Her First Game

by Suzanne Hart

  I drove her straight to my house, where we hung out, me telling her about the board meeting and setting out my clothes for dinner that night and her perusing the area for condos and small houses for sale. Moving down to Texas could have been a good thing for her, a fresh start. After a couple of hours of hanging out, we got dressed for the dinner that Chet had planned with his mother to celebrate the team, the new changes… and really, so our moms could meet. I tried not to be nervous as I drove the both of us down to Del Frisco's. I couldn’t help but think of the last time I had seen Chet’s mother, having breakfast in her sunroom, being yelled at because I didn’t like eggs and because she thought I was a horrible match for her son. Chet said that she had changed… a lot, but I couldn’t get that image of her disappointed face out of my head, or the sound of her harsh voice as I practically ran out of that mansion.

  Finally, I pulled up to the front door and stepped out, handing my keys to the valet.

  “Wow. Nice,” My mom said as we stepped onto the sidewalk. The building was small, but you could tell from the opaque, shining black windows, that it was nice inside. A couple of people hung around outside, all nicely dressed in their expensive looking button-downs or cocktail dresses conversing with each other. We walked down the short path, lined with rose bushes and into the restaurant. The cool air that greeted us was a stark contrast to the soultry, May air. I glanced around, taking in the gorgeous interior. The light was extremely dim, with nothing but table candles and the dim overhead contributing. Past the large hostess stand and to the right, was the hefty looking bar top, made of hunky, dark wood. There were two men in vests and ties, sauntering around, taking people’s orders.

  To the left was the beginning of the dining room. There were three, marble steps that led down to the carpeted floor that was spotted with tables. Since it was pretty late into the dinner shift, it had already started to fill up, with only a couple of tables free. A couple of waiters wandered around, looking comfortable and calm as they stopped at their tables, offering more wine or a dessert.

  I looked over to find Chet standing to the right, looking particularly dashing in his red button down shirt and black dress pants. I smiled at the sight of him as a sense of pride filled me up, just at the thought of introducing him to my mother.

  “Dahlia.” He hugged me.

  I sucked in a whiff of his cologne, which I had already become so used to, as he planted a kiss on my forehead.

  “You look beautiful,” He murmured.

  Six months in and I was still blushing at his every word.

  Once we let go, he turned his attention to my mom. “Mrs. Waters,” He said, giving her a side-hug and a soft kiss on her cheek. “I am so glad to meet you.”

  My mom smiled at him. “Pleasure.” Then shot me a quick, wide-eyed glance.

  Chet then turned to the hostess, who had been watching the entire exchange with a blank look on her young face. “Reservations for Blackwood.”

  Just as he said this, I spotted his mom, coming from the bar with a glass of red wine in her hand. Right away, I could tell that she looked a lot heavier. There was more color to her cheeks, a brighter look in her grey eyes. Her hair was even more shiny, glitter in the dim light. Her carefully made-up face brightened when she saw us, and she stretched her red lips into a smile. “Dahlia.” She said, coming right at me.

  My heart pounded in my chest as she took both of my hands in hers. “I am so glad to see you again.”

  I would have asked her if she was sure, but I decided to keep the snide comment to myself. My mom was here, after all. “Me too.” I lied. I was… less than glad. But I couldn’t deny the obvious change in her. What happened? Therapy?

  “Nancy Blackwood,” she said, holding her hand out to my mom.

  My mom smiled. “Carla Waters.”

  “Right this way,” The hostess said as she walked us down the marble steps and into the dining hall. We stopped at a table a little ways off from the entrance, but still a reasonable distance from the kitchen.

  “So, you’re in for a treat because the lamb chops here are to die.” Mrs. Blackwood said as we all sat down.

  My mom’s eyebrows shot up her face. “Wow.” she was already looking at the menu.

  I moved her hand away, holding it in mine.

  Chet rested an arm on my chair as Mrs. Blackwood asked, “How did the board meeting go?”

  I opened my mouth to respond before Chet said. “Amazing. They agreed to everything. Dahlia did great.”

  Mrs. Blackwood, with her solid poker face, just nodded. “I suppose that’s a good thing.”

  “Of course it is,” Chet said.

  “Yeah but, it wasn’t just me. Chet did a lot of work, convincing them that my suggestions made sense.”

  Mrs. Blackwood let out a dry laugh. “Yes, those old men need the information cut, chewed and spit out before they can even have a hope of digesting it properly.”

  We all chuckled at this.

  Eventually, the waiter came over, and Mrs. Blackwood ordered a bottle of red and white for the table. Soon enough he came back with the wine and the glasses. We all started sipping and discussing the menu when Chet made the absolutely cliche move of hitting his glass with his fork.

  I almost laughed at that.

  “I have to say something.”

  Mrs. Blackwood stopped what she was saying to my mom and turned to face him. “Well, go ahead son. There’s only four of us here.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at that.

  But then he turned to me. “I know it’s barely been a year since my father died,” Mrs. Blackwood bowed her head at this.

  “And a lot has changed. When I first took over the company, I had no idea what I was doing… and I still don’t.”

  “That’s not entirely wrong.” Mrs. Blackwood muttered, her voice colored with the dry humor.

  “I was lost, but I found myself grounded in the sense of duty I felt towards my family, my team and the woman I fell in love with.”

  My heart swelled at this, and I gazed up at him, reveling in the way his eyes twinkled in the light, the way that he stared at me like I was the only woman that existed.

  “Dahlia Waters.” He put the wine glass down as my eyes widened.

  Even when he got down on one knee, my mind had still failed to fully compute what was happening in front of me. “Yes?”

  My heart pounded so much that I had to strain to catch his next words, but I did hear them, and I could never forget them.

  “You came into my life and completely turned it upside down. You challenge me more than any woman ever has, and when I look at you I see everything I need, everything I’m not, in your eyes. I feel,” he cleared his throat then as he grabbed my hand. I could feel him trembling a little as he held me in his grip and my eyes watered. This was the man I loved, the man I could give my life to, down on one knee, gazing up at me with that certain expression of love, an expression a girl can only dream of being reflected back up at her. “I feel like we’d be an amazing team. I want to experience all the joys and… sorrows of this life, with you by my side.”

  Hot tears streamed down my face as I gazed down at him. My mom and Mrs. Blackwood were staring right at us, not breathing, as they watched this scene. I could feel the hush in the entire restaurant, and it didn’t take me long to realize that they all watched too.

  “I can’t see a life without you in it.” He slipped something out of his pocket, a black box.

  There it was. It was happening. I was about to be engaged. He flipped it up, and I caught the first glimpse of that diamond ring. My heart skipped a beat before it went into overdrive. Goosebumps rose on my skin as I was practically blinded by the reflection of the candlelight being refracted off of every edge of that princess-cut diamond.

  “Dahlia Waters,” He said. “Will you marry me?”

  A lump lodged itself in my throat. I couldn’t speak right away. In fact, a part of me didn’t want to. I wanted to revel in my new reality. I stared
down at him, my eyes wide, my body jittery with excitement. But I couldn’t keep the words at bay anymore, or extend this moment any longer. I wanted to be Chet Blackwood’s fiancé right then. I wanted the beginning of the rest of my life, right then. “Yes.”

  Chet sighed as he shoved the ring on my finger with trembling fingers. My mom was crying; his mom was clapping, the whole restaurant cheered as he lifted me up out of my seat and into his arms. He kissed me about a million times, the energy between us tangible, the electricity, the desperate need. I loved him.

  I loved him.

  Bonus Content

  My EX Future Boss

  Chapter One

  The sound of the coffee grinder working was the only thing that could be heard in my spacious kitchen. I sipped on what I already had; the fourth cup that morning. But after another night sitting up in my study, pouring over my script, all the coffee on this planet couldn’t bring me back to life.

  I gazed up at my wife, who shuffled around the kitchen island like a zombie, her hair hanging around her face and down her back in frizzy knots, her wrinkled nightshirt covered in wine stains, her eyes framed in smudged makeup from last night.

  Finally, the coffee grinder stopped. I stood up and made my way to the machine, running my fingers over the dark marble countertop on the way there. There was no question I would miss these.

  Her rose-petal perfume caught my nose as I brushed past her. “You want some?”

  She grunted, then made a movement I could best interpret as shaking her head. “You shouldn’t have any either.”

  “Is that where we are?”

  “What?”

  She still hadn’t looked at me since she came out of our bedroom.

  “You telling me what to do?” I sucked in the smell of hot caffeine, the steam alone speaking to my body.

  She scoffed. “I figured out I couldn’t do that a long time ago.” She yanked open one of our black wood cabinets and pulled out a mug. She then reached over me, grabbing the coffee pot and pouring it for herself anyway.

  I stood with my back leaning against the countertop, reluctant to put distance between us again. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  She rolled her eyes, sipping her own coffee. “I’m too tired for this bullshit.”

  “You were out all night…”

  “You would know a lot about that wouldn’t you.”

  “I can’t believe you.”

  “You should try harder.” She slammed the mug on the counter, the contents spraying out.

  I clenched my jaw. She really had a knack for making my stomach turn. “Is that really necessary?”

  “Is what?”

  I gestured at the divorce papers on our breakfast table. They still sat where they had been gathering dust for weeks now, daring me to confront them, to confront this, the end of a marriage that lasted over ten years. What was I supposed to do with myself now? I gazed around at the spacious kitchen that opened up to the living room, the big, white sectional we had argued for months over, the bay windows that overlooked all of Los Angelas, the little trinkets and art pieces we had picked up after this trip or that. All of it would be gone soon. A memory. What was I supposed to do with that?

  She bit her plump lip.

  I cocked my head at her. She had a way about that; being the biggest devil on the planet, then doing that one thing to remind me of how we used to be.

  “I don’t see how I can go on like this at all.” She said.

  “Because you’ve fallen in love with someone else.”

  “Because you never loved me to begin with.”

  There it was, the elephant in the room. I opened my mouth, a distinct act to try to deny it. That’s what I always did, denied it. But this morning, as I looked into Marianne’s eyes, saw the steady determination in them, the frankness in them, I realized I had to let it go. Had to let her go.

  ***

  After dropping our daughter off at nursery school, I made my way to the Beverly Hills hotel later that morning, my chest feeling heavy from all of this. I couldn’t believe that this was my reality now. I couldn’t believe my whole past led to this moment of decision. As I sat in that mid-morning traffic, my mind started wandering to the difficult things. What would I do about my daughter, Ally? How do I explain to her that mommy and daddy don’t share a home anymore, a bed?

  I shook my head and those thoughts away with it.

  Finally, I was pulling into the parking lot of the Beverly Hills. I parked the car and went up to the hotel room I had booked for the auditions. The stuffy, antique space had already been outfitted for this purpose. A desk had been placed in the room. There were about five people in the room; the screenwriter, producers and my casting director, Clara.

  She smiled at me when I opened the door, wagging her ponytail around. I could tell from the shadow in her grey eyes that she had seen the magazines and heard the news. All of the sudden my dead marriage was of everyone’s concern. “Good morning, David.”

  The rest of the people in the room murmured their own greetings as I sat in my place at the desk. “Who do we have today.” I hated the way my voice cracked.

  Clara sat next to me. “Ivanka Berta, Sarina Emmie, Alexandra Durn, and Laila Rhodes.”

  I lifted my head at that last name. Laila Rhodes. I had known her four years ago. She was my nanny for two years when she first moved to the city. I remembered hearing that she had wanted to become an actress, but what kind of tricks could she have turned for four years to end up on my casting couch that quickly.

  “Which one first?”

  “Laila.”

  I couldn’t explain the way that my heart skipped a beat at this. I wanted to see her again, that was obvious, but it wasn’t until I was about to that I even realized how much. I blinked, letting my eyes stay shut for a little longer than a second as I remembered her on the last day I had seen her, her raven hair tied up in a ponytail as she bounded down the front staircase with that box of odd things she had deposited in our house over the years

  It was Marianne’s decision to let her go. I was sad to watch it happen.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Clara stood up and went to the door. I glanced over to see Laila, just as radiant as ever, her young skin glistening in the dim lighting, her lips covered in red lipstick, her eyes wide with excitement.

  I needed to have a moment alone with her, I knew it as surely as I knew my relationship with Marianne was over. A smile played on my lips as she walked from the door to the center of the audition space in front of my desk.

  She gazed down at me, a smirk on her face and not an ounce of fear in her eyes. “Begin.”

  I didn’t want to like her audition. Quite frankly, I hoped she would fail. As she embodied the character I had dreamed about for over two months, I realized I was about to put myself in the worst position of my career.

  “Thank you.” I put my hand up before she was done. I had heard everything I needed to hear. I didn’t look up at her as she left the room.

  “Clara,” I said as I scribbled down some notes on her resume.

  “Yes?”

  I could almost smile at her feigned ignorance. “You did this on purpose.”

  She shook her head. “She’s talented, and you know it.”

  I sucked in a ragged breath. My heart throbbed in my chest. I wanted just five minutes alone with her. “I can’t take her.”

  Clara shook her head, a knowing smile on her face. “That’s not fair.”

  I set my jaw, the temptation far too much. “What are you doing to me?”

  She shrugged. “I’m helping you make a movie.”

  Chapter Two

  I placed my yoga mat on the hardwood floors in front of me. I sat on top of it, criss-cross, and folded my arms across my chest. I shut my eyes. I sucked in breath after breath, trying my best to think about nothing. It was so hard not to let my mind run wild, thoughts of failure, homelessness, the inevitable chances of dying alone and penniless, a wa
itress at the same place I have always worked, my son forever disadvantaged because of my selfish dreams.

  That was the point of these weekly yoga sessions. I opened my eyes and glanced around me. We were on the fifth floor of a small apartment building in what would have been a studio. All around me were young people like me, aspiring twenty-somethings who took an hour out of their busy schedules of trying to make it, to be here so that we could do some breathing exercises and clear our minds and pretend that we had already made it.

  I heard someone take in a sharp breath next to me. “Dawn,” I turned to find her laying belly-first on the matt, her cheek pressed onto the hardwood floor, her eyes staring straight at me.

  “Are you gonna tell me what happened or not?”

  I cocked my head to the side. “Come on. You know I don’t like jinxing these things.”

  “Well, what about just telling me the facts. You can’t go on the most coveted audition in the city at the Beverly Hills hotel and have nothing to report.”

  Her praying was starting to make me anxious. I would have preferred not to talk about it at all, with anyone, until I figured out how it went. I preferred not to think about it. I preferred to pretend that it didn’t happen so that I could go to other auditions and jobs and put my whole soul into them. So that I could focus on my son’s needs and not be distracted by this thing I could no longer control. So that I would be the one in control.

  But Dawn wasn’t like that. In fact, most other people weren’t. They preferred to hang their whole futures on one moment, one audition, because they wanted that story and they wanted it to be that easy. “Okay fine. The hotel was amazing.”

  “And?”

  The door shut behind us. I heard someone walk from the back, weaving through the yoga mats, to the front. We were running out of time. “And I cried during my monologue.”