Eyes Like Those

by Melissa Brayden

  Autumn nodded. “We looked for one.”

  Isabel released a breath. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to work out. We kissed. It was epic. And now we move around each other at work, pretending it didn’t happen.”

  Hadley stood up in anger. “Hold it. You guys kissed, and you said nothing?” She sat down again and leaned forward, her voice returning to soft and tender as she attempted to tamp down her outrage. “I don’t know what friends are like in New Hampshire, but here we tell each other that kind of thing. It’s an unbendable rule.”

  Isabel smiled, as she’d never seen Hadley’s eyes get so big. But then it was also cute in a feisty puppy kind of way. “Got it. I would like to formally apologize for breaking this unperceived rule. But there really wasn’t much to tell.”

  “You were kissed…or kissed someone—we don’t actually know which, because you haven’t told us. Either way, you failed. Failed,” Hadley said sadly. The feisty puppy was now a wounded puppy.

  Isabel nodded slowly. “I’m sensing your melancholy and acknowledging it.”

  Gia folded her arms. “Had’s right.”

  Autumn picked up her mug and shrugged. “She just expresses herself with a little more heart. So why are we still sitting here waiting? Dish.”

  “Fine. Okay,” Isabel said. “A few nights back, we had a great time walking the studio lot after work. And I mean late-night after work. We passed all the cool spots and ended up on the Forrest Gump bench, where we talked about what was happening between us.”

  “And then she laid one on you?” Autumn asked. “Hopefully with a few more moves than Forrest Gump.”

  Isabel shook her head. “The opposite. We were in 1930s Manhattan and I grabbed her and went for it. I had to.”

  “Yes!” With two hands in the air, Gia grinned. “My new hero.”

  Hadley grabbed her heart and leaned back in blissful surrender like something out of a Charlie Brown special. “My heart is swelling. I am incredibly happy right now. Press on. I’ll rejoin your already-in-progress conversation soon.”

  Isabel closed one eye. “Slow that swell. It’s been tumbleweeds between us ever since. Desolate.” Isabel thought back over the last few days. Taylor had been at Sister Dale quite a bit, but she’d checked in on Isabel once her episode had wrapped.

  “And?” Taylor had asked, standing next to her cubicle in anticipation.

  “I think it went really well,” Isabel said, admiring Taylor’s look. She had her hair fastened in a knot. Translation: The gorgeous and elegant column of her neck was on display. She looked professional and hot and just downright beautiful. Isabel tried hard to not think about that flood of pleasure that came with kissing Taylor. At least, not right now when she was expected to produce words that sounded somewhat professional.

  “It did go well. I’ve seen the footage. And here it goes.” Taylor took a deep breath. “You were right. I have no problem admitting that. The storyline was the right way to go, and it’s gonna be a killer episode.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot.” A long pause, and not the comfortable kind. Isabel cringed and forced a smile. “I look forward to its air date.”

  “Not long now.” It was Taylor’s turn to smile as proverbial crickets filled the large gap of silence. Kissing had apparently stripped them of their ability to construct sentences in easy succession, which was unfun and disastrous for their day-to-day. “Right, well, I’ll let you get back to work on…”

  “Story notes,” Isabel said, pointing at her screen. “For Lyle’s script.”

  “Right, well. Enjoy your day.”

  “Back atcha. Have a good one.” Yep, she’d actually said have a good one, probably the stupidest phrase in the English vernacular. Isabel had clicked her pen a few dozen times in frustration. And then a few dozen more for good measure. That kiss, she understood, was beginning to cost them…well, them.

  Gia shrugged. “Maybe she’s just gathering enough courage to turn the tables.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so,” Isabel said. “Though she is having a party this weekend at her house and invited me. You know, in addition to the whole staff. I’m told everyone important in Hollywood should be there. No pressure or anything.”

  That perked Hadley right up, her first stop always fashion. “What are you wearing?”

  “I have my go-to dress,” Isabel said. “An old standby. Simple, black.”

  Hadley nodded. “Sounds serviceable enough, but I have other options. Alluring ones. Let me run with this one, okay?”

  “Yeah?” Isabel asked. “You would do that?” Having someone with actual fashion sense help her get ready for a party that already had her out of her comfort zone was a fabulous idea. She’d owe Hadley.

  Hadley passed Isabel her phone. “Type the date and time of this party. Taylor Andrews is not gonna know what hit her when I’m finished.”

  “I’m in.” Isabel sat back to enjoy her coffee, feeling better about the looming party, and reaffirmed for herself that she would, in fact, attend. It might even be fun.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Taylor loved a good party. In fact, it was one of her favorite things about Hollywood, hobnobbing with fancy food and drinks in a beautiful setting. What could be better? Sure, she rolled her eyes at the starlets who tried to outshine each other and impress the powerful producers present, but beyond the petty, major deals were made around lavishly lit pools. She surveyed the expanse of her own outdoor living space, the wait staff, the entertainment, and the abundance of twinkling lights (intricately placed for maximum aesthetic). Her gaze moved across the happy faces of her guests, sipping cocktails and enjoying themselves. She spotted a group of cast members from Water, and just as she was about to head their way, the world tilted. She froze for a moment, not knowing what hit her.

  Isabel Chase had just walked into her backyard looking like she’d stepped out of the Golden Age of Hollywood and, in one quick moment, changed the stasis of her night entirely.

  Taylor blinked to clear her head, but the effect hadn’t worn off. Isabel was Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly combined. She wore a simple but elegant blue dress that hugged her curves. The neckline was modest and the sleeves short. Tiny diamonds dotted the bodice and elevated her elegance even further. Her hair was curled and her lipstick red, making her lips pouty and perfect. The outfit was finished off with a pair of killer black heels. It was Isabel, but in a way Taylor’d never seen her before. But then, why would she have? And how was she supposed to carry on her hostess duties with this kind of distraction hovering? Good God.

  Taylor stood with an old producer friend who was chatting her ear off near the bar, and she nodded and laughed in what she thought were all the appropriate places. Meanwhile, her heart beat way too fast and her stomach was in perpetual somersaults at the exquisite woman across the pool. She stole glances at Isabel, who was speaking to Richie Lords, the dashing actor known for all those superhero movies. He gestured to the waiter carrying a tray of Champagne and snagged a couple for the two of them. Of course he’d noticed her. Who wouldn’t?

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she said to the gabby producer. “I see someone I must say hello to.” She moved across the outdoor space, smiling and greeting her guests on the way to Isabel, pulled along by some sort of invisible magnet. Her guests didn’t make it easy.

  “It’s beautiful out here, Taylor.”

  “I adore this house. Did you remodel?”

  “Who is the caterer? This crab is heaven sent.”

  “Is that actually Kevin Cohen on guitar? Didn’t he win a Grammy? How did you score him?”

  She answered their questions and turned to where she’d last seen Isabel, only to come face-to-face with Aspen. If Isabel was the picture of old-school glamour, Aspen could best be described as modern overindulgence. Her boobs were pushed up, her hair had been swept to the side, and she had a pretty aggressive spray tan going. The contrast between the two continued to startle her.

  “You, T-Bear, look radiant,�
�� Aspen said, kissing her cheek and lingering a few seconds too long. “And this party is bustling with everyone who is anyone. I don’t know how you managed to get them all in one spot.”

  “Not as easy as it looks.” Taylor studied the guests and had to admit that Aspen was right. Producers, actors, directors, and even a handful of politicians had all come out to her not-so-little gathering. She’d started throwing the occasional cocktail party years ago, once she had a good handful of industry friends. Hollywood was all about who you knew.

  As her career took off, so had her parties. Although now they were some of the most talked about in the business—not for being wild or crazy, but designed for drinks and discussion in what she hoped was a scenically pleasing backdrop. She glanced at the glorious hillside view and knew she didn’t have to hope too hard. Toss in a fantastic caterer, attentive wait staff, and few A-list musicians crooning from beside the pool, and the evening was complete. Well, almost. Where was Isabel?

  “Come with me,” Aspen said, taking her hand with a gleam in her eye. “Patrick McMartin is in your living room as we speak. We can chat him up together about Sally Ride. Tag-team him.” Before she could protest, Aspen pulled her toward the house, a route that would take her right past—would you look at that—Isabel.

  “Can I join you in a minute?” she asked Aspen, attempting to free her hand.

  “This won’t take long. I promise.” Aspen held on to Taylor tightly. “And then I’ll be happy to help you play hostess. I’m great at it.” Taylor could argue and break away or put in the ten minutes to make her night easier in the long run. As they approached Isabel, who was talking to, bless her poor heart, Lyric Larkin, they locked eyes. Isabel broke into a smile, the warmth of which smacked Taylor squarely in the chest.

  “Hi,” Taylor said. “I’ve been trying to talk to you all night. We’re just going to say hello inside—and then I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” Isabel nodded, and Aspen tugged, ignoring Isabel altogether.

  “Come on, Tay. You can get me a drink first. You know what I like more than I do.”

  Isabel’s smile faltered and Lyric seemed to launch back into some sort of story. Damn it. Taylor did her best to send Isabel an “I’m sorry” stare as she was whisked away, but she wasn’t sure it was received. She’d fulfill her obligation to Aspen, circle back to Isabel, and make up for what may have felt like a slight. While she didn’t have the Isabel puzzle all figured out, she wanted to try and assemble as many pieces as possible.

  Twenty minutes later, and Aspen was still talking Patrick McMartin’s ear off. She was also touching him a lot, which was typical Aspen. Her sex appeal was her go-to weapon of choice, and she didn’t discriminate. “You have impressed so many people with your bare-bones aesthetic,” Aspen purred, rubbing his arms. “You’re a fantastic director. I can’t get enough of your work.”

  “I have to give credit to my cinematographers.” Patrick adjusted his tie. “They make me look better than I am.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” An eyelash bat.

  Classic. Predictable. Boring.

  Patrick was young and seemed to enjoy the attention, however. Once it seemed that the two of them had a good give-and-take happening, Taylor managed to excuse herself without causing much distraction. She’d fulfilled her obligation to Aspen and had delivered her right into the hands of a director who would be crazy to want her for this particular part. Not her problem.

  Now, on to her own enjoyment of this party.

  *****

  Isabel was intrigued. Lyric Larkin was one of the more interesting characters she’d come across in a while, and Hollywood had a lot. In the midst of their exchange, she would have given anything for a notepad to jot a few of her observations. She’d be yet another fantastic character for a future script. Well, as long as it called for a vapid and entitled Hollywood wannabe.

  “Did I tell you that my husband is an energy drink mobile?” she asked.

  Isabel took a sec with that one. “You mean mogul?”

  “Energy drink mobile,” Lyric said, emphasizing each word as if Isabel were hard of hearing.

  That was Isabel’s cue to give up. “Oh, an energy drink mobile! Got it. Super cool. You’re so lucky. I bet you’re never thirsty.”

  “Right? And I have my own TV show that’s killing it right now. Not sure if you’ve seen it.”

  Isabel nodded. “Sister Dale. I have. It’s hard to look away.”

  “Right?” Lyric favored that word. “Wait till you see the upcoming episodes. You’re going to die. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but it’s some of my best work.”

  Isabel swallowed the words that threatened to fly from her mouth. The ones that said Lyric was a fucking liar and hadn’t written a single word of the soon-to-air episodes. But she also wasn’t stupid and knew who Lyric’s father was. She smiled sweetly instead, as soul-sucking as it was. “I can’t wait.”

  “I like your dress,” Lyric said, sipping a margarita through a tiny straw. “It reminds me of Rita Hayworth. I mean, if you’re into that kind of thing. It’s pretty, I guess.”

  “Thank you,” Isabel said of the underwhelming compliment. It certainly didn’t compare to Lyric’s ensemble, which had her huge breasts exploding from her itty-bitty waist. Isabel worried about the stress to her rib cage and felt compelled to find Lyric a cheeseburger for reinforcement. Her overblown lips, however, would make the cheeseburger hard to eat, so she shelved the idea altogether.

  “The television business is hard,” Lyric went on to say. “But I think I’ve finally conquered it.”

  Isabel opened her mouth to combat the declaration because, God of Gods, someone had to. But she paused at the sensation of a hand on the small of her back. Right on cue, her skin heated. She didn’t even have to turn to know who had done that to her—only one person could.

  “Sorry about earlier,” Taylor said with a sincere smile. That, coupled with the killer silver dress with a slit up the side, had her mouth dry. Taylor’s hair had been pulled up and back. Small strands fell delicately alongside her face, each with a slight twist. “I was upholding an agreement or I would have, of course, stopped to talk. Please know that.”

  “It’s okay,” Isabel said simply. Aspen was there, and Aspen commanded a lot of attention, she was learning. Attention Taylor seemed willing to dole out whenever Aspen asked. She pushed the thought aside, choosing to not think ill of Taylor. It was a nice night, and she should enjoy herself and Taylor’s company, now that she was free.

  “I love you in this dress,” Taylor said. And then quietly in Isabel’s ear, “You’re gorgeous, and it’s driving me a little crazy.”

  Isabel willed herself not to blush. “You’re kind, and looking beautiful yourself.” She dropped her voice. “And I’m not just saying that.”

  “Taylor’s come a long way from high school,” Lyric chimed in. Isabel had completely forgotten she was standing there. How unfortunate to learn she still was. “Did she tell you we used to call her Tubs?”

  Isabel turned a sharp eye to Lyric. “Not specifically. No.”

  Lyric giggled, high pitched and piercing. “She looks night and day from the way she did back then. She’s taken off the pounds, man. You’ll have to tell me how you did it at some point, Taylor. Personally, I’m all about the wheatgrass, but you might have your own method.”

  “I’ve never tried wheatgrass,” Taylor said politely.

  But Lyric’s mouth ran full steam ahead. “Oh! And it took you forever to get picked in gym class! Remember that? It was a running joke. No one picked her.” Lyric laughed merrily, and Isabel watched as the light dimmed in Taylor’s eyes. She wanted to throttle Lyric. Vivid fantasies of doing just that quickly took shape. “Those were the days, I tell you.”

  “They were days, all right,” Taylor said, with classy reserve.

  Lyric turned to Isabel. “So, as you can tell, Taylor and I go way back. We’re old friends.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it,” Is
abel said flatly. “In fact, it sounds like you were mean in high school and not much has changed since.”

  Lyric waved her off. “It’s all in good fun, right, Taylor? Is that Bruno Mars by the shrimp dip?” She didn’t wait for an answer and dashed off to find out.

  When they were alone, Taylor turned to her. “You didn’t have to go to bat for me. I’m used to girls like Lyric Larkin. Well, women now. That’s the sad part.”

  Isabel looked her right in the eye. “There is not a world in which I won’t go toe-to-toe for you with a witch like that.”

  “And there’s the feisty side I love. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

  Isabel nodded. “Don’t get me started on lane changes without a signal. I give those people the downcast eyebrows.” She demonstrated with the deepest furrow possible.

  Taylor laughed, which meant she was feeling lighter again. Goal achieved. “Well, it seems Miss Larkin got off easy, then. She should count herself lucky.”

  “Very.” Isabel turned so she faced Taylor dead-on. “We haven’t talked about your wildly impressive home.”

  “Oh, that’s right!” Taylor glanced around. “You haven’t been here before. What do you think?”

  “Is it odd to say that it’s exactly what I imagined for you, only even more impressive? My imagination, wild as it is, didn’t quite do it justice.” She shook her head and walked a few steps in the backyard living space. “I don’t know how you leave for work every day with this kind of view waiting for you at home.”

  “Only because I know I’ll be back to enjoy it.” A pause. “Iz,” Taylor said quietly.

  The casual nickname, when it came from Taylor, continued to give her goose bumps. She rubbed her exposed arms and hoped Taylor hadn’t noticed. “Yes?”

  She took a step closer so not to be overheard. “I wasn’t kidding. The dress is…amazing, and I’m having a really difficult time. I don’t mean to behave poorly, so perhaps I shouldn’t confess that, but…it’s the truth.”