Rock Solid

by Lisa A. Olech

  Emily peeked over a shoulder at her mother. Trixie raised a gloved hand to wave. She had Joe Turner in her chair for his root touch-up. The creep had a standing appointment every six weeks to keep his hair looking sun-kissed. He even dyed his mustache. He believed it made him look younger. It made him look ridiculous. Em knew the real reason. He made no secret he had a thing for Trixie. The jerk asked her out a week after Em’s dad died.

  “That’s all I get?” Suzanne’s ultra-blue eyes captured hers in their reflection. “He’s not short or fat? Come on, girl. You’ve got to give me more than that.”

  “How about I tell you I’m going to be in a wedding?”

  An hour later, Emily stepped from the shower. It took two washings to get all the plaster dust out of her hair. She wrapped herself in a short oriental red silk kimono—a gift from Trixie on her last birthday. Jeremy called earlier and handed Cynthia the phone. She’d make him pay for that one. Add it to the growing list.

  He was right about one thing, Cynthia was crazy. She rattled on for a good twenty minutes about how grateful she was and how Emily was saving her life and her perfect day. Then she hit her with could she wear a wig and platform shoes? And let’s not forget the spray tan. It seemed all twelve of Cynthia’s bridesmaids were tall, willowy, tanned brunettes chosen specifically to offset the gentle strawberry blonde of the bride. She knew it was a lot to ask, but poor Emily wouldn’t want to stick out like…like a petite, bleached-out girl in an auburn-haired, bronzed forest! Em was paraphrasing.

  “Please put Jeremy back on the phone.” Emily counted between grinding teeth. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three…

  “Hey, Em.”

  “Hey, Em, yourself! Is she insane?”

  “I told her you wouldn’t buy it.”

  “Did you, for a second, think I’d say yes? Then you’re both insane. Isn’t it bad enough I’m in this stupid wedding?”

  “You’ll be fine just as you are.” He emphasized the “just as you are.” She assumed it was for Cynthia’s benefit as well. “We’re just thankful you’ve agreed to step in and help us out. The perfect part of our perfect day is going to be Cynthia and me becoming husband and wife, and it doesn’t matter one bit about the rest. Right?”

  “Nice speech, Romeo. Is she crying?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m still not wearing a wig and stilts.”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  “Good answer.”

  “See, I do still have my balls.”

  Emily snorted. “Nice of her to let you use them now and then.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry, that was bitchy. You know it’s not too late to find someone tall and brunette to be bridesmaid number six. Run an ad in the Stoddard Shout. Hold open auditions.”

  “Nope. You already said yes. It’s all settled.” Sniffling sounds could be heard in the background. “Cyn will call you tomorrow and let you know the time of your fitting.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’s just a little stressed.”

  Ain’t we all. Em flopped back onto her bed. “Go unstress your fiancée.”

  “Are you okay?”

  There it was. The softening of his voice. The sound always made her heart catch. He cared. He still cared. Beyond the breakup and their lives moving on, he was still her friend.

  The events of the day tumbled down on her like bricks. She moved to the side of the bed and rested her forehead in her hand. “I’m fine.” The silence on the other end of the phone told her he didn’t believe her. He knew her too well. “Go hug Cynthia. Agree to live doves or something.”

  “I draw the line at a flock of albino pigeons crapping on me.”

  “You can cover your head with your cummerbund.”

  “So funny. You should do stand-up. Have a good night, Em.”

  She pressed the End button and stared at the phone. A good night? She’d be lucky if she slept at all. Throwing on a raggedy T-shirt and jeans, she flipped on the light in her makeshift studio. Compared to the Vega Studio, it was a closet. A tiny closet—with a window.

  A plastic wrapped statue sat on her turntable in need of work. She opened a tub of conditioned clay and added more to build up an area on the figure’s hip and thigh. The cold moist feel of slick clay beneath her fingers soothed her.

  Millions of thoughts raced through her mind and she attempted to sift through them, but it was too quiet. She didn’t want to think about bridesmaid dresses or broken pinkies any more. Work had always been a good cure for her overactive mind. It was easy to get lost for a while and let her training and instincts take over. But lately it felt like such a struggle. Since she moved back home, everything about her work had ground to an agonizing crawl. Her professors at Stoddard School of Art had nothing but praise, but if they only knew the hours of working and reworking each piece took and how her work never quite hit the mark for her. Her muse was dead. Dad was dead. And she was back to working in a closet.

  Tomorrow she’d move all her things over to the wonderful open space at Vega Studio. She couldn’t wait to set up. Maybe it would be the inspiration she needed. Em threw a lump of clay at her statue. She needed something to inspire her and give her back her passion. Emily reached to switch on the CD player and stopped to wipe her hand across the back of her pants. Another pair of clay smudged jeans came to mind. Maximo.

  He wanted her decision tomorrow. As much as she wanted to lose herself in her work, shutting off her mind and playing in the mud wouldn’t help make a final decision about posing for him. She snatched a rag off the worktable to wipe her hands.

  A knock at the window had her spinning around. Her heart sprinted in her chest. Jeremy?

  “Hey, M&M, let me in.” His voice was muffled through the glass.

  She wrenched open the sash. “What are you doing here?”

  “Making sure you’re okay.” He swept up the screen and swung a leg in. “When I didn’t find you in your room, I knew you’d be back here.”

  Emily stepped aside as he crawled over the sill. “You’re insane.”

  He groaned. “Did this window get smaller?”

  “It’s been years since you climbed the oak tree. Are you crazy? You could have used the front door.”

  “Then I’d have to wade through a Q & A with Trixie.”

  Her studio space was tight for one person. With two, they were practically on top of each other. “What do you want?”

  “You said you were fine. You lied.”

  Emily rolled her eyes and squeezed past him to wrap her work back up in its protective sheeting. “So you snuck over here and climbed the oak like you were sixteen again to check up on me?”

  “I didn’t sneak.”

  She left the studio and led him back to her room. Trixie’s television noise filtered up from downstairs. Jeremy flopped on the bed.

  “Where did you tell Cynthia you were going?”

  “She knows where I am. It was her idea for me to come over here.”

  “Are you marrying Mother Teresa? She’s supposed to hate me. What kind of woman tells her soon-to-be husband to go visit his ex-girlfriend in the middle of the night?”

  “The trusting kind.” He propped his hands behind his head. “She’s worried you’re upset. I told her I didn’t think you were, but something’s going on with you. I sensed it at Java Jim’s before the whole wedding thing ever came up. You gonna tell me, or do I have to start guessing?” The television got louder. “What the hell is she watching down there?”

  “Shopping channel.”

  “Jeez.”

  Emily sat next to him with her back against the headboard. She hugged an orange pillow to her chest. “She can’t afford to buy anything, but she watches it all the time. She’s addicted.” She gave him a sideward glance. “I can’t believe you climbed my tree again. The last time you did this—” She stopped. It wasn’t a good memory.

  “The last time I did this was the night of your dad’s funeral.”

  “I remember.�
�� She dropped her chin into the soft corner of the pillow. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Jeremy had climbed through her window and held her while she cried herself to sleep. He never said all those stupid things people said when they were trying to console you like it’s for the best, or time heals all wounds. He hadn’t said a word. He lay with her and wrapped his arms around her and let her cry.

  “And the time before that was when you broke my heart.”

  “I remember that too.” Her voice was small and quiet. He’d showed up in the middle of the night after they had a huge fight and begged her to marry him, stay in Stoddard, put up a white picket fence and have his babies. She’d said no. “So, why are you here?”

  “You’re still my best friend.”

  “I broke your heart.”

  “But you were the smart one. We weren’t meant to be, no matter how much I tried to believe it. We never wanted the same things. You wanted bright lights and the big city. Fame. Fortune. I wanted lawnmowers and swing sets. You were absolutely right to say no. Remember how we used to lock horns over stuff. I thought you’d kill me the night I wanted to pick out names for our kids. As a couple, we were doomed. We’re much better as friends.”

  “And now you have Cynthia.”

  “Yep.”

  “And she wants everything you want.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Everything except the built-in swimming pool.”

  “Wow, you’re maturing. That would have been a deal breaker.” They sat side by side, both lost to their memories. The only sound came from the salesman downstairs, telling Trixie she only had three minutes left if she wanted the deal on kitchen knives. Emily broke the silence in the room. “I really am thrilled you’re so happy. I’m not just saying it.”

  “I know you are. That’s why I’m here. I want you to be happy too.”

  “I am.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit. I am happy. Hey, I’m interning with one of the most gifted artists on the planet.”

  “Then why am I laying here. Something’s up.”

  Emily pushed her chin deeper into the pillow. “I hate you.”

  “You love me. Try again.”

  “I hate that you can see through me.”

  “One of my many talents.”

  “It’s annoying.” It was also annoying he knew when to shut up. He knew she liked to avoid talking about the big things by picking little things to argue about. It was her best distracting tactic. It used to work. Not anymore. “Fine, I’ll tell you under one condition.”

  Jeremy tipped his chin to look at her.

  Em chewed her lip. “You can’t tell my mother.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Fine, I won’t tell your mother.” Jeremy’s blue eyes showed his concern.

  “And you can’t freak out.”

  “That’s two conditions.” He grinned.

  Emily threw the pillow at his head and got off the bed.

  He pushed it to the side and sat up. “I won’t freak. Tell me.”

  “I’ve been offered an opportunity of a lifetime.” She tossed up a hand.

  “Then why aren’t you doing your happy dance?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “How complicated?”

  “You know the life and death thing? Well, it’s similar, but without an actual body, although there is a body—mine. But I wouldn’t be dead, unless Trixie found out, and then all bets are off.”

  “Whoa.” He tipped his head to the side and stared. “Want to try that again? In English this time.”

  “Maximo Vega wants me to pose for him.”

  “Wow! That is huge.”

  “I know. He gave me the position I’m in because he wants me to do this. And I’m afraid if I say no…”

  “He’ll terminate your internship?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “He didn’t say that, but…”

  “So, don’t say no.”

  “He wants me nude.” She winced, awaiting the inevitable explosion.

  Jeremy was on his feet like he’d been catapulted off the bed. “What kind of a pervert is this guy?”

  “Shhhh!” She pointed at the floor. The knife guy was offering free shipping. “You agreed, no freaking,” she hissed. “He’s not a pervert. He’s an artist. He’s Maximo freakin’ Vega!” She pushed her fingers through her hair. “I’d be a fool to pass this up. I’d be famous for goodness sake. And career-wise, I’d be set. We’re talking the big time. Observing Vega at such a level is beyond anything I ever hoped for. I’m not a prude, and he’s assured me no one else will see me. We’ll be alone—”

  “Whoa!”

  “Again with the whoa?”

  “This bastard wants you naked and alone.”

  “You’re making it sound worse than it is.”

  “Em, you can’t even go skinny-dipping at midnight without going into the water to take off your clothes.”

  “I was sixteen. I’ve matured.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Have you?” He flipped a hand toward the poster of Fame. “Let’s not forget you’ve had a mad crush on Vega for years.”

  “Now you sound jealous.”

  “Not jealous, worried as hell. This is like you walking naked into Johnny Depp’s house to play Twister. I don’t know if you’re thinking rationally.”

  “Johnny Depp hasn’t invited me.”

  “No, but Maximo Vega has.”

  “You’re assuming he’s interested in something more than just his art.”

  “Hell, ya.” He threw up both hands. “Doesn’t this guy have some kind of reputation for sleeping with all his interns?”

  “That’s just a rumor.”

  “Are you sure?”

  No. She wasn’t sure of anything except the feeling if she didn’t say yes, she’d regret it for the rest of her life. She picked at the dried clay around her thumbnail. The salesman downstairs was trying to sweeten the deal with eight free steak knives.

  “If your internship wasn’t in jeopardy, what would your answer be?’

  Emily met his gaze. She did love him. She was glad they’d remained friends. She was thankful he climbed in her window tonight because, no matter what, Jeremy McCloud would never judge her.

  “I’d tell him yes.”

  ****

  Next afternoon, Emily hit the studio at a dead run. She was late. The damn dress fitting ran two hours long. Almost as long as the pale pink “evening blush” satin bridesmaid gown fit for an Amazonian.

  The seamstress kept shaking her head, telling her it would be easier to order a whole new dress, but there wasn’t time. She must have repeated herself six times. “Where are your hips?” “You’ll have to wear a higher heel.” And Emily’s personal favorite, “Perhaps a nice push-up bra. You are planning on wearing a bra, aren’t you, dear?”

  Pounding through the doorway, she rushed past Dante, dodged a short-wheeled cart of clay and skidded to a breathless stop mere inches away from colliding with Maximo—and a stunning blonde, who was, at that moment, glaring down at her from atop the sexiest shoes Em had ever seen. Were those Christian Louboutin pumps? Wow. She’d never seen a pair close up.

  “Oh, jeez. I’m sorry.”

  “Ms. Baskins.” Maximo’s mouth tipped up on one side. “A bit slower. The plaster, she will wait.”

  “But Ms. LeMar, she will not.” Had she not been watching his face, she would have missed the smile that skipped across his mouth, sparking a quick light in his eyes.

  The woman beside him wormed a hand through the crook of his elbow and slid closer. Her perfectly manicured nails matched her purple, tissue silk blouse. Rising from her black silk pumps, a slim charcoal gray pencil skirt started mid-thigh and there was no question this woman had hips. Her matching suit jacket was draped over the arm not laying claim to Maximo. Long, blonde hair curled in perfect wide spirals fell over one shoulder. Emily spied classic level ten highlights with level eight lowlights. This woman lived in high-maint
enance heaven. She was a gold card member at some salon.

  “How nice of you to open your studio to high school students.”

  Emily cocked an eyebrow. So did Maximo. “Ms. Baskins is studying for her Masters. She’s a talented intern here from the Stoddard School of Art.”

  “How nice for her.” The grin on the woman’s painted lips never reached the arctic chill of her eyes. “We need to go over the schedule I’ve worked up for you. Let’s let Ms. Baskins scurry along.”

  Scurry along? Em bit back a response. Maximo had already defended her once. She held up a quick hand to keep him from needing to again. “It was lovely not bumping into you.”

  Who is that? She looked over her shoulder at the woman gushing over a piece of Maximo’s work. Two steps later, Em’s next “lovely” encounter was with the solid chest of an unimpressed Ms. LeMar. “Oooof.” The woman was a brick wall—with breasts.

  Crystal plucked her off like lint. “You’re twenty minutes late.”

  “Technically, I’m only ten.”

  “Technically, I don’t give a damn. Get your goggles and mask. Today we’ll learn the fine art of reattaching a broken finger. Won’t that be fun, princess?”

  Emily rubbed her forehead and sighed. Loads of fun.

  ****

  Max witnessed Emily’s collision with Crystal LeMar. He flinched. He hadn’t had much one-on-one time with the head of his casting department. She was under Dante’s domain, but she was about as intimidating as they came. Almost as intimidating as the woman with her arm currently glued to his.

  Dante was right, Beverly Lavender was beautiful, by every Madison Avenue definition of beautiful, but she had an edge like broken glass and the warmth of an iceberg. An attack dog in thousand dollar shoes.

  She had made no apologies for her drive and determination. She was hungry and Maximo’s work was her next meal. Pushing into Dante’s office, she released his arm and snatched her computer tablet from a purple leather briefcase.