Yacht Girl

by Alison Claire Grey

  They sat in plastic white chairs at a table with a red and white striped umbrella over it. Dee’s stomach grumbled just looking at her food. She hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before.

  “Another rarity,” Rooster laughed. “A girl in Los Angeles who actually eats.”

  “I’ve gotta live, don’t I?” Dee responded before taking an enormous bite out of her hotdog. He handed her a napkin, so she could wipe the relish off her chin. “Amazing.”

  “Yeah, Pink’s does it right.” Rooster took a large bite out of his own, making half the hotdog disappear. “My grandfather used to eat at Pink’s. Back when these things were ten cents.”

  “Oh, have you lived here your whole life?” Dee asked as she took a sip from her glass bottle of Coke.

  “I have,” Rooster replied. “Four generations of McCoys. Grew up in a little place called Beverly Hills.”

  Dee played it cool and nodded. “Must have been really tough for you, Rooster McCoy.”

  “Oh yeah. Dreadful.” He laughed. “You’re funny, Dee Beckett.”

  “Yeah, a real hoot.” Dee sighed. “Thanks for this. It’s been nice, truly. I wish we’d met sooner. Figures.”

  Rooster stared at her so long that she got uncomfortable.

  “What?” she finally asked. “You’re so intense.”

  “Am I?” He was smiling now. “My mom used to tell me that. I can’t help it. It’s my thinking face.”

  “And what are you thinking about?”

  “I’m thinking,” he leaned toward her now. “You shouldn’t give up so soon. On LA. You’ve only been here six months. You need to stick it out a year at least, don’t you think?”

  “I’m broke, Rooster,” Dee said, her voice cold. “I can’t afford to stay, as much as I want to. I’m not from Beverly Hills.”

  “You just need a job,” Rooster stated. “I can get you one of those.”

  “Right,” Dee laughed. “I’m sure you can.”

  “No, I mean it,” Rooster continued. “Look, when I first saw you… I assumed you were… You know…”

  “What?” Dee’s eyes widened as she understood what he was implying. “I’m not a hooker! Are you kidding! Is that what you’re offering me?”

  Dee stood up now, knocking over her chair. “God. This town really doesn’t know when to quit. Thanks, but no thanks, Rooster. If that’s your actual name. I don’t need a job that badly.”

  She started to walk away, but he gently grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward him.

  “Dee, no,” he explained. “I know you’re not, and that’s not what I’m offering. It’s just Teddy’s… Well, a woman sitting alone in there, especially one as knock-out gorgeous as you. It just, for a second, made me think you were. If it helps, I assumed you were incredibly high-end.”

  His hand was on her face now, an intimate gesture, but one she didn’t hate. She sighed and then laughed.

  “You seriously thought I was an escort?”

  “Just for a second. Until I saw you order a Manhattan. Most escorts tend to order champagne.”

  They both laughed now at the absurdity of it all.

  “I meant I could get you a straight job with one of my friend’s restaurants. I know lots of people. I could make it happen. You know,” he said. “There’s no reason you should leave LA before you have a chance to really prove yourself.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Dee asked, staring up at him. It was happening again. The world around them was disappearing and it was just them.

  “I like you.” Rooster smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “And if you leave LA now, how am I ever supposed to see you again?”

  Twenty-Seven

  She hadn’t moved to LA to fall in love, especially as hard as she did with Rooster McCoy.

  But it happened, just the same.

  Only his family called him Rooster. Everyone else in town knew him as Alastair III, or Mr. McCoy. That’s how you knew how close he was or wasn’t to anyone.

  She took to calling him simply McCoy and she was his Beckett.

  “It’s like we’re Crockett and Tubbs from Miami Vice,” she said one day when they were having a late lunch a month after their first get together.

  “I like that.” He smiled at her, stretching out his hand to hold hers.

  He couldn’t ever not touch her, not if she was within reach.

  That night after Pink’s he’d dropped her off at the LeBaron inside the parking garage behind the theater. She’d been slightly embarrassed at first, but he’d immediately made her comfortable.

  “An ’88 LeBaron!” he proclaimed. “My dad used to drive one, his was a convertible. But it was actually in 1988.” He smiled his disarming smile.

  “She never lets me down,” Dee said as she started to climb out of his car. “Anyway. Thanks for the food.”

  Before she could get out though, he’d pulled her toward him again. Suddenly his mouth was on hers and before she knew it, an hour had passed, and she still hadn’t gotten out of his car.

  Most men waited days before they called. Not Rooster McCoy. The next morning, she woke up to a text from him:

  I got you a job. It’s at The Ivy, as hostess. Evening shift. Figured this works out better. Dinner tonight?

  Dee could hardly believe it. The Ivy was a place with a waitlist a mile long just to apply. How had he done that?

  Two weeks later she had the rent and half the utilities, with money to spare. Rachel seemed content, for now. Dee thought better than to mention the change in her circumstances. All that mattered was she had the money. It was none of Rachel’s business otherwise.

  After that fateful night at Teddy’s the two of them were inseparable.

  Rooster would take her to dinner almost every night at places she’d only dreamed of ever eating at: Spago, La Dolce Vita, the Polo Lounge. They never had to wait for a table.

  Hell, they never had to wait for anything. Being with Rooster McCoy was like entering an alternate timeline— a new universe.

  Rooster picked her up from the apartment in Los Feliz in a different car every night and after every shift she worked at The Ivy.

  People would gawk at them everywhere they went. Dee suddenly realized what it was like to be a tiny bit famous, since everyone in this town seemed to know who Rooster McCoy was. All of them wanted to know who this girl was on his arm, this beautiful nobody that seemed to have arrived out of thin air.

  And he was so completely infatuated with her. She’d never felt so desired by anyone, it was the most overwhelming and exhilarating ride to be needed in such a way by such a man. There were no guessing games with Rooster, he never ceased to make it very clear how much he wanted her.

  She’d waited a week to sleep with him and once they started, neither of them could get enough. It was the most passionate love she’d ever experienced. He was able to make her body respond in ways she didn’t even know she was capable of.

  Dee, for a couple of weeks, forgot why she’d come to LA in the first place. All that seemed to exist was what she had with this man who had found her— and saved her— just when she needed him the most.

  Twenty-Eight

  Summer was ending, not that summer ever really ends in Los Angeles. There would be no chill in the air or autumn leaves dropping from slumping, damp trees. Los Angeles was like Florida in that way.

  Dee couldn’t help but think about how much was different now, how grateful she was to be in this place, in love, and on her way to getting everything she wanted. A year ago, she’d been working at a moldy motel, anonymous, nothing special. Now she had so much to look forward to.

  Their love had happened fast. Sometimes Dee thought maybe too fast. She couldn’t even catch her breath most days. But that’s just how Rooster was. Once he knew he wanted something, he didn’t like to wait. And he had never felt this way about anyone, which made it seem even more real to Dee. Their entire story was about timing and fate.

  “I’ve been waiting so long for you, Beckett. I
love you.” He’d whisper in her ear and she’d close her eyes and smile, arching her back as she let him inside her again.

  He was thirty-two, almost a decade older than her, so he was in a different phase in his life, one Dee was happy to be in with him.

  She talked about her dreams with Rooster all the time. He never made her feel silly about any of them, no matter how far-fetched they were. They’d make love and talk for hours about everything they wanted out of life, sometimes until the sun rose. Dee would chatter away about movies and photo shoots and traveling to remote locations. Rooster would listen and then tell her about wanting to produce, to write, to be a great filmmaker. The McCoys had high expectations from their progeny and he planned on exceeding them.

  “We could own this town, Beckett.” He’d stare down at her with that same intensity he’d had the night they’d met at Teddy’s. “We could have it all. You and me.”

  And she believed him, because of course they could. He was powerful and handsome. She was beautiful and ambitious. They were desperately in love with each other, obsessively so.

  Nothing could stop them from having anything they wanted.

  He’d introduced Dee to his friends and family for the first time in early September at one of his father’s galas. This one was for cancer research and it was thrown every autumn in honor of Rooster’s mother who had died from cancer when he was a teenager.

  “I’ve never brought a date to this,” he said as they’d gotten ready at his high-rise condo on Sunset. It was black tie, so he’d ordered a rack of gowns for her to choose from, all in her size, and a stylist to help her accessorize the one she picked out.

  She sat on a stool in his massive bathroom as a hair stylist and make-up artist fussed over her. She’d never experienced anything like it.

  “I hope I make a good impression.” Dee was nervous. It was one thing to be with Rooster. That was easy. But it was another thing to be around his family and friends— important people who she knew she had to impress, even if Rooster didn’t say as much.

  Dee had done her research, after all. The McCoys decided everything in this town. And Rooster was their eldest, the one they were hanging a lot of things on.

  He’d had a turbulent youth after his mother died. Both he and his brother, Ranger, had been in trouble multiple times with the law. There were all kinds of rumors swirling around them, but that’s how it was with any powerful family. They seemed to be exaggerated at the end of the day as far as Dee could tell. Just stories to sell papers. Rooster had grown up since those chaotic days.

  “They’re going to love you,” he said, leaning down to kiss her mouth. The kiss turned into something lingering and long and they didn’t pull away until the make-up artist cleared her throat to remind them that they weren’t the only ones in the room.

  The Donna McCoy Gala for Cancer Research was thrown every year on a superyacht docked at the Los Angeles Yacht Club. It was the third largest yacht in the world, owned by a friend of the McCoys, a Russian oligarch who was a big investor in their film and television projects. He lent it out every year for this occasion to show his gratitude to the McCoys as friends and business partners.

  Rooster explained all of this to her in the limo on the way to the gala. She sat across from him in a red wine-colored dress that hugged every curve of her body, a dress so fitted that she hadn’t been able to wear underwear with it, something that made her feel uncomfortable and seen.

  He eyed her now, a glass of bourbon in his hand. He was in a black tux and looked like something out of a Bond film. Sometimes Dee looked at him and couldn’t believe he was her boyfriend.

  “You look absolutely stunning, Beckett.”

  “Thank you. You look gorgeous too.”

  “I love you.”

  “God, I love you too.”

  The limo had stopped. Dee looked out the window and gasped at the size of the yacht they were about to board. She could see people stepping out of the limos in front of them, all dressed to the nines and beautiful. Cameras were flashing, and Dee wanted to pinch herself. How was she here?

  “Our turn, baby.”

  She turned to Rooster, who was stepping out of the car now. He reached in for her hand and as soon as she stepped out, she was blinded by a million flashes from cameras that felt like they were everywhere, all at once. He was waving to a crowd she didn’t see, but one that looked like it was off to the side from them, screaming the names of various celebrities that were also arriving. Dee realized this was an event, a place people went to be seen, not just a gala to raise money for a cause.

  They shouted Rooster’s name of course, though they were calling him Mr. McCoy and Alistair. She clutched his muscled arm as they walked toward the gangway to board the yacht, a yacht that seemed more like a cruise ship to her than anything else.

  Once on board, maître ds handed them bubbly champagne in crystal flutes. Dee was still dizzy from the flashes, but she did her best to gather her bearings. This was her first real audition in many ways. She needed to keep it together and prove she was worthy of being Rooster McCoy’s girlfriend.

  Rooster was like a different man around these people. He was professional, strait-laced, and buttoned up. He was Alastair III. He knew everyone, and everyone knew him. He introduced her to so many people she couldn’t even begin to remember their names. They all looked at her with bemusement. Some of them barely took notice of her.

  She got it. They thought she was a tart, a flavor of the month. But she knew she wasn’t, and she didn’t allow it to bother her. Rooster never let go of her, not even once. His arm never left her waist and every now and then she could feel him squeezing her to let her know it was still just them at the end of the day. That’s what mattered.

  They’d danced for a while, cheek to cheek.

  “How do you feel?” he asked her, pulling her close to him.

  “Overwhelmed, but I’m okay,” she replied, placing her hand behind his neck. “Where’s your family?”

  They hadn’t met the other McCoys yet, but they were seated at their table. Dee was the most nervous about meeting them. From what she’d read, Alistair McCoy Jr. was a tough man to impress. He had a reputation as being a hard ass, someone who made people cry.

  He was also someone Rooster was desperate to try to please. And that would include picking the right partner. Dee imagined she might not be who Alastair Jr. had in mind for his son. She wasn’t from money or even California. All she had to offer was herself. It was good enough for Rooster, but she wasn’t sure it would be good enough for his family.

  “They’re at the table now. Just came in. Let’s go say hello,” he said, and before she could respond, he had her by the hand, leading her to what felt like the gallows.

  “So, this is Delilah Beckett.”

  Alistair McCoy Jr. looked like Rooster if you aged him 30 years. He was handsome and tall, a striking figure. Despite his reputation as a ballbreaker, he came off very warm, immediately offering a hug and a kiss on the cheek to Dee, something that relieved her.

  “Yes, sir, I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she said. A young, absolute knock-out of a girl not much older than Dee stood next to Alistair. Dee assumed this was Gwen, Rooster’s sister. She almost said as much until Alistair introduced her as his girlfriend, Jessica.

  “Nice to meet you,” Dee said to her, but the girl just gave her a bored look and a nod.

  “I can hear a bit of a drawl in that voice of yours,” Rooster’s father said, offering the two of them seats at his enormous round table.

  Everyone sat down, Dee between Rooster and his father, an intimidating place to be. Jessica, seated on the other side of Alistair Jr., took out her cell phone and started texting someone, her French-tipped manicured thumbs flying across the keyboard of her Blackberry.

  “Yes, I’m from the Florida panhandle, so we have a bit of a southern accent,” Dee said, glancing at Rooster, embarrassed. She tried not to sound like she was from Hicksville, but evidently, she wa
sn’t doing a very good job of it.

  “Well, Winston Churchill once said, ‘The most beautiful voice in the world is that of an educated southern woman.’ I’ve always loved a southern belle. Looks like my son does too. You’re all I hear about these days,” Alistair replied, giving her a wink.

  “Well, that’s lovely to hear,” Dee responded as their server placed fresh flutes of champagne in front of them. “I think the world of him too.”

  She squeezed Rooster’s hand under the table. and he squeezed back, reassuringly.

  “Ah young love,” the elder Alistair chuckled. “There’s nothing better.”

  Dinner was served shortly thereafter, and Dee mostly stayed quiet as she listened to the conversations buzzing around her at the table. Gwen, Rooster’s sister, had joined them and Dee immediately liked her. She was a tiny thing with a head of gorgeous, curly blonde hair and a crass sense of humor that she could get away with because of who she was.

  Gwen had brought her boyfriend, a talent agent named Josh Greene who had just closed a deal for a major television star that Dee had worshipped for years. He’d been talking about it since their appetizers had come out.

  “What about you, Delilah Beckett?” Josh Greene said later after dessert. “Who represents you?”

  Dee looked around the table, her cheeks warm. Of course, all of this had been too good to last. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her and she suddenly wished she was back at Rooster’s condo on Sunset, naked and wrapped up in his sheets, his anonymous lover that no one knew about.

  “Well,” she started, wishing she was drunker. “No one. I don’t have an agent.”

  Josh looked at her, befuddled. “How is that possible? Aren’t you an actress? I guess I assumed because… Well, I know my girlfriend’s sitting right here, but you’re absolutely crazy gorgeous. Like a modern-day Ava Gardner, but ten times hotter. You really don’t have representation?”