“Yes,” I interject. “But Maxine was just helping me out; this is her salon. She’s the best,” I add, fake-friendliness dialed up to ten. Since Greg explained why he needs to keep her sweet, and how much we both want this job to work out, I’ve been worried about seeming hostile if I saw her again. “She’s, like, super good at all the, um, beauty stuff.” Maxine glares at me, and I shut up. I decide it’s my cue to leave, and Bethany smiles tightly at me.
“Gosh, it’s so cute how you all help each other out in this town.”
I grit my teeth and try to make my smile look halfway genuine, but as I say goodbye to Max I murmur under my breath, “Charge her triple.” Maxine grins widely as she ushers Bethany over to a seat.
At least someone’s getting some action from a Bittersweet actor. I can’t believe I miss mine already. The next few days can’t pass quickly enough.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I could, like, totally send her a text right now if I wanted to,” Maxine brags for what feels like the hundredth time since Bethany came to The Salon two days ago.
“You should, like, totally send her my number,” Hal responds, chuckling. I set down their beers, staring absently toward the door, hoping to see a familiar dark-haired figure walk in. Greg and I spoke at lunchtime when I was already starting my shift, and his voice was still rumbling and low from just waking up. Hearing him sound so sexy and sleepy, I was even jealous of his bedsheets, of the cell phone he held in his hands…
“Cathy?”
“Huh?”
Hal and Maxine are looking up at me inquisitively, and I realize I must have drifted in the attention stakes.
“I’m debating whether to milk my new best buddy Bethany for more work, or sell a story to TMZ about the powder party she seems to have been attending before her beauty treatments,” Max says, adding a couple of sniffs and a wink in case we didn’t get her point.
Hal raises an eyebrow. “I’m thinking people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones…”
“Uh, I think a couple of puffs with the stoners under the bleachers when I was seventeen doesn’t exactly count as a drug habit,” Maxine retorts, scowling. “Anyway, let’s be clear, she’s not even remotely in your league so there’s no need for you to defend her honor or whatever.”
I hold up my hands, not in the mood for another one of their arguments tonight. “Guys, I’ve got to get back to work. See you at home, Max.”
She stands up and follows me, and I can feel concern flowing out of her and invisibly enveloping me.
“You OK, C?” she asks. I shrug and nod, checking the orders still waiting on the pass.
“I’m fine. I’m just…”
“Frustrated?”
I sigh and roll my eyes. “We’re not all sex fiends like you, Maxi,” I say.
“God, but someone’s tetchy, huh?” She folds her arms. “When are you next going to see him? Are they shooting tonight?”
I shake my head. “No, but he knows I’m not off until eleven. I told him to catch up on some rest. They’ve been shooting nights, and he has scripts to go over, and—”
She holds up a palm to stop me and then turns around, striding over to where Joe is sorting through some receipts at the cash register.
“Joe, Cathy is going to need to punch out early tonight. You guys can cope without her, right?”
Joe looks at Maxine over his glasses and she gives him her sweetest smile, clutching her hands in front of her in a silent plea. “Uh, yeah. All right,” he says, and looks over at me. “You have been working pretty hard these last few weeks, honey.”
I purse my lips and frown at Max. “Well, so have you, Joe. It’s fine, ignore her, she’s just being—”
“No, no, it’s not a problem. Go, take a night off. We’ll be fine here. It’s quiet now the dinner rush is over anyway,” he says, and I can’t help hearing a tiny hint of worry in his voice as he says it.
That’s the very reason I should stay, try and get a handle on what’s not working at the restaurant, not running off to see my … whatever. Besides, I don’t want preferential treatment. Would Joe let one of the other wait staff off just like that if they asked? I see him wink affectionately at Jenna as she stuffs more tips into the jar and think—yeah, he probably would.
Still, I narrow my eyes at Maxine, but she just smiles back and leans over to whisper, “I can hear you thinking. No excuses. Go see him.”
She heads back over to the table where Hal is finishing her half-eaten steak, and I shake my head at her as I watch her go. Still, I can’t help feeling an embarrassing sense of excitement building at the idea of seeing Greg at last. I head out back to grab my stuff, and then swing by the kitchen to see what I can scrounge from Bobby. When I tell him I’ll be sharing whatever he can spare with Greg, he lets me have a stupidly big portion of his tiramisu dessert, which makes me think of licking cream off Greg’s body, which makes me turn beet red and scurry out of the kitchen again. As I head past, I touch Joe’s arm to thank him, and blow kisses to Hal and Max. Hal pulls a face as I overhear Maxine explain where I’m headed, but I don’t have time to worry about Hal’s little jealousies now.
I speed-walk back to the apartment to freshen up and change out of my shift-dress into a denim skirt and tee that I manage to convince myself after a lot of scrutiny says casual-yet-sexy. I check my cell in case there are any messages from Greg, but there’s nothing. I should probably give him a call in case he’s gone out, or busy, but I’m pretty sure from the things he was saying when I called him earlier that he’d be glad to see me. An electric thrill zips through my body as I remember… I slam the door behind me and hurry down the steps and out of the apartment.
He finally gave me his address, so even though I haven’t been to his apartment yet, I know which block in Hazelwood to aim for. I walk the short distance along the quiet streets lined with classy low-rise condos and large houses, smiling to myself and balancing the dish of tiramisu in my hands. I actually entertain the idea of going back and changing out of my clothes and into just an overcoat—but I’m glad the thought hadn’t occurred to me before I left or this little visit could have turned out too much like one of Maxine’s cheesy made-for-late-night-TV movies.
As I reach his block, the path leading up to it has low-level outdoor lamps and little well-groomed trees lining it, and I feel like they’re giving me some kind of grand entrance. Just as I reach up to buzz his apartment, someone comes out of the building.
“Oh, Catherine! How lovely to see you. How is your father?”
I smile at the elegantly coiffed brunette lady as she holds the door for me. “Hi, Mrs. Stanton. He’s just fine. We haven’t seen you at the restaurant for a while?”
She rolls her eyes under her perfectly applied mascara. “Yes, well, Steven insisted on this trip to the Bahamas, so we’ve been away. Anyway, don’t let me keep you. You have a friend in the building? It seems we’re overrun with actors right now.”
I nod and smile. “I do, yes—I’m afraid he’s one of them.”
She grins, displaying a row of brilliant-white teeth. “Lucky you,” she says with a wink, and then clip-clops in her high heels over to where her Mercedes is parked.
I chuckle as I head through the small lobby to the elevator. Mrs. Stanton clearly has a weird thing for my dad, though I don’t think he’s really noticed. Her husband is short, fat, and arrogant, and Maxine just loves to point out how unfortunate it is that a man called Steven Stanton has a stutter.
I’m still smiling to myself as the elevator opens on the third floor, more broadly now as my mind is flooded with memories of being in another elevator with Greg. I scan the doors quickly until I see number nine. I smooth my hair, try and make it fall over one eye seductively, and balance the dessert in one hand as I reach up to the knocker, rap it a few times, and wait.
And wait.
With sinking disappointment, I try again. As I stand there, thinking that he must be out and that I obviously should have called, the door fi
nally swings open. Greg’s hair is more out of place than usual, and his big blue eyes widen when he sees me standing there.
“Oh,” he says. No smile. No pulling me into his arms. Just “oh.” He keeps staring.
“Hi,” I say, suddenly unsure this was even remotely a good idea, given I’m still standing outside.
“Uh… I thought you were working tonight?”
I frown, staring back at him now. “Well, Joe let me punch out early so I thought I’d surprise you. But maybe I should have called.”
“No, no, it’s… I’m just… We’re rehearsing some lines and—”
We? Who else is here? “Oh, I’m sorry. I should… Why don’t I come back later—”
I break off as I see a figure emerge into the hallway behind him. A tall, willowy brunette. Bethany Keeler. I step backward and as I glare at Greg I realize he has faint pink smears of lipstick on his cheek, edging toward his mouth.
“Is that the delivery?” Bethany calls from the hallway. I feel like my heart has stopped beating. I turn around and storm back toward the elevator, jabbing the button so hard I nearly drop the stupid fucking tiramisu.
“Cathy, hold on a second—”
I ignore him, give up on the elevator, and see the door for the stairs. I slam through it, gripping the glass dish tightly to my side. Lord knows I’m going to need to eat a shitload of comfort food once I finally get out of here.
“Cathy! Wait!” His voice echoes down the stairwell. I don’t wait.
My jogging’s obviously starting to pay off because somehow I manage two flights of stairs with ease and yank open the door at the ground floor, storming out into the building’s small lobby just as I hear Greg’s bare footsteps slapping down the marble-effect linoleum to follow me.
“Stop!” he shouts when he finally gets outside. I’m already past the path of lights and trees, and onto the sidewalk. I finally whirl around and run back over to him, glaring.
“What?” I yell. “I don’t want to interrupt your method acting with Little Miss is that the delivery! You were obviously going to make an evening of it. So, go right ahead.” I’m shaking, and I have a tiny worry that I’m reacting disproportionately to this, but I guess that’s what happens when anticipation is met with the cold bucket of water that is reality. I suddenly wonder how it must have felt for Greg to walk in on his girlfriend and his best friend.
“We were rehearsing,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Give me a break,” I scoff, attempting to laugh contemptuously, but it comes out too high and shaky. “So are you going to tell me the rest of the cast is up there too? What, were you all about to have a fucking orgy?”
Greg tries to grab my shoulders but I shake him off. “Will you listen to me?” he hisses. “She just turned up. I thought the others were coming but then it turned out to be just her. She comes on strong, but I’ve … I’ve told you the situation here. I thought you understood? I have to play it careful, or—”
“Are you serious? You’re trying to say you’ll put out so you don’t piss her off? So she doesn’t get you fired?”
Greg’s eyes widen exasperatedly. “Put out? Cathy, what the fuck? Of course not! But yeah, I told you, I’m not going to risk doing anything that means I lose this job, because—”
I hold up a hand. “Save it.”
He shakes his head quickly, then takes another step toward me and grabs my shoulders, and this time he won’t be shaken off. He stares down at me, his blue eyes blazing and intense, drawing me in. Anger and adrenaline and desire course through my veins, and his too, I think, because he reaches down and presses his lips suddenly to mine. I melt into it for a moment, but then turn my head away, reach up, and wipe my mouth.
“Don’t,” I mutter. “Don’t kiss her and then try to—”
“I didn’t kiss her. She just…” He trails to a halt as he sees the hurt in my eyes. His brow creases more than I’ve ever seen it crease before. “Don’t do this,” he says. “Cathy, if I’d known you were coming, I—”
“But you didn’t,” I retort, swallowing back the trembling in my voice. “You didn’t know, and so you have her fucking lipstick on your face.”
He reaches up and swipes at his cheek, and I take the opportunity to break free of his grip. “Cathy, Jesus—this isn’t… I didn’t… Please. I’ll get rid of her. Let’s talk.”
I look down at the ground and shake my head. “Not tonight.”
He exhales hard, and I expect him to try and talk me around again, but he doesn’t. “Fine,” he says. “You don’t believe me. After everything I told you? After what you’ve told me, you really think I would—” He breaks off, shaking his head vigorously. Then he turns, takes a few long-legged strides back to the building’s entrance, and flings the door open again. I flinch as it slams shut, and I stare at his retreating back through the glass as he heads back to the stairs.
Well, that didn’t go according to plan.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maxine snaps her laptop shut as soon as I walk into the living room. I narrow my eyes suspiciously.
“What, are you looking at porn? It’s nine-thirty a.m. on a Saturday,” I say, heading over to the kitchen. “I’m surprised you’re even up.” Given how badly I slept, I’m not feeling too perky myself. “You want eggs? Pancakes? You should line your stomach.”
“Why me specifically? Aren’t we all going to the opening game?”
I purse my lips. “Yes, but we all know how you get when there are kegs involved.”
Max gets up off the couch and follows me around the breakfast island, pulling the coffee pot out of the machine and filling up two mugs. I swiftly duck back out of the kitchen with a half-smile and pull open her computer where it rests on the coffee table, curious.
“Oh—Cathy, I’m serious, you don’t want to—”
Too late. The screen brightens again and a gossip blog’s salacious headline screams above a picture that makes my stomach lurch. Greg and Bethany, locked in an embrace.
“Honey, you know they took that shot on set, right? I mean, that could even be from the day we went by there. These hacks just like to squeeze a story out of nothing.”
I nod once, shutting the laptop again emphatically, while Max winces. “Sorry,” I mutter. “It’s just… We haven’t spoken. And I already know the producers are pushing for them to have a romance. What if it’s not just for show?” Deep inside I know Greg wouldn’t lie to me like that, especially after what he said to me when we argued, how hurt he’d looked at the very idea. But even deeper inside I know I have trust issues darker than night.
I feel kind of shitty, to say the least, for not having told Greg I believed him when he told me the thing with Bethany the other night was all her, especially knowing what happened back in New York. I guess I’m just mad he even let her get that close. And now, two days later, I’ve only tried calling him once—he didn’t answer so I left a half-hearted apology on his cell. Pride has kept me from trying again, or going by his apartment, or texting… I guess he must have a pride thing going on too, because he’s totally giving me the silent treatment.
“Hey,” Max says to me softly, looking at my expression. “Come here. Forget about all that for right now. Let’s get these eggs going. You don’t want me to try making them by myself, do you?”
I get back up off the couch and give her a weak smile as I start to make us breakfast. “I was stupid,” I mumble. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Uh uh. No. What did I just say? You just need to give him a little space, then you guys will make up. And in the meantime, you should just let it all go and cheer on the good ol’ home team. Right? Show me that spirit!” She’s suddenly irritatingly perky, ready to bust into a flashback of her bad-girl cheerleader persona. I pause, mid-egg-beat, and fix her with a withering stare.
“Go, Bloodhounds,” I mutter in just about my most unenthusiastic tone of voice.
“Hell, yeah! There ya go!” she shouts, and we both can’t help laughing.
*
“Hold still, damn it,” Maxine says, gripping Hal’s chin as she tries to paint an H next to the B already on his cheek. “I’m going to turn this thing into a ‘J,’ then you’ll be sorry.”
“Well, I thought BJs were your specialty, so…” Hal retorts, and Maxine punches him on the arm as she finishes up. We’re waiting for Todd on the corner of Main Street, about to join the sea of red, black, and white that is streaming toward the high school football field. For such a small town, the opening game of the season is a pretty big deal, to say the least. Considering the crumbling state of the high school itself, the football facilities are practically state-of-the-art. There was an actual event for the unveiling of the new Jumbotron last year.
“Oh, wait, there he is!” Max says excitedly, then yells across the street and gesticulates wildly until Todd spots her. Aside from his tatts, beard, and biker boots, this is the most I’ve ever seen him blend in, as he sports his Bloodhounds jersey proudly along with the rest of us. Max leaps into his arms and he swings her around easily.
“OK, let’s get going,” Hal says, making a face at me as they start to kiss. I scan the crowd looking for Carl and his buddies, but there’s no hope of making him out. I’m sure I’ll see him at the restaurant later—Joe usually hosts a meal for the players, and my little brother is weirdly popular with them despite not being even remotely a jock. Maybe it’s the JJ’s connection—those boys do like a rack of ribs.
We all join in with curse-laden variations on the school fight song with the crowd until we reach the field, and the flow of people slows to a bottleneck as they try and find good seats in the bleachers. Some of those who risked driving are pulling up slowly, trying to find a parking spot without causing an accident, Dogwood Bloodhounds decals affixed to their hoods and doors.
I glance over at one brand-new-looking SUV as it pulls up, and then feel like my eyeballs have been burned. “Oh, shit,” I hiss.
Maxi looks over at me, her arm still linked with Todd’s. She unravels herself as she spots what I’ve seen. “Oh. Oh. Shit.”
Bittersweet Page 20