by Maggie Marr
Choo nodded. “Smart girl.” He crossed his ankle over his knee and waited for me to continue.
“And you’re offering me a job at a production company.” I was trying to make intelligent guesses. “Not your production company.” The straw danced on my lips as I spoke around it. “Maybe your dad? He has a production company, right? Or your mom?”
“You were on track until the mom and dad part,” he said. He set his drink on the table in front of him and stretched his hands over his head. I noticed the rainbow-flag tattoo on his wrist. His eyes followed mine. “You knew, right?” He asked and tapped the rectangle with his finger.
I bit my bottom lip. “I thought maybe… but I didn’t want to assume.”
“Assume away, my pretty little girl from Kansas. This flag is the very reason the job I’m offering you can’t be with my parents’ production company… Well, that and they live in Idaho.” Choo traced the edges of his tattoo with his finger. “They threw me out of the house when I told them.”
A shiver crept through my body. “Oh my God, Choo. How old were you?”
“Sixteen,” Choo said. “They let me back in when I agreed to get deprogrammed.” His gaze locked with mine and while his face seemed relaxed—as though he’d come to terms with his parents’ betrayal and abandonment—a sadness permeated his voice, a thick sorrow over what he’d lost.
Choo’s gaze rolled upward as though he searched the heavens for some kind of answer. “I went to one of those places that tries to de-gay you. I did that three times.” He let out a little puff of air, closed his eyes, and shook his head. “I tried to de-gay myself for my parents.” The color fell from his face with the memory. “Then, when I finally accepted who I was and realized there was nothing wrong with me…” Choo took a long breath. “Well they threw me out.”
My fingertips covered my lips. I took a ragged breath. The idea that a parent’s love could be conditional on Choo being who his parents wanted him to be, was so foreign to me. That his parents wouldn’t accept him for who he was? Being gay was simply how Choo was born.
He rolled his lips inward and resettled his gaze onto me. The corner of his mouth raised a hint and so did his eyebrow. “I’m sure someday I’ll tell you every single sordid detail, but suffice it to say without my older brother’s love and acceptance, I’d be homeless. There’d be no way for me to go to college.” He shifted his shoulders and swept his feet up under himself. “I actually was homeless for a little while.”
I shivered. I’d been homeless for an hour and the desperation that had clenched me and shook me—at sixteen? I closed my eyes, thankful I’d had my mom and her unfailing love for as long as I had.
“Anyone ever call you Dorothy?” Choo asked, changing the subject, his voice lighter, almost playful.
Heat fired up my body and flushed my neck and cheeks.
“Once,” I said. My back teeth ground with the still-too-fresh memory of me stalling my Jeep in front of the entire cast and crew of a movie production. “The guy who called me Dorothy was kind of a jerk.”
Why did everyone in L.A. think me being from Kansas said something about me? Something that I wasn’t sure was true or fair or even right. Their assumptions made me feel small. Like everyone thought I couldn’t understand what went on in the rest of the world because I’d grown up in the middle of the country.
I shook off my feelings and continued with the puzzle. “So it’s not your dad, and it’s not your mom”—I pressed my lips together—“is it your…” All four dogs shot upward and their bodies and tails wiggled with joy. They bounded across the patio and grass to a different doorway than the one through which Choo and I had emerged.
An outline of a man angled through the door. He bent forward and patted each pup. I couldn’t clearly see him through the darkness, but he scrubbed their backs and ears and even scratched two bellies. He couldn’t be all bad if he loved the dogs that much. He kneeled down onto the grass to pet the tiniest one. He stood, picked up Kong, cradled him in the crook of his arm, and walked toward us through the dark.
His bare feet broke into the circle of light created by the flickering candles. Then the fingers of the hand he had hooked around the loops of his low-hipped jeans. I looked up his bare arm with the long tattoo…
My heart picked up speed in my chest.
His arm hugged the pup to that broad, thick chest. A broad thick chest that seemed to strain against his white T-shirt in a familiar way.
A low tingle threaded through my spine and something hard settled in my stomach.
Finally, his face was the last thing to emerge into the circle of light.
My heart pounded in my chest. I swallowed. My jaw locked and my gaze latched on his face.
He had a beautiful face. Blue, quicksilver eyes with long lashes, full lips, and a sharp jaw. It was the type of face I’d never forget, even if it wasn’t attached to the biggest jerk I’d ever met. A face I really had never ever wanted to see again.
He crinkled the skin around his sparkling blue eyes. His gaze went from Choo, back to me, back to Choo, back to me, and he shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he saw. Finally his gaze locked on Choo.
“What the hell is Dorothy from Kansas doing in my backyard?”
“My name isn’t Dorothy,” I said. I set my empty drink on the table in front of me. My lips pressed tight. His house? His yard? My breath shortened and my heart pounded in my chest. “My name is Lane.”
“Lane, Dorothy, what the hell? Like I care?” He shrugged one shoulder and didn’t look at me when I spoke. He kept his eyes locked on Choo and waited for an answer.
“Wait, he’s the jerk?” Choo waved a finger from me to the guy standing across from me who obviously thought he was some kind of big badass. “You two know each other?” Choo's eyes widened. “Dillon, you know Lane, and Lane, you know Dillon?” He shook his head, completely perplexed. “How could you two know each other? You”—he pointed his finger at me and narrowed his eyes—“just got to L.A. yesterday.”
I was thankful for the darkness. My cheeks warmed and I knew they were bright red. I didn’t want to relive my embarrassment from the day before as the hick from Kansas who couldn’t drive a stick shift and got humiliated in front of the entire cast and crew of some film.
“Dorothy nearly ran over me,” Dillon said and turned his steely gaze to me, “on a closed set.”
“You walked into the middle of the road—”
“On a closed set.”
“Without even looking—”
“On a closed set where there were barricades—”
“Besides, I didn’t even come close to hitting you—”
“How the hell would you know?” His eyes cut through the darkness at me.
Those eyes. I could barely breathe when I locked onto those eyes.
“You were too busy craning your neck like some looky-loo gawking tourist who’d stumbled onto a film set and had never seen a production truck.”
I slammed my jaw closed. Yesterday I had been a looky-loo gawker who’d stumbled onto a film set and had never seen a production truck, but I wasn’t a tourist.
“I’m not a tourist,” I said. I tried to gather a shred of pride, which would save me from the humiliation that again burned a hole in my chest. Humiliation that clamored beside fear, because if this guy—this Dillon—was the person I was meant to work for… I would soon, once again, be homeless and unemployed.
“This is too good!” Choo said. He leaned back into the couch and clasped his hands over his mouth. The edges of his giant grin showed around his hands.
“Again, little brother, with limited patience, I ask,” Dillon said, and turned his hard gaze to Choo, “what is Dorothy from Kansas doing in my backyard?”
Little brother? My eyes flew from Choo to Dillon and back to Choo. They were so different, but as I examined both their faces I could see a tiny resemblance around their cheeks and eyes.
“Lane,” Choo said and reached his hand toward me, �
��has graciously agreed to help you with your conundrum.”
“I don’t have a conundrum,” Dillon growled. Kong scrambled in Dillon’s arms and Dillon gently settled him onto the patio.
Choo’s eyes grew serious and he leveled his gaze on his brother. “You do have a conundrum, Dillon. You have thirty-four scripts and four dogs. You have an offer for a Steve Legend film which is about to be pulled”—he cupped his hand around his mouth and mock whispered—“and in case you didn’t know, you have a growing reputation of being impossible to work for.”
“This is bullshit.” Dillon ran his fingers through his ink-black hair. His bicep curled tight. I couldn’t pull my eyes from the black tattoo that licked around his muscled upper arm. I forced my jaw to remain closed. I didn’t like this guy—he was arrogant and self-centered and seemed to be one of “those” guys who got everything he wanted all the time. Even with the irritation of what type of guy Dillon was and how he’d humiliated me the day before, I couldn’t rip my eyes from his arm.
“Just find me a damn reader,” Dillon said.
I looked up at his lips, and his jaw muscle flinched.
“I did,” Choo said and waved his hand toward me.
Dillon’s hard eyes landed on me. He started with my feet, no longer covered by Bernie, and worked his way up my bare legs and onto my still-rumpled suit. It was like his eyes were touching me and peeling away my sorry clothes as he examined me. He stared at my neck and I felt the pulse of his gaze over my throat and jaw. My breath grew short when his gaze locked on my eyes. I flipped my hair over my shoulder and straightened my spine, pursing my lips to show my utter distaste for Dillon and then gave him my hardest coldest stare.
“Naw,” Dillon said as his eyes hammered into mine. “She’s not gonna work for me.”
My heart crumpled in my chest. I’d been completely checked out and told I wouldn’t work out? Part of me wanted to crawl under the table and cry, but another part of me wanted to jump up and bust this arrogant prick in the nose. Even if it was a really good-looking nose.
Dillon turned away from me, tilted his head, and let his hands roam across his chin as if thinking.
I fought the urge for a moment, and then my eyes landed on Dillon’s ass. Even if he was impossible, he had a great ass. He turned back around to me and to Choo. He opened his mouth to say something, but his gaze locked on me. He cocked an eyebrow and the edge of his lip fishhooked upward. I’d been caught. I’d been caught staring at Dillon’s incredible ass.
I jerked my eyes downward and again silently said thanks for the darkness around me as my cheeks flamed red. I wished for another Choo special.
“There’s nobody left,” Choo said. “You’ve tapped out all of L.A. for development interns. Nancy said the agency isn’t sending you another one. Besides, I like Lane. And they like Lane.” Choo pointed to the pups. Kong hopped into my lap like he was an exclamation point to Choo’s statement. Scorsese and Spielberg each took a seat to my left and right, and Bernie resettled on my feet.
Dillon looked up at the sky, his annoyance at me and at the fact the dogs actually liked me evident on his face. “Has she ever even read a script? I mean, she’s from Kansas,” he said again for the thousandth time, as though my home state were a stain that couldn’t be washed away.
“There’s nothing wrong with Kansas,” I said. “At least there they teach people manners.” I quickly shut my mouth. I’d just insulted my potential employer. I was staring down homeless and unemployed with a missing Jeep and only $15.75 in my purse. Now really wasn’t the right time for my lippy mouth to get away from me.
“Dillon? Baby, where are you?” A voice called from the edge of the yard, near the door that Dillon had walked through.
“Oh, please.” Choo shook his head and let his gaze of disgust rake over his brother.
“What? She’s in the film.”
“Another gold digger with claws,” Choo whispered.
A gorgeous girl with light brown skin and ink-black hair stepped into the circle of light. She ran her hand up Dillon’s arm and chest and molded her body to his. Kong squirmed in my lap and then tensed. She stopped snaking her arm up Dillon’s side and her eyes latched onto me with a cold bitch stare. “Who is she?”
Kong growled and let out a solid, mean yap. I already loved this dog.
I put my lips to his ear. “Shh,” I said. He turned and gave me a lick on the chin.
“Cut it, Lola,” Dillon said and extracted her arms from his body.
Lola crossed her arms over her very big, very round, and I what I thought was probably very fake, chest. “Who’s your little friend?”
The emphasis on little and friend made it clear that Lola considered me farm team to her very big league.
“I’m Lane,” I said.
“She walks the dogs and reads scripts,” Choo said and stood as though the discussion between the brothers as to my employment and position was closed. He reached for my hand and Kong hopped off my lap but stayed planted by Bernie at my feet. “Come on, Laney.” Choo pulled me upward and closer. He whispered in my ear, “The quality of people has dropped waaaaaay below my tolerance threshold.”
I fought the smile that wanted to curve over my lips at Choo’s comment and glanced toward Lola, who’d resumed her “he is mine” display by hanging all over Dillon. She could have him. From where I stood, they were made for each other.
“We have places to go,” Choo said. “Let me show you your room.”
“She’s living here?” Lola asked Dillon.
Choo held my hand and pulled me toward the sliders. All four pups clattered along beside us. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder and catch what I knew had to be Dillon’s very hard, very cold stare.
Chapter 5
Lane
“This is your room,” Choo said.
He flipped on the lights and all four pups bounded onto a giant four-poster bed. I stood in the doorway and gaped at the space. My best friend, Emma, had a big, beautiful room like this at her parents’ house, but I’d never had so much space just for me. To the left there was a desk and a couch and two little chairs. Behind the work area was a wall of windows. Beyond the glass, L.A. glittered in the night. This was the same view as the backyard. A glass door led out to my own private balcony. I peered through the balcony doors. Outside there was a chair and a lounger and an umbrella to shield whoever sat on the balcony from the Los Angeles sun. You could see the giant swimming pool in the backyard. On the far bedroom wall was a fireplace. The room was painted a light, creamy gold and the woods were a rich brown. The door to the walk-in closet was open and my bags were already settled just inside.
“There are flowers,” I said. There was a vase full of light pink peonies on the bedside table and also on the dresser.
“Every girl needs fresh-cut flowers,” Choo said. He sauntered across the hardwood floors to the door on the opposite side of the room. “When I heard from Nancy that you said yes, I asked Mathilde to get some. You’ll love Mathilde,” Choo called. “You’ll meet her tomorrow.”
I followed Choo and let my fingertips trail over the lush, heavy silk comforter on the giant bed. Gray and bright blue with silver threads interwoven through the fabric, the comforter was exotic and luxurious and looked like it should be in a very expensive hotel.
“And this is your bathroom,” Choo said. He flipped on another set of lights.
I pressed my fingertips to my lips. My wide-eyed expression stared back at me from the giant mirror. I turned from my reflection to Choo. A smile broadened his face.
“I’ve never seen such a big bathroom.”
White and Tiffany-blue tiles decorated the wall. Giant, fluffy white rugs lined the marble floor. Dozens of bright white towels were folded and hung from silver towel holders. A glass-walled shower that could fit me and the dog pack was on the far side of the room beside a deep marble tub with a window view. A white marble sink with threads of gray and silver running through the stone and a vanity with a li
ttle silk-tasseled chair and glamour lights around the mirror completed the room.
“Feel that.” Choo placed his bare foot on the marble tiled floor just inside the door.
I set my much smaller foot beside his. “It’s warm!”
“You like?” Choo asked and gazed at my reflection in the mirror. “It’s the girliest bathroom in the house, so I thought it should belong to the only girl who lives here.”
“I… I…” I turned to Choo and looked up at him. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, you don’t even know me. I don’t even know you. Why are you doing this for me?”
“Why not?” Choo said. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised one shoulder. A smiled curved over his lips, but his eyes held hints of melancholy, maybe even sadness. “I like you, you need a job, we have a job. I know I’m going to totally enjoy hanging out with you this summer.” He walked across the room and plopped on top of my bed between Scorsese and Spielberg. “Plus, now I get the additional pleasure of torturing my brother all summer. Please.” He waved his hand toward me. “You’re heaven-sent.”
I glanced one more time into the bathroom, not yet sure if it would truly be mine. I flipped off the lights. It was pretty obvious that Choo’s brother, Dillon, loathed me. He had decided that I wasn’t the girl for the job. I walked to the bed and climbed up the two tiny steps and plopped on the bed between Kong and Bernie. Kong immediately resettled into my lap.
“Choo…” I thought about my words while I stroked Bernie’s head. “I don’t know if this will work.”
“Lane, I am never wrong.” Choo scratched behind both of the dog’s ears. “Look, if it makes you feel better I read your résumé. Nancy had already checked your references. You’ve already been preapproved by the agency. You’re doing me, the agency, and that jerk outside that I call a brother a huge favor.” He leaned forward toward me. “I promise you, if you can stick out this gig for the next three months, the agency will totally owe you. You’ll definitely be able to get any gig in town.”
My heart fluttered in my chest. This summer job, reading for Dillon, could be my way into the entertainment industry. Bernie lifted his head, made a sleepy sound of satisfaction, and dropped his mug in my lap beside Kong. I considered my options while my hand stroked through his thick fur. I’d taken the Big Risk so that I, a girl with next to no connections, could wedge her size-seven shoes through a crack in the Hollywood door.