Eyes Like Those

by Melissa Brayden

  Isabel let herself into the apartment and was happy to find that it was decent-sized and fully furnished just as Celeste had promised. It was also decorated with a decidedly Southwestern flair. Celeste seemed to have embraced that part of the country in a big way. It wasn’t necessarily Isabel’s style, but she was too grateful to care. She could embrace the cow-skull-in-the-dirt photos in the turquoise frames. Well, she could try. The realistic-looking iguana sitting on top of the fridge might take up a life in the closet, however.

  “Look, Tony. It’s our new place.” She set her cat on the floor and opened the door to his carrier, knowing it would take him a good fifteen minutes to get the courage to come out and explore.

  She looked around. The front door opened to a moderate-sized living room combined with the kitchen and breakfast nook in one. A single bedroom branched off a small hallway to the left. She strolled through the space and nodded at the dark beige carpet, then winced at the giant photograph of a wolf peering over a cliff. It was a choice. Perhaps one she would tuck safely away with Mr. Iguana.

  So, this was home for the foreseeable future. Yep. She could work with this. Relief hit, fast and wonderful, energizing her, because she’d made it. She was home.

  Isabel grabbed another armful of her belongings from the car and smiled at a middle-aged gentleman with jet black hair crossing the courtyard. He wore a plaid tie, kidnapper glasses, and a permanent scowl. “Are you Isabel Chase?” he asked.

  With luggage hanging off every part of her, she paused to readjust the strap hanging on her shoulder. “I am. Hi. What can I do for you?”

  “Celeste told me you’d be moving in today, so I’ve been keeping an eye out. I’m Larry Herman. I own the complex. Just so we’re clear, no loud parties.” He seemed intense, too intense, which, for whatever reason, amused her.

  “As in, I can’t attend any? That’s depressing news.” Her euphoria seemed to have enabled her sarcastic side. “That’s really gonna cut into my social world, Larry. I guess I’ll just stay home. Eat macaroni.” She smiled, which seemed to throw him completely.

  “No hosting loud parties is the rule. No attending them on the property either. I’m not going to follow you once you leave the premises, though. Once you leave, you’re on your own.”

  “I was just kidding about the attendance thing. We’re good. No loud parties on site. You have my word.”

  “If there are loud parties, I’ll have to evict you. No exceptions. It’s a Larry Herman rule.”

  “I will not be breaking any Larry Herman rules.” She squinted at him. “However, I’m sensing some history with loud parties on your part.” She was already percolating on fifteen different scripts starring this guy. She could talk to him all day.

  He shook his head emphatically. “I don’t stand for them. That’s all. No loud parties.”

  “Hmm. I’m getting from you that you don’t like loud parties.” She tapped her lips thoughtfully.

  “That’s entirely true.”

  “And why would you? They’re awful. You can barely speak to anyone for all the…loud.”

  That seemed to make him happy, as if they’d stumbled onto some common ground. They were really bonding now. “They are awful,” he said, leaning in as if sharing a secret. He then eyed her curiously. “Oh, and you have a lot of luggage there.” She thought he was about to offer his assistance. Instead, he headed off in the direction of the parking lot. “Welcome to Seven Shores,” he called. “From the second-story apartments, you can glimpse the ocean.”

  “I’m on the first floor,” she yelled after him.

  “Oh, I know,” he said without looking back.

  Curious fellow, Larry Herman. She was looking forward to interacting with him more in the future. It’s what she did when someone enthralled her, and c’mon, people who named rules after themselves simply didn’t come along every day. Once inside, she sought out her spiral notebook and jotted down a few details of their conversation for inspiration later.

  Isabel spent the rest of the afternoon watching the screeners Scarlett had supplied her with of the episodes of Thicker Than Water that had yet to air. This way, she could catch herself up on the action leading up to where they’d pick up on Monday. She took notes as she watched, anything and everything that popped into her head. You never knew from where the next creative nugget would sprout.

  Honestly, the storytelling on the show was solid, but after four seasons she couldn’t help wonder about shaking things up a little. Killing a few people off. Scandalizing others. Holding on to the character-driven storytelling that put the show on the map, but sprinkling in a few bigger plot twists that the regular viewership wasn’t used to. Most shows died off after a handful of seasons unless they pivoted and offered something fresh. No doubt Taylor Andrews was well aware of all of this already, and while Isabel had some ideas on possible new storylines, as the new girl, she should probably keep them to herself until called upon.

  Four episodes later, the midafternoon had Isabel in desperate need of caffeine, and fast. Her brain swirled with the complex lives of Dr. Lisette James, her younger sister Karen, a prosecutor, and their older brother Dominic, who raced cars for a living. They got along too well, the three of them, and found their problems in the outside world. That needed to change. Now on a caffeine mission, she remembered spotting a coffee shop adjacent to the complex. Having instant access to a plethora of espresso drinks was the thing a writer’s dreams were made of. This was a lucky break.

  There was a blond woman reading on one of the outdoor couches as she crossed the courtyard on her way to the nearby shop. Okay, so people really did use those things. This would take getting used to. All the people. And the talking to them. The woman glanced up and smiled warmly, offering a quick wave to Isabel as she passed. Isabel nodded back politely and the woman went back to her book. She looked like California personified. Sports Illustrated, live and in person, in her very own courtyard. Perky blond hair that didn’t quite make it to her shoulders and blue eyes. Isabel smothered the feelings of inadequacy that eased slowly up her spine. She refused to be intimidated by this new and glamorous world she’d stepped into.

  As she walked next door to the coffee shop, she smiled at the realization that she could hear the ocean if she concentrated hard enough and filtered out the traffic noise from the street. A couple of seagulls sailed overhead and the afternoon glimmered bright. California was nothing like New Hampshire, but there seemed to be a lot of good to counteract the scary.

  She glanced up at the sign above the coffee shop that read The Cat’s Pajamas, complete with a cat clad in loud pajamas and playing the guitar. One had to smile. Cats playing guitars demanded it. Inside, the place was just as fun. The entire perimeter of the square room was outfitted with guitars, some new, some vintage. About ten chocolate brown tables dotted the main floor and off to the right, nestled among two tall shelves containing books and board games, stood a pair of worn-in sofas, all overstuffed and soft looking. She dug the vibe and could see herself spending tons of time in this space when she needed a new spot to write.

  “What can I get for you?” the barista asked. She had gorgeous hair, dark red, curly and thick as it fell around her shoulders. Isabel would kill for that hair. She would wage wars. Sell insurance policies. Anything. “Did you need another minute?” the woman asked when she didn’t immediately answer.

  “Sorry. I was just admiring your hair, and thus wondering why I even got up in the morning.” With her finger, she flicked a strand of her own, boring, brown, straight hair.

  The woman laughed. “You’re sweet, but it’s more trouble than it’s worth. The monthly budget takes a huge hit in the name of hair product.”

  “Totally worth it. Trust me.” They smiled at each other. She liked this woman. She had fun energy and a cool, mellow voice. Plus, there was something laid back and friendly about her. “This is a great place. Great name, too.”

  “I’m glad you like it. Named after my childhood cat, Pajamas
. We called him PJ.” She grabbed a towel and wiped down the counter.

  “Oh. So, you’re the owner?”

  “Yep. That’s me. We’ve been here six years now and going strong. People like a good cup of coffee before hitting the beach. Luckily, you won’t find any better than mine. And that’s a legit challenge.”

  “Sold. I’ll take one. Black.”

  “Excellent choice.” She grabbed a cardboard cup with the guitar-playing cat on the side. “So, are you on vacation?”

  “Nope. New to the area, actually. Just moved in next door, so you might see more of me.”

  The woman turned back, her interest clearly piqued. “You’re at Seven Shores?”

  “We just moved in today. Haven’t even unpacked.”

  “Get out. Why didn’t you say so? I’m Autumn. It just so happens that Seven Shores folks are some of my best customers. Friends, too.”

  “Isabel Chase. Nice to meet you. So, does that mean you live next door as well?”

  “No, I live in West Hollywood, but a handful of us meet up in the courtyard to unwind, shoot the breeze, that kind of thing. Strong LGBT presence in Venice, so I linger.”

  Well, well, well. Her people. “This place just gets better and better.”

  Autumn grinned and studied her as if trying to work a puzzle. Isabel knew exactly the variety. She wasn’t an easy read in the sexuality department and didn’t mind that. It could go either way based on her appearance and what she wore on a given day. She liked the versatility. She could go for clear lesbian one day and confuse the world the next.

  Autumn inclined her head. “You said we just moved in.”

  “Right. Me and Fat Tony. He’s got an attitude. You’ve been forewarned. We’re working on it, but honestly there hasn’t been a lot of progress.”

  She laughed. “You call your boyfriend Fat Tony?” Clearly Isabel was pinging in the wrong direction today.

  “I don’t. But I call my cat Fat Tony.”

  A pause. “I knew I liked you.” Autumn handed over her cup, steam billowing. “You’ll have to tell me what you think of the coffee. Those beans were roasted this morning.” She inclined her head to the left, indicating a giant silver roaster that stood impressive and imposing in the corner. This woman was serious about her coffee. She didn’t just serve it, she fucking roasted it.

  “I will get back to you with my review, though I have to say, my expectations are relegated to Starbucks.”

  “I forgive you for what you do not know, but this is your lucky day.”

  Isabel nodded. She was starting to feel like it was. She popped a to-go lid on her cup and held it up to Autumn. “Thanks for the nice welcome. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

  “Take care. Oh, and say hi to that Fat Tony for me. Sounds like my kind of guy.”

  “If you’re into judgmental assholes.”

  “In cat form? There’s no other way.”

  Isabel made her way back across the courtyard to begin the process of unpacking what would be her work clothes, making sure everything essential was accessible. “Holy shit,” she said after taking a sip of the coffee.

  “Everything all right?” the blonde on the couch asked.

  She glanced over. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—this is just really good coffee.” She raised the cup in the air. “A choir of angels has taken residence on my shoulder, so I was…expressing myself. With profanity.”

  The blonde smiled. “Pajama coffee tends to have that effect on people.”

  “Right? That woman over there knows what she’s doing.”

  “Autumn? She’s the best around. A keeper.” She cocked her head. “Are you new? Not that this is second grade, but are you? New.” There was the friendly smile again.

  Isabel nodded. “Yeah. Just minted from New Hampshire.” She gestured to her door. “I’m subletting from my friend Celeste.”

  “Who I already miss more than Barack Obama. Well, a close second. I’m so glad she sent a replacement.” She hesitated. “I don’t suppose you like Barry Manilow and guacamole, by chance?”

  “That’s a question I’ve never been asked before. Huh.” Isabel considered the odd combination and took a few steps toward the seating area. “I mean, I don’t have anything against either, though I have questions about the decision to pair them. That’s not judgment. Just a quandary.”

  The woman hugged herself briefly. “I could write a dissertation on the sheer perfection of that combo. If I were the type to write dissertations. It’s okay, though. I’m sure you come with many fantastic qualities of your own.” She gestured to Isabel’s hand. “You already appreciate good coffee. Hadley, by the way. I’m so sorry. I should have started with that. I live upstairs.” She indicated the apartment in the corner.

  “Oh! You’re Gia’s friend.”

  Hadley beamed. “Yes, and you’re one step ahead.”

  Isabel reflected on the LGBT vibe Autumn had assigned the place and couldn’t help but wonder rudely. “So, are you two…”

  “Both right-handed? Yes.” She seemed pleased with herself. “But we’re also just friends, if that was your larger question. No euphemism attached.”

  Guilt struck Isabel for leaping there, and she felt her cheeks warm. She should really keep her thoughts in her head more. She would work on this. Implement a schedule. “I hope I didn’t overstep.”

  “You didn’t.” She offered a warm smile. Isabel pegged Hadley as a kind person, the sort you just knew you could relax around. “Seven Shores is a colorful place. Your gaydar is not off, so rest assured.” Aha, so she wasn’t entirely off base. “And neither is mine, for that matter. Welcome to the neighborhood. And the community.”

  Isabel grinned. “Thank you.”

  “I head to work in an hour, but if there’s anything I can do to help you move in, I’m willing. I’m great at carrying stuff and wouldn’t mind pitching in if you need it.”

  See? Now that was a thoughtful offer. Now she felt guilty about the Sports Illustrated categorization. “I might take you up on that next week when a few more boxes arrive. For now, just me, a handful of suitcases, and a sleepy cat. What do you do for work?”

  “I’m the assistant manager of a boutique in Hollywood.”

  “Impressive. Boutique sounds high end. Don’t tell me it’s on Rodeo Drive or I might get all Pretty Woman fangirl on you.” Isabel laughed.

  “No, it is,” Hadley said quite seriously, “on Rodeo Drive. Silhouette is the name of the store. You should stop by. I’d be happy to show you the place.”

  Isabel’s mouth fell open. “You are one of the women from the movie! I was kidding, but here you are in person. You don’t kick people out of the store with their little hearts in their hand, do you?”

  “I promise we’re much nicer. We would let Vivian shop. I’d personally see to it.”

  “Thank God.” Because those women in the film were vicious vipers. Isabel used to fantasize about all the ways she would get back at them. Stick up for Vivian and then get to spend time with her. Lots and lots of time. Okay, to be fair, Pretty Woman had been pivotal to her journey of self-discovery.

  Hadley studied her. “Let me guess your job. I’m good at this.”

  Isabel made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “Have at it.”

  “Okay, so you’re understated but very pretty, so I’m going to guess you’re moving here to audition. You’re also wearing a lot of black.” She pointed at Isabel. “You’re a budding actress. The serious kind, though, who cares a great deal about craft and not just the potent lure of Hollywood.” She looked nervous and sincere, as if her success or failure carried true consequence. “Am I close?”

  Okay, maybe she was nicer than the woman in the movie. “Thank you, but no. I write.”

  “Books?” She held up the novel she’d been reading and beamed. “Reading is my escape. There’s nothing like it.”

  “No, for TV. I’m a new staff writer for Thicker Than Water.” Hadley didn’t say anything and Isabel wondere
d if she hated television or maybe even the show itself. “Did I lose you with that little revelation?”

  Hadley shook her head slowly. “I’m just happy. You took Celeste’s spot!” She held out a hand as her energy grew. “You should know that Thicker Than Water is only the reason I get up in the morning. Celeste was my inroad to all the good clues about what might happen next, which I thought were gone forever. But here you are.”

  Isabel laughed. “So, you’re a fan? Me too. It’s good TV, one of the more thoughtful serial dramas out there.”

  Hadley sat forward. “It’s my favorite show. I have a cardboard cutout of Aspen Wakefield on the back of my closet door.” She covered her face in embarrassment and sat back against the couch.

  Isabel couldn’t help but laugh along with her. Hadley seemed adorable, big hearted, and kind. “You will get nothing but commiseration from me in the TV fandom department. I get it. I’m a junkie myself. Jan Brady is everything.”

  “Have you met her yet? Aspen? Not Jan. Though I’m sure Jan is great.” Hadley’s blue eyes were wide and full of hope and wonder, like one of those people life had yet to step on in any true way. Her question had been about Aspen Wakefield, who played Dr. Lisette James on the show and was by far the most popular character among viewers. Lisette, the character, was hardworking and benevolent, and served as the show’s moral compass. It didn’t hurt matters that Aspen Wakefield, the actress, was an incredibly hot, voluptuous brunette. She had throngs of fans who obsessed about her every move. Tabloids couldn’t snap enough photos to satisfy their readerships. Hollywood A-list all the way.

  “Not yet, but I’m sure we’ll cross paths. I should be in on the weekly table reads.”

  Hadley shook her head in wonder. “You have to report back when that happens. Celeste tended to downplay. I hope you’ll dish the details.”

  Isabel walked to the couch and held out her hand for a fist bump. “I won’t let you down.”