"Writing became such a process of discovery that I couldn't wait to get to work in the morning: I wanted to know what I was going to say." ~Sharon O'Brien
Ah...I finally had a chance to get back to working on One Night in Napa yesterday. And I thought, since I'm pretty happy with the way the plot is progressing (for a first draft anyway), I'd share my hero and heroine with you. Now, be prepared: they're in their first stage, of course. But they're developing minds of their own, which is always a good thing, so I thought I'd spring them on the blogging world this Monday morning.
Without further adieu, I present to you...Grant and Kira(the first time we meet both of them). Hope you enjoy!
Grant Walker knew it was going to be a long day when he woke up and couldn’t remember the name of the woman lying beside him. His head throbbed. His stomach roiled. Late morning sun slanted across his face, and he squinted. Ran one hand over his stubbled jaw. Rolled over and stared at a digital clock he didn’t recognize.
Then he heard the sound again: his cell phone, beeping with a message unanswered. He groaned.
“Babe?” A manicured hand snaked out from the covers and caressed his bare chest. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He slipped from the satin sheets, planted one foot on a throw rug, and ended up on his ass next to the bed.
He swore under his breath and pulled himself up. Naked, he searched the bedroom until he found the golf shirt and shorts he remembered wearing the night before. Shots of tequila, he recalled. And a blonde at the end of the bar, with a gorgeous rack and pouty lips, who wouldn’t stop staring at him. His two vices, served up neatly at Mick’s, the local bar conveniently located at the end of his block.
Grant glanced out a window swathed in pink gauze curtains. He had no idea where he was now. Clothed, he palmed his cell and checked his voice mail. And then was sorry.
“Grant? Where are you? It’s past nine.” His father’s clipped voice, cool and disapproving, sliced across the phone line.
“Shit.” He clasped his watch and glanced at the body still lying under the covers a few feet away. A perfect body too, as he recalled, all curves and soft spots and sweet smells. For a moment, he considered tossing the phone out the nearest window, stripping down, and spending the rest of the day rediscovering the places he’d visited last night...
Traffic noise outside her bedroom woke Kira March from a fitful rest. She rolled over and pushed her face into the pillow. She’d gotten what, four hours of sleep? Maybe less. They’d finished editing the final scene of Scott’s indie film sometime close to dawn. The last thing she remembered was the sun breaking over the Sierra Buttes outside the warehouse’s dusty windows.
Nonstop work for almost a month. Writing, filming, cutting, editing, all in a mad blur to get ready for the upcoming film festival. Kira yawned as a siren wailed. But it would be worth it. Scott Chapin was a film genius, as far as she was concerned. Brilliant vision, brilliant technique. She’d been lucky to find him in the tiny town of Yuba City. Or fated.
Thought I was moving here to get away. The notion wriggled its way into her mind, the way it had so many times before. Yet one hundred miles from home, she’d run right into someone who made it impossible for her to forget her former life. Kira ignored the irony.
Someone knocked on her door, and a blur moved inside. “You up?”
Kira reached for her glasses, and the blur’s edges sharpened into her roommate Ayasha. “Depends on what you mean by up. Barely awake, yes. Functional, no.”
Ayasha pulled at the long black braid that hung over one shoulder. “I started some coffee.”
“Drank about a gallon of it last night.” In fact, Kira could still feel it sloshing around her stomach, and she’d be lucky if the lining of her organ wasn’t beginning to peel itself into pieces. Should really try to cut it down to a few cups a day.
Ayasha sank onto the overstuffed, purple velour chair in the corner or Kira’s room. Her eyes brightened. “So did you finish it?”
Kira nodded. She pulled her glasses off again and rubbed at her eyes. Her fingers came away black with mascara.
Ayasha spun the silver rings on her fingers. “Is it amazing? Is it going to win?”
She shrugged. Sphinx was the best thing she’d worked on so far. She’d known it would be, from the moment she read the script over two years ago. But would it win any awards at next month’s festival? Who the hell knew. Too much relied on favoritism, and on who was due. Who’d put in their time. And who was new and sexy on the scene and would pull in the votes because it meant a cover shot on People.
Kira knew that better than anyone. She’d grown up in the business, though by birth and not by choice. No way. Yet while she’d vacillated over the years, at first loving and then loathing the spotlight, she had to admit that the film industry was so deeply rooted in her, she couldn’t imagine life without it...