Read Online The Berkeley Method by J. S. Taylor - Free Book Online Page A

“But you get the odd one which is dangerous.” His mouth is set in a hard grim line.
    I feel a spasm of fear hit my belly. For some reason I think there’s something James isn’t telling me.
    “Does Natalie have a stalker?” I ask, feeling an uneasy sensation creep around my hairline.
    “Natalie has three very mild-mannered stalkers,” says James, his tone light again. “But they’re not dedicated or wealthy enough to fly out from LA, so she won’t be troubled by them here.”
    We drive on in silence, and I have the distinct feeling that something is not quite right.
    I am soon distracted by the studio itself, however. Now that we’ve passed the ominous security gates, we’ve passed into what looks like a little town. Buildings of various sizes line the main through-road, and we pass by a petrol garage and a huge gym.
    “Is that for the actors?” I ask, turning back to stare out of the window.
    James nods. “I’ll take you on a tour later. There’s everything a modern actor could want. The gym has a pool, sauna, hot-tubs. And there is also a spa which gets a lot of use. We even have our own hairdressers here,” he adds, “though some actors prefer to bring their own.”
    No prizes for guessing which actors , I think, remembering that Natalie has a list of diva demands.
    “Everything in the complex is free of charge to the actors,” adds James. “You’ll get a card which lets you use any service you like. There’s a beauty salon where you can get facials and manicures, and that kind of thing.” He turns to give me a little smile. “Girly stuff. There’s also a mall of sorts.”
    “For shopping?” I’m incredulous. I had no idea a movie studio came with so many facilities.
    “Don’t get your expectations up,” says James. “It’s a very small collection of shops. Most of the cast prefer to shop in London.”
    Still. A mall with unlimited store credit sounds like fun.
    “What else is there?” I ask, staring out of the window as more buildings pass by. We turn and pass a parking lot filled with every kind of vintage and prestige car you could think of. For use in movies, I assume.
    “There’s a restaurant,” says James, “in case you get bored of the food on set, and a bar. And some good-sized gardens which are nice to walk in when they’re not being used for filming. I might take you there one evening,” he adds, throwing me a mischievous glance. I realise he’s not thinking about walking, and I turn away, blushing.
    “There is also a ballroom,” he says. “You could show me the Spanish dancing which your mother tells me you are so talented at.”
    I couldn’t have him see that side of me. Not all that pain and sadness.
    “It’s more of a private thing,” I say, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.
    He raises an eyebrow in question. “It won you a place at the best drama college in the country,” he says. “It must be quite some ability you have.”
    “I just dance for myself nowadays,” I say. “I was a kid when I won my audition. It feels too self-conscious to dance like that in front of other people now. All that emotion.” I force a little laugh.
    James looks like he’s understood more from this than I want him to. But he doesn’t press the subject.
    “We also have a small movie theatre where you can request films,” he says. “And a stable of horses for filming, which some of the actors like to ride recreationally.”
    “Anything else?” I ask mockingly. “Is there somewhere for actors to fly their private jets? Or a pampering parlour for their lapdogs?”
    “We do have a small helipad,” says James, his mouth twitching. “And actors could request facilities for their pets, although it’s never been required.”
    He thinks for a moment.
    I shake my head at him, laughing. “Is this normal for a studio?”
    He gives that little mouth twitch again. “That depends on what you mean by normal,” he says. “Certainly, my studios are well appointed compared to