Eyes Like Those

by Melissa Brayden

  “I do, yeah, and I think we should mess with them more, if you want my opinion.” She seemed to hear herself and backpedaled. “Though I’m not sure you do.”

  “No. I do. I just—I do.” Why was she letting this get to her?

  “Just watch. That’s all I’m asking.”

  An unspoken spark, Taylor repeated in her head. An unspoken spark. “I will watch,” she said. “I promise. Now if you’ll follow me, we’ll get you set up with a workstation.” She escorted Isabel out of the writers’ room and into the common workspace just outside of her own office. Cubicles dotted the space from which her team worked. “Any desk without personal belongings is up for grabs. Feel free to take your pick.”

  “Thank you,” she said, meeting Taylor’s gaze. The fire behind her blue eyes hadn’t dimmed, and Taylor had to admit, she liked it. It had her all tingly, and it had been a while since that had happened. “I’ll get started on those rewrites.”

  “Let me know if you need anything. My door is always open.” Her standard offer. Making herself available for her team was important to Taylor. While their respect mattered, she needed them to know that she cared about what they had to say. Part of her job was to put out the best show possible, and she couldn’t do that all on her own. The onscreen pairing seemed highly implausible, but she would pay attention to any Lisette/Thomas screen time because a talented writer asked her to.

  She watched Isabel walk briskly to the back of the room to select the cubicle near the window, leaving the faintest trail of perfume, a scent Taylor wasn’t familiar with. Cucumber, perhaps? Clean cotton? Something refreshing. Isabel had pulled her hair down three-quarters of the way through the meeting, and the thick dark strands now fell loosely in a tumble.

  Taylor didn’t have time for such inconsequence, however, and she propelled herself into motion. There was work to be done, and every second counted. Still…that glorious hair held center stage in her mind, and for just a hint of a second, she imagined her hands in it, which was an idiotic thing to imagine. She gave her head a firm come-to-Jesus shake. She would need to have a conversation with her inner self about boundaries. She walked back to her office, prepared to be productive.

  “Hey, Scar?”

  “What can I do for you?” Scarlett asked, following her to her office.

  “Is the air-conditioning on? It’s warm, no?”

  She disappeared briefly, before returning. “An even seventy-two, as always.”

  “Huh. Interesting. Just me, then.” She took a seat at her desk and ruminated. An unspoken spark.

  Chapter Six

  By the time Isabel pulled up to her apartment, it was past eight. Her neck ached and her brain had taken a holiday from the intense dialogue rewrite. She was worn out and highly interested in a dark foamy beer, five of which were in the door of her fridge like welcome little soldiers. As she trekked in from the parking lot, laughter emanated from the courtyard, and her muscles relaxed as she realized she was home.

  “It’s the new girl,” a voice said as she approached.

  “Isabel, right?” another voice asked quietly.

  As she rounded the corner, she saw Autumn from the coffee shop and Hadley, who liked to read, sitting on the green-cushioned couches. Without even thinking, she collapsed in a heap next to Autumn. “Isabel would be correct. Or Izzy. Or Iz. I’m real, real flexible.”

  “Izzy is fun,” Autumn said. “You strike me as an Izzy.”

  Hadley grinned. “You do. Long day?”

  “Longest ever. I’m getting a beer. Anybody up for one?”

  “I’ll join you. Yeah,” Autumn said. “Had hates beer,” she added, to which Hadley nodded emphatically.

  Isabel frowned. “That’s a shame.”

  “It’s not. It’s awful,” Hadley called after her as she dashed inside for a couple of beers. When Isabel returned, Hadley hooked a thumb her way and turned to Autumn. “Izzy here is a writer for Thicker Than Water. Did she share that little tidbit with you?”

  “That show about the family? The one Celeste wrote for?” Autumn asked. “Get out. That’s impressive.”

  Isabel held up a hand. “You might want to table that admiration. I’m pretty low on the totem pole. As in, I’m the girl waiting in line to be on it.”

  Autumn shrugged. “You’re what? Twenty-five. You’re right on track.”

  “Eight,” Isabel corrected. “I’m twenty-eight, and that’s old lady status in Hollywood-speak. Case in point, my boss is only four years older than me and already an executive producer and showrunner of one of the most popular shows on television and has been for more than four years.”

  “Taylor Andrews,” Hadley said. “If she writes it, I’ll watch it.”

  Isabel reflected on Taylor, the way she’d run the meeting with such finesse. She kept the writers moving, accepting and rejecting ideas summarily and without hurting anyone’s ego. She knew what she wanted and how to achieve it, which was inspiring. What’s more, her team seemed to really respect her. “She’s good. The real deal.”

  “So, you’ll be writing episodes?” Autumn asked. “And if so, which one will the character inspired by me be appearing in? Small business owner with a heart of gold meets a stunning woman with a mysterious past.”

  Isabel grinned. “A slam dunk. But as of now, I won’t be writing my own episodes. I don’t have a producer title, so I’ll be used for things like research, script rewrites, or brainstorming.”

  “Still incredible to me,” Hadley said, pulling her blond hair into a ponytail and giving her head a shake. “So, are you in love?”

  “With Taylor?” Isabel asked automatically.

  “No.” Hadley laughed. “I just meant in general, but Taylor Andrews is certainly fair game in regard to the question.”

  Autumn leaned in to Isabel. “I should explain that Hadley collects information on the love lives of practically everyone she meets. She’s a wide-eyed romantic.”

  “And Autumn exaggerates,” Hadley said, and drank from her Evian bottle. “I’m a naturally curious person who happens to like a good love story.”

  Isabel nodded. “Got it.”

  “So, you’re gay?” Autumn asked Isabel.

  Wow, just like that. “Am I wearing a sign or something?” Isabel asked.

  “Not at all, but it would have made this easier.” She shrugged. “You just leapt to the Taylor conclusion way too quickly, so I thought it was a possibility. I hope you don’t think I’m prying. You can tell me to back the hell off and I won’t be offended.”

  “I don’t think you’re prying.” It honestly wasn’t a big deal. “I date women, yes.”

  “So do I,” a broad-shouldered guy with blond hair said as he passed. His hand went up for a high five and Isabel obliged.

  “Who was that?” she asked once he’d passed.

  “That would be Barney,” Autumn said. “He’s a tool, but we like him anyway.”

  “We do,” Hadley said, nodding. “He lives next door to you. Use him for chores. He loves it. So, you’re not, then?”

  “Not gay? No, I am. Very, very gay.”

  “Not in love,” Hadley clarified.

  “Oh, definitely not in love. Unless you consider vintage video games a relationship.”

  “Which ones?” a voice called from behind them. They turned to see the surfer girl heading their way.

  “All of them,” Isabel supplied. “But Adventure ranks pretty high, as do Circus, Centipede, Ms. Pac-Man, and Burger Time. But I’d give them all up for the Cyclone pinball game. I search them out as if it were my life’s work.”

  “Look out,” Hadley said, grinning widely. “I see a Gia/Izzy bonding moment on the imminent horizon, and it makes me happy.”

  Gia strolled to the couches wearing trunks and a bikini top, and Isabel wondered if she was cold beneath the night air. She certainly didn’t seem to be. “Ms. Pac-Man high score?”

  Isabel looked skyward. “I don’t want to brag or anything, but we’re talking over 100,000.�
��

  Gia sat on the arm of the couch and smiled down at Isabel. “Where have you been all my life?”

  Isabel laughed. “I think there’s a tournament in our future.”

  “Name the time and place.”

  Autumn raised her hand. “Can I ask a question? What is the difference between Ms. Pac-Man and Pac-Man? I’m sorry if I seem daft.”

  “Well, she has a bow,” Isabel deadpanned.

  Gia jumped on. “And the ghosts move in random patterns on this one.”

  “Yep. Too predictable in Pac-Man.” Isabel shook her head in judgment. “I mean, where’s the challenge?” She pointed at Autumn. “Oh, and Clyde-the-ghost has transitioned to Sue which, in my opinion, is super progressive for the eighties.”

  “Gotcha,” Autumn said, glazing over and exchanging a look with Hadley. “While I’m happy you two have found each other, I’m opening tomorrow and should probably head home.”

  “It’s not even nine,” Gia pointed out.

  “And while you sleep in, I’ll be on the road at five thirty.”

  Gia winced and accepted what was left of Autumn’s beer. “I always forget that part. Sorry ’bout that.”

  Autumn stood. “I will see you all in the morning for coffee.”

  A chorus of “you better believe it” and “I wouldn’t survive otherwise” were her answers.

  Isabel looked up at Gia. “So, you’re a surfer?”

  “I am.”

  “One of the best in California,” Hadley said. “She’s a real-life celebrity.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Gia said, waving off the categorization.

  Hadley grinned proudly. “I would. Tell her your ranking.”

  Gia didn’t say anything.

  “C’mon. I want to know,” Isabel said, and took a pull of her beer. “Tell me.”

  “I’m currently eight.”

  “In all of California?” Isabel asked, because this state had a million female surfers. She’d passed them in droves on her way to work.

  “In the world,” Hadley countered. “She’s number eight in the Women’s World Surf League.”

  Isabel’s mouth dropped open. “Holy shit.”

  Hadley pushed forward. “Last month, she was seven and sometimes she’s nine, but you get the general idea.”

  “So you’re really good, then.”

  “I do okay,” Gia said. She didn’t seem to be the type to toot her own horn, which was admirable. Hadley was all too happy to do it for her, again proving her big heart.

  “She’s amazing.” Hadley put her hair back in the ponytail. Hair shuffling seemed to be her thing. “And often on the road during certain parts of the year.”

  “Oh, so a tour?” Isabel asked.

  “The Samsung Championship Tour,” Hadley told her. “Which is as good as it gets. I’ll take you to watch her practice sometime when you’re free.”

  “If you don’t mind,” she said to Gia.

  “Nope. Maybe we’ll even get you on a board.”

  “For laughs? Because that’s all it would be.” Isabel grinned, as she was beginning to enjoy her neighbors, a first in her life. “Just tell me when. In the meantime, I have to feed my cat and myself in that order.”

  “Night, Izzy,” Hadley said.

  “Night, you guys. And you, I’m very impressed with,” she said, pointing at Gia as she walked to her apartment.

  “Thank you,” Gia said smiling.

  “And you know, you’re pretty great yourself,” Isabel said, pointing at Hadley. “I’m not leaving you out. We have a beach date.”

  “Counting on it,” Hadley said sincerely. “Get some rest.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Fat Tony ate slowly from his dish as Isabel lay flat on her back on Celeste’s couch, staring up at the ceiling with a bowl of ramen on her stomach that she was too tired to eat. Her thoughts drifted to the interplay of the story meeting, the script she’d spent the afternoon polishing for Scruffy, and last but certainly not least, the subtle sway of Taylor’s hips as she’d left Isabel with her assignment.

  She had no business ruminating on that last part. No business at all.

  Somehow, that didn’t stop her.

  *****

  The following Tuesday, the clock in Taylor’s kitchen read 6:05 when she emerged from her bedroom, dressed and ready for work in a T-shirt, blazer, and heels. Mornings were hard for Taylor, who required a little extra time before her ambition, not to mention her lucidity, floated back down to her from her night of slumber. Perhaps she was slow to wake up because sleep was scarce these days. But then, when had it ever been bountiful? She’d been slogging away in LA for the past ten years, working extra hours to prove herself in the world of television, widely dominated by men. She’d burned the midnight oil and then some, simply trying to keep up.

  She took a fortifying sip of the coffee she’d brewed purposefully strong and watched as the California sun peeked from the horizon, casting ribbons of orange, pink, and red. Her home in the Hollywood Hills was inarguably her proudest possession and had cost her a good portion of her savings. Not only did it boast jaw-dropping views that left her guests envious, but the higher elevation had her feeling as if the house was her own little escape. Plus, because it was her first purchase post-divorce, the place felt innately…hers.

  “Raisin!” she called to her dog, who was last seen snuggled up in his dog bed, paws tucked beneath him. “Time for the car!” That did it. Almost instantly at the word, she heard the clicking of his little paws on the hardwood and then his sleepy little face appeared around the corner. Raisin eyed her to be sure the promise was legitimate, and when he saw her extract his blue leash from the closet, he leapt into action, racing and twirling like a lovable maniac. She had to maneuver his excited little body in creative ways just to get him into his harness.

  “Who’s ready to go make a TV show? This dog is.” Another twirl until, not sure what to do with himself anymore, he flipped onto his back in surrender. She ruffled the fur on his soft belly as he squirmed.

  Distantly, she registered the repetitive vibration of her phone where it rested on the kitchen counter, but she’d learned not to jump at the sound or she’d never stop. When you’re the executive producer, a myriad of people need things from you at all hours of the day and night. Some of those people would have to wait.

  With Raisin ready for the commute, she snatched her phone and bag and headed to the door. She glanced casually at the readout to see that the most recent message came from Aspen.

  I’ll be wearing the blue scarf today. The one you think matches my eyes.

  Taylor closed her eyes, and her soul sank. She’d learned many lessons during her time in television, but none rang truer than what she’d learned from getting involved with Aspen Wakefield: Don’t sleep with people you work with. Do. Not. Especially when that person is vitally important to the success of your show. The relationship between her and her lead actress had only lasted four months, but oh, had it been a fiery four months, in more ways than one. Aspen was beautiful, smart, and successful. She also required a hell of a lot of attention and came with a temper she unleashed when she didn’t get enough. Aspen also didn’t seem to remember that the relationship had ended when she made out with a woman in the bathroom of a restaurant during a dinner party in Malibu. And now Taylor found herself in a difficult spot. She had two goals on that front: 1. Keep Aspen happy. 2. Keep her at arm’s length. If she could accomplish both, she’d keep her show on track and her sanity in check. As for the text, she’d see Aspen at the table read that morning. No need to respond and encourage her further.

  Taylor was routinely fifteen minutes early to the table read, and strategically so. If that week’s director had any concerns about the script, she wanted to hear it right off the bat, so she and her staff could look for fixes during the read. It also gave her a chance to say hello to the actors, as those deliberate check-ins often served to head off problems before they could start. She made her way to the sounds
tage and joined the small group that was already gathering around the long table the cast would read from while the creatives listened. Assistants prepped each chair with notepads and bottles of water.

  “Luke, how are you?” Taylor smiled widely at the actor who played Thomas, the same character Isabel Chase thought should be paired with Lisette. While the concept sounded ludicrous at the time, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Maybe Isabel saw something she’d missed.

  “Taylor,” he said warmly, as he took her hand. “I’m great. Excited to hear what you all have in store for us this week.”

  “You’re about to find out. And pucker up,” she said, by way of a hint.

  Luke laughed. “Aha. Things are moving along with Karen, then.”

  “Full steam.” There was, in fact, a scene in this episode where Thomas surprised Karen, Lisette’s younger sister, with flowers on her front porch after a rough day in court. While the coupling had been conceived as endgame, the probably stupid notion of a Thomas/Lisette pairing hung over her like a pushy little alarm clock that she couldn’t seem to snooze.

  Luke stepped forward. “Hey, I know you’re busy, but I’d love to bend your ear about some thoughts I had about Thomas’s trajectory next season. It might be somewhat, I don’t know, premature, but if you have time.”

  “My door is always open.” It was her standard reply to the actors, whom she very much valued. She wanted them to know she welcomed their input, though it didn’t mean she’d use it in the end. She had to focus on the bigger picture.

  “Great. I’ll stop by next week.”

  “I look forward to chatting.”

  She turned in time to see Isabel approach the craft services table and pour herself a cup of coffee. Today, she sported a low and loose ponytail, a slim-fitting plaid skirt, and a black top. Taylor had no clue why she paid attention. Except that she sadly did and hated her lecherous self. While the entire writing staff wasn’t required to attend the table reads, many did, and she’d specifically wanted Isabel to sit in and learn the ropes. Taylor crossed the room and joined Isabel, pouring a second cup of the day for herself. She should buy stock in coffee the way she fiendishly blew through it.