Autumn claps her hands excitedly, “But he called you already? Oh, Lu, he might be a keeper.”
“More like a picker,” Wayne mutters.
Corey adds in, “And he eats it!” He pauses in thought, scratching his chin. “Just think, what if he picked his nose before you guys kissed? Did you taste anything strange while you were kissing him?”
I feel vomit rise in my throat but I swallow it, tasting the cranberry juice I’d just had with my vodka. I turn to glare at Corey when I see that he and Ian are already distracted, looking away in the same direction. I turn to see what they are looking at and see two women who have been staring at our table for most of the night. Both are staring back and trying to look sexy: the blonde with her hand on her hip while the brunette licks the straw in her drink. Both are wearing tight dresses to show off their curves.
Ian and Corey grab their drinks and whisper something to Wayne. He nods his head knowingly, and Ian and Corey get up and make their way over to the two women. We all watch them as they turn on the charm. After less than a minute, Ian whispers something into the blonde’s ear and she takes the lime from her drink and puts it in her mouth. Ian leans over to kiss her and pulls away with the lime between his teeth. The two boys have now parted: Ian with his blonde and Corey taking shots with the brunette, his arm placed casually around her waist.
After watching them for a few more minutes, I begin to feel like a voyeur and ask Wayne, “Why aren’t you like that?”
“Like what?” he replies.
I nod toward Ian and Corey, both still engaged in their flirtatious routine.
Danni chimes in, “He’s still not over Laurie.”
“No, I’m over Laurie. I’m just too busy with work, so I don’t have time to act like Ian and Corey, let alone find somebody to actually date. And I don’t want a one-nightstand because they’re not worth the trouble.” Wayne swallows the last drops of his drink, pouring himself another. “I don’t want someone for just a night. I want to meet someone that I can see myself with every day, and I don’t see anyone here who fits that profile.”
I raise my drink in the air. “Yes, Wayne, you just described what I’m looking for! I want someone that I can have a future with.”
Wayne and Autumn nod their heads in understanding. I hear Danni groan and I turn to her. She shakes her head, “No, no, no. We are in our twenties; we should be worried about where we are going to party next, not who we want to marry!”
Wayne argues, “In two years we are going to be thirty. It’s time we grow up and get serious with someone.”
Danni grabs my arm, “If you want to meet someone, I can introduce you to …”
I cut her off. “No, Danni. Your boy toys are not my style. No models, no actors, and no singers. You’ve set me up with all of them and they’re either all conceited, full of issues, or only interested in having sex for the night. I don’t want that, Danni!” I take a deep breath, trying to keep from getting too flustered. “I just want to meet a normal guy who I am attracted to, who my family likes, and who can make me laugh. I want someone who can be my best friend, and who I can trust.”
Wayne adds, “And who doesn’t pick his nose and eat it.” He smiles at me, showing that he understands what I mean.
Suddenly, Autumn chimes in. “You should try Chat Love.” We all turn and look at her, surprised that she was so blunt. She shrugs and continues, “I don’t have time to go looking for a guy so I found that site, filled out a questionnaire, made a profile, and waited for guys to respond. It practically does all the work for you. There are so many people that use it that you’re bound to at least meet someone you like.”
Danni looks past Autumn’s shoulder and bites her lip. “I’m not desperate yet.” Autumn looks hurt. “No offense,” Danni quickly adds as she gets up from her seat, adjusting her dress. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a very hot man looking for me.” She walks over to a guy who I can only assume is Elijah, and the two begin talking.
“Well, at least one of us is happy,” Wayne says with a grin, nodding toward Danni. “How about some shots?”
Chapter 5
Today is Monday morning and I’m still sore from Saturday night. I am currently in a dressing room listening to the big-breasted and gorgeous actress and singer Jenine Graham list all of the things that Patrick Tyson is not allowed to ask her about. Patrick Tyson is the host of the Big Apple Morning Show, an hour-long program where famous guests talk to Patrick about upcoming projects they’re working on. I work as the talent scout, and it’s my job to try and get the most popular and interesting guests to come to our show. Thankfully, Danni has numerous connections, so I tend to do well at finding guests. Our morning show is fairly new—less than three month son the air—so everyone is working under a lot of pressure to help the show reach number one.
In her raspy voice Jenine decrees, “No questions about my divorce.”
Her young assistant adds, “She means her last two divorces.”
Jenine continues, “No questions about my boobs.”
Her assistant adds, “Or plastic surgery in general.”
“No questions about rehab,” Jenine demands.
Her assistant chimes in, “Or alcohol and drugs.”
By this point, I’m beginning to wonder what our host can ask about.
Jenine stands up and examines herself closely in the mirror. For a woman who is only a few years older than me, you can see how a career in show-business has gone to her head. In magazines and movies, she always appears flawless. But in person, it’s easier to see how much work she’s had done. Despite her best efforts, she still somehow looks twenty years older. I make a quick mental note to never consider plastic surgery, although I know that Danni would try and convince me otherwise.
In Jenine’s case, I assume that the agents to blame are drugs and alcohol; they can really take a toll on someone’s appearance. She has more wrinkles than a woman in her early thirties should, her skin almost resembles leather because of constant UV exposure, and her hair looks thin from frequent bleaching. Overall, her body looks frail from a lack of nutrition and her eyes look lifeless.
Jenine turns to the makeup artist, “I can still see my pimple.”
The assistant leans in closer to me and whispers, “Also, no questions about skin. Jenine is really sensitive about her skin.”
After a few more minutes of talking to Jenine, I leave the dressing room and walk to the set, where I see Jackson Foster talking to Patrick Tyson. Jackson is one of the most arrogant, smug, and self-assured men I have ever met. For some reason, he thinks that he can do whatever he wants without failing, both professionally and personally. He makes Ian look like a saint. Jackson is one of the producers for the show so I have the pleasure of working with him every day.
I stand next to Jackson and he acknowledges me with a small nod. To be fair, Jackson is hardworking and one of the best producers I have worked with—but he is still an asshole. He’s just a hardworking asshole. And he really is attractive with his English accent and scruffy looks. Jackson is thirty years old and single by choice, or so I hear. He’s handsome in a manly way, sporting blue-gray eyes, messy hair, toned muscles, and a permanent five o’clock shadow covering his chiseled jaw, plus long fingers that make you imagine what he can do to you with his touch, a deep voice that sounds like he just woke up after a long night of sex, and an ass that always looks good in a pair of jeans or trouser pants—not that I noticed or anything.
Because he’s from London, the women here go crazy for Jackson, loving his accent and arrogant European attitude. He and I butt heads more often than not, but I think the main reason that Jackson annoys me so much is because he reminds me of Kellan. They’re both cocky and sexy, and they both make me want to kick them between the legs while kissing them at the same time.
Patrick Tyson is a man in his thirties with a face that belongs on TV. He has reddish-blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and the body of a GQ model. Patrick can be a real charmer when he
wants to be, but he can also be a pain to work with because he’ll stop at nothing to make his morning show number one in the country. Also, now that his marriage is on the rocks, he seems to be even more irritable. Patrick used to host one of the most popular morning shows in the country but decided to start his own show, and has been fighting an uphill battle ever since. Although he has many devoted fans—primarily lonely housewives—Patrick really just wants to win an Emmy and be taken more seriously.
I look at Jackson and notice that he is wearing the dark jeans I love on him; I also can’t help but notice how the blue sweater he is wearing makes his eyes stand out.
I distract myself from my vile thoughts of Jackson’s ass by listening to him talking to Patrick.
“After the Jamie Lynn Spears segment you will talk to Jenine Graham about her new album and movie.”
Patrick looks confused. “She has an album and a movie coming out? Hasn’t she been in rehab?”
“Twice,” Jackson answers him.
Patrick gives a devious smile that I know means he’s thinking of a plan to increase ratings. “Maybe I can make her cry,” he says.
I bite my lip, trying to think of the best way to explain the rules of the interview. “Patrick, you can’t ask any questions about rehab.”
With a frown Patrick replies, “But that’s where she’s been. Didn’t she also get a divorce? I could ask about that.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and say, “No, Patrick, she actually said that you also can’t ask any divorce questions. Or plastic surgery questions.”
Patrick’s body goes rigid and I feel Jackson tense next to me. “Well what am I supposed to talk to her about, then?” asks Patrick angrily.
I close my eyes while Jackson says, “Her album and movie.”
I hear Patrick’s voice rise as he retorts, “Which no one cares about!” I open my eyes and see Patrick pacing in front of me. “Can I ask the two of you something? Who is in charge of these crappy stories? We just schedule to interview one train wreck after another but when they come on the show, they never want to talk about their problems. Their problems are what really make them famous anyway, not their crappy songs or movies. If we want to talk about film, then why don’t we interview some talented actors like Al Pacino or Kate Winslet? Why do we always get the annoying, drug-loving whores?” He pauses and looks at the two of us, expecting some sort of answer.
After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Jackson finally says, “That would be Lucia’s decision.”
I take a step back, not sure how to reply. “Well,to be honest, Patrick, Kate Winslet and Al Pacino have been asked to come on before but …” I trail off, trying to somehow avoid saying the truth.
Patrick raises his eyebrows. “But what?” he asks, almost yelling. “Are you trying to say that they don’t want to come on my show?”
“No, not exactly,” I stutter, knowing that I’m lying to his face.
Patrick says in a stern voice, “Fine, then get them on. That’s your job, Lucia. I am so sick of discussing the same old crap with these Jenine Graham types.”
Jackson finally reenters the conversation. “I agree, Patrick. But today, thanks to Lucia, we have Jenine Graham here, so let’s make the best of it.” He leads Patrick off of the stage. “Now you go relax in your dressing room and I’ll go get some Valium for you.”
I watch Patrick walk away. My fists are clenched at my sides; I have a sudden urge to punch Jackson. “What the hell was that?” I ask angrily.
Jackson turns to me and nonchalantly replies, “What?”
“Blaming me for the sub-par talent that agrees to come on the show?”
“It is your job,” Jackson says with a small grin.
I step closer to him, still serious. “But it’s also your job to make this show good enough to attract real talent worth our time.”
He steps closer to me, defensive. “This is the show’s first year. You’re not going to get Academy Award-winners to come on yet. It takes time, Lucia.”
“Well why didn’t you tell Patrick that instead of blaming me?” I say, my voice beginning to rise.
“I wasn’t blaming you; I was just stating that it is your job to book the talent.”
Everyone surrounding us stops working and begins watching us argue. Caitlin, one of the production assistants, comes strutting over in her tight skinny jeans.
“Guys,” she says, looking only at Jackson, “I’m supposed to remind you that the show starts in five minutes.” She looks at Jackson, fluttering her brown eyes, and shoves her chest out more, revealing an ample amount of cleavage. I roll my eyes and step back from Jackson as he sneaks a peek. Caitlin annoys me as it is, but I’m even more bothered by her now, in the middle of our argument.
Jackson smiles at Caitlin and says, “Thank you, Caitlin. Would you do me a favor, darling? Can you get Patrick his Valium and get him ready to come out?”
“Anything for you, Jackson,” Caitlin replies breathily. Jackson winks at her and she walks away, swaying her hips.
I hit him in the arm. “Maybe if you spent less time trying to screw the staff and more time working then we could get some real talent on the show.” I walk away from him, annoyed that Caitlin interrupted such an important argument.
After work, Skyler and I grab dinner and drinks at Ruby Tuesday in Times Square. It’s one of our favorite places to eat because of its reasonable prices, good food, fun drinks, and convenient location. The restaurant is always packed on both of its two floors, and is not your typical Ruby Tuesday, where you’d normally go for just a burger and fries. No, this Ruby Tuesday is fancy, especially compared to others.
Since we come here so often, the staff knows us and we usually get the same table. We order our drinks: Skyler their signature Hurricane and I a dirty martini. After our waiter takes our food orders, Skyler points to my drink, raising her eyebrows.
“OK, it’s only Monday. What the hell happened?” she asks.
I take a huge swallow of my drink and relish the feeling of it sliding down my throat. After a minute of silence I finally say, “I can’t stand Jackson Foster.” Skyler laughs at me and I shake my head. “Don’t laugh, it’s not funny. Seriously, that man is an asshole. He’s nothing but an English asshole that thinks he’s better than me. I wish immigration would send his ass home.”
“You mean the ass you check out every morning?” Skyler asks me with a smirk. I narrow my eyes at her and her face turns serious. “I’m sorry—I heard what happened today.” She takes a sip of her drink, the large diamond in her beautiful engagement ring sparkling in the light. “OK, so Jackson can be a pain in the ass, but the guy is under a lot of pressure from the suits.”
I lean back in the booth, bothered that my friend isn’t taking my side. “Why do you always defend him?”
She throws her hands up in the air, “I’m not. I’m just saying that the guy isn’t that bad.”
I roll my eyes. “He likes you, Skyler. That’s why he’s nice to you. He’s only nice to Caitlin and all of her little friends because he wants to screw them or is already screwing them. On the other hand, he hates me.”
She gives me another smirk, “Well then maybe all that tension between you two is sexual.”
I chuckle, “If only; that would be something I could fix. No, the tension between Jackson and I has more to do with the fact that we can’t stand each other.” I take another sip of my drink. “Anyway, he never looks at me the way that he looks at all the other women at work. He checks you out even though he knows you’re getting married in May.”
“You know, I’ve seen him check you out more than once. I’m just saying.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “So are you finally on Chat Love yet?” she asks, changing the subject.
“No, not yet,” I reply, “I’m just not sure if it would work for me. I’m not that kind of girl.” I purposely don’t mention how my family and some of my friends are against my using the site.
She leans back in the booth. “Oh, yo
u aren’t? Well then what kind of girl am I?”
I quickly explain to her what I meant, “It’s just that I’m very busy, and I’m not good with computers or the Internet, and I just don’t think that I can advertise myself that way…”
Before I can finish my rambling, Skyler cuts me off, “Excuses. All I hear are excuses. Do you know what I think? I think you don’t actually want to try to find someone.” I open my mouth to protest, but she continues, “And I mean really try to meet someone. You always say you’re looking, but you only look with one eye open. I think you’ve just given up, as if you don’t think your Mr. Right is out there. I think that maybe you’re afraid to try Chat Love because you know there’s a good chance that you’ll actually meet someone, and that would mean you’d have to risk getting hurt again. You’re afraid to put yourself out there because you’re afraid of getting hurt.”
I stare at her with my mouth open, surprised at how correct her conclusions are. I’ve been hurt and disappointed so many times that, in a way, I have given up. My heart is finally healed, and I’m not sure I’m ready to expose it at the risk of it getting broken again.
Skyler looks at me, laughing, and says, “Close your mouth before you swallow a fly.” I snap out of my thoughts and take another sip of my drink. Skyler takes another sip of hers and asks me, “Do you want to know how I know all of that about you?” I shrug my shoulders and feel my eyes brimming with tears. She leans in closer to me and says, almost in a whisper, “Lucia, I was the same way too. I never thought that I would find someone who could make me happy, but look at me now: I’m getting married to the love of my life and I have never been this happy. I was afraid of getting hurt, but I decided that I’d rather give my heart the chance to experience love than leave it empty forever.”
Our food arrives and I wipe my cheeks quickly, trying to hide my emotions. The waiter leaves and I look down at my dinner, my appetite gone. I look up at Skyler and see her already eating her shrimp and streak. She stops when she notices that I’m not eating, “I’m sorry, Lu. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Chat Love Page 5