“Stop fidgeting. You look great.”
“But do I look effortlessly fabulous?” I ask eagerly, as I run my fingers through my loose curls. “Like so carefree I almost forgot about the horrible days filming DFM?”
Angie rolls her eyes. She thinks I can’t see it as I stare at myself in the full length mirror. The kitchen timer goes off on my left and Angie leaves my view.
I take a step back from the mirror to survey myself for the hundredth time. I’m in a pair of dark skinny jeans, and an off the shoulder white blouse, tight against my chest and torso. Angie’s emerald brooch sits over my right breast. It catches the light everywhere I turn and I just love it.
I give myself a thumbs up and then turn around to glance around the room. Angie’s condo is really gorgeous. She’s painted it stark white, but kept the exposed brick on the south side where the windows gaze out onto the skyline. She refurbished every piece of wooden furniture by stressing it, chalk painting and waxing it. Tapestries hang on the walls of all different shapes and sizes.
As I walk towards the dining area, I see Angie setting down two plates. I can smell warm cinnamon and a fruity medley. She’s made cinnamon buns and fruit tarts for the meeting. I smile at her, closing my mouth as it waters. “Thanks so much for this, Angie. You are the best.”
She gives me a quick smile and picks up my desktop calendar, which I conveniently left there earlier. Fearing she’ll read it, I lunge forward, grabbing the other side of the pad. “No. I need it there. Right there on the table.”
Angie frowns as she looks from me to it. “You don’t even use this thing. Why do you need this clunky—Oh, Jules...who is Nick? Or Ray? Or—”
I try to pull the calendar but she grip’s it strongly, one eyebrow raised my way. I frown at her, “Just, people. Now give it.”
“A person named Nick you met yesterday at 8 pm. But how, Jules? You were at home, watching a movie with me?” Angie questions sarcastically. She reads what I’ve jotted down, struggling to stop a smile. “Or a man named Simon, which apparently you met last Monday at 7:30? And this guy Ray that you are meeting on Wednesday for, what does that say? Swing dancing?”
I yank the calendar away from her and set it back down on the table. “Shut up.”
“You made that all up!” Angie lets out a laugh.
“So what? They don’t know that.” I push the calendar between the baked goods and stand straight up again. “I have to look like I’m busy having a great single life, isn’t that what Fin said? ‘Just act as if you’ve forgotten all about them all and have been busy living a fun, exciting life.’ ”
Angie points at the calendar. “By dating three fictional men, at the same time?”
“They don’t know they’re fictional!”
“And what is this? Regatta gala? Do you even know what that is?” Angie laughs then looks at more scribbles. “A charity ball hosted by the mayor?”
“That’s a real event!” I tell her. “I googled some real ones this morning.”
Angie puts a hand on her forehead and laughs again. “You are insane.”
I’ve started tapping my foot in frustration but before I can snap at her, there’s knock at the door and we both freeze. Finley’s voice soars through a second later. “Hey, Jules. I’m with the team from Silver Studios for the meeting.”
Nerves suddenly hit me and my hands hit the sides of my face.
It’s not too late to back out. I can fake being sick.
“You’re going to do great,” Angie whispers, catching my nervousness. She backs away from me. As she nears the front door she gives me a thumbs up. “Really, really great!”
I give her a nod, and force my nervous feet to hurry around the dining room table, where I’m out of view until they approach me because of a dividing wall. I swipe my phone from the table and press it against my ear.
My heart is pounding so fast I can hear it in my ear drums. I take a quick breath as Angie opens the door and then I let out a loud girly, giggle that practically echoes around the condo.
“Of course I’ll be there!” I boast loudly to no one through my phone. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world! I’ll just need to move some things around that day.” I pause and hear Angie greeting the team and Finley. I go on, pressing the phone against my ear as hard as I can. “Oh I don’t know if I’ll bring someone, Muffy dear, you know I like to come to these events solo. It’s fun to mingle and meet new people.” I stop, turning my back to the room just as I see Finley appear behind the dividing wall with two other people. I ignore the skittish flop of my stomach. “Who? Nick the D. A.? Oh! Simon the Olympian Skier! I’m so glad you liked him Muffy, he had a fabulous time at your dinner party. He spoils me so, taking me away on the weekends to hit the mountains, it’s so romantic...But listen, I have to let you go. I’m about to take a meeting and then I have to meet Ernesto for a hair appointment.” I pause, hearing Fin loudly clear his throat behind me. “I know, I can’t believe I got in so early. He must have had a cancellation, otherwise I’d be waiting another two months!” I laugh as loudly as before. “Anyway, I’ll ring you later. Bye!”
Satisfied with my performance, I spin on my heels and smile as I clench my phone.
Angie has disappeared but Finley stands behind the two guests, and rolls his eyes the moment I look at him. I ignore him and smile as I look at Oscar Pollina, the director of DFM. He’s a tall, Italian, strapping man in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair. He’s always tanned, and he even has a beauty mark right above his lip. He smiles at me and greets me with open arms. “Julie Duncan! It’s been too long!”
I walk towards him and when he gets to me, he pulls me into his arms for a tight squeeze. The woman he came with stands awkwardly next to us, her grin tight and unwelcoming. Her brown hair is pulled back tightly in a bun and she wears a tan power suit, her hands in her pockets.
“How are you, Oscar?” I ask as we pull apart.
“I am better now that you’ve agreed to do the show!” He beams at me as he squeezes my shoulders. “And take a look at you! You look wonderful. The single life looks good on you, no? Don’t you think, Charlotte?”
The woman just gives him a nod.
Oscar gestures at her as he smiles again at me. “This is Charlotte Moore, she’s the head of our legal team. She insisted on meeting all the cast members as they sign contracts.”
“Nice to meet you.” Charlotte extends her hand and I give it a shake, shuddering slightly at her cold touch.
Finley claps once as he steps up between me and Oscar, motioning at the dining room table. “Great, let’s sit down and hash this out then.”
We quickly sit down, Fin and I across from Charlotte and Oscar. I bite my lip as both of them catch sight of my calendar. Within a second, Finley pulls the calendar away and tosses it underneath the table.
Damn. I bet they didn’t even catch anything.
As Finley produces the contract from his leather satchel, Charlotte speaks. “So, Julie, Finley tells us you agree with almost everything in the contract.” She folds her hands on the table, glancing only once at the sweets before her.
“Yes, everything is great. Except a few things, like the part about the sponsors,” I say.
“She only wants two.” Finley makes a peace sign at the both of them. “Four is too much, last time she barely had time for herself.”
“I have a very active social life now,” I add giving both Charlotte and Oscar a smile. Charlotte doesn’t react and Oscar only smiles quickly. “And I want it cut down to one or two campaigns, maybe even just a onetime commercial endorsement for a product. No travelling to promote stuff.”
Charlotte blinks at me. “I understand that. But every cast member is required to—”
“We can do two,” Oscar cuts her off with a raise of his hand, as he looks at me. “It’s not a problem. Two it is. No big promotional campaigns. Most of what you’ll be doing is posting online anyway as the show airs. On your Twitte
r, Instagram, and Facebook. That kind of stuff.”
I guess I better get profiles on those then…
Charlotte’s eyelids flutter and she sighs softly before looking at Finley, “What else?”
Finley looks from Charlotte to Oscar. “She’ll agree to the seven days of filming, but no more. That’s non-negotiable.”
“In all seriousness, I’m booked solid for charity events and boutique openings till the end of April,” I jump in after Fin. “I will have to move some things around and I’ll annoy quite a few people so I really can only commit to the seven days.”
Finley shifts in his chair, visibly annoyed with me but Oscar speaks up before Finley can say anything. “Seven days should be just fine. What’s next?”
“The pay,” Finley says as he flips to the next page in the contract, “and all the publicity afterwards. Julie will attend the release party and the live after show, when the reunion is finished filming. She has agreed to two interviews with the tabloid or magazine of your choice but that’s it. And…” Finley touches the bottom page of the contract. “And it’s a no to the game show. Hard no.”
“That’s a big hit with our viewers!” Charlotte exclaims.
“Non-negotiable,” Finley sternly says.
“I couldn’t get the Goo out of my hair for three weeks,” I tell everyone. “And it dyed parts of skin green for well over a month…”
“Fine. Good. No game shows” Oscar nods, and finally reaches for a cinnamon bun. Charlotte mutters something under her breath and leans back into her chair, arms over her chest. Her eyes flash with irritation as she looks my way and asks,
“Will you have a problem with the gala at the end of filming, too?”
Each season of DFM ended with a big event.
“No,” I tell her with a scowl. “That’s fine.”
“It’s a wonderful event,” Oscar gives me a wink. “You’ll enjoy it. Grander than the fashion show in season one, or charity ball from season two.” I give him a small smile and look at Fin so he can continue.
“Who's the producer on the show?” Finley asks, looking at Oscar.
Oscar stops chewing and swallows the treat quickly. “Why?”
“I won’t work with Declan Gentry again,” I say harshly. “If he is scheduled to produce then I am not doing the reunion show. And I think you know why.” Oscar bites the corner of his mouth but it’s Charlotte that speaks up.
“He’s not producing,” She snaps at me. “We couldn’t get him. He’s scheduled for something else. Some wildlife show in Africa.”
Finley smiles. “Perfect. And since Diana is out, I’m assuming Adam will be nowhere near the production?”
“No Diana, means no Adam,” Oscar nods then bites into the cinnamon bun again.
“Any other demands?” Charlotte inquiries at me, her tone as sharp as the glare she throws at me. I pretend not to notice as I pick up a fruit tart and place one of the raspberries into my mouth.
“Just a few more things,” Finley says as he turns the page on the contract. “Oh right, so makeup and wardrobe…”
Chapter Three
The filming to the reunion is to take place at the Maple Crest Lodge upstate. A good three and a half hour drive to a small town called Dirhurst, a tourist town of no more than ten thousand people unless it’s ski or summer season. It’s mid-March so ski season is in full effect for another month and a half here.
Over the last two weeks I packed and repacked my things about eight times. One day I would wake up distressed and in a crazed fit, throwing everything out of my suitcases proclaiming that I wasn’t going anymore. The next day I would repack with Angie at my side, telling her how this could be the best thing I have ever done.
It was an endless, emotional exhausting cycle.
Now here I am, driving my cheap rental through the rocky, be it gorgeous terrain of the Appalachian Mountains. The roads are salted, and cleaned, snowbanks sit at the sides, creating a barrier between highway and forest. It really is a lovely and serene sight, if only I could focus on it long enough to enjoy its beauty, but I’m a bundle of nerves.
Knowing that Adam, Diana and Declan aren’t involved with the production has been the only thing getting me to sleep the last two weeks. But as the days crept in, I began to have anxiety that Reagan wanted nothing to do with me. Mostly because I reached out to her through her manager and received no response. Fin told me she was probably busy getting someone to step up as acting CEO of her company, Empire Designs.
But I can’t help but think Fin’s wrong. That she purposely didn’t reply back.
My cell phone beeps in the cup holder and I pick it up, swiping to reveal the text message from Fin, marked as HEADS UP.
Jules, they got Declan. Original producer dropped them and his schedule opened up...Don’t worry, I’m working on it.
“What?!”
I drop my head against my steering wheel for only a second, clenching my phone angrily. “This is bullshit!”
I can’t believe this! I specifically said no Declan Gentry. They specifically promised me NO Declan Gentry.
Why me? Why me?
I pull my head up just as the road bends a bit and something small runs across my path. I gasp and swerve slightly to my right, colliding slowly into the side of a snowbank. The wheels grind against the heavy snow as I struggle to pull the rest of the car back onto the road. Something bounces beneath the car and the wheels officially stop moving. I step onto the gas pedal and hear a low humming. Something hits the back windshield and I glance over my shoulder. Snow from beneath the right side tires is being flung into the air.
I’m stuck.
I take my foot off the gas and everything becomes silent.
Dropping my head against the seat I groan. “Just perfect.”
I pull my phone to my face and feverishly text my brother.
You just made me hit a snowbank and now I’m stuck...P.S.- GET RID OF HIM OR I WALK! They are breaking contract, did you tell them that?!
I hit send and exit out of the car into the chilly winter air. There isn’t a single cloud in the sky, but the sun is already beginning to set behind the mountains. It’s eerily quiet where I stand; the maple and oak trees are tall, slender almost shoulder to shoulder. Snow graces the branches as if it had been sprinkled on tenaciously. The air is different too, it’s fresher and lighter. A sharp wind spins passed me and the snow mists into the air from the tree branches.
I pull my wool coat tightly against me and take out my leather gloves from the pockets. I slip them on and the reach back into the car for my phone. I google the address of the lodge and see it would take only twenty or so minutes to walk to it from my location. I have one suitcase with wheels and a duffle bag with me.
I could do it, if I needed to.
My phone vibrates in my hand and I look down at the text message from Fin.
Where are you? I’ll contact the production team and send someone to come find you.
“How in the hell am I supposed to know where I am!” I scream to the trees.
I don’t know, Fin! About twenty minutes away from the lodge, on foot.
I slip my phone in my pocket, blindly hitting send and shut the driver's side door. I lean against the car and wait for my brother’s reply.
I’m not sure how much time goes by but after a few more chilly gusts of wind, I check the time on my phone. I’ve been waiting ten minutes. My toes are already starting to get cold in my boots and I’ve pulled up the collar of my jacket to hide my neck.
“Ugh, forget this.”
I yank open the back door and pull out my duffle bag. I toss it on the road and then grab my suitcase. It bounces around the seat as I get it out. I set it down and then shut the door. I hit the lock button on the car keys and bend down to get my hat from out of my duffle bag.
As I pull open the zipper, something flashes from the corner of my eye and I look up.
There’s a car
coming up slowly, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
I’m dead set against hitch-hiking but at this point I’ll take it. The wind has started to blow at a steady pace and when the temp drops, it’s going to be one cold walk.
I stand up as the car slows down. It’s a dark jeep.
The driver opens the door and gets out. A man comes into my view, he’s in a grey goose-down jacket and the hood is drawn over his head.
“Hi,” I immediately greet as I step away from my bags. “Thanks for stopping.”
“I had to, not just because I’m a gentlemen but because, well,” he pauses. “What kind of employer would I be if I left my employee on the side of the road before the sun goes down?” He extends both hands in the air as he shrugs.
His voice.
He pushes off his hood and I cringe, feeling my blood slowly boil.
It’s been almost three years since I’ve heard his voice and seen him, and even though he’s aged he still looks very much the same. His dark hair is a bit longer, parts of it stay neatly combed to the left while a few strands flap in the wind. I can spot some light greying near his temples. He’s sporting a rough five o’clock shadow, and it looks like he’s put on a few pounds from the roundness of his face.
Standing at 5’9, is Declan Gentry.
And he looks good. Better than I ever wanted.
“Hi, Jules.” He says, giving me a small smile as he waves with one hand. “Long time no see.”
My body stiffens as we lock eyes. His smile slowly slips off his face when he realizes my aggravated glare isn’t going anywhere. His brown eyes dart to my bags and he gestures at them. “Do you want some help with your bags?”
“Don’t touch them.” There’s nothing cordial about my tone and I watch Declan sigh slowly before looking back at me.
“Look, Jules, I know this is—”
“Don’t call me that. Only my friends call me Jules,” I declare.
He doesn’t need to know I don’t have any.
His shoulders slump as he scratches the back of his neck, “fine. I just thought your suitcase may be heavy and you may not be able to lift it into the back of the Jeep.”
Reuniting Reality Page 3