Ginny Blue's Boyfriends

by Nancy Kelly

  “Why don’t you just fuck her and get it over with?” she declared.

  “Why don’t I?” he called her bluff.

  She shot her chair back and stalked from the room. He shot his chair back and disappeared in another direction. Kathy, the Agency blonde, looked worried that he might have been talking about her. Conversation sprang up all around, fast, furious, and loud to cover the moment.

  CeeCee looked at me. “I think it’s rude you weren’t asked first.”

  “Be careful,” Holly warned softly.

  “I’m not doing anything,” I promised, but it turned out on that, I would be proven wrong.

  I woke up in my own bed two days later, squinted an eye at the clock, groaned, then staggered to my feet, carrying a train of covers with me. I was vaguely worried about the taste in my mouth. Some morning breath is worse than others. As far as I remembered I hadn’t done anything to create such an offensive smell—no drinking wildly into the night, eating spicy, garlicky food or smoking of any kind. Maybe it was just one of those mornings.

  I made the colossal mistake of stepping onto the scales then damn near howled with disbelief. Five pounds? I’d gained five pounds over that trip to Sedona?

  “Shit.”

  I’m not as nutty about weight gain as some, but come on . . . it’s no fun thinking about days of future dieting and/or, God forbid, exercise. The thought of going to the gym just plain depresses me. A love affair with celery sours in mere days.

  I opted for work instead. This would be my first day back to wrap. Wrapping a job takes about a week of office work, depending on the size of the job. Sometimes it takes both a production manager and a production coordinator to slog through all the paperwork. House About You? had a small budget, so I was wearing both hats and therefore putting in thirteen-hour days. This does NOT mean I was earning twice the salary, just doing twice the work. But to be competitive, production companies resort to minimizing staff when they can.

  I was deep into the petty cash receipts when Sean sauntered into the room. He was onboard for basic gofer stuff while we wrapped, but I could tell he was still miffed about being left out of the shoot. I said, “Hey, there.”

  “Hi.” He was cautious.

  “Tom’s got the order for lunch,” I said. “Do you need more petty cash?”

  “Yeah ...”

  Alarm bells sounded in my brain. “You’re keeping your money to yourself,” I reminded, feeling like his mother and hating the role.

  “Yep.” Surly, now.

  I’d been hunched over a desk with papers sticking out at all angles, but now I gave him my full attention. “Sean,” I said in a low voice, not wanting Tom to overhear. “The petty cash mess from the last job is hanging on like stink on shit. Neither you, nor I, nor anyone else can let that happen again.”

  “I sent Bettina to you with everything,” he burst out. “She had the receipts and the money!”

  “Yeah, Bettina had some of the stuff, but we work with cash and purchase orders,” I explained patiently. “Lots and lots of greenbacks floating around. The only thing between us and total financial chaos is our accounting system.”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered.

  I said, “And about Bettina ... she was working with Liam Engleston.”

  “Who?” He blinked, totally perplexed.

  “The caterer? Apparently supplies lots of commercial shoots? They knew each other and it didn’t help things.”

  “Oh ...” He thought about that. “Yeah.” On a note of discovery, he added, “Oh, yeah. That’s how I met her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She brought over some papers from him. The contracts, I think.”

  “She didn’t give them to me.”

  “Oh.”

  We stared at each other. I saw now how Bettina had floated into the mix. I didn’t know how to tell Sean that Bettina’s association with Liam had created a political hot potato for me. Sean’s brain just didn’t work that way. He was utterly devoid of manipulation himself and didn’t see it in others. Drifty Bettina hadn’t brought me anything from Liam Engleston, but maybe he’d given her something to hand over. But I’d never seen it nor signed it, so who knew what the real case was? And what kind of company would trust someone like Bettina as their messenger?

  It all served to remind me to keep personal relationships separate from business ones. I’d messed up with Sean and that had led to this mess with Bettina and Liam Engleston. I was done.

  “Ginny, line one,” said Laurie, Wyatt Productions’ receptionist.

  This surprised me as most everyone I know, business or personal, calls me on my cell. Sean got that I was busy and turned to Tom to finish the lunch order. I answered the office line crisply, “This is Ginny.”

  “This is Will. Holly not around? She’s not answering her cell.”

  My heart skipped a little, then calmed down as I realized the call wasn’t really for me. And I didn’t want it to be, right? “That’s strange. She’s always hooked to her cell.”

  “Agency and House About You? are getting together again tonight. Name a good place to meet for dinner and drinks. We need to send them out happy.”

  With Holly unavailable, I was suddenly in charge. I grimaced. “How upscale do you want? Casa del Mar’s nice, right on the water, overlooking the great Pacific. Or, I can name a great burger spot on Montana.”

  “Father’s Office?”

  “You know it.”

  “Good place,” he agreed, but sounded like he wanted more options.

  I racked my brain. Will lived in west LA and obviously knew quite a few Santa Monica spots himself. I could tell he wanted me to come up with something new, different, and perfect. Isn’t that what we all want? And I sure as hell wanted to impress the hell out of him. For future work and ... just because.

  “There’s the Love Shack,” I said, more as a joke than a real option. I needed time. “The food’s merely so-so, but they make a mean drink. I’m personally fond of the Amethyst.”

  “What kind of food?”

  “Seafood. But up the street—”

  “Let’s try the Love Shack,” he said, surprising me. I instantly worried my local hangout wasn’t going to be good enough.

  It’s amazing how I can obsess over these things. Will told me to make the reservation for eleven people, counting Holly and myself. I fervently hoped Rhianna would not be one of the guests but it was highly likely she would be.

  Holly appeared just as Sean brought back our lunch order. Since she hadn’t ordered, she snacked on extra french fries and pickles and cole slaw that we cobbled together from our meals. I gave her the particulars about our evening ahead. I knew if she’d made other plans she would break them. With Holly, work came first. She merely asked, “Where’s the Love Shack?” to which I gave her directions. She added, “I’m glad you’re getting to know Will. He’s directing the Tuaca commercial.”

  “He is?” I tried to hide my excitement. We’d been awarded the job for the liqueur company: To You, To Me, Tuaca! The shoot was slated for the following week and it was to film outside one of the houses on the Venice Canals. It was going to be a parking nightmare, but a fun shoot. Lots of people on the deck drinking Tuaca; others in replicas of gondolas floating on the canal beyond. Kind of your fake Italian/Spanish combo. Like fusion food. Mix ’em together and see what happens.

  “I know you’re wrapping, but we need to get deep into pre-pro on this one.”

  “I’m on it,” I said, wondering where I’d find the extra hours.

  I called Jill straight away and asked her to be the caterer. She said, “Thank God, you’re back. I nearly went crazy with both you and CeeCee out of town. But I can’t do it, Blue. I’ve got two jobs going at the same time. I’m crazed already.”

  “Bummer.” I instantly told myself it was somebody else’s problem from here on out. No more babying the crew. In fact, I decided to give the task to the woman Holly had hired as production coordinator for the
next job. Let her come up with the caterer.

  “I need to talk to you,” Jill added.

  I glanced around the office. “Make it quick. I’m buried here.”

  “I’m back with Ian.”

  “Really?” Hearing my surprised tone, Tom looked up questioningly. I waved him off. He’s a gossipmonger of the worst kind, and though I sometimes try to feed his habit, Jill back with Ian would barely be a blip on his “interest” radar. Tom likes to find out if anyone slept with anyone they shouldn’t have, that sort of thing. Jill and Ian reuniting was way too tame. From my point of view, however, it was pretty strong stuff.

  “When did this happen?”

  “I just broke down,” she said. “Went over to his place, told him I missed him, that kind of thing. Told him ...”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We talked about the other thing. A little bit. He knows I’m trying.”

  “Well, good.” She had serious trouble saying anorexia aloud. “What about the other woman?”

  “Oh, he wasn’t seeing anyone. He was just dating. It wasn’t anything.”

  “So, you’re back together again.”

  “Uh-huh. We haven’t had sex yet, but we’re getting there.”

  “Why?”

  “Sex? Oh ... because ...” I waited. “You’ll think it’s really stupid. Ginny, I accepted the ring. Ian and I are engaged. We’ve decided to hold off having sex again till we’re married.”

  I sat back in my chair. I really didn’t know what to say. “Wow.” Tom looked over again and I frowned at him and shook my head.

  “Let’s go out tonight, just the girls, and celebrate,” she pleaded. She knew I was flummoxed.

  “I can’t. I’ve got a command performance for work tomorrow and for the next couple of weeks.” I paused and asked quietly, “Y’sure you don’t want to have sex ’til marriage? This isn’t some kind of test, is it?”

  “We’re just trying to be romantic, all right? Is that so goddamn hard to get? And I’m eating like a PIG, if you want to know. Starches and sugar and crap. I’ve probably gained five pounds.”

  “I’m up five pounds after Sedona.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’ll talk about it Saturday morning,” I suggested.

  “What’s going on?” Tom asked as I hung up.

  “Shut up and throw me a Jolly Rancher.”

  Dinner at the Love Shack started with appetizers of mussels and calamari. They were fairly tasty and no one complained, which I took as a personal compliment. I ordered Amethysts all around. The women were delighted. The men worried about the lavender color.

  Rhianna was nowhere to be seen.

  I’d managed to work things so I was seated next to Will. I don’t know what I was hoping for, but he just looked so great. And he smelled good, too. A clean scent. Just a hint that nevertheless filled my head. Whenever I leaned in to say something I caught a whiff of it and inhaled deeply.

  I had to be careful about my alcohol consumption because I had way too much work in my future. Normally a production manager gets to choose her/his production coordinator as the two jobs practically intermingle, but I’d left it to Holly in order to get the Tuaca commercial ball rolling. I’d managed to confer with the new coordinator exactly once while I was wrapping the Sedona job. It had not been an auspicious beginning. Holly’s recruit wasn’t doing the job at the usual breakneck speed commercial production required. Since I was bound and determined not to fall down in Will’s eyes it meant I was going to have to be especially vigilant in my job—and that meant possibly riding my pokey new coordinator.

  I lifted my Amethyst and said to Will, “Looks like we’ll be drinking Tuaca soon instead of these.”

  “You’re the production manager?” He slid me a look to which I nodded. “Good.”

  That warmed me from the inside out. I could feel the smile that wouldn’t leave my lips. Oh, Ginny, Ginny, Ginny ... I warned myself. My hormones, however, had clapped their hands over their ears, singing, “La, la, la, la, la,” over my own objections.

  “Where’s your friend?” Will asked.

  For a moment I wasn’t sure whom he meant. “Oh. CeeCee. She was just helping out on the Sedona job. Actually, she works at KLAS. Total class alternative rock.”

  “An oxymoron,” he observed.

  “CeeCee’s taken over the evening show. She was sort of in between it all when we were in Sedona.”

  “Still in love with ‘the bastard’?”

  “Her boss.”

  “Not a good idea,” said Will.

  I filed that away. Yes. Not a good idea. I asked boldly, “Where’s your friend?”

  He frowned. “Oh, Rhianna. She couldn’t make it tonight.”

  Oh, what a terrible tragedy, I thought, my heart light.

  “And she won’t be at the Tuaca job,” he stated with certainty. “It’s going to be a tight fit. I don’t want her there.”

  You and me both, Bucko. I nodded. Kathy, our Agency friend, suddenly called for Will’s attention. I was glad we were dealing with a different agency group for the Tuaca commercial. I was tired of competing with Kathy whether she had any hold on Will or not.

  Checking my watch, I begged off early. I really had to go home. Will, as it turned out, felt the same way and we walked into the cool evening together. He asked if I needed a ride as he’d called a cab. I shook my head, pointing out that I lived just down the block. I hoped he would take note, but he just said, “See you next week,” leaving me a bit deflated as I hoofed it home alone.

  I ended up working like a Trojan wrapping the Sedona job for the rest of the week. My attention was split because my new snail of a production coordinator wasn’t exactly blazing through pre-pro on the Tuaca job. The truth was she wasn’t worth shit, which put me in a bind. I was forced to complain to Holly, who told me to do whatever I wanted. Thanks a lot, I thought. I tried nicely to fire Barb the Snail but she broke down and cried and promised serious improvement. Softy that I am, I ended up giving her a second chance. By the time I moved my full attention to the Tuaca job, production was in such a state of chaos that it was still in shambles after several twenty-hour days. Barb the Snail turned out to also be Barb the Whiner. By the end of the week I was teetering on the verge of a breakdown.

  When Saturday morning rolled around all I wanted to do was sleep. I didn’t think I had the time and energy to meet with my friends. I tried to beg off on the phone but Jill yelled at me that I had promised. I yelled back that it was work, okay? Then, before things turned truly vicious I suddenly capitulated. What the hell. I needed the break. I’d make up the time some other way.

  My phone rang just as I was leaving the condo. Debating answering it, I checked caller ID only to see an “out of state” message. I touched the green answer key and said cautiously, “Hello?”

  “I caught you at home.” Kristl’s voice was full of happy disbelief. “I was just going to leave a message rather than bother you on your cell.”

  Since when had she gotten so solicitous? “How’s life in the Emerald City?” I asked.

  “Where? Oh. Seattle. Yeah, that’s true. It always reminds me of The Wizard of Oz. It’s going great. I’m working at a bar around the corner and Brandon’s been really busy at the office.”

  “What does he do?”

  “I don’t know. His company makes widgets of some kind for computers.” She sounded inordinately bored. “I just wanted to check in.”

  “Nothing new here, really. Work. Oh. My mom’s coming to stay with me. She’s getting her eyes done in LA.”

  “Really? When?”

  “Sometime next week, I think, but I’m on another job so I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  We talked along in the same vein for a while, then Kristl said she had to go. I could tell she was wistful. I wanted to ask her about wedding plans but held my tongue. I did manage to tell her Jill and Ian were engaged. She rallied briefly. I think it made her feel good to have someone in the same bo
at as she was, but by the time we hung up I got the distinct impression things weren’t going well up north.

  I arrived at Sammy’s to find Daphne was the only one of my friends already there. Before I could even greet her, she said, “I went to see Dr. Dick! You were right, Blue. He’s sooooo fabulous.”

  Instantly I felt threatened. “Told you he was,” I sniffed snottily.

  “Oh, my God. He wears these pressed jeans. I’ve never been a really huge denim fan. I mean, apart from a Gap item or two. But then I saw Dr. Dick. Oh, my God,” she said again.

  I snatched up a menu and buried my nose in it. I know Sammy’s menu backwards and forwards but I had to feign total absorption or scream. I hate these selfish moments. They’re so juvenile. It seems so wrong to have to school myself into behaving like an adult, but the truth of the matter was I wanted to clap my hand over Daphne’s mouth and stop her from saying one more nice thing about Dr. Dick.

  “I’m following the plan,” Daphne went on, oblivious. “No more loser guys. I’m through with Leo. You were all right. I can’t be with someone who sleeps with an ex-girlfriend. It doesn’t matter why. I told Dr. Dick all about it. How we all decided to attack and address some of our worst failings.”

  “I thought I was just reviewing the Ex-Files.”

  “And fixing them,” Daphne declared, not to be dissuaded. “One by one, you said. How are you doing, by the way?”

  “Just peachy.”

  “Doesn’t really sound like it, from your tone,” Daphne pointed out.

  “It’s going,” I said repressively.

  “Dr. Dick commended us for our ‘group therapy’ tactics. Keeping things bottled up or avoiding looking at them or generally running away from them—that’s not healthy. We need to tell each other our true feelings. It’s the basis of communication.”

  “Daphne,” I said, leaning forward. “You’re starting to piss me off.”

  She blinked her blue eyes.

  “I’ve talked to Dr. Dick, too. Maybe we shouldn’t discuss our sessions with him with each other.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem,” she said, relieved. “Everything I talked about—it’s nothing you haven’t heard. I told him that I always pick the wrong guys. But I told him I’m really paying attention to what’s important in a partner now. In fact, I made a list to keep me focused.” She suddenly snatched up her purse and started pawing through it. “Where is it ...”