williams entered the restaurant and spotted David Stamper right away. “I see my party,” she said to the hostess. He was reading something on his phone but looked up when she got close. He stood and kissed her cheek, then waited to sit until she had slid into the opposite side of the horseshoe booth. As she exchanged sunglasses for her signature black-framed glasses, he gave a nod to the waiter, then asked, “Well? What did they say?”

She flashed him a smile and ran a hand over her hair. “As they say, I’ve got good news and bad news.”

David leaned forward. “Tell me the bad news, first.”

She ignored him. “The good news is they like the premise. They want a full pitch and a script for the pilot.” His eyes lit up, but before he could speak, she held up a hand. “Yes. That’s good. The bad news is they expect me to come back with a name. They’re right, of course, but there are only so many well-known lesbian actresses.”

“So, get a name for the straight part,” David said.

“No.” Mika looked around. “Has our waiter been by?”

“I’ve already ordered your martini. I asked him to watch for you.” Just as he finished speaking, the waiter appeared at her elbow with a tray of drinks. He placed the martini in front of her and a gin and tonic in front of David.

Mika swirled the skewer of olives in her drink, then lifted it to her mouth. She trapped the first olive between her teeth, then pulled the skewer away, sucking it between red lips. The first bite of salty, gin-dipped fruit always delighted her. She took her time savoring the taste before lifting the glass and taking a delicate sip. “Ooh, that’s good. Thank you, David.”

“So why not get a name for the daughter?”

“Television being what it is today, we don’t have the luxury of building an audience from scratch. We need one before the show premieres. A well-known television actress playing a straight character won’t get us that audience. But…” She tapped the rim of her glass. “A well-known lesbian playing a lesbian lead, will.”

“Okay,” he conceded, “I see that. Who do you have in mind?”

“You haven’t asked the worst news yet.”

His drink froze in midair. He placed it back on the table. “I thought that was the bad news.”

“Oh, no. That’s nothing.” She looked out the window for a long moment, then reached for her own drink. After a healthy swallow, she said, “The project is contingent on my father acting as creative consultant.”

“Shhhit.” He pushed the word out through clenched teeth. “How did that happen? He’s been out of the business for years.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It was all very strange. Ostensibly, it’s because he has experience with shows like ours. But something doesn’t feel right. The development executive was quite smug when they presented the terms.”

“I thought you were working with the network head. Who’s this guy?”

Mika took another swallow. “I met John Belinski for the initial deal, but each production will have its own network rep. Ours is Larry Rand. Sound familiar?”

“No.”

“Not to me, either. He’s in his fifties, so I know he’s not a contemporary of my father. It’s possible he’s just a garden-variety misogynist.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“That Hollywood is full of arrogant men who believe no woman should ever run a show?”

“Point taken. Forget I asked.”