The Big O (An OTT Insta-love STANDALONE)

by Nelle L'Amour

  If battling the insane traffic is not enough, the drive-thru line at In-N-Out is thirty cars deep. Moving at the speed of a slow freight train, it takes me forty long minutes to get my order, and by the time I get to the pick-up window, I’m famished. I ask for another cheeseburger with everything on it but then change my mind. Thanks to the spa, I’ve lost some weight (the one and only benefit), and I’m determined to keep it off. So instead, I force myself to order a Protein Burger—a measly hamburger that’s wrapped up in a lettuce leaf and not sandwiched between one of those delicious toasted buns. My stomach rumbles. Trying to be thin sucks.

  “What took you so long?” snaps Brandon as I strut into his living room. Now wearing perfectly ripped jeans and a white tee, he’s sitting on the couch fiddling with the remote.

  “Can you show a little appreciation, please?” I snap back at him before handing him the bag with his burger and fries. “I got you a cheeseburger exactly how you like it with ketchup and grilled onions.”

  Without thanking me, he reaches into the bag. I watch his toned biceps flex as he bites into his burger.

  Bite me, asshole.

  With my burger bag in hand, I march off.

  “Where are you going?” he asks before I’ve taken two steps.

  “To my living quarters. If you don’t mind, I’d like to eat my dinner in solitude.” And in peace and quiet.

  He grabs a couple of fries. “That’s not going to work. We need to make this a working meal. I have a lot of catching up to do. Now take a seat.”

  “Are you going to pay me overtime?”

  “Yes.” His voice borders on a growl. “Now, please take a seat.”

  Well, at least he said please. I search for a good place to sit, the farther away from him the better. I head toward a corner chair. His voice stops me in my tracks.

  “No. I want you to sit next to me. There’s a lot to go over.”

  Grrr. Reluctantly, I meander back to the couch and plop down on the leather cushion beside him, curling up in a cross-legged position. He stretches his long legs out on the coffee table in front of us. My knee brushes against his rock-hard thigh and my eyes glimpse the sizeable package between his legs. It’s quite a chunk of meat. My hunger consumes me. I take a bite of my pathetic burger.

  “What exactly do you have in mind?” I ask after swallowing. The Protein Burger isn’t as bad as I thought. It’s pretty juicy.

  “I thought we’d screen some episodes of my show, mainly from this past season.”

  My insides light up. I love Kurt Kussler and could totally binge on it. I’ve been watching the series since the day it premiered. I’ve seen every episode a dozen times and, with my crazy memory, know many of them by heart. When I found out from the job recruiter that I’d be working for the superstar, I practically drove my car off a cliff. I should have. Little did I know at the time what I had in store.

  “Sure,” I say casually, masking my excitement as he presses the remote with one of his long tapered fingers. Just like the rest of him, his hands are beautiful, sculpted works of art. The action-packed opening credit sequence set to the pulsing theme song instantly plays on the built-in big screen TV. A fast-paced montage of memorable clips culled from various episodes, each ending with Kurt in a sexy pose. Kurt Kussler is hot. So scorching hot. My heartbeat speeds up and a heat wave melts my entire being. I feel like the deconstructing Wicked Witch of the West. All hot molten liquid.

  Brandon presses a button on the remote and the opening credits speed up.

  “What are you doing?” I yell.

  “Fast forwarding. We don’t need to waste time.”

  “Stop! I love the opening credits.” I snatch the remote from him and slow down the credits to normal speed just in time to see Kurt do his signature line at the end. Lunging, he aims his big gun straight ahead and says:

  “Get it. Got it? Good.” I say the words with him.

  Brandon gives me an odd look as Kurt pulls the trigger and a loud BOOM! fills the room. I gasp. There’s something about Kurt holding that big gun and looking directly into the camera with those fierce violet eyes that makes my heart ricochet out of my chest every time.

  “Are you okay?” asks my companion.

  Is it that obvious I’m totally in love with Kurt Kussler? Just like every woman in the world. “Yes,” I pant out and then chomp into my burger to satisfy my carnal craving.

  “Have some fries,” he orders after I gulp it down. He holds out the bag.

  Without losing eye contact with the TV, I lose my willpower and dig in. God, they’re good. Crispy and lightly salted. Worth every sinful calorie.

  The opening credits segue right into the episode. Holy moly! It’s one of my favorites. The one in which Kurt doesn’t know he’s standing right next to The Locust, Alisha’s killer.

  Every inch of me clenches while my eyes stay glued to the TV. Oh God! The way he swaggers in those tight jeans! Snarls his lush lips! Smolders his violet eyes! Every word that comes out of Kurt’s mouth sets my body on fire. The suspense is killing me. I gasp when the disguised assassin almost runs him off a cliff. Kurt can’t die! And then toward the end, up comes my favorite scene of all—a flashback to Kurt and Alisha’s nuptials. The perfect church wedding, the beautiful, happy couple surrounded by loved ones. My heart pounds madly. I just hope the sound of the TV drowns it out so Brandon doesn’t hear it. I glance at him. He’s into it as much as I am. I can tell by the intense, unblinking expression on his face. I return my attention to the TV. Thanks to my eidetic memory, I know every line.

  The Pastor: “Do you, Kurt Kussler, promise to love and cherish this woman for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

  Kurt: “I do, sir. I will love, cherish, and protect her forever.”

  Oh my God! The passion in his sultry voice! The love and lust in his eyes!

  The pastor asks Alisha the same question. She holds Kurt in her impassioned gaze, whispers her vow, and finally says, “until death do us part.”

  I softly say the words with her. Tears well up in my eyes. Knowing the cruel fate that awaits Alisha, her vow gets me every single time. By the time they embrace (oh, what a kiss!), tears are streaming down my cheeks and I’m heaving.

  Brandon turns to me. “Jeez Louise. What’s the matter?”

  My tear-stained lips are quivering. Words are trapped in my throat. Snot is dripping from my nose. I’m a blubbering mess.

  Finally, I get my mouth to move. “It’s so sad. I can’t take it,” I splutter as the show fades to black and the closing credits come on. “He’s going to lose her!”

  Brandon turns the TV off and hands me a paper napkin. “Here. Blow your nose.”

  I gratefully take the napkin from him and put it to my face. I honk into it.

  “Thanks,” I stammer, totally embarrassed.

  “It’s just make-believe.”

  I sniff. “I know, but still…”

  Brandon’s eyes don’t leave mine. “You like my show?”

  Duh! “I love it! I love you!” Gah! “I mean, I love Kurt Kussler.”

  His brows lift. “Really?”

  “Totally,” I say convincingly, moving past my slip-up.

  “What makes him appealing?”

  He seriously doesn’t know? He must have major brain damage. “Isn’t it obvious?” I ask, my tears subsiding.

  He draws in a sharp breath. “With this damn amnesia, nothing’s obvious.”

  Obviously. So, I tell him.

  “First of all, he’s sexy as sin—”

  He cuts me off. “You think I’m sexy—”

  I cut him off. His pending question unnerves me. “No!” Big fat liar. “Kurt’s sexy as sin.”

  The conceited egomaniac looks a little deflated. “What makes him sexy?”

  “He may think with his cock like most men, but he’s ruled by his heart.”

  Clueless Brandon screws up his face. “What do you mean by that?”

&nb
sp; “He’s damaged but so passionate. I mean, just look at his abiding love for his wife, Alisha. He won’t stop until he finds her killer.”

  Brandon is all ears, listening intently. I continue.

  “Every woman wants a Kurt Kussler to love, protect, and cherish her.”

  “Yes, don’t we all.” A sardonic breathy voice enters the room. I look up. My stomach churns. It’s Katrina. The temperature in the room drops ten degrees as the willowy blonde stomps toward us in her gazillion dollar stilettos.

  “Well, if it isn’t little Miss Chubster.”

  My boiling blood heats my skin. “Hi. Nice to see you again too.”

  I remember the first time I met her. I thought she was here for a business meeting with Brandon and Scott. She acted like I was invisible and then had the nerve to tell me to take her Mercedes for a car wash. As if I were her servant. I told her to take a hike—no pun intended—and pissed her off royally. Until I started seeing pictures of them together online and in various tabloids, I had no idea they were romantically involved. And truthfully, knowing Brandon’s reputation as a player, I thought it was just another casual hook-up. His latest conquest. You can only imagine my shock when I learned of their engagement—the news broke just hours after Brandon’s horrible accident. It was bad enough that the gorgeous man I worshipped was lying in a coma but then to find out he was engaged sent my emotions into a tailspin. I cried for hours, knowing that even if he lived, I was losing him to America’s It Girl.

  Fraught with jealousy and loathing, I meet her predatory gaze.

  She smirks and then snubs me. “Brandy-Poo, are you ready to go out with Mommy and me?”

  Brandon’s eyes blink several times. “What are you talking about?”

  “Seriously, don’t you know we have a reservation at The Ivy to go over wedding plans? We made it weeks ago.”

  Brandon looks perplexed. “I’m sorry. It’s one of those things I don’t remember.” He turns to me. “Zoey, did you write it down somewhere or put it on my calendar?”

  “This is the first time I’m hearing about it.”

  “Maybe, I forgot to tell her,” mumbles Brandon in my defense.

  Katrina huffs. “Honestly, darling, you really should look into getting a competent assistant. This one’s a bigger waste of space than the space she occupies.”

  I’m seething. Bitch! I bite back my tongue. Katrina again ignores me and plants a kiss on Brandon’s forehead.

  “Well, darling, don’t just sit there. Throw on a jacket. I don’t want to keep Mommy waiting.”

  Slowly, Brandon stands up. His eyes penetrate mine. “Set some time in my schedule to review more episodes tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” I murmur. I stay seated while Brandon dons an outrageously sexy leather bomber jacket. It’s just what Kurt Kussler would wear.

  Emptiness fills me as I watch Katrina shuffle Brandon out of the house. And then a wicked thought brightens my spirits. Maybe the bitch and the asshole deserve each other. My moment of satisfaction is fleeting. Who am I kidding? I wish it were me.

  Brandon

  Located on nearby trendy Robertson, The Ivy is a bustling but charming restaurant that feels more like an eclectic cottage with its vintage floral décor and jugs of colorful fresh roses on every table. According to my fiancée, this is one of our favorite places to “see and be seen.” It’s a popular LA hangout with A-list celebrities, agents, and other movers and shakers. I, of course, don’t remember ever being here.

  Katrina’s mother is already seated at a corner table in the front room. Upon sighting us, she waves a bony hand, the other curled around the base of a fluted glass. Holding my hand, chicly dressed Katrina leads me with long strides in her direction. All eyes on us, whispers of Bratrina stir the air.

  Katrina rounds the table and gives her equally chic mother a double-cheek kiss. “Hello, Mommy.”

  “Darling, I’m so glad you could make it, and of course, this must be Brandon.” Enid formally introduces herself and extends her hand.

  I assume we’ve never met and shake it, careful not to crush it. I help Katrina into a chair across from her mother and then I slip into the one next to hers. Enid is effervescent.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered a bottle of champagne. Cristal, only the finest. I thought we’d start off the evening with a toast.”

  Like mother, like daughter. “Sure,” I say, studying her cosmetically enhanced face. Her jet-black hair is pulled back in a tight chignon, her skin so taut it may split into puzzle pieces.

  “Wonderful.” She raises her glass and we follow suit. “To the most unforgettable wedding ever!”

  We clink our glasses and then sip the bubbly. I’m not in the mood to drink champagne, but I go with the flow. Enid guzzles hers, then refills her glass.

  “Why don’t we order first and then we’ll talk about the wedding. I have so many fabulous ideas, especially since the wedding is going to be televised.”

  I take another sip of the champagne and clear my throat. “Um, uh, excuse me, Enid. But can we talk about that? I was thinking something smaller, more inti—”

  With a sharp turn of her head, Katrina cuts me off. “Brandon, there’s absolutely nothing to discuss. Everything’s set. It’s going to be a live televised event. Period. Millions of people around the world will see it on TV and on the Internet. It’s going to make me a global name and send my ratings into the stratosphere.”

  This just doesn’t sound like the kind of thing I’d agree to. I may be a very public TV star, but I’m a private kind of guy. That I do know about myself. My gaze stays on Katrina. “Did we ever discuss this?”

  Throwing her head back, she lets out a haughty laugh. “Of course, darling. It was practically your idea. You were all over it. You were even the one that said, ‘Eat your heart out, Kim Kardashian.’”

  I don’t even know who Kim Kardashian is. I’m growing frustrated with this amnesia thing. It’s getting old fast and causing me one problem after another. I’m really not comfortable with the idea of getting married on TV, but this is clearly not the forum to challenge it. I’m not going to get anywhere with headstrong Katrina or her outspoken mother.

  We order dinner from an apron-clad young waiter. Recognizing me immediately, his eyes light up. “Wow! You’re Brandon Taylor. Kurt Kussler rocks!” He steps back from the table and imitates me. Aiming his fingers like a gun, he says, “Get it. Got it? Good.”

  I’m getting sick of hearing this line. I’m sure this dude is an aspiring actor, and in a breath, he confirms my hunch. “Hey, listen Mr. Taylor, I hope you don’t mind. But can I give you my headshot before you leave and maybe you could show it to your producer and consider me for a guest-starring role? Even a cameo? I’m a method actor and studied at the Bella Stadler Academy. You won’t be disappointed.”

  Bella Stadler. I studied with her too and have learned I’m a big supporter. But, in the back of my mind, I feel there’s something more. It’s like a memory is trying to knock down the door. Think, Brandon, think.

  “Yes?” The waiter’s eager voice interrupts my ability to concentrate.

  “Sure,” I tell him, feeling sorry for yet another hopeful in this town, waiting tables while waiting for a break.

  The thankful waiter’s face brightens and then he takes our orders. Having just eaten that giant burger, I’m not hungry and just order a small salad. Katrina and her mother each order a platter of poached asparagus (sauce on the side) and then decide to splurge on a shared shrimp cocktail. No wonder the two of them are whippet thin.

  While we wait for the food to arrive, Enid starts in with her ideas for the wedding.

  “You know, I really wanted to do it in Venice like George and Amal, but too many of my friends have travel plans to go to Italy over the summer.”

  “George who?”

  She tuts. “George Clooney.”

  What? Forever bachelor George Clooney got married? Where have I been? I’ve really missed a lot. Enid rambles on while I
bemoan my fate.

  “I, however, came up with a perfect local venue. The Four Seasons Hotel. You’ll get married in the divine garden and then we’ll have the reception in the ballroom.”

  Katrina’s face lights up, more animated than I’ve ever seen it. “Mommy, tell him the theme we’ve chosen.”

  “Theme?”

  “Of course, darling. All my events have themes. And yours will be Cinderella—a celebration of my little girl finally marrying her Prince Charming. Happily ever after at last! I’ve already ordered dozens of pumpkins to carve and fill with exotic flowers along with gilded cages that we’ll fill with little white mice as table centerpieces. And Monique is designing The. Most. Divine. Dress. Ever. Along with a pair of magnificent glass slippers. Katrina will be the envy of every woman in the world.” She laughs lightly. “Even her own mother.”

  “Oh, Mommy,” Katrina coos after taking another sip of champagne. “Tell him about the best part.”

  “The cake? It’s going to be a six-foot high buttercream recreation of the Disney Magic Kingdom Castle.”

  “No, Mommy, I mean how we’re going to get there.”

  Enid dramatically throws up her hands and rolls back her eyes. “How could I forget? The two of you will be arriving at the hotel in a custom-made pumpkin carriage drawn by four white Arabian horses. Miniature replicas are accompanying the two thousand invitations I just sent out.”

  What? The invitations are out. There may be no turning back now. I gulp.

  Enid gives me the once over. “We should talk about what you’ll be wearing, Brandon.”

  I bet I’ll be dressed in some ninny prince suit that looks like it comes straight out of the Disney store. I don’t even want to know. “When is all this happening?” I ask, evading the subject.

  Katrina chimes in. “Why in four months—at the end of May sweeps—Saturday, May twenty-third. It’s going to send the ratings of my show into orbit. America’s It Girl is going to become a universal sensation!”