When I’ve finished my impassioned explanation, Kennedy plonks down on the sofa with a gentle thud. ‘Wow. Your sister sounds like a lot.’
‘She’s great,’ I say, also sighing and plopping down beside her. ‘But she has some pretty strong opinions and she truly thinks I’m delusional. But I promise you, Kennedy, I’m not some crazy creep. Yes, I really do think that I’m supposed to meet Gary. And I know that the theoretic likelihood is that Imogene is right and that this is me maybe having some sort of mental break. And I know that it seems like a bit… no, a lot of a stretch that someone like me,’ I gesture at my too tight clothes and bright red sweaty face and swollen legs and general shy, ordinary-girl package, ‘is supposed to be with someone like him.’ I wave a hand towards one of the myriad photos lined up on the coffee table, where Gary is smiling confidently into the camera, his dark, clever eyes flashing sharply, his smile exuding charisma and warmth. ‘I’m fully aware of that. But I have to try, you know? If I’m right about how I feel, then I can’t give up on meeting him. And if I meet him and he doesn’t feel a spark with me, then I will respectfully leave him alone for ever. But I have to see…’ I slowly exhale, my mouth in an O shape. That’s got to be the most words I’ve said to anyone who isn’t Imogene in over a year. It’s pretty overwhelming.
Kennedy nods and bites her lip. ‘In Harcourt Royals, Bastian never gave up on Esme,’ she says quietly. ‘Even though everyone in his life told him that a princess would never even look at a poor but super-hot stripper-slash-marine-biology student like him.’
‘Hmmm, maybe I’ve read too many of those damn books,’ I giggle. ‘They’re giving me notions.’
‘No such thing as too many Harcourt Royals,’ she grins.
‘True.’
Kennedy peers at me, perfectly shaped blonde eyebrows furrowed. ‘So… what about Gary Montgomery’s girlfriend?’
I groan, my head flopping back against the sofa cushion. ‘I know. I hate myself for even slightly eyeing up another woman’s fella. But I just have this feeling. It’s so strong, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I can’t ignore it. If I do, I might regret it forever and I, well, I already have enough issues to be getting on with. I have to do this, at least to know that I tried.’
‘You brought wine?’ Kennedy asks, pointing at the wine on the floor, where I abandoned it along with the daisies when I first came in.
‘I did,’ I say with a shrug. ‘It’s a white Rioja. The man at the shop said it was lovely. And the flowers are to say thank you for letting me stay here when y-you’re so busy with work and preparing for your big anchor interview. I understand if you want me to leave now, though.’
Kennedy shakes her head quickly, turning towards me and grabbing both my hands. ‘Are you kidding me? This whole mission is one of the craziest things I’ve ever encountered and I once saw Lady Gaga licking a storm drain on the Santa Monica Boulevard. There’s no way you’re leaving, girl. I’m hooked in now. You’re totally batshit and, frankly, I’m fascinated, no offence.’
‘None taken. It is bonkers.’
‘You’re really doing this?’
I give a tiny nod. ‘Yes. I’m going to try. I’m pretty terrified, to be honest.’
Kennedy shakes her head at me and scrunches up her face. ‘Hmmm. I think we should open that wine,’ she muses before pointing at the selection of Gary-related print outs and notes on the coffee table. ‘And we definitely need to get this shit into some kind of order.’
Chapter Eighteen
Nora
Text from Imogene: What is it like in Los Angeles today? Is it really hot? Is everyone absolutely stunning? I wonder if I should have come with you… I’m feeling like I kind of dumped you in it. I know I sent you off to do this out of frustration, but I’m wondering if I’ve been too hasty with your mental health. It’s pissing it down here. Dan is grumbling because the guttering has overflowed and I didn’t remind him it needed clearing last month. Oh, I saw Roger Pepper today in town. He really is lovely, you know. You could do a lot worse! Something to think about while you’re away and HOPEFULLY getting to grips with reality. Ariana sends you a kiss, as do I. Oh and that pic you sent – the sunburn on your face is horrendous. You look like that time we went to that spin class in Sheffield and you sweated so much they surrounded your bike with towels. Ha ha. Lots of aftersun. And lots of make-up. Love, Im xx
The hour of day is truly ungodly when Kennedy shakes me awake the next morning. We absolutely thrashed through that bottle of wine, as well as a bottle of shady-tasting ‘organic’ peach wine. I’m pretty sure that’s what’s responsible for the fact that my entire body is now protesting at having to do anything other than lie completely still. My brain feels like it’s having a boxing match with my skull and my tongue is the tongue of a woman who really needs to go hard on the mouthwash as soon as possible.
‘Wha timeziiiit?’ I groan as I open my eyes to see a perfectly coiffed Kennedy standing over me, eyes sparkling. She’s dressed in a stiff-looking blouse and sharp blue skirt suit, her long blonde hair tied neatly into a perfect chignon. She looks the absolute opposite of the floaty, relaxed version of her I’ve seen over the past couple of days. She pulls uncomfortably at her blouse collar before smiling a big toothy smile and I feel a long-missed sense of gladness that I have an actual real-life friend for the first time in God knows how long.
We ended up hanging out and nattering until one in the morning. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t tucked up in bed with a hot chocolate and asleep by 10.30 p.m., hoping against hope that I would finally sleep the whole night through. I get a flashback to last night: me telling Kennedy about my life in Brigglesford. How I mostly do my job and watch romantic comedies, read my books and fantasise about the joy I will feel when I find my soulmate. I remember Kennedy drunkenly clasping my hands and shouting that I didn’t need a man to find joy. I absolutely agreed with this notion, which she ignored, proceeding to vow that she, Kennedy Cooper, would help me to rediscover my own joy. Whatever that means.
‘It’s 6.10 a.m.,’ Kennedy states as if this is a normal time.
‘You look so different!’
She gestures to the outfit. ‘I’m actually in the office today – this is how I dress at work. I have my first round of screen tests, so I’m leaving early to do some more prep work, but that’s not the reason I’m waking you up… I’m here because… I have some great news for you!’
I slowly sit up in the bed and wince as my head protests. What on earth could possibly be worth waking up at this time for?
‘What is it?’ I ask, covering my mouth to spare Kennedy from the morning tongue.
Kennedy perches on the side of the bed and hands me her phone. The screen shows a page with an address in Los Angeles. ‘This is where Gary Montgomery will be shooting his new movie, Nightcar.’
I gasp, fully alert now. The pain in my head increases, but suddenly I don’t care. ‘How…? How do you know this?’
‘I was thinking about this picture.’ She points to the wall by the bed. I splutter and cough when I see it. Shit, I had forgotten that last night we had drunkenly Blu-tacked all my notes and printouts onto the wall because Kennedy said if I was going to do this, I should lean into it and do it properly. I get a fuzzy memory of us clinking our glasses of peach wine together and declaring the wall the ‘Creepy As Fuck Soulmate Procurement Wall’. Which makes sense because it definitely IS disturbing. Really, really disturbing. I notice one particularly massive colour printout of Gary’s face. My goodness, he is so extraordinary-looking.
‘Which picture?’
Kennedy gets up from the bed and walks over to the Creepy As Fuck Soulmate Procurement Wall. She taps a printed screenshot of Tori Gould drinking an iced coffee in front of a small coffee cart. I remember this one because I felt envious of the caption:
‘Accompanying my love G to Pre-production costume fittings. Any excuse to see him dressed up…. Or not dressed at all.’
Which I thought was a bit
of a smug thing to say in all honesty.
‘What about it?’ I ask Kennedy.
‘I recognise that coffee cart and that tall, funny-shaped building in the background,’ she says. ‘I once dated a set caterer called Andre the Avocado Guy who worked at this very studio. I completely recognise it and this is the address. Gary starts shooting today!’
‘What? How do you know that?’
‘I searched on Twitter. I typed in the name of the studio and a background actor had tagged them and said he was excited to start work on Nightcar tomorrow. Which is today.’
‘Oh my god!’ I gasp, eyes wide awake now. ‘How on earth did you know to do that?’
‘I’m a journalist,’ Kennedy laughs, affecting a silly stance, hands on hips. ‘I’ve been training my whole adult life for this shit.’
‘You are brilliant.’
‘Tell that to my bosses, would you? Okay, I gotta run. Help yourself to anything in my closet. Best way to get anywhere in this city is with taxi cab apps– I’ll text you the address. And keep me updated on what happens. First days on a movie set are usually crazy – everyone’s distracted and getting their bearings, so you have more chance of sneaking in. Just act like you belong! It’s served me well my whole career.’
I blink, hardly able to believe what is being planned right now.
‘The Santa Ana winds are pretty wild today…’ Kennedy says, her hands clasped together against her chest, eyes twinkling. ‘Which means that even the most unexpected things could happen.’
Oh my god.
Today.
I am going to find Gary Montgomery today.
Before I can even focus on what the hell my plan will be, I have to answer all the Virtual Assistants 4U emails I’m behind on, as well as organise a client’s calendar for the next week, book flights for the CEO of a subscription box company and do some social media posts for a Scottish carpet shop. I do all of these things from bed because I am still in the midst of a peach wine hangover. The last thing I need right now is to lose my job; apart from recent evidence to the contrary, I consider myself to generally be a sensible and reliable person.
When I’ve sped through my tasks, I glance at the poster of Gary on the wall. Today I’m going to try my very best to see that face in real 3D vision. Real life, actual Gary Montgomery. Will sparks fly? Will the chemistry be so palpable that neither of us can resist it and we have to immediately make love? Will he laugh at me and tell me to get the fuck away from him, proving that Imogene is right about me? Will Tori see me and kick me really hard in the legs?
Argh, no, don’t think about bad things, Nora. Think about the possibility of making love to Gary Montgomery again. That’s better…
I lean back against the headboard and have a little daydream of Gary pulling me into his trailer and tearing off my clothes and us having frantic sex up against the trailer wall and when it’s done, Gary says, ‘Wow. That was… wow,’ and I say, ‘I know.’ And then he says, ‘I think I loved you before I met you,’ and I say, ‘I will love you forever, Gary Montgomery.’ Or maybe I’ll even call him Gar or Gazzo, depending on what the mood is. I am fully aware that this is a highly optimistic version of what might be about to happen, and the fact is that to even get to him will likely be a task and a half. But if I don’t believe that something good might somehow, someday finally happen for me, then what the hell am I even doing here?
Climbing out of the bed, I head to the bathroom and, clipping up my mess of dark hair with a crocodile clip, rinse my face with extra-cold water. That trailer sex daydream got me all hot and bothered. I peer at my face. It is still redder than a bloody post-box. My nose is slightly peeling. Yep. I’m going to need all of the make-up.
While I’m brushing my teeth, I think about what I might get to talk to Gary about. I need to think this through so that I don’t completely embarrass myself and blurt out that I think I love him, possibly scaring him off before he gets the chance to see that we might be perfect for each other. Safe topics. Books, music, cheese toasties because he mentioned liking those in that YouTube video…
I drop my toothbrush in the sink with a clatter as a really fantastic idea occurs to me. Aha! I will make him one of my amazing cheese toasties. That would be quirky and romantic and will definitely catch his attention without being too full-on. It sounds like something Zooey Deschanel or Kate Hudson would do in a romcom. It’s cute! I would keep it super casual, though. See how it goes, get the lay of the land and if he seems receptive, which I think he might, I will mention that I just so happen to have the equipment to make him the most perfect toastie he has ever had. Is that weird? No. I mean, I would love it if someone tried to woo me that way. It’s a cute idea. Right? Hmmm…
I think so…
I’m just going to do it.
I head into the kitchen and start wiping down the small George Foreman grill I find in a cupboard. I will pack this up, take some proper plates and cutlery and then on the way to the lot I’ll buy my sourdough and two types of cheese, plus some Maldon salt and freshly ground black pepper. I hope they sell English cheeses around here. I might have to find a speciality cheese shop. Do people even eat cheese in LA? I hope so, for their sake, because the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.
Winklepuff licks my ankle in encouragement. I’m touched. I refill his water bowl and after he has had his fill, I pick him up and we do a little dance around the kitchen. He yawns happily, giving me an unobstructed whiff of his terrible breath.
‘Yikes, Winklepuff,’ I say. ‘Halitosis much?’
He responds by licking the side of my face, which, while disgusting, makes me laugh. Hmmm. Dogs might be cooler than I expected. Winklepuff is like a teddy bear, only alive and a secret meat fiend.
I start to twirl with Winklepuff clasped to my chest. ‘Can you believe? The answer has always been love and cheeeeese,’ I sing to him as we dance. ‘Love and cheeeeese for Nora, please. Finally found just what I neeeed. Love. And. Cheeeeese. No cheeeese for yoooooou, cos’ your breath smells like poooo…’
‘You’re genuinely odd, aren’t you?’
I jump at the voice coming from behind me, pulling Winklepuff tighter to my chest. I turn around to find Brandon standing there, a tote bag that says ‘What The Hel – Vetica?’ slung over his shoulder. Shit. I thought he’d left already? Kennedy told me he leaves the house every morning at seven thirty. I yank down the old Friday Night Lights T-shirt I’m wearing as a nightie, glancing downwards to make sure that it is, in fact, covering my vulva. It is, but only just. Which means that Brandon almost certainly got a peek at my bum while I was dancing with Winklepuff. Note to self, get fully dressed before leaving my bedroom area. At the very least, remember to wear bed knickers.
‘You s-scared me,’ I say self-consciously, continuing to pull my T-shirt down as far as it can go with the hand not clutching Winklepuff.
To his credit, Brandon’s eyes remain on my face. ‘Hmmm,’ he says. ‘Some people act oddly in front of other people for show, for attention. Especially in LA, where everyone’s just desperate to be noticed. But you’re the real deal. A genuine, bona fide oddity. What was that song you were singing to my dog?’ He reaches out and takes Winklepuff from me, as if I’ve done something wrong.
‘What song?’ I say nonchalantly. ‘I wasn’t singing.’
He bites his bottom lip. ‘I believe I heard the phrase love and cheese?’
This guy is the worst. ‘Oh. Nothing,’ I say quietly. ‘I was just, erm, humming. I’m looking forward to the day and sometimes I, you know, tra la la when I’m looking forward to something.’
‘Tra la la? Right. So what exactly are you looking forward to?’ he asks, seemingly unaware that this is a deeply uncomfortable moment and that the only reason I haven’t run away is because I’m scared to expose my nether regions any more than I possibly already have done.
I shrug. ‘Uh, because it’s sunny and…’
‘It’s always sunny here,’ he scoffs.
Gah. W
hy is he so rude? Just because he’s been dumped, it doesn’t mean he has to make everyone he encounters feel bad too. I lift my chin and look him in the eye. ‘I-I’m hoping to meet my soulmate today, if you must know. I’m looking forward to that. Okay?’
Brandon smirks a little and looks me up and down. ‘You really think Gary Montgomery is gonna leave his smoking-hot, professionally successful girlfriend for… you?’
Shit. Kennedy must have told him that the man I came here for is Gary Montgomery. When did she even do that? It’s only 8 a.m.! Why does everyone get up so early in this city? Argh. I mean I know he’s her brother and they’re super close but still… My cheeks burn with humiliation.
I shake my head firmly. ‘I… I don’t think that Tori Gould is right for him. It’s just a very strong feeling I have. If I’m wrong, then fine. I’ll be on m-my way.’
Brandon gently plops Winklepuff onto the floor and crosses his arms. ‘You don’t even know her. Or him.’
I nod. He has a point, of course. ‘Well, technically you’re right. But that’s exactly why I’m here in Los Angeles. I mean, he has every right to m-meet me and decide that there is zero connection there, right? That’s all I’m doing. Just finding out if this hunch is more than just a hunch.’
He laughs at me. But not in a friendly way. In a mean, judgy way that really makes my chest burn.
He Will Be Mine: The brand new laugh out loud page turner! Page 9