by Gigi Blume
“What were we talking about?” she asked, jogging me back to the present and away from that little dot of marinara. Who knew a delectable blend of tomatoes and herbs could conjure such profound reflection? Hmmm. No wonder Taste of Italy had five stars.
“Actually, I don’t remember,” I replied.
“Something about my friend?”
“Oh, yes.” I shook my head to clear it of all sauce-related thoughts. “Harriet. How is Harriet?”
“She’s brilliant… the bee’s knees.”
“She seems to have a little more confidence these days.”
“The shoes help a lot.” She smirked, causing the sauce on her cheek to wiggle. I cleared my throat.
“I was surprised she didn’t come to the theatre today.”
Emma gave me a hard stare. “Why the sudden interest?”
“Well, I can’t say for sure, but it might have to do with a certain man we both know.”
“Oh, really?” Emma sat up a little straighter, her ears perking up. “Someone we both know, eh? Might he be a musician, perhaps?”
“Perhaps.”
The corner of her mouth curled, and I could tell she was fighting a smug grin.
“And did this guy say something to you?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny anything.”
“Okay, fine. Don’t tell me.” She huffed. “Maybe I won’t tell you something.”
“Oh, really? Like why Harriet wasn’t with you today? I have a good idea she spent the day with Martinez.”
“Ha,” Emma guffawed. “Really, Jaxson, where do you get your information? Harriet doesn’t like Roberto Martinez.”
“You seem quite sure of that.”
“I am. The guy asked her out with a text for crying out loud. A text!”
I frowned. What was wrong with that? “I told him to text before ringing her.”
“You did this?”
“We were at the club late Saturday night, and since he knows Harriet’s your new friend, he asked for my advice.”
She crossed her arms. “And you decided texting the girl he fancied was brilliant dating advice.”
“No. He asked me about Harriet, and I told him it was a good idea.”
“For him, maybe.”
“I don’t get it. I thought you’d be thrilled. I even said to myself Emma, with her love of matchmaking, will be so chuffed over this news.”
“Then you don’t know me very well,” she exclaimed, crumbling up her napkin.
“No need to throw a wobbly.”
“Oh, whatever! Martinez can do whatever he pleases. I couldn’t care less.”
“I’m finding that exceedingly difficult to believe considering how you’ve made that girl your little project.”
She gasped. “Well, it doesn’t matter what you believe. She’s not interested.”
“You think she’s not interested,” I cried.
“I know for a fact she isn’t. I saw her reply.”
“You saw her reply?” I glared at her, studying her shifty eyes. I knew that look on her. “You mean you coached her.”
“That’s not fair.” She stuttered the words. I knew there was something dodgy going on.
“You know what’s not fair, Emma? Roberto fancies Harriet. A lot. And you’ve gone and filled her head with who knows what when she could have been quite happy otherwise.”
“Men! You all think women just sit around, waiting for guys to notice them.”
“Oh, give me a break.”
“I mean, seriously. She’s waaay out of his league.” This was Emma grasping for a branch in the quicksand of her argument. I could tell because she couldn’t look me in the face.
“Out of his league? She’s pretty, I guess, but that’s all she’s got going for her.”
“Well, that’s all that matters to machos like Martinez, now, isn’t it?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what irks me more—your influence over Harriet’s gullible mind or how you encourage her vanity.”
“Clearly, you and I will never see eye to eye on this, so let’s just agree to disagree.”
She crumbled up her take-out box and shoved it in the bag. It was an exclamation point—she’d said her peace and wanted the last word on the subject. I snatched all the rubbish from the table and stood, depositing it in a nearby bin. While my back was turned, I hadn’t realized she was already on her way back to her car.
“If you have your heart set on matching Harriet up with Elton…” I warned, following her across the grass. “You will be sorely disappointed.”
She stopped abruptly and spun around to confront me.
“For your information, Harriet doesn’t need any man to be happy.”
She squared her shoulders with decided indignation. “But if Elton just so happens to like her, it’s only because she’s talented and gorgeous.”
Talented and gorgeous? Her singing made my ears bleed.
“You do realize Elton surrounds himself with beautiful, leggy Broadway actresses every single day,” I replied. “Some little Hollywood hopeful with stars in her eyes won’t impress him. Stop trying to find him a… what did you call it? Bouji Chihuahua.”
She laughed, but it wasn’t a joyful laugh. It was the venomous provocation of a rival. My heart sank. What happened to our beautiful afternoon? The chirp of her car lock dug into my gut like a dart, and she climbed in, slamming the door. I motioned for her to roll down the window and realized the old cranking gesture was woefully outdated. She understood what I meant, though. But she only opened the window a crack. I did my best to hide my irritability and calmly implored her good sense.
“You’re not doing her any favours by inflating her ego, Emma. Somebody is bound to get hurt.”
She gave me a tight-lipped smile and put her car in reverse. Everything in me burned as she drove away. “You have spaghetti sauce on your face,” I screamed as she retreated out of sight. I would never enjoy Italian food again. Or clowders of cats.
10
Monarch Of The Sea
Emma
“Hey.” The soft rumble in Jaxson’s voice broke my heart just a little bit. Even through the phone line, I could sense his beautiful lips turned down into a sad frown.
“Hey,” I replied. I wiggled further under my covers and stared at the muted telly. After our heated disagreement, I thought I’d take my mind off Jax by shutting out the world, watching movies in bed, but Jaxson was everywhere. Even the telly. Antigua was on HBO, one of the films he’d directed I wasn’t in. It was a weird movie. And now he was on the phone as though I’d somehow summoned him through the remote control. The actors moved on the screen without sound, currently engaged in a jungle action sequence. Likewise, the quiet space between his phone connection and mine dragged on silently like three quarters of The Artist. I would have been content with the wordless communication, as though by not speaking of it, our argument had never occurred. At length, he was the one who broke the silence.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. I nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see me. I wanted to say, Yeah, me neither because I’m sad. But instead, I whispered, “Whose asinine idea was it to play a Frank Sinatra song during the battle scene?” Although the telly was on mute, I knew the scene by heart.
“It’s supposed to represent a parallel reality,” he said, knowing exactly what I was talking about. We’d had this conversation before.
I lifted my legs to let the blanket fall under my feet. “It’s just weird.”
“I won’t argue with you about that,” he agreed. “Although I will say you just don’t understand the movie on a philosophical level.”
“Ninety-eight percent of the movie-going public didn’t understand Antigua on a philosophical level or otherwise. It’s a weird movie, and nobody knows the plot. Not even you.”
“No clue. I’m only the director.”
“A degree lower than the bagel guy.”
He laughed. “Oh, there would be no movie without the bagel guy.”
“Emma,” he bade tenderly. “Can we go back to being friends?”
“We never stopped,” I replied softly. “We just don’t always think alike.”
“If we did, it would be painfully boring,” he joked.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Like Antigua.”
“The little gold statue on my shelf begs to differ.”
“Then he’s just as pretentious as you.”
We were both stubborn but falling into easy banter meant we were back on track.
“Is that you extending an olive branch?” he said playfully.
“Jax, neither one of us was wrong. Especially not me.”
“Of course not.”
I watched the screen, smiling warmly at the carefully planned explosions and stunt men dressed in tribal loincloths flying, and I murmured L.O.V.E. by Frank Sinatra under my breath.
“Oh, hey,” I said, mid-verse. “Are you going to Randall and Annie’s wedding?”
“Of course,” he replied. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“That’s good.” I was worried he’d be too busy with that whole nightclub rubbish, but I didn’t want to say so. It was a destination wedding of sorts. The hotel Coronado was a good three-hour drive away. I was a bridesmaid, so we had rooms for the weekend. But since the bridesmaids were riding together in a party van on Friday, Jaxson would have to make the drive Saturday morning alone. Perhaps I could convince him to drive Harriet and then ask Elton to take her home after the reception. But my hopes on that score were shattered when Jaxson told me he planned on driving down on Friday. I’d almost forgotten he had a beach house in La Jolla. He called it his bungalow because that’s pretty much what it was; the tiny mid-century two-bedroom house overlooked the ocean. At least we could carpool back to L.A. together.
Jaxson and I chatted for a while longer before saying good night, and I shut off the telly. I felt so much lighter without our disagreement hanging over my head. I could turn my thoughts to the wedding and all the fun I’d have with my gal-pals. I did feel bad about leaving Mum for the weekend, so in the morning, I invited her as my plus one. She declined, turning her nose up at wedding food.
“Everything is either prepared with butter or hydrogenated oils,” she declared. “And don’t get me started on the cake. My insulin went up just thinking about it.”
I tried to convince her she wouldn’t develop diabetes by attending a wedding, but she was beyond reason. She promised to pack me some healthy options so I wouldn’t be tempted.
Later at rehearsal, a pleasant surprise awaited me. Harriet arrived ahead of me, having driven her clunker, and as I wandered in, I saw a vision that exploded my little matchmaker heart. Elton was at the piano singing a duet with Harriet. She had her hand on his shoulder, leaning in to read the sheet music, and the smile on his face was everything. His cheeks were all aglow, his eyes, bright with mirth, and there was an energy in his posture I’d not noticed before. This was a man in love. If only Jaxson could walk in to see the pair. He’d have to serve himself a piece of humble pie. It was only a matter of time before another wedding gave us something to celebrate.
When Elton spotted me, he stopped playing and summoned me over to the piano. Harriet bit her bottom lip like a rabbit with a silly grin, and they both looked a little giddy—like they had a secret. HA! I could tell when love was in the air. I made it my life’s study. Such amateurs.
“That was a sweet little song,” I said, smiling. “You two harmonize well together.”
As Elton’s blush deepened, his eyebrows looked like shrimp cocktail covered in blonde fuzz. The poor man was so fair; I imagined he’d get sunburn from watching Moana.
“It’s for our collection,” said Harriet.
“Collection?”
Elton beamed. “I was inspired by the song you wrote, so I composed this over the weekend. We can add it as a ‘B’ side so to speak.”
I wanted to say something cheeky like ‘The eighties rang. They want their record lingo back.’ But I held my tongue and smiled, happy for Harriet. Elton eagerly played the song from the beginning, singing with the counter notes while Harriet joined in with harmonies.
“Can you sight-read?” Elton asked between measures. “Come closer so you can sing with us.”
“No, I’m good right here,” I replied. I was enjoying the sight of the happy couple too much to interfere. Three would be a crowd. The two of them sang and played with such feeling, I almost cried. The lyrics were masked in a poetic form, but there was no doubt about it. Elton had written a love song.
“It’s gorgeous,” I gushed after the last note rang in the air. I was already picturing a flash mob at their wedding where Harriet’s bridal party would break out into chorus, singing this very song. It had that lyrical musical theatre vibe to it as only a Tony Award-winning composer could create. I was simply awestruck. And how incredibly romantic of him. Surely, anything Martinez could do would pale by comparison.
“You really like it?” he said with unflagging hope. “I thought I’d call it Monarch of the Sea.”
“Very nice,” I replied. “A double meaning.”
“Oh?” he said, a shadow of a grin on his features. “How so?”
“Monarch could refer to royalty, but it could also be a Monarch butterfly, representing new life. Hope—or a budding relationship perhaps.”
“Whoa!” cried Harriet. “That’s so deep.”
“Just interpreting what I hear in the music,” I replied.
Elton replied with a measure of bashfulness how much my opinion mattered to him and what an honour it would be if I could spend time learning the song with him. But Jaxson burst in the room like a man with his very own weather system. He was a tropical storm, a tornado, and a lazy summer afternoon all rolled up into one fine man. I couldn’t help but gravitate to his orbit. I was, after all, just a moon illuminated by the light of his sunny rays. I loved watching Jaxson work—the way he commanded the room with his mere presence. It was the mark of a brilliant man, and I never tired of his fierce genius. And when he really meant business, he was stern and silent. The frown he wore while he was concentrating—how his brows dipped, crinkling his forehead when he didn’t think anyone was looking. I wanted to poke my finger into the skin between his brows just to see if the creases would bounce back. And when he caught my gaze, I wanted to run my thumbs over the laugh lines around his eyes so I could feel something tangible in his smile. My heart leapt happily. There was none other like him in the business. How fortunate we all were.
My day had every promise of perfection. With my sure-fire matchmaking victory on the horizon and a delightfully productive rehearsal, I was floating on a cloud. But then… Pinky walked into the room, waving her mobile in the air. Ugh! Every day, it was something else with that woman. If she wasn’t throwing a wobbly over the schedule, it was the production team or the number of extras we’d need to hire. She wouldn’t shut up about Jennifer Fairfax. How wonderfully talented she was. How elegant. How beautiful. I was so over it. Why bring it up over and over and over again?
She stopped in the middle of the room and caught her breath, still shaking the mobile around.
Yes, dear, we see the phone.
Jaxson’s adorable lips curled. “Are you all right, Pinky?”
“Yes! Oh wow! The best news.” She gasped a few more times. “I got a call.”
“Do you need some water?” Jax reached for his untouched bottle.
Pinky waved it off. “No, thanks. I’m fine. I’m fine. Whew! I was at the corner store getting gum. You know how I need my gum.”
Jaxson nodded. We all nodded. Pinky loved her gum.
“Yes, well, I was getting my gum, and then my phone rang. I usually don’t answer while I’m at the cashier because how rude. I always like to give my attention to the person behind the counter. Especially when money’s involved.”
“Yes, dear.” I smiled through gritted teeth. “But why are you
out of breath?”
“Are you sure you don’t need some water?” Jaxson offered.
“No, no. I’m really fine.”
By this time, everyone in the room was impatient to know what was going on with Pinky and her panting and gum story. Morris, the most patient man in the world couldn’t take it anymore. “Just get to the point, Pinky,” he cried.
At that, Pinky blinked, shot her head up, and looked right at Jaxson.
“Jennifer Fairfax is coming.”
I was certain I’d heard her wrong at first. There was no way this could be happening. She broke her foot… or her elbow… or something. She left us out to dry, scrambling to fill her role. And what about Beth? The part had been given to her. My heart sank as Jaxson took Beth and Pinky in Stella’s office to clarify things. Everyone stared at each other dumbfounded.
After an unbearable length of time, I stormed out of the room to find Jaxson in the hallway. I pressed him to explain, but none of it made any sense.
“Jennifer is still under contract,” he said. “Her manager made sure of it.”
“But she can’t do the picture with a broken foot,” I argued.
“Apparently, it was just a sprain. She’ll be here tomorrow.”
“You can’t just throw a spanner in the works, Jax. Beth knows the part.”
“We’ll keep Beth in the movie. But she took the role knowing it was probationary. My hands are tied.”
“Grrrr. I’d like to tie your hands, Mr Jaxson Knightly,” I huffed.
His eyes flashed. “Is that so?”
“You know what I meant, you dog.”
“Woof.”
Gah! Why was it so hard to remain cross with him? Truthfully, I blamed Pinky. This was all her mess. If she weren’t such a fan girl over Jennifer Fairfax, she would have made the arrangements with a level head—instead of her usual scatterbrain. Scratch that. There wasn’t a sane bit anywhere to be found with Pinky. We were doomed.