by Gigi Blume
“That’s terrible.”
I agreed, nodding. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”
“Did she go to a doctor?” His forehead creased dramatically.
“I don’t know.”
He covered my hand in his and squeezed. “Please find out. Would you?”
This was a true mark of love if I’d ever seen it. He was so distraught my heart just broke for him. I squeezed back.
“I will.”
He forced a smile, still holding onto my hand for comfort, which was more uncomfortable than awkward. His hands were so hot and clammy from the humid quarters, I had to tap his knuckles with my free hand and slip free. He turned his attention to the window, sighing now and then in quiet thought. Probably working himself up over the whole thing. After several moments, he turned back to face me with a lazy grin.
“What’s the first thing you’ll do when we get to the hotel?” he asked gleefully. “I’m heading straight for the gym. I wasn’t born with these, you know.” He flexed his arm, showing off his biceps. He all but wagged his brows and kissed his guns. What a strange reaction after hearing sad news about his lady love. Perhaps it was his coping mechanism. He was one of those guys who worked out to ease their heartsick souls.
“She’ll be okay,” I said, trying to reassure him.
“Who?”
“Harriet.”
“Oh. Are we still talking about her?”
“Well, she’s sick.”
“Yeah. You said that. And we need to have fun. It’s a wedding. She’d want you to have fun, Emma.”
I frowned. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“Thatta girl.”
Poor man. He was so out of sorts he couldn’t bear talking about it. I decided to drop the subject for his sake and listen to him waffle on about all the things he wanted to do while he was in California. One of those things was to learn to surf.
“Do you surf?” he asked.
“I’m English,” I answered laconically. “I don’t surf.”
“But your house is right on the beach.”
I sighed at his simplistic reasoning. “Jax surfs a little bit. Maybe he’ll teach you some basics.”
Good luck not freezing your butt off.
I looked out the window the rest of the way, tuning out anything else he might have said. I gazed longingly at the Surfliner train speeding merrily along the coast. It was a bright and crisp February day, and the sea water glistened in the sun, stretching out vast and far along the horizon. Maybe once we settled in our rooms, I’d find a patch of sand to dig my toes in and watch the waves—but just for a quiet minute. I didn’t want to miss any of the bridesmaid activities. This weekend would be epic. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize just how epic it would be.
13
All About Tan Lines
Emma
The hotel was perfect. The bridal suite had a balcony overlooking the ocean view. Far down the hall, most of the bridesmaids shared rooms with one another, but mine was a single. Elton insisted on helping with my bag (which was tiny enough for a child to carry) and told me his room number in case I needed anything. I forgot it as soon as he walked away.
The girls had plans to get massages and pedicures in the spa and then lay out by the pool. We were to all meet downstairs in thirty minutes. This was kind of exciting. I’d only ever gone to the same posh salon on Melrose that catered to the Hollywood elite. Boring.
Before I could leave my room, however, Elton came back with a pharmacy bag.
“What’s this for?”
He brushed past me with commanding steps and emptied the contents on the table. Bottles and boxes of various sizes spilled out of the bag. Everything I’d need to start my own drugstore in my hotel room.
“Is this our side hustle now?” I quipped. He didn’t get it.
“Did you call Harriet yet?” he asked in a demanding tone.
“No, not yet—”
“Then how are we supposed to know if she’s contagious?”
He opened one of the packages that claimed immune support. “Start with this one.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Emma, I am not going to leave this room until you take something to protect yourself. We can’t have you sick.”
I was certain whatever Harriet had didn’t pass on to me all the way in San Diego. I’d hardly even seen her in the past week. Still, it wouldn’t do to get sick right before the studio execs came to green light the project. (And right before I practiced the waltz scene with Jax.) It was a good thing I had these wise gentlemen in my life to watch out for me. Mum must have said something to Jaxson. I took the cotton out of the bottle and downed a capsule with the complimentary hotel water.
“Satisfied?”
He raked his eyes over my features and righted a rogue hair away from my face. “I’ll be satisfied once I know you’re okay.”
Jaxson did that sort of thing to me all the time: tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, overbearing me with his brotherly protection. It was perfectly natural with him. But something in the way Elton made the same gestures didn’t sit right with me. I wasn’t a child and could only put up with one man in my life to baby me. I casually recoiled from him, gathering my key card and wallet. He took the hint and reminded me again to call if I needed him. He’d be in the gym but promised his mobile phone wouldn’t be far from his reach. For that reason, and that alone, I decided to leave mine in my room.
Elton’s little visit made me five minutes late to meet the ladies. They had already taken up the available massage chairs in the front spa room. A few women I didn’t recognize had the other spots, most likely random hotel guests. Annie called me over to her when she saw me lurking in the doorway.
“I reserved a private room for you. I want you to relax and not have to sign autographs or take selfies with wild fans.”
I noticed one of the spa attendants coming my way.
“That’s not necessary, Annie. I don’t see any wild fans here.”
It was pointless to protest, though. The attendant escorted me to my private room, and I chose a moderate package. I didn’t want my treatment to last longer than Annie’s. The masseuse put on the soft sounds of pan flutes and nature sounds that was supposed to make me feel Zen but kinda weirded me out like I was in a New Age horror movie in which my chakra was getting bludgeoned with a rain stick. Not to mention the walls were so thin I could hear the giggling and idle chatter coming from the front room. Those girls were having such a fun time with Annie, probably exchanging recipes or sharing stories about terrible dates. I neither cooked nor went out on dates, so I wouldn’t have been able to contribute much to the conversation anyway. But maybe these ladies could be my new friends, and I could find them spectacular matches. Then they’d all be thanking me and inviting me to their weddings.
When I finally emerged from my private incense temple, the bridal party had departed, leaving me a note to meet them at the pool. I decided to grab myself a big floppy hat in the gift shop; the last thing I needed was a nose tan while filming a period drama. Who even knew if Annie would be available to do my makeup for Field of Hearts? That thought made me sad.
As I was leaving the gift shop, Elton almost ran right into me. “We’ll have to stop meeting like this,” he quipped.
“Oh. Hi again.”
He pointed at my new purchase. “Headed to the beach?”
“The pool actually.”
He laughed boisterously. “Me too. Great minds think alike.”
Sure thing, Captain Cliché.
“I guess we can walk there together,” I offered. The guy was all alone, after all. He was probably bored out of his mind. I wondered how long before the groomsmen would arrive so Elton could join their frankfurter party.
We collected towels from the pool guy and spotted the girls in a private cabana. Finally! I don’t know why I thought Elton would go away after I took my place among the ladies, but he didn’t. Annie even went so far as to invite him to joi
n us. He happily took the chaise right next to me.
Let the menstrual talk begin, girls.
“Annie tells us you introduced her to Randall,” one of the girls said to me, lathering herself with coconut oil. She had short black bangs like a 1950s pinup girl with more tattoos than Annie.
“Yes,” I replied. “But she gives me too much credit. She lured him in using her feminine arts.”
The girl, I swore her name was Betty Boop or something, forcibly laughed and then returned to her coconut oil lathering.
An awkward silence followed. I figured Elton’s glaring-white skin must have thrown them off since he was sitting so close to me. He did have a nice physique for a pasty lyricist, I gave him that much. At length, another girl who I secretly named Ruby because of her heart-shaped face and ruby lips, spoke up next as if reaching for something to say.
“How long have you two been dating?” She volleyed her eyes between Elton and me with an innocent smile.
“Oh, we’re not—”
Elton distracted me from answering by whispering in my ear, “We could pretend we’re dating so no one else will hit on us.”
I glared at him like he was crazy. “That is a terrible idea.”
“I could be your fake boyfriend like in those rom-com movies.”
“No.”
“Is this one of those Notting Hill relationships?” Ruby was still talking.
“What do you mean Notting Hill?”
Really? I wasn’t about to let my life become some chick flick.
“You know, the movie star and her ‘normal’ boyfriend.” Oh, that Ruby, she wouldn’t let up, would she? Also, she used air quotes.
“Wait a minute.” Elton sat up defensively. “Define normal.”
“Like, I dunno. A regular Joe. The Hugh Grant character. Not a celebrity.”
I’d have face palmed if I wasn’t wearing a fabulous sun hat.
“Are you serious?” cried Elton. “You’ve never heard of me?”
And so it began. Ruby shrank under Elton’s outrage, Annie giggled, and the rest of the girls pretended they were asleep. They heard every bit of Elton’s speech, though. Practically everyone at the pool did. We all had to sit through the tale of Elton Wardlow, Broadway sensation. How he began writing music with Morris in college and had small success at clubs like 54 Below before making it big time with his smash hit Lived Overseen. Ruby just nodded like he’d jogged her memory, but really, she hadn’t heard of him. I couldn’t help but think, however, that once Jaxson’s movie broke all the box office records, everybody would be singing along to Elton’s music.
After that long speech, nobody asked us any more questions. On top of that, Ruby still thought we were dating.
We ate nachos for lunch, had margaritas poolside, and things got back to normal after that. Most importantly, Annie seemed to be in pre-wedding bliss. She wiggled her painted toes and reclined on her chaise with a lazy smile. I took the opportunity to study her, admiring her effortless beauty. Her friends all had the same retro style with their winged liner and vintage polka dot bikinis. I couldn’t wait to know them better.
14
Frankfurter Parties
Jaxson
When a woman bewitches you, throw yourself into work and try to forget her smiles for a few hours.
Bloody rubbish.
Directing a feature film was exhausting enough without putting everything you care for on the line. I knew I was ready to produce. I was chomping at the bit to perform. An original movie musical was a gamble. The pure scale of the project was mammoth. I was insane.
Yet Emma was at the front of my thoughts.
The roar of the waves behind my little bungalow in La Jolla was lulling and soothing—almost too much. I loved my old post-World War II cottage. It was a place I could go to escape whatever it was about Los Angeles that constricted me. A tiny patch of solitude where I could distance myself from Hollywood and reboot. Some of my best ideas for screenplays had come to me here—sort of my creative dwelling place where my mind was clear of all the extraneous noise.
But today, my headspace was crowded with a single preoccupation. And no matter how much I worked out, listened to music, or tried to clear my mind, all my attention circled back to her.
Her.
How we danced the beginning of the waltz before I called the rehearsal short. How much of a fool I felt for casting myself as her romantic lead. Where was she at this moment and what was she doing? What did the weekend have in store for us?
I unlocked my mobile screen to text her so many times, my home button was wearing down. My resolve not to bother her was slipping away with every ounce of my sanity. I glanced at my smart watch. I could still make it to Randall’s tailgate barbecue before things got too rowdy. I wasn’t a stag night type of guy. Never understood it. But I could go for a couple of cold ones while getting to know Randall’s mates and then sneak away to check on Emma.
No. Bad idea. The worst thing to do when my head wasn’t on straight was to get into a run-in with a bunch of Sheilas. Who knew what crazy activities women occupied themselves with the night before a wedding? I was certain I didn’t want to know. Worse if I caught Emma in the throng of a wild party throwing dollar bills at strange men.
Struth.
Why did my mind go straight there? I would text her. Or not.
After a battle of wills between the ‘stay in’ or ‘go out’ camps, I grabbed my keys and jumped in my car before I could change my mind again. Spending time alone at the bungalow turned out to be a disaster of an idea—I was the worst houseguest imaginable.
Twenty-five minutes later, I was at the hotel, passing my Tesla to the valet and checking the group chat to find where the guys were. I was already itching to leave even though talking to myself all night was the alternative. It occurred to me, somewhat belatedly, that my walk would have been significantly shorter had I decided to self-park. My Tesla came into view on the other side of the chained-off car park just meters away from Randall’s pickup truck. Turned out I knew most of the guys there—mostly crew I’d seen around the studio lots. Also, Elton.
By the time I arrived, they’d already gone through a few cases of tinnies and polished off most of the snags. They were all a bit too tanked, but Randall had the presence of mind to offer me a shrivelled piece of meat and a bevvie. He was no Gordon Ramsey, but he tried his best to hold onto the tongs as the brat rolled between the spaces in the grill. He could hardly keep his balance, let alone heat up an already over-cooked snag, so I set him down on the ice chest and finished the job.
Elton thought he’d be a comedian and slapped me on the shoulder. “If I’d known ya was comin’, I woulda thrown anotha’ shrimp on the barbie for ya.”
Tosser.
“Funny. That’s real original.” I’d heard that same stupid joke too many times to count. “We call them prawns in Australia, actually.”
“How ‘bout a Vegemite sandwich?”
I was really beginning to regret this whole night.
“You’re off ya chops, Elton. Lay off the juice for a bit.”
He laughed. Annoyingly. “Get a load of this guy! Off ya chops!” He slapped my back some more, chittering like a monkey.
The other guys weren’t quite so gone, but they were loud. Really loud. Most of the conversation was a heated and polarizing discussion about football, what plays were fouls, which players cheated, and predictions for next year. I was a rugby man, so I didn’t have much to add to the conversation. Elton didn’t have a lot to say on the subject either. I supposed he and I were more poet than sport fan. He was an all right guy. I just wasn’t in the mood.
“Where’s Morris?” I asked.
“His wife and kids flew in, so he’s spending the weekend with them. His girls wanted to meet Goofy or Snow White or some sh—”
“You came down a day early.” It was more of a statement than a question, but he felt compelled to answer.
“Yeah. I hitched a ride with the ladies.”
>
“The ladies? You mean Annie and her friends? Why?”
He shook his head at me. It was a gesture that screamed, ‘What am I going to do with you, Jaxson?’
“It was a van full of women. Why do you think?” He took another sip of his beer.
“I can think a lot of things, Elton.” Like Emma. In the car. With Elton.
After a minute of uncomfortable silence, he asked, “You know Emma pretty well, right?”
“I do.”
“I just can’t figure her out, you know?”
“Can’t help you there, mate.”
“We’re pals, Jaxson.” He waved his hand between our chests, holding on to my shoulder with the other. His breath ranked of processed pork and bitter hops. “I feel like I can talk to you.”
So he was one of those.
“If you say, ‘I love you, man,’ I’ll dunk your head in that bucket of ice.” I meant it, too.
He laughed. “I mean, what is she into? What does she like?”
“Emma?”
He nodded sloppily. What was it to him? What could I say about Emma? I could say she collected books but didn’t particularly like to read them. That she liked junk food but never gained a pound. Or how she loved talking on the phone for hours, watching comedies, and playing video games. She loved to dance and was good at it but couldn’t walk up a flight of stairs without tripping on her gown. Or how she was completely silly during talk show interviews but when she sang, it was a little slice of heaven.
She loved animals—especially dogs. She was the sweetest woman of my acquaintance. And why was that Billy Joel song suddenly playing in my head? She’s Always a Woman to Me. What did Elton need to know about Emma?