One Day After Never (The Second Time's the Charm Book 1)

by Whitney Walker

  Dickson is by my side, bracing me as I walk trancelike toward the ladies’ room. He stops in front of the door to assess my current state. “Do you need to go home or just need a minute?”

  “Min-minute,” I stammer, retreating to a stall. I sit on the seat fully clothed, trembling, pressing into my temples with my fingertips. Do the girls know? They have known Kyle for a long time. Is this what they have been trying to tell me? Does Brad know? Are they all keeping his secret?

  I know I am not obligated to be his savior, but still? Will I be faulted if something happens? Yes, I will. Someone always has to take the blame. As Mrs. Nixon said, I won’t want to carry the burden for the rest of my life!

  Breathe. Just one breath. Think of yoga. Just one more. And another. I run my hands under the water, first hot, then cold, then hot again. If only I could wash fear down this drain. I look at myself in the mirror, tuck a tendril of hair that has escaped back into my low pony, and tell my reflection, “You’ve got this.”

  DECEMBER 12th

  CHAPTER 26 | Peyton

  I ’m panting. Something is dripping between my breasts. Blood. A knife is in my hand. I hear a man wailing. Screaming. More cuts. More blood. I drop the knife. I cover my ears.

  I gasp awake, heart pounding.

  It’s going to be a long day.

  I pull my completed quilt up to the head of my bed and fluff my pillows on top. I start to stumble to the shower and smell coffee when I open my door. With the tiniest slice of morning sun streaming through the living room window, I can see Meredith moving slowly in the kitchen. When I approach, she is leaning into the fridge and reaching for the cream. “Morning, Pey.”

  “Did you know about Kyle? The cutting?” I’m too tired and out of sorts to beat around the bush. Meredith doesn’t answer. Damn it. Implied guilt. “Oh my God. Do all of you know?”

  She tilts her head in a sympathetic gesture.

  “This sucks, Meredith. That was a pretty big secret to keep. Now his mother is saying if I break up with him and he does anything to himself it’s all my fault.”

  She still says nothing. Surely, she can’t agree? How can his cheating not be enough for even one of them to take my side? “What the fuck, Meredith? He cheated on me! He’s probably a drug addict and an alcoholic. Not exactly life-partner material. How can you not understand?”

  “He said that he would quit if you took him back.”

  “What? The womanizing? Partying? He might. For a while. But it’s who he is, Meredith. He isn’t going to give any of that up for any woman. Only if he wants to change for himself. You of all people should know that.” Shit. That was a low blow, referring to her own father’s vicious cycle of choosing women and drinks over her mother, who has repeatedly kicked him out.

  “I gotta get ready for work. Let’s talk about this later,” she says matter-of-factly. I don’t even know what to say.

  I have to set aside my angst. Quickly. This is a day I have waited for, and Kyle can’t steal this moment. Usually, I am relegated to a bland room with chairs along the outside edge, a few couches and stuffed chairs no one vacates once they are lucky enough to get them, and mediocre food. Today, I am outside under a tent on a blocked-off street in L.A. right next to the real trailers of the stars, and I feel like one myself.

  There is a row of makeup and hair stations with pop-up lighted mirrors, high-back chairs and hands flying as makeup brushes stroke and hair is straightened, teased and tousled. I share a station with only three others, our names printed on a cardstock sheet and affixed to the left side of the mirror.

  Racks of clothes line another side of the tent, and names are being called regularly to report. I may delay when I hear my name, just to make them repeat it. “Peyton Jennings to costume! Peyton Jennings, costume, please.”

  I pace alongside the food table, deciding if it might calm my stomach or make the waves of nervousness worse. It’s three sentences I’ve had more than enough time to practice on set the last few days, considering it takes all of fourteen seconds to repeat them to myself.

  The spread is vast compared to the usual meat, cheese and vegetable trays for the extras. Today there are prime rib sandwiches with multiple dipping sauces, a full Middle Eastern buffet, and more-than-upscale finger sandwiches with trimmings of red and green something. Fresh, ripe fruit spills from cornucopia baskets, and a dessert tower of items chocolate brownie, lemon bar, and white cake-like is arranged into a mini-Jenga game. I want to grab a chocolate one near the midway point of the stack but am afraid the whole arrangement will topple over.

  People move in every direction under the white tent, beautiful organized chaos, energy and excitement palpable. I am living my dream! Finally! If only I could send a selfie with this backdrop to my mom. I decide I will send one to J.T. instead, after hair and makeup.

  I am nearly unrecognizable. In a good way. My blond waves have been straightened, with a blowout, gravity-defying lift at the roots. My makeup and costume are pink and proper. Lilly Pulitzer-preppy, but another designer, or vintage perhaps. It’s like nothing I have worn in real life. The high scoop-neck eyelet dress has a wide darker pink, purple, blue and green floral grosgrain ribbon belt tied to a bow in the front. The A-line cut flatters my curvy figure. I feel pretty.

  Just days from the winter solstice, sunset is looming near at 4:44 p.m. The time cop on set has been counting it down all day. “We’ve got a deadline here, people! Get your game on!” I have a fake party to attend. A surprise celebration for the bride-to-be.

  I quickly raise my phone and snap a selfie with the full-on hustle and bustle behind me. I send off a message to J.T., hoping, because it would only be about 9:00 p.m. for him, I might have a response before being called up to the penthouse.

  No such luck. The gopher calls Jennings, Blackstone, Kissinger and Markman, the other names listed on the mirror alongside my own. I stash my phone with my clothes and quickly make my way to Rachel, Avery, and Vanessa. We laugh when we see each other.

  “Sandra Dee, much?” Avery says, fake-smoking a cigarette with her fingers.

  “I prefer Grandma actually,” I joke, the irony of my character not lost. Their previous office scene had the girls in normal workwear, but they now don short skirts, off-the-shoulder shirts and revealing tanks, with ridiculously high heels, depicting the promiscuous friends of the main character. I am the token, presumably prudish, white sheep of the bunch.

  We are led across the sidewalk to the building entrance and the crew piles into the elevator. The headset worn by the gopher crackles. “Yes, on the way up with scene thirty-four.” The elevator doors open to orchestrated madness. The energy of the street below was uplifting, but in the penthouse the sunset deadline imposes a tense buzz.

  There isn’t space to move, necessitating the tent below. Plenty of square feet of marble in normal circumstances, but not enough to accommodate the plethora of cameras and bodies. People are stacked wall to wall, and we are bumped along into place by others.

  Standing on my toes, I can just catch a glimpse of the balcony where Kellen Bachman and Lexi Gallian, playing Nicholas Kaufmann and Victoria Madison respectively, are seated at a small white linen-covered table. Stoic waiters line the space behind them, with metal platters in their arms. The sky is breathtaking! Purple, pink and blue dance across the cotton-candy backdrop for falling in love.

  Victoria’s transformation is the point of the movie, evolving to classic beauty from lover of many. His life seemed perfect until of course, he found something he didn’t know that he had wanted. A clichéd Cinderella tale told many times, many ways, because most women, including me, fall for it again and again. It never gets old.

  The director’s assistant calls for quiet then, “Let’s roll!” The clapboard reads scene thirty-three and indicates take four. They’d better nail it, because the sun has no mercy. I can’t hear what they are saying but can see Lexi’s eyelashes fluttering while her lips are moving. Nick’s hand slides behind her neck and pulls her face t
o his, planting a sweet kiss against her lips. Cameras move, then all is still. Everyone glances nervously around the room at one another. It’s the look that says they nailed it. “Check the gate! And make it quick! The sun is not in our favor, people!”

  I anxiously await the next scene—my scene!—as the production assistants stand poised to stage the next set of props. “And we are moving on!” Cameras and people move like a river flowing, with beautiful rhyme and reason, as new filming angles are arranged, and decorations are placed.

  As always on set, I am awestruck!

  I appreciate the small army of people who get to see their name in the long list of rolling credits on the big screen at movie’s end. I am astounded at the sheer number of bodies involved, with their superpowers of never letting an errant sneeze or cough escape while the cameras are rolling.

  Everything clears in front of me and my sidekicks. I am standing right next to the movie star main characters about to deliver my first lines. I am thrilled and terrified at the same time.

  A woman with dark under-eye circles and a too-tight ballerina bun and a clipboard appears to be in charge of us. She lengthens her arm indicating we should move toward the right side of the set. We quietly shuffle behind until she holds up her hand abruptly in stop formation. “Watch Peter for your cue,” she says curtly, pointing to a man across the room who doesn’t look old enough to drink, with black John Lennon-round glasses, a vintage red corduroy vest, and black and white saddle shoes. Thankfully, he stands out from the crowd of people filling the space.

  “Nick will open the two doors and he’ll give you the cue to walk through.” I know this, of course, as we have rehearsed it earlier in the day, but without the stars, the hair, the makeup, and the pressure of the sun falling in the sky. The woman guides us to stand behind tall, double-hung, faux-wood, intricately carved doors. The doors merely a frame, we can still see what is happening on the set around them.

  “Quiet!” A random voice from the crowd. The makeup artist dusts powder across Lexi’s forehead then disappears like someone has waved a magic wand. These people appear and make themselves invisible in a flash!

  “First positions!” Both actors at the table assume the positions that they had just left, his lips almost brushing against hers. “Here we go!”

  “Rolling!” A clapboard slams. Nick pushes his chair back, stands, and moves around the table.

  “Cut!”

  “Sorry.” Kellen shakes his head. “My bad.” He points left. He’d gone the wrong way around the table. The next take he moves left but Lexi stumbles when he pulls her to standing. A frustrated, more impatient, “Cut!”

  The sunset hues deepen, morphing to orange and yellow striation against the blue, purple and pink. “Get it together, people. The sun ain’t waiting for your fuck-ups!”

  I exchange nervous glances with Avery, who whispers, “Third time’s the charm?”

  “Quiet on set!” A voice too near us. Avery mouths, “Oops!” with a grimace. This time things progress, with Nick’s outstretched hands pulling a graceful Victoria to standing. Then, he immediately drops to one knee. An instinctually female gasp escapes my lips.

  “Victoria, everyone thinks that I have it all. Since I met you what I’ve realized is that before you, I had nothing. I am not the man I want to be without you.” He pauses for the first tear to well in the corner of Lexi’s left eye. “You keep my feet on the ground. You make me smile. You make me want to be better.” Lexi lifts her hand, fingertips covering her mouth. One tear smudges the perfect makeup of her cheek.

  “I want to kiss you and hold you and comfort you. I want to show you the world. Today, tomorrow, and all the days of our lives. I want to stand in front of God, and our friends, and our families and say all of this again, at our wedding. That is, of course, if you’ll just say yes. Love of my life and soulmate Victoria Madison, will you marry me?”

  Both hands cover her nose and gaping mouth as his hand slips behind his back and pulls the ribbon draping from his back pocket. Adept, practiced fingers smoothly move to cover the ribbon. The doorknob-sized diamond is held in front of the tearfully nodding Victoria, as they pause, letting the special effect lighting highlight maximum sparkle.

  She lunges forward, throwing her arms around his neck. “Yes, I will marry you! Of course I will marry you! I’d be a fool otherwise!” As an entangled couple, they carefully turn one quarter so Nick can slide the ribbon into his sleeve, magician-like. Victoria feigns holding steady her convincingly trembling hand with her other. Nick slides the ring on her French-manicured ring finger. Victoria completes the scene with the signature move of outstretching her left arm with fingers spread, eyes wide and twinkling, matching the diamond.

  Her right hand moves to her heart, smile widening. She twists and turns her hand ever so slightly, studying it from every angle, face glowing in the golden hour of sunset. After she’s assessed and admired, she turns her fingers downward, of course, born for this engagement ritual of show off a ring. He, of course, takes her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckle below the diamond.

  “You’ve made me the happiest man alive, Victoria. I have one more surprise for you. I was pretty sure that you’d want to run off and tell everyone the news of our engagement—” Nick slides behind Victoria, clasping his arms together in front at her waist, then kisses the back of her hair while turning her body toward the faux doors I stand behind. I hold back silly, happy tears of my own.

  “And cut!”

  I startle. I was caught up in the moment and nearly ran forward to congratulate a fake bride-to-be! It was surreal. And so real. It’s doubtful Lexi needed any rehearsal. She’s probably been dreaming about and imagining her own proposal for the last decade. Any single woman in the room could have acted her part. We love the love story whether written, played out on the big screen, or if lucky enough, lived.

  “Great work, people! You scared the shit out of me but got it done. Check the gate. And damn it, it had better be clean, because we are done with the sun today.”

  Minutes tick by as the crew simmers with low chatter powered by nerves. It feels like we are awaiting a sentence being handed down at a hearing.

  “Gate’s clean!” An audible chorus of relief ripples through the crowd, complete with claps and high-fives.

  “Moving on,” the director declares, and Peter points right toward the door with his pointer and third finger. I stand, anxious, behind the closed door.

  “Rolling!”

  The clapboard smacks. “Thirty-four. One.”

  Footsteps move closer to the door. It’s almost time to congratulate Victoria on her engagement. I will gush over the ring, which will hardly be acting. Even though I know it’s a prop from a high-end jeweler that will receive promotional consideration buried in the credits, I can’t wait to see it up close. I listen intently to the scene on the other side of the doors.

  There is the obligatory post-engagement kiss. The director cuts the scene only a few seconds in. “Sorry, had to burp!” I hear Kellen confess, and everyone laughs. Maybe I will see that in an outtake at the end of the film and claim I saw it live.

  Next, they cut after about a minute. Nick came to open the door and the fake doorknob came off in his hand. Kellen cutely peeks through the hole the doorknob vacated and says, “Looking fine, ladies!” to the group of us.

  I shift from foot to foot, then shake out my shoulders, flopping my arms at my sides. The anticipation is excruciating. The scene starts again, and I hear Kellen deliver Nick’s line, “There just might be one more surprise in order!” The door pulls open and I step over the faux threshold, no need to force my smile to stay in place just as it was. Game time!

  An imaginary wall holds me in place as my jaw drops in shock. My hands move to cover my face, replicating the pose Lexi held just minutes before. I step forward with my left foot to meet the right, turning toward the crowd to the left, then slowly to the right, for dramatic effect and to rob time. I need it to compose my
self.

  In front of me is a tuxedo-clad actor striking the classic pose on one knee. This time, however, it is not Kellen Bachman portraying a character. Nothing about this looks fake. The man in front of me is Kyle.

  I find myself staring into an unmistakable robin egg-blue box. The classic round Tiffany diamond would bring most women to their knees. I’ve dreamed of a sparkling diamond accompanied by words of devotion and dedication. In my wildest dreams, it would never look like this.

  I look over my shoulder, briefly assessing the reactions of Avery, Rachel, and Vanessa. As expected, they are taking in the unfolding with awe. If I reject Kyle in front of these industry people, there is no telling what will happen. Cameras are everywhere, and I can see the tabloid headlines. Scandal comes to mind. I can’t say no with this crowd watching.

  I will just have to act.

  I move my hands to my heart and step forward to Kyle and the big-ass diamond intended for me. I marvel at its size and sparkle. It is going to hurt a little to give it back.

  Kyle pushes the box forward and upward, toward me. He clears his throat and I try to ignore the slight shake of the box. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so sober. Or sincere.

  “Peyton, everything that Nick’s just said is the way that I feel about you.”

  He is not going to use a proposal that was written for a movie and say ditto, is he? It will be humiliating if he is unable to conjure up a few original lines about what I mean to him. That enough is a reason to cry, but instead I have a horrible Christmas memory that makes tears spring to my eyes on demand. I feel a solitary one roll down my left cheek.

  “You make me want to be the best man I can be.”

  My inside voice replies, “I’m sorry, Kyle, but your best is not good enough.”

  “I want to know that you are the one who will be by my side forever. In good times and bad, sickness and health. Just as Nick said, I want to say those vows with you in front of everyone we know. I want to declare my never-ending, over-the-top, can’t-live-a-day-without-you love for you in front of the world.”