Single Indemnity, page 1
SINGLE INDEMNITY
BRIANNE GILLEN
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Single Indemnity: Phoenix Pictures, Book 2
Copyright © 2022 by Brianne Gillen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by: Michele Chiappetta of Writing By Michele, LLC
Cover Design by: www.DaybedBooks.com
Print ISBN: 978-1-7372403-2-7
E-book ISBN: 978-1-7372403-3-4
Published by Brianne Gillen
www.briannegillen.com
Created with Vellum
Also by Brianne Gillen
Phoenix Pictures Series:
DIFFICULT
SINGLE INDEMNITY
A KISS TO BUILD A GRUDGE ON — Coming Soon!
* * *
First Harvest of Love: A Lughnasadh Short Story —
part of the FLAMES, FLIRTS, & FESTIVALS anthology
To my fellow Splooshies
—Amanda, Daria, Genevieve, & Jillian—
for your support on this writing journey, & for your friendship.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Brianne Gillen
About the Author
Stay Tuned for Frannie & Max’s Story—A KISS TO BUILD A GRUDGE ON
Prologue
Parkmoor Studios Costume Department
Hollywood, California
1936
* * *
“So, Miss Reynolds, not married yet?”
Natalie “Nate” Reynolds heard the record needle scratch in her brain.
She shouldn’t have been discombobulated by the question. Her job interview with Parkmoor Studios’ head costume designer, Glenn Chambers, was going swimmingly. She had this job in the bag.
Unlike the one she’d lost out on at RKO Studios only a week earlier. Where they apparently didn’t want a “career girl” in name only, who’d quit and leave them in the lurch the minute she found a husband. As if Nate would ever. Hitching herself to a man—like her former beau—who'd expect her to settle down as her sister had was the dead last thing on her to-do list.
Adding insult to her heart’s recent injury, one of her fellow graduates from the Mount Hollywood Art School—who had landed the RKO job—had oh-so-benevolently informed her of what he’d overheard about the reason they’d passed over Nate. Her eyes rolled of their own accord every time she thought about his little heads-up.
But she wasn’t bitter. Of course not.
All that aside, this job was different. It had to be. Chambers appreciated her talents, and after less than an hour in his company, Nate sensed she would not only enjoy working with him, but also learn a great deal in the process.
And yet…
This is nothing but small talk. You’ve already gotten a better feeling from this interview. He wants to hire you. Your marital status does not matter in the slightest.
Nate’s smile spread across her face.
Own it. Be confident. It doesn’t matter.
She prepared to answer, ready to be honest. Forthright. Unmarried, and the very best person for the job regardless of whether or not she had a man in her life. She wanted this career-launching position so much, she could taste it.
Nate opened her mouth on the expectation that the word “no” would roll off her tongue.
For the rest of her life, she would never be entirely certain why, then, the following tumbled out instead.
“As a matter of fact, I am married.”
The record scratch turned into a full-on crash as the player tumbled over, spilling its contents on the floor of her brain in a mess of broken black vinyl.
Where the fuck did that come from?
Surprise registered on Chambers’s face as he looked down at her left hand. “Oh, I’m sorry for assuming. When I didn’t see a ring, I thought…”
You can still get out of this. Turn back, cover your way into a misunderstanding.
Nate waved the hand in question. “Right, well, we’ve only been married a few months and my husband hasn’t been able to afford a ring yet, so…”
“Of course. And who needs a ring when you’ve got him, right?” Chambers winked.
An unfamiliar laugh escaped her throat. “Exactly!”
What is happening?
She had never grasped what people meant when they described out-of-body experiences. Until now. Now she knew. It was horrifying.
Chambers leaned forward slightly. “And he doesn’t mind you working? That’s wonderful.”
Nate swallowed against the acid collecting in her mouth. “Yes. I mean, no. He doesn’t mind… One of the things he loves most about me is my passion for my work. Plus he travels a lot; I think he likes the thought of me keeping myself occupied when he can’t be here. And we’re not in any hurry for children or anything…”
Oh. My. God. Stop talking.
But she was clearly incapable.
“That must be especially difficult on you both, being so newly married.” Nate felt her head nodding as Chambers continued. “What line of work is he in, that keeps him on the road?”
Crap.
Travel. A job involving travel. Salesman? No, people hated traveling salesmen. True, Hollywood wasn’t exactly some tiny, insular town, but still…
Nate’s eyes fell on a newspaper, discarded in the wastebasket. A face looked out at her from the sports page, that new Italian kid the Yankees had just signed who was poised to take the game by storm.
“Baseball,” she blurted. “He’s a…baseball…scout.” Chambers’s eyes lit up, indicating she’d chosen well. As if her mouth was giving her brain even a smidgeon of choice in any of this. “He’s out scouring the country for the next big hitter,” she added cheerfully.
“Wow. That’s exciting. You must be so proud.”
“So proud.”
Chambers frowned. “And I can see why he wouldn’t be able to take you with him on the road. I doubt baseball’s any place for a lady.”
“No. No, it’s not.”
Nate felt sure her organs must be folding in on themselves, given how hard she cringed internally. She wanted nothing more than to lean forward and hit her head on her potential boss’s desk. Maybe then she’d return to her senses. Instead, she kept the smile plastered on her face.
Please let this interview be over soon.
“Well, I for one am grateful it isn’t. If it was, you might not be sitting here.” Even though they were alone in the office, he leaned in with a lowered voice. “I do have to get final approval from the studio heads, but that’s just a formality. I’m fairly confident in assuring you that once it comes through, the job will be yours if you want it.”
Oh, thank god.
“I do. Thank you so much, Mr. Chambers.”
He stood and extended his hand to her. “You’ll make a wonderful addition to the department, Miss…pardon me…Mrs. Reynolds.”
As she shook his hand, her mouth decided it still had more fight left. “Oh, Reynolds isn’t my married name. It’s my own. Wa…a…alter…”—sure, why the hell not?—“Walter agreed that it would be better for me to keep my own name professionally. So I wouldn’t ever be riding on his coattails…when he starts making a name for himself in baseball…you know, because of the occasional crossover between studio execs and ball club owners.”
Jesus Christ, you have the job. STOP TALKING.
Chambers considered for a moment before smiling at her. “Your Walter seems like quite a smart, forward-thinking man. You’re a lucky woman.”
“I really am, aren’t I?”
Nate picked up her portfolio, eager to make her escape as quickly as humanly possible, before she put her foot in it any further.
Walking her to the door, Chambers added, “You can expect a call from us in a day or two, and then we’ll have you back in to make it official.”
“Thank you. I’m looking forward to joining the team.” She held her head high as she exited the office.
Nate had just landed her dream job.
With an extra helping of fictional husband.
Chapter One
Phoenix Pictures
Twelve Years Later
* * *
Nate Reynolds stood back and tapped her marking pencil against her lips,
Anyone looking at the stills would find these pirate costumes perfectly acceptable. Good, even. But “acceptable” and “good” weren’t what had propelled Nate this far, or shaped her reputation. Her perfectionism when it came to her work always paid off.
She simply had to nail that elusive extra detail.
Reflecting her constantly busy schedule, her office lay cluttered with sketches, fabric samples, and the endless supply of snacks she stashed everywhere—pretzels when she needed salt, M&M candies for sweet days…and a little booze for extreme emergencies. But Nate purposely kept one wall free from the chaos—simple cream paint, no adornments—allowing her to block out distractions, concentrate on the images, let them speak to her. Sometimes the message rang loud and clear. Other times, like this, it wasn’t even audible.
As her eyes drifted over the photos, Nate’s attention caught on the actor’s cheeky grin and she laughed to herself. Leave it to Nick Bradley to lighten the mood. He was one of the good ones, for a lot of reasons. Chief among those, in Nate’s estimation, was his ability to make his wife, Lois Ashford, happy. Lois was not only a talented actress and the head of Phoenix Pictures; she also happened to be Nate’s dearest friend in the world. And the amount of joy Nick brought her scored him never-ending points in her book.
Nick was also empirically, almost obnoxiously, handsome. Nate could dress him in a burlap sack and he’d look good, a fact that often eased her job considerably. Unfortunately, those good looks didn’t do anything to help her solve her current, tricky problem.
Nate groaned in frustration. With shooting set to begin in a week, the pressure was on to figure this out fast.
At a knock on her open door, she turned. Rose Lockwood, her secretary, hovered in the doorway.
“Am I interrupting?” Rose asked.
Nate shook her head, grateful for the chance to clear her thoughts for a moment. “Not at all. What’s going on?”
“Marie called to say they just finished the extras’ fittings for the party scene. Only a couple of minor alterations, and they’ll be all set for tomorrow.”
“That’s perfect. Thanks.”
“You were concentrating pretty hard there.” Rose gestured to the photos. “Everything okay?”
“Not yet, but I’m so close.”
Nate waved Rose over. The secretary glanced at Pirate Nick and smiled.
“Very roguish.”
“But something’s still missing. I can’t put my finger on it.”
Rose appraised Nate, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “That’s driving you nuts, isn’t it?”
Nate laughed at her astute observation. “You have no idea.” She squinted at the wall. “What do you think?”
“Oh, I couldn’t say…”
“Of course you could. You’ve got a great eye. If you ever wanted to move away from that desk out front, you have plenty of potential elsewhere in my department, you know.” Nate gestured. “Please…”
Rose’s eyes lit up at the compliment. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” She focused her attention on the costume stills, absently twirling a strand of hair around her finger—she’d been various shades of blonde the entire time Nate had known her, but had settled on a rich honey shade of late, and it suited her. “Huh.”
Nate pounced, eager to hear the young woman’s ideas. “Got something?”
“Maybe…I mean…” She stepped closer and nodded decisively. “Can I be blunt?”
“Are you kidding? Blunt and I get along famously. Let me have it.”
Rose faced Nate and squared her shoulders. “His pants aren’t tight enough.”
Nate’s eyebrow shot up of its own volition, and she snapped her gaze to the photos.
That’s the ticket.
“I’m curious. What made you draw that conclusion?” she asked Rose, intrigued.
Rose’s eyes widened slightly, registering both surprise and pride, as if she wasn’t used to being asked her opinion. That was a damn shame. Nate gave her secretary an encouraging smile.
“It’s all about the visual cues we give, right?” Rose responded. “When you were talking about the script the other day, you said it’s a satire. Mostly about how inept Mr. Bradley’s character is as a pirate. None of his foils can understand why he’s got all the power and women fall at his feet. But it all hinges on how much you can get away with when you look the part.”
Nate smiled at her insight. “That’s exactly it. And for the first few scenes, the audience isn’t in on his incompetency. Just when they’re starting to fall under his spell, they’re hit with precisely what a jackass he is.”
“And the more visually stunning he is from the get-go,” Rose agreed, “the more jarring it’ll be. Hence…”
“The pants need to be tighter.” The two women grinned at each other. “Rose, you’ve got great instincts.”
“Thanks.” She looked back at Nick’s photos. “Do you think Ms. Ashford will mind?”
“That we’re effectively turning her husband into a bigger piece of meat? Nah, she knows that about him already.” Nate winked. “And knowing Nick, he’ll agree wholeheartedly too.”
Rose laughed. “Well, I should get back to my desk. Anything else you need?”
“No, thanks.” Nate gestured to the wall. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“You would’ve gotten there yourself. I just came along with fresh eyes.”
“Well, thank you and your fresh eyes just the same.”
Rose turned to go, but as she passed Nate’s big, ash-gray desk, she paused. She reached out a finger to the object that snagged her notice, stopping just shy of touching it.
“I still think it’s awfully nifty that your husband got Joe DiMaggio to sign this for you.” She raised her head, uncharacteristically reticent. “Sorry, you’re probably sick of hearing me say that.”
Nate tried to ignore the clump of lead that settled in the pit of her stomach. Forcing a smile, she responded, “Not at all. It is a pretty nifty thing.”
“Yeah.” Rose sighed. “Well, see you later.” She headed off with a wave.
Nate wandered over to the desk and picked up the weathered-looking baseball, emblazoned with the signature of America’s favorite Yankee.
Or so everyone thought.
She usually kept the ball and its little stand on the back shelf under her sizable window, framing a picturesque vista of the studio. But things had been so hectic of late that the sketches overflowing from her drafting table had overtaken the shelf as well. After knocking it over several times, Nate relocated the baseball to a corner of her desk, but she really needed to move it back. It attracted more attention in its current spot, and the last thing she needed was anyone examining it too closely.
And drawing the correct conclusion that she was the one who’d signed it, not DiMaggio.
Not that she wasn’t proud of her accomplishment. It was a pretty good forgery, if she did say so herself. After picking up a brand-new, blindingly white baseball at Sears, she’d spent the better part of an afternoon beating it up and applying multiple coats of shoe polish and fake dirt from her costume kit. Once it looked sufficiently filthy, she’d taken a marker and added the signature she’d studied for days. The result appeared rather convincing. Especially from a few feet away.
