Love and Loathing

by Gigi Blume

  Jorge gave me a lot of his attention the entire night, but when he stripped down to nothing but his boxers and jumped in the pool, he was on his own. Lydia and Mariah got it all on video.

  “That bloke is something else, isn’t he?” Stella poured herself a drink at the bar a few feet away from where I was shamelessly ogling Jorge. “Care for one of these?”

  She held up a concoction that looked more like a science experiment than a beverage. Interesting. I had her pegged as more of a rosé type.

  I held up my wine cooler. “I’m good, thanks.”

  She shrugged and slid closer to me, sipping on the rim of her glass and casting her eyes in the direction of the pool. Jorge had convinced Lydia to jump in fully clothed. I hoped the water was heated because they’d be popsicles when they got out. They say California doesn’t have seasons. Well, I'm here to tell you that for a local girl, sixty degrees Fahrenheit might as well be sixty below. Californians are cold weather wimps and I have no shame in that.

  “Mr. Wickham is the type of man to make the most of any circumstance, I gather,” she said with a smile. “If I had known it was a pool party, I would have brought my suit.”

  She winked at me and took another sip of her cocktail.

  “I suppose you could say he’s an opportunist,” I said.

  “He’s certainly taken the opportunity to catch your notice.”

  “It’s a little hard not to notice.” I smiled.

  “He’s an interesting creature, I’ll give him that,” she said over the rim of her glass.

  “That he is.”

  “But if I may be so bold,” she added, “I must admit I thought you were more sensible than to fancy a man that gets his attention by skinny dipping in December.”

  I chuckled to myself. The idea of getting carried away with a skinny-dipping heartthrob wasn’t in my bag of tricks. That’s why Lydia would catch a cold and not me.

  “Well,” I said, “I’ve fallen for much stupider a fellow. It seems to be my specialty. But if you must know, we’re just friends.”

  “That’s good to know,” she said with a single nod. “You wouldn’t want to let your fancy run away with you. I’d have to be seriously disappointed.”

  “I’ll do my best to avoid it, then.” I winked. “But I might have to tone down my feminine arts if I want to keep shirtless men from falling madly in love with me.”

  I wiggled my hips and modeled the ugly Christmas sweater I wore. I’d bought it at the Goodwill where some unfortunate grandma must have reluctantly emptied her closets.

  “Speaking of madly in love,” she said. “I hope you don’t find it impertinent to ask, but I haven’t seen Jane all night. She isn’t avoiding a certain someone, is she?”

  “More like the other way around,” I said. The warmth of the alcohol broke down my inhibitions. Stella was so easy to talk to.

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” she replied. “Sometimes men can be like that dog from Up. They fall in love with a pretty face for a few weeks but can so easily get distracted by a squirrel.”

  I laughed. “That has to be one of the most accurate analogies ever.”

  I knew more than a few guys like that. But then my thoughts fled to my father. As silly as my mother was sometimes, he never once had a wandering eye. I had to believe there were more men in the world like him. I’d stupidly thought Bing was one of them.

  Total fail.

  “I don’t know if that’s the case with Bing,” I continued. “I’ve never seen a guy so infatuated with anyone like Bing was with Jane. It got to the point where he ignored everybody else.

  “Showmances!” she scoffed. “Well, I hope they can figure it out. Now neither one of them are here.”

  “Jane’s in New York,” I replied, feeling I had to defend Jane somehow. “She said she had a few auditions.”

  “Good for her.” Stella’s face brightened. “I have no doubt she’ll make a good impression. I wish she would have told me, though. I could have put in a word for her.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Why yes. I’d do that for any of you. It’s what I do. I’m sure you’ve heard of my academy in New York?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, we have our charity arts program here in Los Angeles.”

  I knew a little about the work her charity did. It was a theatrical program for underprivileged youth.

  “Not only is it an arts program, but we also offer full scholarships and career advancement. The students don’t have to pursue the arts if they don’t want to. We use theatre as a springboard into all areas of study. Theatre is a dynamic discipline. It’s not just for us drama llamas.”

  I giggled. I was feeling a buzz from the alcohol, but Stella’s dry British delivery made everything she said sound humorous or poignant. Sometimes both at the same time.

  Stella smiled wistfully and took a sip of her science experiment. “But if the students in our workshops want to be a doctor or computer engineer, our scholarships will still give them a full ride. We just want them to be successful.”

  This was why I admired this woman. Yes, she was the best actor in my acquaintance, she’d won awards too numerous to count, but it was her philanthropy that set her apart from her peers.

  “How many scholarships does your foundation award each year?”

  “At first, it was only one. Now, we’re able to sponsor three graduates from our youth program. I’m hoping to raise enough money this year to send five students to college.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “Who knows? Maybe in future years, we can sponsor ten or twenty. Or thirty!”

  “That should be something.”

  “It would. Of course, there are some graduates who go straight into auditioning. We don’t always recommend it, but if the actor is ready, we’ll help them get headshots or an agent or whatever else they need and send them off. And we put in a good word wherever they go—casting directors seem to respect that. I get calls all the time. So I would have extended the same for Jane. Not like she needs my help at all.”

  “She’s amazing, isn’t she?” I said with a smile.

  Stella agreed with an enthusiastic nod. “That she is. And so are you, my dear.”

  “Me? Nah.”

  “Now don’t give me false modesty. I can always tell the ones who are going to make it. And you’re one of them.”

  “I… I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said with a tipsy smile. “Don’t let it go to your head. It’s still a very steep, uphill climb. There’s nothing worse than when a talented person gets lazy. I just want to slap them and say, Hey, you could be so much more if you’d only do the work to get there.”

  “I will do my best to avoid a slapping.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “I think I’ll take you up on that drink,” I said, abandoning my wine cooler on a table.

  Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “You’re going to love it.”

  I could tell the novelty of mixing cocktails was an entertainment to her. She accented her every movement with a flourish as she poured the mixers and added the condiments.

  “By the way,” she said, “I would love for you to attend my charity event as my plus one.” She splashed a piece of dry ice in the glass with a flourish. “It’s a carnival theme this year. The festivities last all day, and you’ll get to meet some of our recipients. One of our former students, Francesca, just graduated from NYU. She’s coming to present the fellowship awards this year. You would get along swimmingly.” She handed me the smoking cocktail. “What sayeth thou?”

  “Are you kidding?” I screeched loud enough to turn a few heads. Every who’s who in Whoville attended that event. Visions of myself brushing shoulders with A-list celebrities and powerful producers danced in my head. Even if it was a carnival. I may not have been interested in working in film, but I’d be crazy to pass that up. “I sayeth yes.”

  “Good.” She cl
inked her glass with mine. “Now we better get that friend of yours out of the pool before she recreates the love scene from Shape of Water.”

  17

  Twitterpated

  Will

  “What has gotten into you?”

  Georgia threw a pillow at me, catching me off guard. I was so not engaged in the game we were playing. I was messing up royally, using up all my lives. My little sister didn’t like winning so easily. So, she threw the pillow. Hmmm. I guess that’s why it was called a throw pillow. I’d never thought if it like that before.

  “Earth to Will,” she sing-songed. “I should have stayed in New York.”

  “It’s cold in New York,” I said, propping the pillow under my arm. Much better.

  “You’re letting me win,” she pouted. “You never let me win.”

  “I’m just tired.”

  “Tired from shopping all day for my Christmas present?”

  “I’m not telling you what I got you, so quit trying to get it out of me.”

  “A girl’s gotta try.”

  “Or you can wait ‘til Christmas like normal people.”

  I loved my little sister, but her low tolerance for surprises was irritating. One year she unwrapped all her presents when no one was looking. Then she re-wrapped them and pretended to be surprised on Christmas morning. She didn’t fool anyone. Ever since then I had to hide all her gifts in creative places. Sometimes I got so creative even I forgot where I put them. It was exhausting.

  “Are you tired from hiding my Christmas present?”

  “Okay, do you really want to know?”

  She perked up and jumped to sit on her feet. “Yes.”

  “I could just give it to you now and save the suspense.”

  “That’s probably one of your better ideas. Especially since you never found my present from three years ago.”

  She’ll never let me live that down.

  “Okay, I’m going to give it to you now. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to wait?”

  “I’m sure, I’m sure.”

  “All right. Here it is. This year, for your gift, I composed you a poem.”

  Her face fell. I cleared my throat.

  “Roses are red, violets aren’t blue. If you ask me about your present one more time…I will cover your mouth with glue.”

  “You are a terrible poet. Don’t quit your day job.” She threw another pillow at me. This time I caught it as it came barreling toward my face.

  “Thanks,” I said with a grin. “I needed one for the other arm.”

  “Seriously though. You’ve been acting weird ever since I got off the plane. You’re distant, quiet, most of the time you’re staring into space. I had to repeat your name three times yesterday just to get you to pass the salad dressing. And don’t tell me it’s work. You’ve always been a workaholic, but you’ve never passed up movie night with me before. So spill.”

  “There’s nothing to spill,” I replied. “Look at our house. It’s turned into a circus. Literally. The carnival rides are sitting on our lawn, every day another batch of vendors comes to set something up, we’ve got a petting zoo, for crying out loud. A petting zoo!”

  “They’ve brought the animals already?”

  “No. But it’s here. On our property. With bales of hay everywhere.”

  “Let me take care of the vendors,” she pleaded. “I like organizing events. I could get one of those headsets like stage managers use.”

  “It’s ruining Christmas.”

  “Nothing’s going to ruin Christmas. Just chill.”

  I huffed and rolled my eyes. “I’ll chill when Pirates closes.”

  “Don’t tell me a romp with Gilbert and Sullivan is stressful. You’ve always loved that show.”

  “Just some personality clashes, nothing to write home about.”

  “What? Some overblown egos in the cast?”

  “Something like that.” There were two strong personalities at the theatre I wished to avoid. One was Jorge, but I was determined to never mention his name in Georgia’s presence again. The other was Beth. Unfortunately, nothing I did to avoid her did any good. She was still there in my thoughts no matter how hard I tried to forget her. I sighed like the pathetic fool I was and sank further into the pillows under my arms. It was actually pretty comfortable.

  “Wait a minute.” Georgia narrowed her eyes on me and put on her Sherlock face. “It’s a girl, isn’t it? You’re twitterpated.”

  “Twitterpated? Who says twitterpated anymore? Have we inadvertently stepped into the Hundred Acre Wood?”

  “Maybe,” she said, stroking her chin. “Or another Disney movie. The one where you’re the Beast.”

  “I’m not the Beast,” I said. “I’m the clock. Sensible. Practical. On time.”

  “I still think you should have been considered for that movie.”

  “Can we change the subject?” I exclaimed impatiently.

  She wiggled her brows and grinned fiercely.

  “Are we circling back to the Christmas present conversation? Because I’ve had my eye on a certain pair of shoes.”

  I was almost tempted to give in to the idea. I didn’t want to think about Beth anymore. And I certainly wasn’t twitterpated. I could simply tell Georgia what I ordered her for Christmas, and the excitement alone would render her speechless. Hint: It wasn’t a pair of shoes.

  She batted her eyes while she waited for my reply. “I could send you the link and act surprised when I open them.”

  Her stare down wore on me. “Or…” She smirked. “You could tell me her name.”

  I hated this game. The mere fact she was my baby sister gave her an unfair advantage. She was ahead of me from the cute factor alone. I was a total wuss.

  “Elizabeth,” I admitted with a sigh. It was impossible to keep secrets from my sister, but I didn’t count on feeling such a relief in saying it aloud. Elizabeth. It was just a name. One word. But it was a weight on my chest that suddenly felt lighter with my sister sharing the load.

  A giant grin formed over Georgia’s face. I swore her teeth occupied her entire head. She wasn’t making this easy for me.

  “Elizabeth,” she repeated, taking the name out for a test drive. “Elizabeth Darcy.”

  “Whoa. Stop right there. Personality clashes. That’s all I admit to.”

  “Yeah? Well, you can’t see your face right now. It’s bright red.”

  I did have an overpowering sensation of heat on my head. A layer of sweat formed on my scalp. I told myself it was only because Georgia interrogated me. I’d perform horribly on a lie detector test. Yes, Officer. It was a crime of passion. Guilty on account of trying to function in society while twitterpated.

  “You want to go out for ice cream?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Does this Elizabeth live in an ice cream shop?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “And what’s the natural habitat of this Elizabeth creature? If I were to go looking for one. Asking for a friend.”

  Where would one go looking for an Elizabeth if one were on the hunt? Not that I was. The theatre company was on Christmas break. I should have been happy about that. I had my sister with me. That was a good thing. Then why was I making her visit miserable by my sour disposition? Maybe if I did go into the wild jungles of Beth’s habitat (AKA Lucas Lodge) I could get her out of my system. I just needed a reminder how much she drove me crazy. A few days away from her snarky scowls and witty repartee, and I was already forgetting that irrational desire to suddenly jump off a cliff. I read somewhere the best way to discourage kids to smoke is to expose them to too much of it, therefore giving them an aversion to it. Maybe that would work for me.

  “We could go to the Scoop Deck and take Lady with us,” I said, trying to deflect her questioning. “She likes the strawberry gelato.”

  “You’re going to get this dog sick.” She bent down and scooped Lady from the rug at her feet. “Poor baby.”

  She was overreacting
. Lady was only allowed the drippings. But those big, brown eyes would watch every movement of the ice cream cone with a silent wish it would tumble out of my hands and into her waiting mouth.

  “Suit yourself,” I said, getting up from the couch.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get some ice cream.”

  I threw both pillows at her head, careful not to hit Lady, and padded across the room towards the door. I wasn’t going for ice cream. Not unless they served butter pecan at Lucas Lodge.

  “We’re not done with this conversation, big brother,” Georgia hollered to me as I retreated from the room. “I require answers.”

  So did I, little sister, and that’s what I intended to get.

  I found myself once again at the one place I swore I’d never set foot in again. The parking lot for Lucas Lodge was surprisingly full for its lunch crowd. I knew it was a popular place among Hollywood types--I’d seen the autographed photos on the wall--I just couldn’t imagine why. I scanned the cars in the lot for Beth’s atrocious clunker. A part of me hoped I wouldn’t find it, the other part of me, the sadistic part, was disappointed when I didn’t. What was wrong with me? Pathetic.

  But then, because I was an obsessed idiot, I got out of my car and walked around the parking lot just to, you know, prove to myself I was indeed an obsessed idiot. And that’s when I noticed the beat-up old Volvo hiding behind a delivery truck. She’d parked near the back, away from where the customers parked.

  I must have stood there in the parking lot, staring at Beth’s car for several minutes, deciding what to do next. Go in and face my demons or peel out of there and stuff them in the back of my head where they could torment me the rest of my days? Schrank.

  Oh, fabulous. Now I had Musical Theatre Tourette’s. I had to get that girl out of my headspace. She had set up residency there, and I didn’t like the way she decorated it.

  I was inside the lodge, getting seated by that same odd man before I knew what I was doing.

  “Here you are again, sir,” he groveled. “I knew it wouldn’t be long before you were back. Come in and take the best seat in the house.”