“You’re cracking me up. I need full details please. Should you be driving?”
“Shut up. Okay. So I…”
I pause midsentence as someone catches my eye. My ex, Matt Corrington is standing twenty feet across from me, walking toward the Starbucks. Matt Douchebag Corrington! He doesn’t see me, and I want to keep it that way.
“I gotta call you back.” I hang up without saying goodbye, grab my coffee and quickly walk toward my car, keeping a secret eye on Matt.
He looks absurd. He’s sporting a cheesy black fedora with a white skull printed on the side. His über-hip, faded yellow graphic tee with the logo from Land of the Lost probably cost him $150 on Melrose. And he’s wearing black skinny jeans with leather flip-flops. He also has some decorative facial hair thing happening; a thin line of hair runs across his jaw line and intersects with his tufty goatee.
I do a quick inventory. I’m not upset. I feel no nagging sense of jealousy or anger. And any residual longing that I might have once had is far far gone. I feel nothing, except the slight urge to mock. He wasn’t quite this, um, stylish, back when we were together, but it was always there, lurking beneath the surface. I wish him and his disturbing facial hair well.
Matt looks in my direction and I whip my head around. Apparently, I wish him well from a distance. No need to rehash old times.
As soon as Matt drives away, I’m back on the phone with Zoë, laughing over the sighting.
“I still wish you had made some dramatic scene, like tossing your coffee in his face.”
“Give him more material for the next movie? No thanks.”
“Hey, it’s the one-year anniversary of Lush this week. Douglas and I wanted to see if you’d come to the party on Friday?”
“Oh I would, but that’s the night I’m meeting up with Will.”
“Bring him.”
“No. I couldn’t. We’re working and he might think I think it’s a date. No way.”
“You guys have to eat. You can just stop by. Just ask him. Free food.”
“No.”
“Please. Maybe you can get him drunk and take advantage of him.”
Hmm.
When I get home, I decide to email Will and casually mention the party, focusing on the free food aspect of it all. I explain how we could probably cut out early and go back to his place to work.
A few minutes later he responds from his iPhone.
Abby,
Love Lush. Love free food. Let me know what time to pick you up.
W.
Sent from my iPhone
Hmm, better stay off the booze that night. Just to play it safe.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Does my hair look tame and unfrizzy? Check. Are my clothes slimming and stylish? Check. Is my makeup sophisticated enough but in that not-trying-too-hard kind of way? A definite check.
Three days ago I had promised myself that I was not going to make a big deal out of tonight. I’d just be myself. Comfortable clothes, a little mascara, and yes, perhaps even some lipstick to top it off.
That was three days ago.
Two days ago I decided to go out and buy a new outfit. I mean, Lush is a pretty trendy place after all. Plus, Zoë informed me that several of Douglas’s celebrity friends have been invited, and so for that reason alone I decided to at least make a tiny effort. So Stephanie, Nancy and I went to the Grove for lunch and a little shopping. I originally planned on finding a nice, hip-looking blouse and maybe a pair of dark, slimming jeans. Instead, after much badgering, I walked out of Nordstrom’s carrying a lovely black, empire-waisted dress, with quarter-length sleeves, and a dipping neckline.
And today? Well, at the last minute I was able to book an appointment with my Beverly Hills hairdresser, who managed to take out all of my frizzies and add in some luxurious waves. And while I was there, I just happened to mention to the makeup artist where I was going tonight. Like my hairdresser, she graciously offered to fit me into her tight schedule. At first, we just agreed she’d shape my eyebrows. Something I’ve desperately needed ever since my savage attack on them during my “I Hate My Life” phase. Afterward, we discussed what would be a good look for my eyes. And before you know it, with a dash here, and a smudge there, I walked out a new woman. A new woman who is going to need at least one-month’s worth of paychecks to pay off the debts she’s accrued in two days.
At ten minutes to eight there’s a knock at my door. He’s early. I love that.
“Hey, you didn’t need to come to the door. You could have called me from the car,” I say to Will as I slip into my gray pashmina. Did I mention I also bought a gray pashmina? Zoë will be so proud.
“True. I guess I could have just honked the horn and shouted.” Will smiles as he helps me with my wrap. “By the way, you look great.”
I look down at my dress, nervously smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles. I feel completely awkward and uncomfortable. “Thanks. Well, you know, it’s a party and stuff…”
“And stuff…” Will says, still smiling.
He’s made an effort, as well. His black slacks, starched pinstriped shirt and smoky suede coat are all a far cry from his casual Gap-like self.
“So who am I meeting tonight?” Will asks as he turns the alarm off his steel-gray Audi.
“My friend Zoë and her boyfriend Douglas.” Her boyfriend Douglas, who I am going to learn to like even if it kills me.
“And Zoë was your roommate?”
“Exactly. Now, just so you know, Zoë is going to ask you a thousand questions about yourself. Like where are you from? What college did you go to? What do you want to be when you grow up?” What are your intentions? “You know, the usual.”
“I think I can handle it,” says Will, opening the passenger door for me.
“Okay, I just wanted to prepare you. She’s pretty nosey. I don’t want you to feel obligated to answer. You can just plead the fifth.”
Will slides into the driver’s side of the car and turns to me. “Maybe I can manage to get in a few questions about you at the same time. It seems only fair if I spill, you spill.”
“You already know me. And anyway, I’m not that interesting.”
Will raises one eyebrow and turns on the ignition. “Well, you’re certainly not boring.” Will winks at me, and pulls away from the curb.
“Hiiiiiii,” Zoë shouts across the packed restaurant, waving over the dozens of heads that block her tiny frame. I wave back enthusiastically.
“Hi,” she says again as she approaches us, carrying a large martini in one hand. Tears fill her eyes.
“Hey, Chicken,” I say quietly as we fall into a long hug.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispers with a tearful sniff in my ear.
“Me too. I missed you.”
“Never again, okay?” She gives my back a little shake with her one free arm.
“Never again.”
After what seems an eternity, Zoë and I finally pull away, each wiping at our eyes.
“Hi, you must be Will,” Zoë says, thrusting her hand in front of him. “I’m sorry for that. Abby and I haven’t seen each other for a while.”
“No problem.” Will shakes Zoë’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too. So, let’s get out of this crowd. We have a table in the back where it’s a bit quieter. Douglas will be floating around, but he’ll come over in a minute or so.”
Zoë grabs my hand as we squeeze our way toward the back. There are a handful of young, attractive, yet slightly ruffled actor-types milling about. They all look remotely familiar in that “Haven’t I seen you on the CW?” kind of way.
Sitting at the tables are well-groomed, middle-aged couples. Men who probably fall in the categories of sought-after plastic surgeons, high-powered divorce attorneys and stressed-out agents. Across from them are their perfectly plucked, waxed, prodded and injected wives who have probably never lifted a finger since their wedding days (except, of course, for their weekly manicures).
/> And finally, there are tiny cliques of stunning women crowded around the bar who could, at one point, easily have graced the cover of Vogue. The men surrounding them, on the other hand, are most certainly nothing to write home about. Although they all seem to be wealthy and powerful guys in their dark, tailored suits and perfectly coiffed hair, very few appear to be under the age of fifty. These guys must be Douglas’s friends.
Next to the bar, a small three-piece band is playing Frank Sinatra covers, making it hard to hear anything Zoë is trying to say. “One-year anniversary…very exciting…closed party tonight,” she shouts as we follow her through the large, dark dining room.
I breathe a huge sigh of relief as we finally make it outside, where the crowd is thinner and the music lower. The heavy Moroccan-style curtains are pulled back from every booth, displaying several A-list celebrities.
“Is that who I think it is?” I whisper out of the side of my mouth as we pass two attractive couples sipping champagne.
“Yep, can you believe it?”
“Who?” asks Will showing a mild amount of interest.
“Posh and Becks and Tom and Katie,” Zoë says, pointing to our table in the far corner of the patio.
I slip into the carved wooden booth next to Will, looking back over my shoulder. I know it’s not cool to be impressed by celebrity sightings, but seeing someone of Tom Cruise’s stature out and about is a little like seeing an alien. “Quite an impressive turnout,” I say nonchalantly.
Zoë slides in across from us and takes a dainty sip of her martini. “Speaking of impressive. Abby, you look fabulous.” Zoë turns to Will. “Doesn’t she look fabulous?”
Will pulls away from me to survey my outfit once again. “Yep, she looks great. But that’s not saying much, since I think she always looks great.”
“Awwww,” Zoë gushes.
My eyes widen in horror as I shake my head. “Okay, you’re not doing this again tonight, Zoë. You’re banned. And you.” I point at Will. “You’re not allowed to play this game either.”
Will shrugs his shoulders. “What game?” he asks.
Zoë laughs. “The let’s-make-Abby-blush game.”
Will nods his head. “I think I like that game.”
“No. No, you don’t like that game. You may think you like that game, but you don’t really like that game.” I grab the drink that Zoë’s been toting around and take three large gulps.
So much for my ban on alcohol. This is going to be a long-ass night.
Several minutes of small talk pass before Douglas makes his way to our table. At first, I don’t recognize him. Gone is the graying ponytail. His hair is now suitably cropped in a short on the sides, longer on top cut. The orange tan is also noticeably missing. He looks younger and okay, a little less sleazy. I’m sure Zoë had a hand (or fist) in all of that.
“Abby, so wonderful to see you again,” he says as he leans over the table to give me a kiss.
“You too,” I say warmly. “This is my…” My what? Boss? Partner? Potential Love Slave? “Um, this is my friend, Will.”
“Good to meet you,” says Will, firmly shaking Douglas’s hand. “Congratulations on the one year. Thanks so much for having us.”
He said us! I like the way that sounds. Wait. No. I have to stop this. We are partners. Of course we are an us.
“Please, it’s my pleasure,” Douglas says. “Are you a wine man or a beer man?”
“Both, but I tend to lean towards a good wine.”
“Ahh,” sighs Douglas as he places a bottle of wine on the table, “a man after my own heart. I will be back in a minute with several bottles for us to sample, but here’s something to get you started.”
Douglas leans over and pushes a strand of Zoë’s hair away from her eyes. She blows him an air kiss as he walks off to find refreshments.
She looks happy.
“So.” Zoë crosses her arms and leans forward. “Did you know, Will, that when Abby first started working for you, she was petrified of you?”
“Zoë,” I hiss through gritted teeth. I take another two hefty sips from her martini.
She winks in my direction and giggles. “I’m just trying to break the ice. Come on, don’t be a poop.”
As I continue to glare at Zoë from across the table, I notice out of the corner of my eye Will staring at me. Do not turn to look at him. Don’t do it. Damn it, what’s he doing? What’s his expression like? Is he horrified? Amused? Aww shite! I have to look.
I turn in the booth to face Will and find him smiling ear to ear. He doesn’t release his gaze for a second. “So, you were scared of me, huh?”
“No,” I say, pushing out my lower lip in defense.
“She thought you hated her.”
Will continues to stare into my eyes, but squints slightly at the flicker of a memory. “Right. Copy Girl.”
Zoë laughs.
“I’m officially ignoring you two,” I say as I pick up the menu. “What should I order?”
“You never told me he called you Copy Girl. I love it.”
Will playfully puts his arm around me and begins to rock my shoulders back and forth. “I think she’s grown rather fond of it.”
“Oh I can see that. Copy Girl, can you pass the wine please?” Zoë asks.
“Both of you need to stop.” I laugh. But inside, all I can think is: Will is touching me. He’s touching me!
“Look, and now she’s blushing. She’s so cute,” Zoë coos.
My face is about a hundred degrees. But I don’t care because Will’s arm lingers around my shoulders before he slowly draws it away.
Douglas promptly returns to the table with three bottles of wine and places them all in the middle of the table. “Now, I think you’ll like these,” he says as he takes a seat next to Zoë. “I’d love for you to try this Pinot Noir first. It’s one of my favorites.” Douglas pours Will a small amount in his glass to taste.
I hope he’s not one of those pompous swirlers, smellers and sippers. I watch nervously as Will picks up the glass and takes a reasonably large, unpretentious sip.
“This is very nice.” Will nods approvingly.
Douglas gathers up a few of the glasses on the table and begins to pour for all of us.
“Oh, just a little for me,” I say to Douglas, placing my hand over the mouth of my glass. With half of Zoë’s martini in me, and no food since noon, I’m beginning to feel a little light-headed.
“Nonsense. Tonight is a celebration. If you can’t drive, we’ll hire you a car.”
I remove my hand from the glass as Douglas pours me a massive amount of wine. The scent of black cherries is intoxicating. Oh well. I’ll just need to eat something soon to offset it.
“Salute,” Douglas says, taking a sip from his glass. We all follow suit. The wine is delicious. Fruity and smooth like silk on my tongue. A warm feeling envelops my body and without thinking, I take another sip.
“So, Will, what is it that you do?” Douglas asks.
“Well, I’m producing a reality show right now.” Will’s eyes dip down to his hands. For some reason, he looks embarrassed and quickly takes a sip of his wine.
“Will is being modest,” I interject boldly, feeling a boost of booze-induced courage. “He was the coexecutive producer for the show. He ran the entire thing and did an amazing job.”
Now it’s Will’s turn to blush. The coloring on his face morphs from a light tan to a scarlet tint just above his cheekbones. “It’s been a challenge, but overall a great experience.”
“The things that matter usually are.” Douglas turns to me. “Abby, you must try this Shiraz. It’s divine.” Douglas pours me a different glass of wine from another opened bottle. “Just taste it.”
“Okay,” I say, taking a small sip from the glass. It’s amazing. But my lips are beginning to tingle from the amount of booze I’m ingesting.
“So, Will, what’s next for you?” asks Douglas.
“I’d like to open my own production company. Actual
ly, Abby and I have a couple of ideas we’re working on together.” Will turns to face me again. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all night, I heard back from the psychic school today. They were more than a little dubious, but I was finally able to sway them our way. I’m pitching college dorm to NBC and CBS in two weeks, so we should write up the proposal for psychic school and throw it in the mix.”
“Really?” I practically scream. “You think they’ll be interested?”
“When I told my agent about it he went nuts. He loves it. He really thinks we have a shot.”
I put my hand up for a high five but Will gives me a hug instead; our first real hug. It’s close, and warm, and electrifying. I might again be imagining it, but it doesn’t feel as though he wants to let go. When we finally do part, it feels like it’s happening in slow motion. His arms pull away from my body as if they’re attached with a thick rubber band and it’s taking every piece of strength for him to release me from his embrace.
“Oh my God, you guys, that’s so amazing. I’m so happy for you,” Zoë says excitedly.
“Bravo,” Douglas says as he tops off my first wineglass. “This really does call for a celebration. We need champagne.”
Will laughs breezily and takes a sip of wine as if this life-altering hug didn’t just occur.
For the next half an hour, he barely even looks at me. And I know it’s sort of pathetic and paranoid, but I can’t help feeling stiff and uncomfortable again. Did I just imagine a connection between us? Am I delusional? Being partners with someone you secretly love is probably a really stupid idea. Leave it to me to jump from the smoke into the flames of hell itself.
I reach over the table and drain the last few drops from my now empty wineglass. The minute it touches the table, Douglas reaches over and refills it. This is going to have to be the last glass. I’m going to have to pace myself here. I do not want things to get out of control.
Pain. Head is pounding. Nose is completely stuffed up. My tongue feels thick and sticky and there is an unpleasant taste in my mouth. I open my eyes and close them immediately. Light is bad.
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