by Stacy Wise
Everyone is now seated for dinner, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The cake is baking, and the guests seem happy. I’ve already scoped out where Jordan is seated. If I start on the right side, I’ll be behind him and he won’t see me. And, hopefully, he’ll be too consumed with good food and wine to look up when I’m across from him.
I bring out the first course—spinach salads with mango and chili lime cashews—stepping softly and keeping my head down. Paul Platt is mid-story, and the entire group is mesmerized. People say he looks like a young Bruce Willis. I guess I can see it. He’s a hulking dude, that’s for sure. A black sweater hugs his body. His arms look like they’re as big around as my legs. He usually plays a tough cop or a villain, so I’m surprised to see how animated he is.
“They were fighting every day,” he says. “The script kept getting rewritten, and Dillingham was done. He’s a legend, right? He doesn’t need to put up with this amateur shit. But he’s locked into his contract. Can’t get out. So what does he do?”
I continue to place salads in front of people, taking my time to adjust napkins and twist the plates just so, because, to be honest, I want to hear the rest of his story. And Jordan, thankfully, is completely unaware of me.
“He brings a fucking ferret to the set. Says it’s his pet, and that he wants it to appear with him in every scene. He sets the thing loose, and it flies across the floor like fucking Rikki Tikki Tavi, right up Priscilla Overton’s pant leg. She screams like she’s been shot, dancing around, trying to get the fricking rat out of her pants.”
That’s all it takes. I set down another plate and bust out laughing. I try to make myself stop, but I can’t. Oh, God. This does not qualify as acting invisible. Every single set of eyes lands on me. I set the final plate on the table and dart toward the house. Paul yells after me. “Hey, that’s not the end of it. Stick around. It gets better.”
I turn. “No. It’s fine. I didn’t mean to listen.” At that moment, Jordan looks right at me, the recognition clear in his eyes. I shake my head slightly, hoping he’ll get the clue to stay silent.
“You should,” Paul Platt says. “It’s a fucking great story. Stay. I insist.”
I steal a glance at Jack. “It’s okay if you’d like to hear the end,” he says, looking amused. I’m sure he’s wondering what the hell I’m doing here. Jordan looks jumpy, like he wants to say something, but no one interrupts Paul Platt. Unless it’s with laughter, of course.
“So, Priscilla has the rat in her pants. Dillingham starts yelling at her to calm the fuck down. So David Taylor, who’s, like fifteen, at the time, walks over to Priscilla and just rips her pants off. The ferret runs out, scratching Priscilla’s leg. She starts screaming that she’s allergic. And you’ll never guess what happens.” He pauses to eat a slice of mango. “Fucking Dillingham drops his pants. Just drops ’em, his bare, hairy ass on display for everyone to see. He grabs his junk and says, ‘Oh, grow a pair.’ That was only the first week. And people wondered why the film was such a flop. Crazies on the set. That’s why. Salad’s great, by the way. My compliments to the chef,” he says, winking at me.
“I’ll pass that on to her. Thank you.”
I scurry back to the kitchen as Zoe arranges fried plantains on a plate. “Interesting dinner conversation out there,” I say, taking a much-needed swig of the muddled blackberry and mint concoction the bartender created for me. He explained that cocktail making has reached a level of artistry we haven’t seen before. To be honest, I have to agree. The flavors in this drink make me feel like it’s summertime and I’m lounging on a porch swing with a tin pail of freshly picked blackberries next to me.
“It always is. I’ve heard it all. Don’t drink that thing in one gulp. The night isn’t over.”
“Good point.” I set down my glass and look up to see Jordan. My body reacts to the sight of him, and I grab another quick sip of my drink.
“Jessica?”
“Hey, Jordan. How’s it going?” I ask with forced calm, as though we talked only yesterday. His hair is longer than it used to be, and to be honest, I don’t find him attractive anymore. The sight of him up close makes me feel ill. All I can think about is his list of names and how many women he’s been with.
“I’m great.” He wears a greasy smile. “I hear you’re Jack’s assistant now.”
“Yep.”
He steps closer, shaking his head. Zoe steps past me with a pitcher of water, rolling her eyes at Jordan. He ignores her and attempts to give me a sincere look. “You know, it’s crazy. I just read this book about coincidences. And it says there are no coincidences. I think they’re onto something. Because I don’t think it’s a coincidence I’m seeing you tonight. I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.” His hot, liquored breath forces me to take a step back.
I wonder where he comes up with this garbage. I’m sure he hasn’t read any books lately. And now I wish I hadn’t worn the red lipstick. The truth of the matter is, Jordan will probably always be attracted to me, just because I’m female and related to Marnie Tucker. He’s completely incapable of having any sort of meaningful relationship. “That’s nice to hear, Jordan. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”
“You mind if I hang out in the kitchen?”
“Actually, yeah. There’s a lot of hot stuff in here, and I wouldn’t want you to get burned.”
“Sassy! I like it. I haven’t seen this side of you.”
“Not sassy. Just being honest. I have work to do.”
“All right, all right. Well, we’re planning on having some fun later, if you care to join us. Platt brought some candy sticks.”
I look at him, confused. “Why would he bring candy to a party?”
He laughs. “Come on, Jess. Not candy, candy. You know, candy sticks.”
“Uh huh. And candy sticks are different from candy, how?”
He scans me like he can see right through my clothing, and I cross my arms in front of me. “I thought we did candy sticks once. Maybe it was someone else. Candy sticks are marijuana cigs mixed with coke.”
My insides freeze. I turn to spoon rice onto a plate, even though I don’t know if I’m supposed to do this yet. Cocaine? I know Jordan has smoked pot—this isn’t the first time it’s come up. But I had no idea he used coke, too. And what about Jack? Is he okay with all this? I didn’t peg him as a druggie. “I won’t be here later. Sorry.”
“We’ll see,” he says with so much arrogance I want to fling spoonfuls of rice at his face. “I still have time to convince you.” He turns to leave.
Zoe returns and pats my shoulder. “I caught the last of that. Super charming guy. Don’t give him a second thought. You should check your cake.”
I need to check my blood pressure, not the cake.
Zoe and I are washing the last of the dishes when there’s a timid knock on the door. I dry my hands and head for the entry, scanning the room for Imelda, although I realize she must’ve left already. I open the door to find a girl, who’s probably in her late twenties, standing there. She looks like a deer in headlights.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m so sorry to intrude. I’m Tabitha’s assistant. Can I use the bathroom?”
“Yeah. Of course. Come on in.”
“Thanks,” she says, walking with me. “Tabitha has me waiting in her car so I can drive her home, and I have to pee so freaking bad.”
I show her the powder room just off the entryway. “There it is.”
“Thanks.” She blasts through the door, and I linger nearby.
When she emerges from the bathroom, she looks decidedly calmer. “Thank you. I swear, I was about to pee my pants.”
“No problem. I’m Jessica, by the way.”
“I’m Brittany. Nice to meet you.”
“How do you like working for Tabitha?”
She looks at me, as though assessing whether she can trust me, and forces a smile. “I’m lucky. I have a great job. Working for Tabitha is awesome. She can get stresse
d, just like any of us, and scream at whoever happens to be in the room, but that’s totally normal. Actors are under a lot of pressure. A lot. And that can make even the best of us snap. I mean, haven’t we all thrown things across the room when we’re angry? I’m really lucky.”
Oh, man. Talk about getting browbeaten and brainwashed. “So am I,” I say. Because compared to that? I am.
The sound of voices startles me, and I turn to see Tabitha heading to the front door with Jordan. Her body could stop traffic; she looks like a modern-day Marilyn Monroe. She spots Brittany and clicks over to us. Jordan hangs behind, looking awkward.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Just had to use the bathroom. Jessica let me in.”
“Well, be useful and bring me a mint.”
“Um, I have Altoids in the car. I’ll be right back.”
“Altoids? Distusting. Go get me the after-coffee mints at Starbucks.” Jordan chuckles from where he stands.
“Now?”
“Yes, now! Run along. Go, go!” She waves her hand as if shooing off a pesky fly.
Brittany gives me a pained look and heads for the front door. I step past Tabitha, mumbling that I have to get back to work, but she grabs my arm.
“Wait. I need a drink. Get me one of those berry things.” She glances at Jordan. “What do you want, babe?”
“I’m good,” he says, eyeing me up and down. “I’ll get what I want later.”
Oh, please. Jordan and Tabitha would make a great couple. They’re both assholes.
When I reach the kitchen, Zoe has all the serving trays stacked up.
“Thanks for your help tonight. I’ll admit, I was more worried than I let on.”
I smile. I wonder what she’s like when she thinks she’s actually letting her worry show. “You’re welcome. Any word on Carla?”
“Marianne texted me. They’re doing some stitches, but she’ll be fine. I’m going to head over to Cedars now, for moral support.”
“I’m glad she’s going to be okay. I need to get a drink for one of the guests. I’ll grab it and help you take the trays to your truck.”
As much as I want to ask the bartender to add cayenne pepper and dirty water to Tabitha’s drink, I don’t. I look over to the table and see Jack, with Leo asleep at his feet, in an intense conversation with Renee. Paul Platt sits next to Scarlett. Whatever he’s saying makes her giggle. I wonder when he’s going to pass out his candy sticks. Probably when all us working folk leave.
With Tabitha’s cocktail in hand, I gather as many trays as I can and walk to the front door with Zoe. “I tried your cake,” she says, skillfully balancing a stack of trays as she walks. “It was phenomenal. You know, it’s not uncommon for desserts at parties like this to go completely uneaten, but your cake was devoured. You’re talented.”
My smile starts at my feet and works all the way through my body, until it spreads across my face. “Wow. Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome.”
We load Zoe’s truck, and I pick up Tabitha’s cocktail from the ground where I set it. She’s sitting on a bench with Jordan across the way, but they look too cozy for me to interrupt them with a drink. She can get it later.
I head inside, glowing from Zoe’s compliment, but when I reach the kitchen, Jack’s there, and all my tension returns. I wish Jordan had never told me about his drug plans. “Hi, Jack. And good-bye. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say quickly.
“Hey, Jess. I was wondering…” He stops abruptly when Tabitha trips into the kitchen with Jordan close at her heels.
She glares at me, her lips pursed into a pout. “What happened to my cocktail?”
I pick it up from the center island where I just set it. “Here it is.” I hold it out to her, wishing I didn’t feel so jumpy. But I can’t be here when they start doing whatever it is they’re going to do with their candy sticks. I don’t want to see it.
She looks at the drink as though I’m holding a glass of toilet water. “The ice has melted. The glass is wet. That’s not a drink; that’s just gross. Can you get me a new one?”
“Tab, the bar’s right outside. Go grab one yourself. The bartender will make it to order,” Jack says. He’s leaning against the counter, looking all cool and casual. He gives her his signature half grin and tilts his head, as if to say, Go on.
“You want me to get my own drink?”
“Yeah. You’re a big girl. You can do it,” he says with a devilish smile.
“I’d tell you to fuck off if you weren’t so damn cute.” She stalks away, her middle finger raised as she hunts down the bartender.
More than ready to leave, I trek across the kitchen, but Jordan grabs for my hand. He steps close to me, his lips near my ear. “Your ass looks great in those tight black pants. Are you wearing panties?”
Oh, for the love of God. I yank my hand from his before answering. “Yes. Granny panties,” I whisper loudly into his ear.
He leans back. “Do you hate me?” he asks, his eyes all wide and confused.
“To be honest, I don’t think one way or the other about you.” He glares at me before tramping to the backyard.
Jack eyes me from where he stands near the kitchen sink. “You know Jordan?”
“I met him a while ago.” I avoid looking at him when I answer.
He nods, trying to contain a smirk.
“What?”
He starts to laugh. “I know you don’t wear granny panties.”
My face burns. “You weren’t supposed to look!”
“I didn’t mean to.” He tries to maintain a serious look, but I see the smile.
“Jerk,” I mumble.
“You can’t call your boss a jerk, you know.”
“Fine. Peeping Tom.”
“Not that, either,” he says, laughing. “So back to Jordan. What’s up with him?”
“Nothing. Anyway, I didn’t know you two knew each other,” I say, past the point of caring whether I sound snappy.
“We don’t. I met him tonight for the first time. Remember? Renee set this up. I’m just hosting.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be best pals in no time.”
“Doubtful. I think he’s kind of a douche.”
Laughter spills out of me. “I didn’t say it.”
“But you agree?”
Before I can respond, Tabitha strolls back in. She eyes me and then turns to Jack, holding a large cocktail in her hand. “Well, the bartender took pity on me and made me something special.”
“Thank God. I was worried,” Jack says.
She walks over to him, slowly, seductively. There’s no denying that he’s watching her every move. She reaches him and places her hands on the counter, careful not to spill her drink, and pins him in, her boobs pressed into his chest. “I’ve got something to cure your worry, handsome.”
Oh, God. They’ve clearly forgotten about me. Maybe they’ll conduct a chemistry test right here in the kitchen. I, however, will not stay to watch. I’ve had enough of Tabitha and the rest of them for the night. I grab my purse from the side counter and rush out the front door.
Once in the comfort of my car, I let out the breath I was holding. I try to review the events of the evening, but my brain feels as muddled as the berries in my cocktail. It slogs from Jordan to Jack. Jordan, who acted like a fool tonight. No surprise there. And Jack… I thought I was getting to know a side of him that was somewhat likeable, but now I wonder what kind of person he is. He’s probably getting stoned in the Jacuzzi right now with Tabitha Childress. He can add her to his list of contacts: Tabitha, party at my house. Jamaican food and coked-up ganja.
Chapter Thirteen
When I knock on Jack’s door the next morning, there’s no answer, so I send him a text and wait. Part of me wants to jump back into my car and drive home.
“Good morning!” Shawn’s voice startles me, and I turn.
“Hi! Good morning,” I call, genuinely happy to see him.
“The
re’s that pretty smile.” He dips his head and gazes back at me. “Our boy’s in the pool doing laps. Come on around, and you can go in through the back.”
“Thanks.”
“I heard about the drama last night.” He touches his arm to mine, as if accentuating the importance of his statement.
I glance warily at him. Jack obviously shares with him, but I don’t want to hear about any drug-induced late-night hookups. “I must’ve left before the drama went down. And please,” I say, holding up a hand, “do not fill me in. I’d rather not know.”
He gives me a strange look. “He said something about the catering gal cutting her finger and you stepped in. Did something else go down?”
A sigh of relief streams from me. “Oh, yes. The catering. I just thought…never mind. Let’s leave it at the catering drama.”
We reach the back and step through the gate. Jack slices through the water like an Olympic athlete. My mind wrestles with the image of him. If Paul Platt felt comfortable enough to bring drugs to his house, it means he had knowledge that Jack would be okay with it. I shouldn’t care. He can do whatever the hell he wants.
“So I hear you bake, too,” Shawn says, turning to me.
I tear my eyes from Jack. “Yeah, I do. Are you in the market for a cake?”
He chuckles. “I might be.”
I sneak another peek at the pool to witness Jack doing a perfect butterfly stroke. No wonder his shoulders are so cut. I look at Shawn and smile. “Maybe I’ll make you one sometime. What’s your favorite?”
“Chocolate, chocolate, and chocolate.”
“Okay. That narrows it down. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“I hope so.” He tilts his head at me. “I’ve gotta go check on our boy. See you later, Jessica.”
“Bye.” I love how he’s always so upbeat—it adds a little positivity to my day. I walk to the patio and kneel down to rub Leo’s back. “Hey, little piggy. How’s it going?” He makes the breathy hoff, hoff noise that means he’s happy.
I plunk down at the kitchen table and begin sorting through Jack-related emails. I hear footsteps and look up to see him holding a wriggling Leo. He’s got a navy blue beach towel hugging his hips, his hair is slicked back, and his body, all pumped up from his workout, makes me blush.