Consider This a Warning

"That bitch."

Naomi muttered the words, took off her sunglasses, and released Fendi, who had been trying to climb toward Evan. Then she sat up.

"I know I shouldn't let this get to me. But I see these things and I can't help it."

"Hey. You know they're writing this stuff to sell papers."

He sat beside her and glanced at her stomach, his expression softening. He had been trying to be careful with her lately, to avoid giving her another reason to worry.

Fendi licked his hand enthusiastically. The old golden retriever spent most of his days with Naomi. Since the other dog had died, he seemed especially reluctant to be left alone.

The vet had warned them that Fendi was very old and probably didn't have much time. One day he might simply fail to wake up, just as his brother had. In a way, Naomi was keeping him company on Evan's behalf.

"Where did you get all these?"

He stroked the dog with one hand and picked up a paper with the other.

"No. I promised I wouldn't say."

"You don't have to. One of the gardeners or the security staff is a fan of yours. Forget I asked."

Not all the papers were obscure tabloids. Two belonged to larger entertainment outlets, including the Los Angeles Daily Entertainment in his hand.

The article stopped short of claiming a confirmed relationship. It speculated that he and Halle might be seeing each other again. Beside a photograph taken from just the right angle, the distinction was easy to miss.

Celebrity gossip had an audience. That was why the papers kept printing it. The more famous the people involved, the greater the curiosity. There was nothing uniquely American about that.

"Sergey will bring me to the studio tomorrow, then come back to take you to your appointment. Or should I have a small examination room put in here?"

He dropped the paper onto the table and turned toward her.

"We're auditioning the female lead tomorrow. I can't go with you."

"I can drive myself. All right, I can see your face. Forget I said it."

She rolled her eyes. For the moment, she seemed willing to forget the photographs too.

"And don't start converting the house into a clinic. The hospital isn't far away. Evan, what about calling the baby Fendi? He keeps us company every day. He's much more reliable than you are."

Evan stared at her. Naming the baby after the dog was not a suggestion he had expected, and it was certainly not one he intended to accept.

He understood that she meant it as a tribute. To Naomi, the name would preserve someone they loved. In principle, it wasn't so different from naming a child after another member of the family.

"Let's not decide yet. We could at least wait until we know whether it's a boy or a girl."

He hoped she would forget the idea before then.

He loved both dogs and had always treated them as family. But the Eastern customs of his previous life still shaped his instincts. However thoroughly he had adapted to life in the West, he couldn't accept giving his child the dog's name.

After all these years here, he still encountered customs he couldn't quite accept. Living with those differences hadn't erased them.

Even the way names ran through families could strike him as surprisingly casual: a grandfather named Max, a father named Max Junior, a grandson named Max the Third. Or Big Max and Little Max. He had come across it often enough.

Early the next morning, he was back at the studio, working on storyboards, the shooting schedule, and camera positions while he waited for the auditions to begin.

"Mark Wahlberg, and Martin Sheen, the one we just saw. Have Hector speak to both their agents when he gets back tomorrow."

The last male actor had left. Evan pulled out the two resumes and set them aside for Schwartz.

With casting nearly complete, Schwartz would move into his next job as second assistant director and stay with the film through the shoot.

"I'll remind him."

Schwartz collected the resumes. Neither supporting part should require a huge fee. Both actors wanted the project, and he didn't expect their representatives to price them out of it. Hector should have a relatively straightforward negotiation.

Evan rubbed his forehead, lit a cigarette, and settled behind the camera again.

"That leaves the psychiatrist. Let's get started."

In a nearby waiting room, Jennifer Connelly carefully checked her light makeup in the mirror. At an audition this important, she preferred to handle it herself rather than trust someone she didn't know.

Casting sessions were among the most competitive places in Hollywood. Everyone wanted the same job, and not everyone played fair. Underhanded tactics could matter as much as the reading itself; Jennifer wasn't about to trust her makeup to a stranger.

Behind her, her agent Nia continued talking.

"Make the most of this, Jennifer. If you can impress Rosenberg and get the part, it could save you years. You've seen the reporters outside. His films get attention before anyone knows what they're about."

"I know how important it is."

Jennifer didn't turn around until she was satisfied that her makeup looked natural.

She had worked since childhood and rarely lacked offers. Her work in the 1994 film Of Love and Shadows had earned praise, but, as she saw it, that praise had done little for her career. It hadn't brought the awards recognition or higher fees she had hoped for.

Then a connection had helped her secure this audition.

By now, the industry understood the attraction of an Evan Rosenberg film. The upfront pay might be modest, but the visibility could change an actor's prospects almost overnight.

Jennifer and her representatives had studied this project in particular. The Departed might offer more than publicity. It might take her to the Oscars. For someone caught between recognition and genuine stardom, that was difficult to resist.

"I'm still keeping the Mulholland Falls offer open," Nia said. "Let's see what happens here. If you get this, I'll find a way to decline the other picture."

Someone knocked.

"Ms. Connelly? You're nearly up. Come over to the audition room when you're ready."

"All right. We'll talk afterward."

Jennifer stood and straightened her clothes.

"How do I look? Anything wrong?"

"No. You're ready."

Nia opened the door and accompanied her down the hall. Evan had a reputation for favoring beautiful women, and she was counting on her client's looks to give her an advantage. A favorable first impression might make him more receptive.

Inside the audition room, the second actress had finished. She stood watching Evan, waiting for his reaction.

"Cami, this part isn't right for you. It's not a good match for what you naturally bring to a scene."

It was the first thing he had said since Cameron Diaz entered, and it was an unequivocal rejection.

"And tell your agent not to use my name to get around the casting process again. If she does, she can deal with the consequences. Look at me. Is that clear?"

Schwartz, prop master Wicks Hart, and two casting assistants were all in the room. Evan made no effort to soften the warning for their benefit.

Cameron's eager smile had disappeared. She stood uncertainly in front of him.

He sighed. The warning was necessary. If she could use his name to slip into this round of auditions, what would her representative try next?

Cameron hadn't been on the original invitation list. To him, her lively, provocative screen presence was quite wrong for the quiet warmth he wanted from the psychiatrist. Giving her an audition couldn't change that.

She bit her lip and nodded, struggling to hide her embarrassment.

"Yes. I understand."

"Next time you need something, ask me directly. Don't try to work around me. You can go."

That last remark earned him a strained smile. Cameron left with her head down. At least she knew he hadn't written her off altogether. This was a warning, not the end of their acquaintance.