“It’s not just you,” he says now, “although that’s certainly a big part of it. There’s also the fact that we live on opposite sides of the country.”
“Teddy’s a vet. She could move.”
Jude laughs. “I own a bar, yet you expect your sister to give up a thriving private practice?”
“Teddy needs adventure in her life. She’s too comfortable. That’s why she sticks it out with losers, because she’s allergic to change.”
“Exactly. Now stop plotting. I’m perfectly happy being single.” I know that he is, but that doesn’t stop me constantly trying to play matchmaker. Realistically, I know that he and Teddy as a couple is never going to happen, so I’m constantly trying to set him up with people right here in L.A. Jude changes the subject pointedly. “When does filming start?”
“The week after next.”
“How many people are coming to the launch?”
My heart quickens at the mention of the dreaded event. “I’m not sure.”
“Any pretty single ladies for me to flirt with?”
“Actually, I do have a―”
“Don’t you dare, Josie I was joking. I’m not interested.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I’m not into those Hollywood types.” He realizes what he’s said an instant before my face falls. “Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re… well, you’re different. But could you really imagine any of your actress friends hanging out here, in this place?” He spreads his arms wide to encompass the entire bar.
I smile. “More’s the pity for them,” I say, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “They don’t know what they’re missing. This happens to be my favorite place in the world.”
I could swear he’s actually blushing. I scoop up the magazine and fold it under my arm. “I’ll see you later, Jude.”
His reply reaches me as I reach for the door. “Later, Josie”
3
“Good afternoon, Miss Hudson.” Frank, my doorman, greets me as I step into the air-conditioned lobby of my building.
I flash him a smile. “Hey, Frank. Any messages?”
“No, Ma’am.”
I keep walking toward the elevator. “How many times have I asked you to call me Jojo?”
“Company policy,” he reminds me, for what must be the hundredth time. “Have a wonderful evening, Miss Hudson.”
I wave at him as I step inside the elevator and press the button for the penthouse. “You too, Frank.”
Other than The Office, my apartment is my favorite place in the world. It spans the entire top floor of the building, and the roof access leads to a private garden, complete with rim-flow pool. After the initial viewing, I had been captivated, and my sister Teddy had talked me into making an offer.
“You deserve it,” she’d insisted when I’d balked at the price, “and besides, you can afford it. You know you can.”
And I could, so I did. Since then, my finances allow for me to move to any of the sprawling mansions in the Hollywood Hills, but I just haven’t found the inclination to leave. I have purchased three additional apartments in the same building, two of which I rent out. I keep the third for private guests.
Alex and I haven’t properly discussed where we will be living after the wedding, but from the way he speaks, I’ve gathered that we will be moving into his home in Calabasas. Whether or not he expects me to sell my apartment, I have yet to figure out.
I drop my purse on the table in the hall and slip off my sandals as a frenzied yapping erupts in the kitchen. A ball of caramel and white fluff skids around the corner and launches itself at me.
“Hello Noodle,” I croon, scooping her up. Noodle is a mixed breed mongrel I found injured on a set two years ago. Her back leg had been badly broken, and she’d spent four weeks in a splint, after which I’d had to take her for hydrotherapy twice a week for another six. After going through all that, there was no way I was giving her up. Unfortunately, she’s not an endearing dog, and she hasn’t got the looks to make up for her bitchy nature. Not even her vet can hazard a guess as to her breeding, but he’s pretty sure there’s Pomeranian in there.
“I thought that must be you.” Fenn, my personal assistant, is standing in the doorway to my office, smiling at Noodle, who is now running laps around my legs. At twenty-three, Fenn is four years younger than I am, but she’s efficient and reliable, and I wouldn’t survive without her. Even Noodle tolerates her, and Noodle hates everyone.
“How did the meeting go?” Fenn asks.
“It went well. We’re all set.”
“I thought as much. Should I go ahead and consolidate the RSVPs?”
“Do it tomorrow. Why don’t you knock off early and surprise Seb?”
At the mention of her boyfriend, Fenn grins. “He’s taking me to dinner. Alejandro’s,” she adds shyly. No matter how many fancy restaurants Fenn attends with me, she still seems overwhelmed when it occurs outside of her line of work.
“Oh wow. What’s the occasion?”
“I have no idea.”
My eyes widen. “You don’t think…?”
“Oh, hell no! I’m only twenty-three, Jojo!”
“True, but you and Seb have been dating for a while. You never know.”
“Trust me, he knows better.”
“Well, whatever the reason, Alejandro’s is no simple date. You should look your best.” I give her a meaningful look.
Fenn grins. “Really?”
“I insist.”
She follows me through the apartment to my bedroom. My walk-in closet is almost double the size of my bedroom. The upside of being a Hollywood star is that you are never at a loss for designer clothing. The downside is that you need somewhere to keep it all.
It takes Fenn twenty minutes to make up her mind, a steady pile of discarded satin and lace mounting on the pale grey carpet.
“It’s perfect!” I announce when she finally stops long enough to admire herself in the full-length mirror. The Naeem Khan dress sits mid-thigh on Fenn’s long legs, the stark black-and-white geometric pattern softened by the gauzy fabric. Shoulder cut-outs end in black-ribboned ties just below the elbows. It’s not too formal, but dressy enough for Alejandro’s.
“I love it,” Fenn admits. I help her braid her auburn hair over one shoulder and with an expert hand, I touch up her make-up.
“Shoes,” I say when we’re done. Fortunately, we have the same size feet. She picks out a pair of black leather ankle boots, and I approve.
“Leave it,” I say when she starts to clear away the mess. “I’ll get Ursula to do it in the morning.”
“Liar.” Fenn knows me too well.
I roll my eyes at her. “You’re going to be late.”
“I promise I’ll look after it,” she says as I usher her to the door.
“You can have it. It looks better on you than it ever did on me.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I’m already closing the door. “Have fun!”
4
By the time Alex arrives, I’ve tidied up and poured myself a glass of perfectly chilled white wine. I hear his keys hit the table in the hall a nanosecond before Noodle begins her frenzied yapping from the safety of my lap.
“Hush!” I give her a gentle shove off the couch She gives a dramatic yelp and jumps right back up.
Alex breezes into the living room and gives her a wry frown.
“Not today then?” he says. My stomach drops as his eyes find mine. His dark hair is slicked back, still damp from a recent shower, and the olive polo-neck he’s wearing brings out the yellow flecks in his hazel eyes.
“Not today,” I agree, scratching Noodle behind the ears. Every time Alex visits, he claims one day Noodle will decide he isn’t so bad. It’s been over two years, and he’s still confident. He reaches out a tanned hand and pats her head.
“You will love me, Noodle,” he says in a hypnotic voice. Noodle growls at him.
“How was your day?” I ask, pushing Noodle aside as h
e flops onto the couch beside me. She gives him a baleful look and then leaps off the couch to settle in her basket with an air of martyrdom.
“Long,” Alex says. “I had back to back meetings. Which reminds me, I’ll be out of town next week. I have to fly to Munich on Monday morning for a bid meeting. Don’t worry,” he adds teasingly, catching sight of my horrified face, “I’ll be back on Friday morning, in plenty of time for the launch.”
“Oh, thank God. I need you there.”
He pulls me against his chest. “As good as it feels to be needed, did you honestly think I’d miss it?”
I reply by kissing him. It’s long and lazy, but too soon, my blood is thundering in my head, and my fingers are moving up and under his shirt of their own accord.
Alex pulls away, breathing heavily. “God, I can’t wait to marry you.” He shifts a little, obviously uncomfortable. I get to my feet and offer him my hand.
“Let me help you with that,” I grin, my eyes flickering to the bulge of his pants. We may not have had sex yet, but I can certainly ease his discomfort.
Later, we eat at the kitchen counter. It’s casual and comfortable.
“God, Ursula is an incredible cook,” Alex sighs. “I never knew a simple salad could taste this good.”
“I know.” I pop another caramelized onion tartlet in my mouth, and the pastry dissolves on my tongue. “Why do you think I’m so intent on bringing her with me when we’re married?”
“You better watch it, love. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, you know.”
“Really?” I tease. “And the way to a woman’s?”
His eyes sparkle. “Through her pants, obviously.”
Before he leaves, Alex asks me to play for him. The Baby Grand piano I picked up at Sotheby’s after my first big paycheck has pride of place in the white living room, but I haven’t touched it in weeks. I’ve played since as long as I can remember. It was the reason I’d been accepted into Julliard in the first place. After one year, I’d migrated into the four-year acting program, because I’d realized that while music was my first love, acting would be my last.
“I haven’t warmed up,” I moan, but Alex is merciless.
“You don’t need to. I’m tone-deaf, remember?”
He’s not tone-deaf. He never has been, but he loves to hear me play. I take a seat on the piano stool I had custom-made when I bought the Baby Grand, and flip open my songbook.
“No,” Alex groans. He hates it when I play by the book. I stick my tongue out at him, but I close it anyway. My fingers rest on the ivory keys for only a moment before the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata comes to mind. I’ve always found this particular piece heart-stoppingly beautiful. At some point, Alex gets up to stand behind me, his strong fingers trailing the very top of my spine, lifting my hair, which has long escaped the bun, out of the way, but I barely notice. The music carries me away, as it always does.
I open my eyes when the music ends.
“Beautiful,” Alex whispers, leaning down to drop a kiss on the top of my head.
When he’s gone, I play the third movement. It couldn’t be more different from the first – the technical piece a true workout for my unpractised fingers. I cringe at every wrong note, but I play through to the end, and when I finally head to bed, I sleep like a baby.
CeeCee gets to her feet when I arrive at our usual table. “Jojo!” My name becomes an entire song when CeeCee says it, and I disappear into her cloud of perfume as she pulls me in for a hug. CeeCee kisses both cheeks, even though she’s not French. Her real name is Cecily, and she grew up in a trailer park near Pittsburgh, but God help anyone who mentions it. At five foot two, she’s diminutive, but I’ve seen grown men cry when faced with her legendary temper. CeeCee likes things to go her way.
“I took the liberty of ordering champagne,” she announces as we take our seats. Immediately, a hovering waiter steps forward to fill my glass.
“It’s only ten o’clock,” I point out, filling a second glass with iced water. The waiter frowns at me as though by not asking him to do it I’ve caused deep offense.
“Yes, just too early for wine,” CeeCee muses sadly. “So!” Her braceleted hands clap together. “Fenn mailed me. Everything is ready for the launch? How divine, darling, you must be thrilled!”
I take a hearty slug of my champagne. “I am.”
“Well, I sent out all the invites we agreed upon, and a few extra last-minute to press we hadn’t considered before. Everyone is coming, obviously.”
“I have no doubt.” I pity the press who try to deny CeeCee Cooper.
“Now when can I get my hands on a copy of the book?” she asks. “You know I’ve been dying to read it. Stuffy old George wouldn’t let me take even a peek at the unpolished manuscript, but you know I want a signed copy.”
Slug. “You’ll get one, I promise.”
“Wonderful. Now, what are you going to have to eat?”
I already know what I’m having – fresh tuna salad with no dressing – so while CeeCee deliberates over the menu, I scan the balcony. Two women in matching suits are having a heated argument. A woman with a bouncing baby boy on her lap is giving the man across from her bedroom eyes. She’s wearing a wedding ring, and he isn’t. A blond man with a short, military haircut is…
“Shit!” I raise my menu so fast it slaps me in the nose.
“What?” CeeCee squawks.
“Nothing,” I say, keeping the menu raised. “There was a bee.”
CeeCee’s hand snaps forward and yanks the menu from my grasp. I spare a quick look back at the balcony, but the man is gone. I must have been imagining things.
“A bee?” CeeCee asks dubiously.
“Yes.” I take another huge swig of my champagne. “It must have flown away.”
By the time I leave the restaurant, I’m wobbling on my legs. It takes me forever to locate my car.
“Are you alright, Miss Hudson?” Phillip asks as I fall onto the leather seat.
I wave away his concern. “I’m fine, Phillip.” I reach into my purse and root around until I feel the expensive tissue-lined envelope. “Could you drop me at The Office, please.”
It takes me three tries before I manage to open the door to Jude’s pub. When it finally opens, it’s so unexpected that I almost fall flat on my face. From behind the bar, Jude bursts into laughter.
“I thought you’d be stuck out there all day,” he says.
“Oh, shut it.” I make a concerted effort to walk in a straight line, but I still end up three feet to his left. I slide right. “Your invitation, Sir,” I announce cordially. Jude takes the invite from my outstretched hand. “So, you have no reason not to attend.”
“Where the hell have you been?” he asks as he tears it open.
“I had breakfast with CeeCee.”
“Jesus, Jojo. You should know better. The girl grew up with truckers who ran an underground gambling ring. She could drink Old Man Farley under the table.”
Old man Farley is one of The Office regulars. He comes in every day, Monday to Saturday and drinks until Jude cuts him off. He doesn’t speak. Ever. According to Jude, the first time he’d come in, he’d simply pointed to the bottle of single malt on the bar, and that had been that. We started to believe he might be mute, until one Saturday evening when Jude refilled his whiskey, and out of the blue he’d asked why Jude didn’t open on Sundays. Jude had been so shocked the whiskey had overflowed.
“Jude goes to Church on Sundays,” I’d whispered gravely in Old man Farley’s ear. It was easier to lie than to explain that even Jude needed one day off a week. He’d never spoken again, but he could drink for the U.S.A if ever they made it an Olympic sport.
“You’re probably right,” I say now. Jude taps my nose with a long finger.
“You need coffee.”
I don’t even offer to help as he sets about making us both a cup.
“You need to RSVP,” I tell his broad back.
&nbs
p; “To the invitation you handed me fifteen seconds ago?”
“That’s the one.”
“I already told you I’m coming.”
“I thought you might change your mind. Once you’ve got the invitation, your RSVP is official.”
He sets the mug down in front of me and grins. “Why are you so worried about me coming to this shindig anyway? I hardly come to any of your premieres anymore, and it doesn’t bother you.”
“This is different. It’s my first book.”
“Do I have to read it?”
I throw a metal coaster at him. It misses by a mile.
“I’m coming, Jojo. You can take this as my official RSVP.”
“Thank you. And you’re welcome to bring a date.”
“Great! I’ll ask one of the hundreds of women who beat down my door on a daily basis.”
“Ouch.”
The downfall of owning The Office and spending almost every waking moment keeping it running, is that it leaves Jude very little time to date. It also means far too much time being pawed by lady patrons who have had too much to drink. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly easy on the eye.
“You could always bring Laurel,” I suggest helpfully.
“I could,” he agrees wryly, “if I was in the business of breaking the hearts of beautiful girls.”
That’s the thing about Jude – he’s just all round too nice. Laurel was my replacement when I left, and she fell head over heels in love with Jude within the first two weeks on the job. Laurel is beautiful. An all-American girl with blonde bangs and a shy smile that can melt even the lowest tipper’s heart. She’s perfect for Jude, in every way except one. He’s just not that into her.
“I guess it would give her the wrong impression,” I sigh, then, in a flash of inspiration, “what about CeeCee? She’s single! And you certainly wouldn’t have to worry about breaking her heart.”
“Because she doesn’t have one?”
I slap his arm.
Awkward in Print (Awkward #1) Page 2