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Finally exiting the freeway, she drove the short distance to the gate of the studio parking lot, and was waved forward by the guard. Everyone knew Emma Hartman. Growing up she’d been at her famous father’s side constantly, and was now in the spotlight dating equally famous actors. The most recent was a dashing Italian named Angelo Frattiano.
Rolling into a parking space and finding her hairbrush at the bottom of her bag, she managed to untangle the knots, then applied fresh lipgloss. With her long, shimmering blonde hair, and wearing a white, sleeveless, tight-fitting sundress and high-heeled sandals, she turned heads as she strode across to the commissary. A young man whose only job was to open and close the heavy, tinted glass door, held it for her as she walked in. The tall, elegant hostess standing behind a podium stepped forward to greet her.
“Miss Hartman, your father is already here. This way please.”
She could feel the admiring glances, but used to the attention she paid it little mind.
“Hi, dad,” she said, pecking him on the cheek before sitting down.
Classically handsome, Justin Hartman had started his career as an actor, but quickly moved behind the camera. Married and divorced twice, he had three children. Emma was his only daughter, the result of a short marriage to his second wife, a celebrated actress. Now happily single, he lived in a large home inside a gated community above Westwood.
“Hi, honey. How does it feel to be finished with school?”
“Fantastic, but I think I might miss it. How can I not after four years?”
“I’m very proud of you,” Justin said earnestly. “I know it’s only the middle of the day and we’re going out tonight to celebrate, but I think this calls for a glass of champagne. Just you and me.”
“Yes, just you and me,” she said with a smile, fighting an unexpected wave of emotion.
Emma had always felt it was just the two of them. Though her mother lived nearby in a gorgeous home in Beverly Hills, most of the time she was filming on location or vacationing somewhere exotic. Emma had grown up with her father and a parade of nannies. When her mother did appear, it was usually unannounced, sweeping in with a multitude of gifts, then leaving just as quickly.
Justin signaled to the waiter, ordered the drinks, then opened his battle-worn, leather satchel. He called it Ralph. It had been at his side since he’d left college decades before, and Emma adored it. He would often return home and announce,Ralph has something special for you,then with a flourish, he’d unbuckle the straps, lift open the flap, and present her with something wonderful. When she’d started Cinema Studies University he’d presented her with a similar bag from Gucci. She had named it Ralph, Jr., and intended to follow her father’s example if she ever had children.
“What does Ralph have for me today?” she asked eagerly. “Something terrific as always?”
“Not an offer, but an interview. It just came in.”
“Really? Tell me!” she said enthusiastically, hoping Zach had left feeling guilty and raced back to Continental to send her father a quick note.
“It’s from Gregory Rosenthal at Paramount. He’s starting a division of his production company focusing on—”
“Dad, sorry to interrupt, but I don’t want to work at Paramount.”
“Because?”
“I’d have to move. I can’t drive from Venice into Hollywood every day, and besides, I don’t want to be in a startup.”
“Getting in on the ground floor will give you a chance to grow as the company does.”
“Assuming it’s successful, and how many are? But I won’t live in Hollywood. I know there are some beautiful areas there, Hancock Park is gorgeous, but I want to stay near the beach. Sorry, dad.”
“I understand. You’ve always loved the sand and sea. Let’s take a look at the others.”
“You know my heart is in development and production. Finding great scripts and bringing them to life is where my passion lies. I can’t write to save my life, but I have an instinct for knowing when something is good.”
“That’s for sure. I owe an Oscar to you for The Boy In The Woods.”
“Yes, you do,” she exclaimed with a wide grin. “That was such a thrill.”
The script had been one of dozens piled up in his office. Intrigued by the title, Emma had taken it home and read it overnight. Over breakfast she’d told him how much she liked it, made some suggestions, and insisted he read it himself. He had listened to her, and ultimately the film was made, became a huge hit, and won several Academy Awards.
“Working at Continental is still my first choice,” she said casually. “It’s close to where I live, and they’re on a roll. Did Jerry get back to you yet?”
“I’m sure he will soon. Zach Taylor is the Head of Development for features over there, but I don’t know who’s leading the television department. Cable would be an excellent starting point for you. But don’t worry, Jerry will get back to me. Ah, excellent, here comes our champagne.”
The waiter placed the crystal champagne flutes on the table, and as they clinked glasses, he grinned across at her.
“To my beautiful, smart, opinionated, marvelous daughter, may your hard work and dedication bear the sweetest of fruit, hopefully at Continental Pictures.”
