Just Joshing: A BBW Romantic Comedy (Short and Sweet Series Book 1)

by Evie Mitchell

  We chatted about her work and my latest projects. She promised to speak to her father about a donation and we both agreed that the latest effort to revamp the X-Files met our viewing expectations. Our conversation was regularly interrupted with Bess’ catwalk styling.

  "No." We called, squeezed onto the lounge beside Josh.

  "You look like a sausage," Candy stated in what I assume was her version of helpful advice.

  "But a very pretty sausage!" I yelled, shooting Bess two thumbs up.

  As the afternoon dragged on, the clock inching ever closer to the time we both needed to leave, Josh regaled us with stories of the sordid underbelly of Hollywood.

  "I don’t want to say who it was but a very well-known actress then decided to do a nude run through-"

  A sound that could only be described as a dying squirrel interrupted Josh.

  All heads swung toward the dressing room door. I tensed.

  The door bumped, shaking on its hinges, the action quickly followed by the sound of a vigorously rutting walrus. Had a wild animal broken into the studio?

  I exchanged a glance with Candy.

  "Should I-"

  The door flew open, bouncing against the wall with a smack as Bess strode out, ballgown spilling out, tears streaming down her face, glow firmly in place.

  It was obvious that she had found THE DRESS.

  Dun duunnnnn!

  "Molly…" She called, looking at me, standing in the dress I’d picked for her, her hands held out like a little girl. All the baggage of the last few hours fell away, in that moment she looked like a girl in love getting ready to marry the boy who loved her – her expression full of hope and love and whimsy.

  I stood up and held my arms open as I moved to her. She looked at me, sniffing.

  "You were right." She said, as the crowd waited with bated breath. "It’s perfect."

  I moved to wrap an arm around her but a hand shot out hitting me square in the chest, halting my progress.

  "No!" She shouted. "Now I have to change everything because of you! You bitch!"

  And then she burst into tears. Her mother scurried over, wrapping her in a hug, consoling her as the bridesmaids’ crowded her, making all the right noises.

  I exchanged a look with Candy. She sighed, heaving herself up off the couch.

  "This doesn’t bode well for the rest of the wedding," she muttered, awkwardly patting the distraught bride on the back.

  "I. H-had. It. All p-p-planned. Out." Bess hiccupped in her mothers’ arms. "Now we have to s-s-start again."

  "I can help," I promised, sending telepathic messages of threat to the bridesmaids around me. "We all can."

  The bridesmaids murmured agreement, stroking whatever inch of skin they could reach. It took an extraordinarily long time to calm Bess down.

  "Josh, can you try on the dark blue? I think it will pair nicely with this." Bess ordered, now back in Bridezilla mode.

  Josh sighed, pulling himself up off the sofa. He changed while the assistants fluttered about Bess, pinning and fluffing the dress.

  "How's this?" Josh exited the dressing room. My jaw about dropped to the floor as I stared at him, a little quiver of… was that attraction?

  No way. Am… am I attracted to Joshua Greenfeld?

  "Oh, Joshua!" Bess clapped her hands together, pressing them to her heart. "It's perfect! Turn around."

  He let out a beleaguered sigh, spreading his arms and turning slowly.

  While Bess was paying attention to the color and cut of the suit, I couldn't help but note the way his pants molded to his body, the cut of his shoulders against the fabric, the impressiveness of his ass.

  "I am going to ride that man like a pony." One of the bridesmaids muttered behind me.

  "We done?" Josh asked, looking bored.

  "Yes," Bess decided, nodding at the assistants. "Get pictures. I'll have my fiancé drop in on the weekend to try it on." She shot me a grin. "My fiancé! It never gets old."

  I grinned, shooting her a roll eye. "You are sickly sweet."

  She laughed, "but oh so delicious."

  Josh rejoined us as Bess began to try on veils.

  I glanced at my watch. "Crap. Sorry, Babe. I have to go."

  "But…" Bess pulled herself away from the mirror. The assistants had descended post-meltdown, retouching her make-up, styling her hair, adding accessories. Bess looked wedding day ready.

  "The bridesmaid dresses…"

  I shrugged, grabbing my tote as I stood. "You have more appointments tomorrow. If you find the perfect dress here, I’ll come back and try it on. Otherwise, we’ll see how we go at the other places."

  She pressed her lips into a pout. "Fine." She blew out a breath, turning back to the mirror and tilting her head, a small smile playing at her lips as she twisted from side-to-side. "Tomorrow we’re at Vera Wang at one." Her eyes met mine in the mirror. "Don’t plan anything for the afternoon."

  I saluted her before spinning on my heel and heading out. Josh and Candy followed. On the sidewalk, Candy stared down at her phone, mouth pressing into a thin line.

  "Everything okay?"

  She blinked, looking from Josh to me and back to her phone. "Yes, of course. I have to go." She tucked the cell in her pants, offering a small smile. "See you at the next fitting." She headed down the street, her long legged stride eating up the pavement.

  "She's a weird one." Josh muttered, watching her disappear into the crowd. "Where to now?"

  Around us, pedestrians swerved about us like water around a rock. I ignored the muttered complaint of a fellow New Yorker.

  "Back to work." I pulled my phone from my coat, looking at the screen. My uber driver was less than a block away.

  "To the office?"

  "No," I muttered, fingers dancing across the screen to reply to an urgent email. "New Start."

  "Can I come?"

  I looked up. "Sorry?"

  "Can I come?" Josh rocked on his heels, shrugging. "I’d like to see what you do."

  I narrowed my eyes, taking in his form, wondering if this was a trick. I tried not to notice how good his shoulders looked in his coat even as I noted the earnest expression on his face.

  "Okay," I finally agreed, tucking the phone back into my pocket. "But on one condition."

  He grinned, "hit me."

  "You donate something to my next silent auction."

  He rolled his eyes. "Such a hardship. What do you want? A dinner with our next lead?"

  I shrugged, moving to the sidewalk to flag down the car. "You can decide the details but the walk on role was very popular last time."

  "Look, I’ll only offer a prize like that if you can guarantee that Lottie Pincaster won’t ever win."

  The car pulled to a stop as I chuckled. Josh beat me to the curb, holding the door open. I slid in, greeting the driver. Josh followed, pulling the door shut. The driver pulled out, flicking the bird at oncoming traffic while politely offering us complimentary water or mints. We declined.

  I turned to face Josh. "I told you Lottie wanted to be an actress."

  He shuddered. "She didn’t even have a line. All she had to do was sit in the back of the diner and eat a donut. Do you know that one scene cost me more to film than the rest combined? The woman demanded vegan gluten-free paleo frou-frou donuts be flown in from somewhere in Europe. She caused such a commotion Jim nearly walked."

  Jim Hussen, a veteran actor and media darling. The man had more experience in his little finger than half of Hollywood combined. Sam and Josh had regaled me with stories of his demands – including the need for total immersion in his character.

  "You and Sam have both told me Jim's an ass. I doubt it’s the first time he's threatened to walk."

  "You’d be correct. Jim is-"

  "Wait!" The driver interrupted us. "I know you!" He waggled a finger in the rear vision mirror. "You’re Josh Greenfeld."

  "Guilty," Josh offered a smile. To anyone else it looked genuine, to me it sat brittle and jaded on his
face. I frowned.

  "You wrote—"

  "Yep."

  "And won—"

  "That was me." Josh leaned forward. "You want me to sign something or…?"

  "I want to audition for your next movie!" The driver declared stopping at a set of lights. He twisted in his seat. "You want to hear a monologue now?"

  "That’s okay, how about I give you the number of our casting—"

  "Mislike me not for my complexion! The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, to whom I am a neighbor and near bred. Bring me the fairest creature northward born! Where Phoebus'—"

  "Is that Othello?" I whispered, watching as the driver weaved in and out of traffic, one hand gesturing in time to his words, which were delivered in a thick Boston drawl. If he were attempting a British accent it wasn't apparent.

  "Merchant of Venice."

  "Ah. At least he's original."

  The car pulled to a stop out the front of the New Start Community Center just as he wound up.

  "So," the driver twisted in his seat, face eager. "Thoughts?"

  "Don't try Shakespeare. Go for something modern. Your appearance and accent lend more to action trope – try auditioning for some gangster roles, crime mob, action heroes. If you like comedy and have the timing, try that too. Start at the bottom, take any role you can get, work on your pitch and dictation. Give my casting director a call in six months." Josh pulled a card from his wallet. "Good luck."

  "Thank you!" The driver cradled the card like he would a new born. "You have no idea how much this means to me!"

  "We all start somewhere," Josh clapped the guy on the shoulder before opening the door and hauling himself out. He turned back, offering me a hand.

  "Bye, Josh Greenfeld!"

  Josh lifted a hand in farewell. We watched as the driver took off, once again gesturing rudely at the oncoming traffic as he merged.

  "That was really nice of you." I said, watching Josh out of the corner of my eye.

  He shrugged, "Doesn't cost anything to be a decent human being. If the guy is serious, he'll take on the advice, look for opportunities, work hard to get what he wants. Who knows, he could be the next Mark Wahlberg."

  I grinned. "Do you really believe that?"

  He smiled back, this one genuine and reaching his eyes. "I can hope. He seemed like a decent guy." He looked over his shoulder at the center. "We going in?"

  I led. The wind picked up, battering us as we walked the short way to the entrance. "Do you know the center?"

  "Only through what Sam tells me. So, nothing."

  I grinned, picking up my pace. "The kids here are wonderful. The staff too. The center caters to a variety of needs but mostly low-socio economic families who just need some help. They run programs for the little kids, afterschool care, single parents – particularly teens – and a bunch of other supports. It's become a hub for the neighborhood." I pushed open the heavy door, leading him inside.

  Immediately, staff called out greetings while kids swarmed in the reception area.

  "Jesucristo," I heard Josh mutter behind me as we wadded into the chaos.

  "Just stick close," I called over my shoulder, dodging a ball. "I'll keep you safe."

  We headed down one of the hallways. "Left side of the building are the playgrounds, gymnasium and pool. On the right are the daycares and classrooms." We stopped at a non-descript door labelled 302. The painted numbers were peeling.

  "This is my class." I pushed open the door, calling, "Hello class! Sorry I'm late."

  Twelve sets of eyes landed on me before immediately skirting to Josh. I watched as they all immediately narrowed in interest.

  I heard Josh's footsteps stutter to a halt as the door smack shut behind us, sealing him in.

  "Don't worry," I said, dropping my bag on the teacher's desk. "They'll be gentle."

  The teenagers were all single parents. While their children played in the creche or slept in the nursery, they attended classes, teaching them marketable skills like finance, accounting, programing and so forth. The classes were credited towards their GED.

  "Who's this?" Amelia, my most outspoken student, jerked a thumb at Josh. She had her long electric-blue and black hair pulled back in a high ponytail. She wore a cropped hoodie, her midriff bare while her lower half was covered in ripped jeans and white sneakers. Her familiar make-up barely covered the blackeye – a present from her boyfriend, no doubt. Despite my best efforts, she wasn't ready to talk about leaving.

  "This, Amelia, is our special guest for today." My mind scrambled to come up with a different lesson plan. "Josh Greenfeld is a-"

  "Holy shit!" Jessika dropped her phone, all heads twisted to stare at the normally quiet teen. "You’re the guy. You wrote that movie!"

  Heads swiveled back in unison to stare at Josh. He tucked his hands into his pockets, a small smile pulling at his mouth. "Which one?"

  "This guy's from Hollywood?" Amelia perked up, her eyes narrowing in interest on Josh. "He don't look famous."

  "Bitch," Jessika barked back. "He wrote They called him Dog."

  Chatter broke out. Some of the teens rose, half-standing, craning to see him better. Josh glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. I crossed my arms, leaning against my table. "I force all my classes to watch it."

  A grin slowly crept across his face sending his eyes dancing. "Supporting your brother?"

  I winked, answering his grin with my own. I turned back to the tittering class. "Ladies, gents. Settle. Josh will answer all questions. Who's first?"

  Hands shot up.

  I nodded at Trent. A young scrawny kid, he'd somehow managed to find a girlfriend, knock her up and then get lumped with the baby when she split just two weeks after giving birth. Just quietly, he was one of my favorite students – a hard worker, he desperately wanted to give his son a better future.

  He dropped his hand, leaning forward eagerly. "Do you take on interns?"

  My heart clenched.

  "Sure. You got your diploma?" Josh moved to the desk, coming to lean beside me, his thigh pressed to mine, his hands dropping to the table behind us. His pinkie brushed mine on the desk.

  Trent's face dropped, red flushing his cheeks as he looked away. "No, sir."

  "You close?"

  Trent nodded, face rising, expression stubborn. "Three classes left."

  "Good. Get Ms. Archer to call me when you graduate."

  "It's Molly here," I whispered, watching Trent light up. "And please don't give them false hope."

  "Unlike some," Josh whispered back, "I keep my promises."

  I frowned, flicking him a glance. He ignored me, nodding at Leesha in the back.

  "You wrote They called him Dog?" Her tone was dubious.

  Josh nodded.

  "But you ain't poor."

  "No."

  "You raised poor?"

  There were a few amused giggles. This was the quietest the class had ever been – and the most engaged. Every single phone sat on the desk, all watching Josh in rapt attention.

  Mental note: do more guest visits.

  "No, I'm not poor, wasn't raised that way either. But I don't have to be to write an empathetic story. I wrote Dog after spending time documenting the experience of new immigrants. I went and spoke to men and women who had lived experience of racism, poverty and homophobia. The story of Hosea is the story of many people. I didn't write Dog in isolation. I wrote it with permission, and in partnership, with many people from a variety of backgrounds. My grandparents included. They came to America with only fifty dollars and three children to feed. By the end of their first year they were bankrupt, living out of a friend’s backyard, and had another mouth to feed. You'll see them, and everyone else I interviewed, listed in the credits and referenced throughout the movie in scenes showing newspapers or tv news." He grinned. "There's a little Easter egg for you, if you feel like watching it again."

  "But why'd you write it if you ain't poor?"

  Josh shrugged. "Everyone has a story that only they can t
ell. But I can give it the platform to be heard – that's what I do. I honestly believe every story is important."

  Amelia frowned, "I don't have a story."

  "'Course you do." Josh leaned forward. "Where you from?"

  "Brooklyn."

  "Why're you here?"

  "'Cause I was born here."

  "No, I mean here," Josh waved a hand around the classroom.

  "Got knocked up. No one wants to hire a teen baby-mamma."

  "Nowhere respectable anyways." Nia called, flicking her hair back.

  "But why are you here." Josh corrected. "Yeah, you have a baby. But you could choose to be elsewhere. Why're you here, in this class? Right now? What's driving you to be here?"

  Amelia's chin jutted out, her jaw clenching. "Wanna get my diploma."

  Josh settled back. "Why?"

  She hesitated. "Wanna go to college. Give my baby a better life."

  A few students laughed. Amelia shoved to her feet, spinning to stab a finger at them. "I see you, Mike. And you, Tyra. You think I can't do it! I'll fucking show you, you-"

  "Sit down!" I barked, using my best teacher voice. "That is more than enough."

  Amelia turned, dropping into her seat, crossing her arms, muttering.

  I glanced around the class. "What is our first rule?"

  There were a few muttered replies.

  "I'm sorry, I asked you a question. What is our first rule?"

  "Respect."

  "Is laughing at Amelia showing respect?"

  "She ain't getting outta here," Mike drawled. The eldest in the class, his mother forced him to attend the classes in exchange for board. I didn't hold out hope for him. As much as I wanted them all to succeed, Mike had gone down a dark path long before I'd come along.

  "Says who?" I asked, crossing my arms. "You? Tell me, Mike. What's your dream?"

  "Don't got one. But I know she ain't getting outta here. A baby momma, her boyfriend knocking her about, dancing to earn-"

  "You shut up!" Amelia screeched, surging back to her feet.

  "We all know!" Mike shot back. "Thinking your shit don't stink. Dancing for money like a common-"

  "That is enough!" I shouted, slapping a hand on the closest desk. The room went silent. I rarely raised my voice. I glared at Mike.