Freevibe and HarperCollins are excited to bring you an exclusive excerpt from the new movie-turned-book, Win A Date with Tad Hamilton!

What is this book about?

Movie star Tad Hamilton has a bad-boy image he needs to clean up. Luckily his agent cooks up a brilliant scheme to change all that -- a contest where any girl in the country can win a date with the big-screen idol.

Rosalee Futch, grocery store clerk at a Piggly Wiggly in rural West Virginia, has always dreamed of meeting Tad Hamilton. When she wins the date, she gets to spend one fabulous evening with him, and that should be the end of it. But Tad enjoys his taste of "the real world" so much he decides to move to West Virginia to be near Rosalee, much to the chagrin of her best friend and coworker, Pete. Now Rosalee has to choose between the movie star who can offer her a life of Hollywood glamour and the best friend who's been deeply, hopelessly in love with her since sixth grade.

Chapter One

Stop the car! Stop the car and get out and run to her!

Rosalee Futch was completely enraptured as she stared at the Rialto Theater’s movie screen. Two cars were pulled over on the side of a country road, on a cloudless, moonlit night. The two people driving them had been in love once—they were still in love. But they’d been separated, and Rosalee wanted them to get back together. It was amazing how she could get sucked into a Tad Hamilton movie so intensely. Tad was playing a handsome young Army lieutenant named Danny. He stepped out of the car and looked back at Betty—his long-lost love—as she got out of her car, too, leaving the door open. The car radio played a romantic Billie Holiday song that Rosalee couldn’t quite place. Tad Hamilton looked good in a military uniform, Rosalee thought. Just like he looked good in anything—no, everything—else. “Hello, Betty,” he said now. His voice was strong, but his eyes betrayed his emotional state. He was in pain—deep, personal pain—over this woman, over this relationship. “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital, looking after a certain other soldier?” The audience at the only theater in Fraziers Bottom, West Virginia, was completely silent, everyone waiting for Betty’s reaction. Beside Rosalee, her friend Cathy Feely was staring at the screen with wide eyes. “I was afraid I wouldn’t find you...afraid I’d never see you again,” Betty confessed. “I thought we decided that’s the way it has to be,” Danny said. “I thought we’d said our last good-bye.” “Yeah, right,” Pete Monash scoffed from the seat on the other side of Rosalee. “Shh!” she whispered. It was just like Pete to ruin the most romantic film scene ever. “Quiet!” Cathy added. On the screen, Betty looked at Danny, who was still keeping his distance. “Danny, I won’t say I’m sorry. I won’t say I was wrong,” she said. “I won’t say that you’re the only man I’ve ever loved or ever will love. I won’t say that my entire life, leading up to this moment, has been nothing but prelude. All I’ll say is that this is my favorite song.”

There was a long, torturous pause, and then Danny grinned, and extended his hand toward her, inviting her to dance. Then Betty smiled, and the two of them ran toward each other, kissed like crazy, and then fell into the dance of a lifetime. Rosalee brushed a tear from her cheek as the credits began to roll. Tad Hamilton’s name was listed first. At the sight of it, half the people in the audience burst into cheers and applause—Cathy and Rosalee the loudest among them. Rosalee couldn’t believe it, but she liked this Tad Hamilton movie even better than his last one—if that was possible. Of course, Rosalee knew that she was a sucker for romantic movies and tearjerker endings to those movies. That was a given when it came to Tad Hamilton.

“Okay, you’re not going to tell me that you two are seriously buying that ending?” Pete asked. He was one of Rosalee’s best friends—they’d known each other practically since birth. But that didn’t mean he understood why Rosalee and Cathy were so crazy about Tad Hamilton. To him, Tad Hamilton was just another actor. By this time, Cathy and Rosalee were sobbing uncontrollably along with the rest of the audience. “Oh, I see. You can relate to it, because that kind of thing happens all the time here in Fraziers Bottom,” Pete continued. Rosalee wiped her tears and glared at him. Cathy also ignored Pete’s comments and turned to Rosalee. “Do you think Tad Hamilton is as good and decent a person in real life as he is on the screen?” “Absolutely,” Rosalee replied. “You can’t fake that kind of humanity.” Pete let his head fall back onto the seat, disgusted with the two of them. “What do you suppose Tad Hamilton is doing right now?” Cathy asked. Rosalee considered for a moment. “I bet he’s in church.”

Tad Hamilton morosely crunched a celery stick. Here he was, at Le Petit Four, one of the best restaurants in Los Angeles, eating celery with drops of rice vinegar because he had to look good. They were sitting outdoors and he didn’t want some tabloid reporter calling in a story about how Tad Hamilton was seen eating a giant steak, and what that might mean about him and his future prospects. He was out of work right now, which meant he couldn’t be packing on the pounds. He had to stay in top shape. He had to be ready to take on the role of a lifetime. Even though no one was offering that right now. He had to be the only actor in Hollywood whose agent and manager had the exact same name—Richard Levy. His agent worked very hard for him, and he was driven in a way that usually got Tad work. Usually, but not lately. And his manager, the other Richard Levy? He was obnoxious and pushy, no doubt about it. He never stopped thinking about whether Tad was earning money, because if Tad was, then he was, too. And if Tad wasn’t, like now? His manager was getting anxious about it. And so was Tad. It didn’t matter that he’d had a tremendous date the night before, with a gorgeous girl. It didn’t matter that he could still get by on his looks and his reputation—could count on them to get any girl he wanted. “And then she left?” Richard Levy, his agent, asked after Tad stopped telling the story of his latest conquest. “Just in time for Laker Fourth Quarter Replay,” Tad said. “One night. I want to be you for one night,” his manager, Richard Levy, commented wistfully. “You might not enjoy it as much as you think,” Tad said. “And I want one girl like that. One time in my life,” his manager Richard said. Tad’s agent cleared his throat and tapped the table in front of him. “Can we talk about work for a second?” But his manager wouldn’t stop talking about Tad’s night. “You realize that, DNA-wise, there’s really very little difference between you and me, right? And yet you...live like a pharaoh.” “No, I don’t,” Tad said. “A pharaoh could get whatever part in whatever movie he wanted.” Tad hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself, to anyone, but he did feel as if he were in a bit of a slump. He hadn’t gotten a good script to look at in months. “Well, you don’t make it easy on us, Tad,” his agent commented. This was the first time Tad had heard this. “What are you talking about?” Tad’s agent pulled a piece of paper out of a folder. It was a somewhat grainy color photo and looked like it had been printed off the Internet. “This is the shot the paparazzi got.”

Tad stared at the photograph, a rough image printed from a Web site that was notorious for capturing celebrities at their worst. The picture showed him in his car, behind the wheel of his Porsche 911 Carrera convertible. Was he driving? I shouldn’t have been, he thought. In the picture, he had a cigarette and a bottle of liquor in one hand, and the other hand on his date from last night. “Congratulations,” his agent said. “You’re actually drinking, driving, smoking, leering, and groping at the same time.” He cast a critical look at Tad. “Which is, on the one hand, just about the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” his manager said, “and I want you to tell me exactly how you did everything, and in what order—” “Richard!” his agent interrupted. “But on the other hand, something like this can be a little bad for the image.” “‘A little bad?’” his agent scoffed. “It couldn’t get much worse.”

Tad looked at the photo again. Sure, it was bad. But was it that bad? The girl he’d been with was extremely hot. Wasn’t that good for his image? His manager made a tsk noise. “Every time you have an episode like this, people clock it, and, the world being the prissy, narrow-minded place that it is, it hurts you,” he said. Tad’s agent tapped the photograph with his finger. “You play characters who have heart. This is a person who will have a heart attack.” “If you want, we can get you some kind of action movie, maybe,” his manager suggested. “Or a romantic comedy opposite whatever Gilmore Girl is lying around,” his agent offered. “But in terms of quality films…” His manager looked uncomfortable as he shifted in his chair. Tad had heard enough. How was this all his fault? “I can’t believe you’re blaming my unemployment on that photograph!” Tad complained. He had a body of work that was very impressive—hadn’t he won a few opening weekend battles in his life? Why couldn’t anyone remember that. Why didn’t anyone think of that, instead of this stupid picture? His agent cleared his throat. “Okay, first of all, ‘unemployment’ is a strong word. You are not ‘unemployed.’ Dockworkers are unemployed. You are simply ‘between million-dollar paydays.’” “As are we, since we live off a percentage of your paydays.” His manager bit his lip when Tad glared at him. “But this is not about us.” “I feel like an unemployed dockworker,” Tad confessed. “I feel aimless. Lost.” “Yes, but unlike him you can cheer yourself up by buying an island or something,” his agent pointed out. “Now, believe me, Tad, no one wants to get you into the next gig more than the two of us.”

His manager set down his empty glass. “I have shrink bills that would suck the air right out of your lungs.” Richard the agent glared at Richard the manager. “And not just for our own financial reasons,” he said pointedly, “but also because we would like to help you avoid the usual period of temporary insanity that strikes when you are between jobs.” “I am not temporarily insane,” Tad protested. But as he said that, he noticed a freckle on his arm that seemed suspiciously to have changed in size and shape. “Is this mole raised?” he asked, holding up his arm for them to examine. Maybe he should visit a doctor. “Where’s our check?” “‘Okay,’ ‘no,’ and ‘on its way.’” His manager quickly signaled the waiter to bring them the check. Tad couldn’t believe this drought he was going through. Wasn’t there anything out there for him? Suddenly he remembered a recent meeting. “What about that part in the Jimmy Ing movie? I’m perfect for that. I met with the guy. I sang for my supper. I complimented him on his friggin’ Dutch Partridge Hound.” “Well,” his agent said slowly. “He’s taking a breath.” “He’s what?” Tad asked, not understanding. “He’s taking a breath. He’s hemming and he’s hawing. He’s pausing before deciding,” his agent explained. “He’s hemming and hawing and pausing and taking a breath.” It all sounded vaguely insulting to Tad. Why couldn’t Jimmy Ing see that he was exactly the right actor for the part? Why did he have to think about it? “Well, that’s very bad. I don’t want him breathing,” Tad said. “This is my point. Six months ago, he never would’ve breathed. He would’ve staggered up to you, completely unoxygenated, and begged you to take the part.” Richard the agent held up the photo. “And this is only going to make him breathe more.” So maybe his agent and manager had a point. Tad could see that his image had taken a bit of a swan dive lately. “Well, what do we do?” “We figure out a way to asphyxiate him,” his agent said. “No.” His manager shook his head. “We generate a little positive p.r.” Richard the agent glared at him. “What are you, an interpreter now?” “I’m just saying, we need to do something, Tad, to remind Jimmy Ing, and America, that you are the boy next door.” “I am the boy next door!” Tad insisted. “I mean, I used to be the boy next door. Until I moved, and I became the boy from down the block and across the alley, where the screwed-up people live,” he said glumly. His agent nodded. “I got you. You’re torturing the metaphor, but I got you.” “Yes—we’re on the same page,” his manager said. “So how do we make me back into the boy next door?” Tad asked. “I mean, is there a plan you want to share with me?” His agent nodded, and a wide smile broke out across his face. At the same time, his manager picked up the check and frowned. “Oh, yeah, there’s a plan,” his agent said. “Listen to this.”

Win a Date with Tad Hamilton! TM & © DreamWorks L.L.C. Original key art by The Ant Farm/David Sameth for DreamWorks All rights reserved. HarperCollins Publishers

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