Isabel nodded. “You’re on. And, Taylor?”
“Yeah?”
“Nuns in buns. You got this.”
Taylor shook her head. “For all our sakes, let’s hope so.”
*****
Isabel wasn’t sure, but Taylor might have checked her out earlier that afternoon. Scratch that. She had, and it had been life altering. Isabel had knocked the thought aside until the very long workday had ended, but she pulled it back out again as she walked to her Honda Civic. She hadn’t been hallucinating. Taylor’s eyes had run down her body for the briefest of glances while they’d waited in line for lunch, causing a noticeable shiver to roll through her. Thinking about it now had the same effect. Shivers galore.
“’Night, Jesse,” she called to the gate guard through her rolled-down window. “Don’t hit up that cigar bar behind your wife’s back tonight.”
He waved her off. “I don’t know why I tell you my damn secrets.”
“Because I demand it in exchange for Hershey Bars with Almonds.” In the few weeks that she’d been working on the lot, she’d made a habit out of dropping him snacks. She adored the iconic gate, so she had to adore Jesse. They went together.
“That’s true,” he conceded. “I forgot about that part for a short minute. See you tomorrow, Ms. Chase.”
“Call me Izzy or I’m breaking up with you,” she yelled, as she turned right out of the studio and into traffic. If she weren’t so tired, she’d have pretended to be mega-important as she drove off the Paramount lot, one of her favorite fantasies.
But no, still just her, a very tired version longing for a microwavable bowl of ravioli and a Mike’s Hard Lemon. The drink made her think of her father back home in Keene. With the three-hour time difference, he’d likely just be getting home from work as well and would be popping a Mike’s the second he did. He worked hard running lines for the local cable company and spent his weekends fishing with his buddies. Isabel was his only child, and he’d raised her all on his own when her mom handed her over as a baby and never looked back. Their life together had been simple—peanut butter sandwiches in front of the TV, not a ton of conversation—but at the same time, that had been comfortable. She understood her dad, and he got her right back. Their home may not have been bubbling over with large displays of affection and laughter, but he was always there, a sturdy presence she could depend on.
“So, you’re going to La-La Land?” he’d said, when she’d told him about her job offer. He’d stood on one side of the kitchen counter and Isabel on the other. He still lived in her childhood home, all nine hundred square feet of it.
“That’s the plan.”
“You nervous?”
She nodded.
“Nah, don’t be. You’re gonna eat ’em all for breakfast.” He’d handed her a Mike’s and popped one for himself. They’d cheered silently, and his eyes briefly filled before he sucked up the emotion. Because this also meant she’d be leaving.
“I’m gonna be back to visit all the time, Pops.”
“Course you are,” he said, and began shuffling through the mail. “And you’ll be right there on the TV. Stuff you wrote.” He ran a hand across his full beard several times. “That part is cool. My daughter, writing for the big Holly Wood.”
She smiled, enjoying that he thought so. “We’ll have to coordinate on Christmas.”
“Well, you know my busy schedule.” He glanced at her and then back at the mail. They both knew he didn’t have one.
There wasn’t a ton about Keene that she outright missed, but her dad was one exception. She made a mental note to give the guy a call and make sure he was eating.
When she arrived home at Seven Shores that night, she found Gia sitting on the stairs, third step from the bottom. She wore cutoffs and a sweatshirt, her dark hair in a braid that fell down her right shoulder, enviable tan still firmly in place. She glanced up from the laptop that rested on her knees when she heard Isabel approach. “What’s up, Iz? You been out on the town tonight?”
Isabel sighed, as that would have been something. Having a life. “Not even close. Just wrapped up at work. Not easy being the new kid on the block. Lots of busywork.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“So, what are you up to out here?” she asked.
Gia shook her head, and it was clear that whatever it was, it troubled her. “Part of my life I hate the most. PR. I’ve found that fresh air helps me concentrate, so I’m giving it a go outdoors.”
Isabel tilted her head, trying to understand. “What exactly are you giving a go?”
Gia gestured to her laptop. “I have a publicist, and she’s great for sponsorships, things like that. But she also sets up these interviews that I hate.” She gestured to her screen. “So tonight I have these questions I’m supposed to answer for this important surfer blog, and they need them by morning.” She shook her head. “It’s not what I do. I don’t explain things well, especially on paper.”
“It is what I do, though. Move over.” As tired as she was, Isabel took pity on her dejected-looking new friend and took a spot next to Gia on the stairs. “May I?”
Gia happily handed over the laptop. “Okay, but you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
Isabel waved her off. “Please, Surf Queen. Let me do my part. Question one. In the Maui Women’s Pro, you never really found your footing with only seven point rides in heats two and three.” She looked to Gia. “I have no clue what that means. Is that bad?”
“It’s not good.” Gia shrugged. “Sometimes you have off days.”
“It’s rude of them to point it out.”
Gia nodded emphatically. “Right? Doesn’t stop ’em, though.”
Isabel nodded and refocused on the laptop. “So, the question is, how do you shake off a disappointment like that and go on to steal gold in the Cascais Pro just two weeks later?” She looked to Gia, waiting for her answer.
“Oh, you want me to…right. Okay.” She thought a minute. “Well, you push it out of your mind and concentrate on the wave in front of you. Nothing else. If you allow all that noise into your head, you’ll miss your timing and the wave will own you instead of the other way around.”
Isabel went to typing, doing a tad bit of polishing for the written version. She turned the laptop to Gia for approval. “All right, surfer chick. Survey says?”
After scanning the few lines, she beamed up at Isabel. “You’re a genius, that’s what it says. The problem is when I write my answers rather than just saying them, I come off sounding like an uptight idiot.”
“Then speak the words first and tweak as needed. We can do this one together so you get the hang of it.”
Gia shook her head in awe. “You’re saving my life. I don’t know why I hadn’t considered that.”
“Because it’s not your job to. Hey, Hadley promised she’d take me to watch you surf this weekend. Are we still on?”
“Saturday is a practice day for me. I can surf and then we can chill.”
“I’m in on the chilling, though I sound lame saying it.”
Gia nodded. “You’ll get better.”
Isabel gestured to the laptop apologetically. “In the meantime, we have six more of these. You ready or do you need to do a few wind sprints to gear up?”
“I think I’m good.” Gia nodded for her to continue, and the two of them hammered out her interview. It turned out to be a lot of fun, and Isabel learned a great deal about surfing, a topic she knew next to nothing about previously. She decided to file Gia away as a great source for surfing research, should she ever need it.
“And now I just have to attach my bio and I’m set.”
Isabel held up one finger and set to typing. When she was finished, she dusted off her hands and handed the laptop back to Gia. “Wrote that for you, too.”
“Gia from upstairs is the queen of surfing. She surfs better than you walk and requests a lightsaber and tiara in recognition of said accomplishment.” Gia nodded severa
l times at the screen as a grin spread slowly across her face. “Can I have this framed?”
“I’d be honored.” She stood. “And that’s my grand finale. Until tomorrow, Surf Queen.”
“Hey, Iz?”
“Yeah.”
“This would have taken me hours to get right. You saved my ass. You’re gonna slay this new job.”
“Either slay it or fuck it up.” She lifted her hands and let them drop. “I think it could go either way.”
Gia quirked her head. “I’m gonna stick with slay.”
“I’m lusting after my boss,” Isabel blurted. She blinked hard, shocked by the words that had flown from her lips. “Hardcore. And I also really like her as a person.”
Gia stared at her. “Well, damn. Okay.”
Isabel shook her head at her own lunacy and walked to her apartment door. “Ignore me. Everyone should. I should ignore myself.”
Gia didn’t seem fazed and, in fact, was smiling. “Well, does she lust back?”
Isabel paused and turned back. “No, not at all. Except for maybe a little. Unless it’s just my overactive imagination.”
Gia stood. “Maybe it’s not.”
“It had to be. I’m a pathetic loser,” she said matter-of-factly. “My role in life is clear, and I accept it with grace.”
“I don’t know Grace, so I think you should stick with the boss.”
Isabel pointed at her. “You’re a funny one.”
“My advice? Follow the lust. Always, always follow the lust. Work hard. Play hard.”
“Are you speaking Nike to me?”
Gia nodded sincerely. “Nike gets life, and I’m not gonna be embarrassed for thinking that.”
“Mmm-hmm. Learning more about you each day, new neighbor.”
Gia pointed at her as she headed up the stairs. “Don’t forget the beach this weekend. Forecast is right for killer swells.”
She smiled up at Gia through the railing. “I can’t wait. Swells will abound.”
“And bring sunscreen for that snow white northern skin.”
“I’m feeling judged,” Isabel called out.
“At least you’re owning it.”
“’Night, Surf Queen.”
“’Night, Iz.”
When she snuggled into bed that night, Isabel could no longer escape it. As she ruminated on her day, her week, her struggles with Scruffy, her attraction to Taylor, she was hit with a jolt of crippling imposter syndrome. While she hadn’t had another panic attack since arriving in LA, she consistently felt them looming, circling like vultures. The little voice in the back of her head seemed to gain more and more momentum as the days rolled forward.
It’s only a matter of time before they realize you have no idea what you’re doing. You’re out of your league, and soon everyone will know.
You’re not good enough.
You never will be.
Go home.
She blinked hard against the mental assault. Tears pooled and her heart felt like it might break out of her chest. Deep breaths, she reminded herself. She sucked in air, and as the ringing in her ears hit, the sense of dread descended over her like a straitjacket. She gripped the sheets and balled her fists and waited for the self-imposed prison to release her.
Chapter Eight
Taylor couldn’t believe it was already late September, but the rain outside signaled that the blue skies of summer might be firmly behind them. With Raisin curled in a circle on her lap, Taylor flipped to page one of the new Water script, the one written by Isabel on her very first time out. This was a big deal for a new writer, and she was interested to see what Isabel had turned in.
It had been raining since late the night before, and she heard the drops pelt the windows of the Sister Dale offices, creating a noticeable rat-tat-tat that somehow helped ease her into reading mode. In the office across the hall, Lyric Larkin was prepping for a writers’ meeting in which they’d offer feedback to Seth, who’d penned the latest episode. Until then, she had time to focus on Water.
The script in her hands, however, left her anything but relaxed. Isabel had not only run with the Lisette/Thomas storyline Taylor had okayed, she’d taken off with it like a rocket ship. This was not innuendo, or flirtation, or anything relying on suggestion. In other words, way beyond the scope of anything she’d talked with Isabel and the staff about.
What the hell was going on over there?
This had to have come from Isabel and Kathleen putting their heads together. She read on, shocked at the blatant direction of the storyline and irritated that they’d go this far, so soon, deviating from the slow-burn plan. Isabel had gone full steam ahead and forced the two into a secluded cabin in the woods after a flat tire stranded them. She flipped the page to find a fire roaring and Thomas unbuttoning his drenched shirt. She rolled her eyes at the cliché. This wasn’t going to fly. Lisette as a blatant man-stealing whore? She’d never done anything like that in the past. Taylor needed to discuss the new direction with Kathleen, and quick. She fired off a frustrated email and copied Isabel.
She picked up the phone. “Scarlett, have you read the new Water script?”
There was a long pause on the line. “I have. It’s awesome.”
Taylor stood. “It’s not awesome. It’s overboard and reckless to just shove our lead into a wildly new and morally questionable relationship without laying more groundwork. The struggle, the internal battle has all been glossed over. It’s flimsy.”
“Or just accelerated.” Another long pause. “I think,” Scarlett began delicately, “that the reason I liked it so much was that I didn’t see it coming and then once I did, it really just…works. It’s also really hot.”
“Yeah, well don’t get too attached.” Taylor clicked off the call and stared up at the ceiling. It had only been two weeks since she’d handed over the reins, and now all hell had broken loose. Unbelievable.
The door to her temporary office burst open and Lyric stood there with eyes resembling a heavily mascaraed owl. “The nuns are going to Vegas? They would never leave the convent for Sin City. Never! You think nuns gamble?”
Taylor held up a hand and mentally prepped herself for the battle she’d known was coming all week. “Hear me out.” Lyric began to pace the length of Taylor’s office as if she were trapped, and in many ways, she probably felt she was. Her show was being hijacked from beneath her by someone she’d spent most of her youth squashing like a bug. “You’ve established a comedic theme throughout the whole first half of the season. All of the marketing is geared to a wacky nun show. But there’s only so much comedy one can find within the convent walls, ya know? Let’s let these girls get their nun on.”
“Sister Dale is human, though,” Lyric said, referencing the show’s protagonist. “She’s not a cartoon character.”
“Nor should she be.” Taylor stood to join Lyric. “But her adventures are going to have to be a lot more fun to pull in more viewers, or the show won’t see a second season.” If this show was renewed, regardless of what they did, Taylor would eat her hat with mustard. Even she wasn’t that good.
“No, no, no. This is not what I’d envisioned for my sweet Sister Dale. This is so very wrong. It’s like a nightmare.”
Taylor tried to soothe. “I know it’s not what you intended, but sometimes you have to bunt.”
Lyric turned to her, pausing her pacing. “Like the cake?”
She sighed. “Sure.”
“And you think this is for the best.”
“I know it is. And while I have you here, Lyric, I’m gonna be out tomorrow. I need to spend some time over at Water. There’s a few fires to put out. Can you handle a script meeting with the staff?”
Lyric stared at her. “Do we have to keep Vegas?”
“We do. Seth wrote this one and the script is funny. Give it another read.”
She nodded numbly and stared at the ground like the most dejected toddler not ready to go to bed. “Can I pet your dog?”
Taylor softened. �
�He would love that.” She passed Raisin a “be sweet to her” look which must have worked, as he immediately rolled onto his back and offered up his tummy for a rub. Lyric smiled and obliged him.
Score one for Raisin, the therapy dog.
*****
The recognizable rhythm of salsa music floated out to the courtyard when Isabel arrived home. The door to Hadley’s upstairs apartment stood open and Barney, the Gia-described tool who lived across from Isabel, bopped his head from just outside their door, sipping what looked to be sangria. Autumn emerged and waved down to Isabel.
“Hey, sweet girl! You coming up?”
“Coming up to what is the question. What’s going on?”
Autumn took a few steps away from the apartment and leaned over the railing. “It’s Latin night!”
Isabel cocked her head. “Not computing. That’s a thing?”
“Around here, yes. Hadley is all about the once-a-month theme parties for us all to get together and cut loose. It makes her happy, so we do it. It’s also kinda fun. Come up and snark with me!”
Well, how could one resist such a conveniently placed Latin night? Isabel decided she could indulge in a glass of sangria. “Snark on the way!”
“Izzy’s here!” Hadley said as Isabel entered the apartment, which at first glance was laid out much like her own. Only upon further inspection, it wasn’t like hers at all. To begin with, where her living room ended, Hadley’s opened to a second bedroom that she’d turned into what seemed to be a sewing room, complete with a creepy faceless mannequin. Secondly, the place looked like it came straight out of an interior decorating magazine.
“Wow. This place is gorgeous.”
“That’s Hadley for you,” Gia said, ladling a glass full from the punch bowl brimming with fruit and wine. “For you.” She handed the glass to Isabel.
“I’m a fan of clean lines,” Hadley told her. And apparently complementary colors. A variety of beiges, creams, and a dash of recurring sage worked together to create a serene color scheme.
“Can I hire you to do my place?” Isabel asked. “I can pay in cans of Campbell’s soup.”
Eyes Like Those Page 10