‘Santa Ana Winds?’ I ask, following her through the door and trying very hard to make conversation like a normal person. ‘T-they talked about those in one of my favourite films: The Holiday. I forgot you guys have s-specific, named winds here. In the UK, wind is just, uh, wind.’
‘The Santa Ana Winds are a katabatic wind,’ Kennedy says knowledgeably. ‘They’re formed from high-pressure air masses coming in from the great basin.’
‘Ah,’ I reply, nodding. Why does Kennedy know so much about wind? And what the hell does any of that actually mean?
‘The Santa Anas are a pain in the ass of every Angeleno. They cause flues and wildfires,’ she continues as she carries my case through a Spanish-tiled hallway, occasionally looking back at me as she talks. ‘Also, crazy things happen when they’re in town. Mystical, magical, strange and weird things. You came at the right time to meet this guy! Last year, during a Santa Ana wind spell I was so horny that I slept with Erin, this woman I work with who I actually kind of despise. She’s hot, but she’s an awful human. She’s actually kinda my work nemesis. But those dastardly magical devil winds. We were both working at the office late and I couldn’t help myself.’
Magical devil winds? Windchime recording doorbells? And Imogene says I’m not quite in touch with reality?
Kennedy pushes open a set of white wooden double doors and holds out her perfect arm to present what looks to be a perfect home.
‘Here’s the living room!’ she says brightly, plonking down my suitcase and demonstrating the space like an assistant on a gameshow.
I spin around, taking it all in. It’s bloody gorgeous and much bigger than she made out over her forum messages. The floor is a scrubbed white painted floorboard almost entirely covered in a pale blue threadbare Persian rug. There are three small colourful ukuleles hanging on the wall, two plump cream sofas facing each other and a driftwood coffee table in the middle of them, topped with a few chunky white candles and a burning incense stick that smells like jasmine and roses.
Kennedy catches me sniffing the air. ‘Isn’t it just gorgeous?’ She points to the open stairway on the left of the room. ‘Brandon’s in bed, so it’s the only time I’m allowed to burn my sticks. He hates the smell. Says it reminds him of musty old thrift stores, which he also dislikes. You’ll meet him tomorrow if you’re up before he goes to work. He’s usually pretty busy, so don’t be offended if he doesn’t roll out the proverbial red carpet to give you the royal welcome. Royal, geddit? Like Harcourt Royals. Ha ha! Sorry. I’m a bit overexcited to have you here.’
I can’t help but laugh. Kennedy looks like an actress on a glossy Netflix teen soap, but I can see that deep-down she’s just as dweeby as she seems online, if not more.
‘Brandon’s happy for you to be here too, I promise!’ Kennedy continues. ‘He’s just, well, he can come across as a little surly, you know? He’s going through a heartbreak and his head’s up his ass. But when he warms up, he’s a sweetie, I promise.’
‘That’s cool,’ I shrug, looking off to the stairway and making a note to hide in my room in the morning so that I can put off meeting this surly man for as long as possible. Encountering cheerful, friendly people like Kennedy is intense enough! ‘You play?’ I ask, pointing at the ukuleles on the wall.
‘God no. I just like the way they look. I can play the trumpet, though. I was a total band geek in high school.
‘Like Bastian in Harcourt Royals!’
Kennedy nods. ‘Right! Yes. Good old Bastian.’ She pulls me over to the end of the living room and dramatically swishes open a heavy cream curtain to reveal a double bed set up in front of a large floor-to-ceiling window, the outside so dark that all I can see is my slightly dazed-looking reflection. It’s more of a cordoned-off area than a room.
‘This is your room,’ she announces. ‘The curtains are super heavy: they’re practically like walls. Here, have a feel.’ She reaches over and picks up the curtain, miming and groaning as if it’s a real struggle to lift. I follow her lead and lift the curtain up. It is very heavy. Not a door, but it’s free and it’s pretty and an amazing kindness of Kennedy to let me stay here.
Kennedy proceeds to chirrup away brightly as she shows me the rest of the house, bar the mysterious Brandon’s room. The decor is all gorgeous, calming shades of cream, white and pale blue and natural materials like wicker and driftwood, which totally suits her serene, sunshiny vibe. It’s clear, from the big heavy lamps and artwork dotted about the place, that Kennedy makes a decent amount of money, or her brother does. It strikes me that I don’t even really know what she does for a living. I know it’s something in television, but that’s about it. We rarely talk about personal things on the forum.
I’m about to ask her what her job is when she grabs my hand like we are old friends and leads me to another set of double doors at the end of a narrow, but perfectly designed, kitchen and asks me a question with a very serious look on her face. ‘So… are you ready to take a look at my little Winklepuff?’
I flush red. Her little Winklepuff? What the hell is a… Oh! Of course. Her dog. The dog I’m looking after in exchange for my accommodation. The animal she thinks I am an expert on when I basically know nothing about dogs, beyond arguing with Imogene because she always wanted to watch Crufts on our shared childhood TV when I’d have much rather have been watching Gossip Girl.
I nod fervently at Kennedy like I expect a dog person would. ‘I can’t wait to meet… that little guy!’ I say, giving a thumbs up that is supposed to come across as enthusiastic and, I suspect, looks terrified.
Kennedy pushes open the double doors, exposing a small porch and a vast pitch-black, starry sky. I can hear the sound of waves crashing nearby and my heart does a little leap of excitement. And then, before I can consider anything else, I hear a low growl and a small tan and silver rat-like creature darts into the house, skids across the kitchen floor, jumps up and attaches itself to my leg like a koala bear. He’s growling and I have no clue whether he’s being amorous or intending to take a chunk out of my thigh, which, admittedly, has a fair amount of chunk to spare.
‘Winklepuff! Down!’ Kennedy calls out in a voice so exasperated, I get the impression she has commanded the same of this dog many many times before.
She nods quickly at me as if she’s waiting for me to work my dog expert knowledge on her little Winklepuff. Shit. I should have at least done some type of research on the plane. The only real dog knowledge I have is based on an episode of The Dog Whisperer Imogene made me watch with her a long long long time ago.
I cough awkwardly, holding my leg out in front of me as this very determined Yorkshire Terrier clings on for dear life and growls.
‘Uh, heel! Heeeeel,’ I eventually say in an attempt at a deep and authoritative voice. I sound like a pissed-off podiatrist.
Unsurprisingly, Winklepuff ignores the command and starts to nibble at my jeans instead. I mean, they’re pretty old jeans with raggedy edges but still! He is trying to eat them!
‘Heel, now!’ I say a little more loudly.
Nada.
Kennedy looks at me through narrowed eyes. I’m about to be busted. She’s going to figure out my stupid lie and send me packing. I’ll have messed this challenge up in under one hour, which would be embarrassing even for me, a master in messing shit up.
‘This command always works in England,’ I lie, my voice wobbling.
Kennedy nods. ‘Yeah, it must be something to do with the accent.’
‘Definitely,’ I agree. ‘Get off now, boy!’ I say to Winklepuff, trying my best not to freak out as the little git slowly starts to hump. Ew. This is so gross.
‘Hmmm… I’ll grab one of his toys,’ Kennedy suggests. ‘Maybe it will distract him!’
As soon as she’s gone up the stairs, I lean down to Winklepuff and plead with him desperately. ‘Please don’t ruin this for me! Just do as I say! Get down! Get off my leg. Heel. Heel now, boy.’
He clings on tightly and does another happy little growl.
&nb
sp; ‘Come oooooon!’ I beg, shaking my leg violently like I’ve just taken MDMA and fancy a spot of the Hokey Cokey. ‘Please, boy! If you just get down, I’ll give you some ham as soon I can get hold of some, or whatever meat substitute you vegan dogs eat.’
Winklepuff’s ears prick right up at the word ‘ham’. He looks me directly in the eyes and lets go of my leg, plopping softly down onto the rug. Looks like we have a deal.
‘Sit down,’ I command, just as Kennedy walks back in with his toy.
Winklepuff sits neatly, staring up at me in anticipation of, I expect, some upcoming ham.
Kennedy’s jaw drops. ‘You did it! He listened to you! I usually have to give him a stuffed animal. Wow.’
I try not to look too surprised and shrug my shoulders nonchalantly.
‘It’s all about, um, confidence,’ I blag. I picture the face of the dog whisperer. What did he keep talking about in that episode? Something about leaders. Alpha! That was it… ‘You have to let them know who is the, um, alpha,’ I add. ‘I am the alpha.’
Kennedy nods slowly, eyebrows slightly raised. I know exactly what she’s thinking. That the sweaty, meek-mannered, dazed as fuck woman declaring herself an alpha looks like the furthest thing from it. I know my vibe. Nerdy, vague, a listener rather than a talker, blushes at the mere idea of attention. Pretty much the opposite of an alpha.
Once Winklepuff is playing happily in the corner of the room with a stuffed elephant, patiently awaiting the ham I’m going to have to figure out how to get him tomorrow lest I break his trust, Kennedy offers me a chamomile tea. I accept gratefully.
While she measures out the chamomile from an actual bag of flowers rather than a teabag like I do, she casually explains to me that she works at a local TV station as a weather reporter.
‘Ah, so that’s why you’re called Sunshine Kennedy on the Crown Kissers forum,’ I say with a grin.
‘Exactly! Next week I’m interviewing to become a junior afternoon news anchor. Hence your help with Winklepuff is truly appreciated. I’m in the running against a few people, including Erin; you know, the nemesis I slept with?’ She rolls her eyes. ‘And she’s been there way longer than I have so I have a lot of practising to do before my initial screen test tomorrow.’
‘Wow. A news anchor! That sounds literally terrifying to me. Being watched by all of those people.’ I shudder at the thought. How did I ever spend all that time singing on stage without puking in fear?
Kennedy laughs out loud and shrugs a shoulder. ‘I’ve been presenting the weather for five years now, so nerves are a distant memory. My mom read news for a local station in Ohio, where I grew up. She always wanted to be the next Katie Couric before she had Brandon and I. She “strongly encouraged” me to major in Journalism at Northwestern, so she’s super invested. God, she’s so excited, she’s been calling every day to discuss current events and politics with me in preparation.’
I ignore the envious heart dip that occurs whenever anyone talks about their parents. ‘It sounds like a dream job for you,’ I say.
Kennedy’s smile falters for the briefest of milliseconds, so brief I wonder if I imagined it, before she says, ‘It’s an exciting opportunity, that’s for sure!’
We carry our mugs through to the living room and sit down.
‘How long are you staying for?’ Kennedy asks. ‘You can stay for as long as you like, you know? Don’t mind Brandon. He’ll object probably, but he doesn’t mean it. Like I said, he got dumped recently, so he’s in a weird place, bless his heart. Besides, he’s always at work or up in his room writing.’
‘Writing?’
‘Oh, I think he’s writing a screenplay or something? He’s always holed up in there tapping away. Anyway, don’t worry about him. He’ll soon warm up. Just know that you are very welcome here.’
‘That’s really kind of you, thank you. My flight home is in two weeks. I hope that’ll be enough time to figure out this whole Gary thing.’
Kennedy splutters her Chamomile tea, a little of it dripping off her chin. ‘Your dream guy is called Gary? That’s a plot twist.’
I sit up straighter. ‘I know! It’s not a typical romantic hero name. He looks more like a Maverick or a Jonny or, well, a Bastian.’
‘Gary or not, he must be fucking hot if you’ve come all this way to hook up with him. Have you got his picture?’
I think of the hundreds of Google images I’ve scrolled through. ‘Not on me,’ I say faux-sadly.
Kennedy does not seem sceptical of this, considering that it is pretty much possible, these days, to get a picture of every person on earth within five seconds.
‘It’s so romantic,’ she breathes instead, clasping her hands to her chest. ‘Like when Bastian and Princess Esme saw each other across the procession crowd for the first time and knew in an instant that they were meant to be.’
‘It’s kind of crazy, though, right?’ I say. ‘Coming out here. It was my sister’s idea, actually.’
‘It’s totally crazy. But brave. And what have you got to lose?’
My dignity? My mind? My ability to ever trust myself again? Gary? I look down at my thumbs and try not think of all the things at stake.
Kennedy gives a ginormous yawn and covers her mouth. ‘Gosh, I’m sorry! I’m totally beat! I should go to bed.’
‘Absolutely,’ I say. ‘I appreciate you waiting up for me. You go to bed.’
‘Are you sure you have everything you need?’ Kennedy asks, already standing up from the sofa and stretching her arms up in the air before bending from side to side. ‘You know where the bathroom is, make yourself at home and help yourself to breakfast and tea in the morning! I left a set of keys on the hook by the door. Oh, and make sure you close the blinds in your room. Brandon’s truck is parked outside of there, so it’s blocking the view, but once he leaves for work, it’s pretty public. And I apologise in advance if you hear me snoring. I have a deviated septum and a propensity for thick mucus. Sorry, that’s TMI. Okay. Sleep well…’
I nod quickly. ‘Thank you! I’m shattered too. I’ll probably just crash.’
Before she heads up the stairs, Kennedy turns to me. ‘Let’s do dinner tomorrow, okay? I’ll be out researching a news story, but I’ll be back in the afternoon and we can get to know each other a little more. I’m dying to find out what this dream guy thinks about you coming all the way out here for him. He must be so flattered!’
Um…
Chapter Thirteen
Gary
Hey!
My friends are in town! Seth and Olive have come to stay to get a little sunshine and escape the madness of their jobs in Manhattan. I didn’t realize I’d missed seeing anyone from the old days in NY until Seth showed up and told me my hair looked ‘stoopid and ridiculous.’ To be fair, he is completely right. It’s much longer and fluffier than it used to be and now I have tiny, delicate brown highlights weaved throughout to ‘add dimension’ to the black. It’s very Hollywood and looks good on camera, but in real life I look like if Liberace joined a 90s boy band. And, for the record, if it were up to me, I’d shave it all off and be done with it. But Aileen says she’ll fire me if I change a hair on my head, and I have no doubt she means it. Especially not now that a men’s hair product company want me to be the face of their line.
Jeeez. ‘Face of their line.’ Who even am I? Hopefully, a couple of weeks with Seth and his girlfriend – the sweetest English woman – will bring me right back down to earth and soften this unglued feeling I’ve been having lately.
Okay, Seth is telling me not to be such a rude asshole and get him a beer at once.
But before I do, here are my three amazing things for today:
Seth is the happiest I’ve ever seen him. He and Olive are always laughing at each other and with each other. It’s so damn great to see. Tori and I don’t really laugh like that with each other. It’s just not something we do. She is a truly amazing woman and has a million other qualities. But I can’t help but wonder what it must be like
to be with someone who makes you laugh until you cry. Exhausting, I expect.
Only two more days until the shoot starts for Nightcar. I cannot wait to get on set, meet the other actors and just dive right into my character. I love acting, man. It’s the only thing that makes me feel truly free. I step into the body, the world, the mind of an entirely different human and somehow I can escape my own shit and fly away for a while into someone else’s emotional experience. It’s cool.
I’m in the middle of reading this awesome book and I am actually excited to get back to it once everyone’s gone to bed. It’s kinda weird because, after getting my degree in English Literature and having all the fun pretty much sucked out of books, my usual reading taste these days is pretty standard Lee Child, John Grisham fare. But I found this book at a second-hand bookstore in Malibu and, I’ll admit, I opened up to the first page with the intention of a little light mocking – the cover was a semi-clothed hot couple wearing huge bejewelled crowns. I mean, come on! It was the first book in a series called Harcourt Royals and written by an author I’d never heard of – someone called CJ West, which is clearly a pseudonym. Ten minutes had passed before the store owner said, ‘Dude, are you gonna buy that or just read the whole damn thing right there, crowding up my store?’ I was surprised to find that by the end of the first chapter I had become fully hooked. I’m now reading book four in the series. It’s insane and salacious and kitsch and over-the-top romantic, but it makes me feel happy and ridiculous when a lot of my life feels so serious right now. It’s pure fucking fun, and who in their right mind turns that down?
Chapter Fourteen
Nora
Text from Imogene: What is it like there? Are you okay? Is the person you’re staying with a Catfish?! Have you been murdered and I am sending this text to a ghost? Dan found out how much the flights cost and is having a shit-fit at me. So I really hope this trip sorts out your head and makes you realise that it’s time to make some massive changes. Im x.
He Will Be Mine: The brand new laugh out loud page turner! Page 6