by Penny Reid
“Thank you.” I believed her.
I . . . trusted her. I didn’t know why I trusted her so much, but I did. Which is ultimately why I’m here, isn’t it?
“But I don’t understand.” She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms as her gaze skated over me. “Why would you agree to this? With Harrison?”
“It made sense at the time. And it did help me get that part in Tabitha Tomorrow. Our ruse has definitely helped.” Furthering my career was why I’d agreed to do it in the first place and was the excuse I used—like a chant—whenever I felt shitty about the situation.
“You don’t need Harrison to get film parts. You’re hugely talented. And you’re stunning, I can’t think of anyone close to your age that looks like you. Maybe Eva Mendes? A little? You’re what would happen if Raquel Welch and Sophia Loren had a baby. And your eyes give me goose bumps. The pinnacle of Italian and Bolivian beauty.”
“My dad is Cuban.” I fiddled with the azabache bracelet on my wrist, a gift from my dad’s mother, and one of the only things I had from that side of my family.
“Oh. My mistake. I’m sorry. For some reason I thought your dad was Bolivian.”
“My grandparents were Cuban, both sets of great grandparents came over from Cuba.” I’d had a better relationship with my grandparents than I did with my father, especially with my grandmother. Every summer before they died, I would spend two weeks in Miami with them. He’d married someone else by the time I’d reached ten months, and they welcomed their first baby one year later.
I don’t know if his wife didn’t want me to visit them, or if my father resisted imposing his illegitimate daughter on his perfect family, but during all the visitation time he’d been given in the custody agreement I’d stayed with my grandparents.
“Why did I think your dad was Bolivian?”
“Raquel Welch is Bolivian—well, partially—and we share a name, so I think that’s why there’s confusion. And it’s okay. I don’t talk about my dad much. No biggie.” I shrugged, mentally sidestepping around the tenderness I felt about this subject, which was why I rarely talked about it.
It’s hard to talk about something you don’t even want to think about.
“My point is still valid. You’re brilliant. So I’m confused why you’d consent to this arrangement with Harrison.”
“Why are you confused?” I fingered the fourth and final shot of whiskey, glancing between her remaining three full glasses and my three empty ones. Was it too late to pace myself?
“Harrison cheated on you—for real—when you two were actually together. I know he hurt you.”
“That’s all in the past.” I waved her statement away. “And we’re—I’m not angry or hurt. I’m not at all angry with him about it anymore.” Finally, a truthful statement.
“This sounds complicated.” She sipped her second shot of whiskey, but actually sipped it. Not like me and my sudden insatiable thirst for lowering my inhibitions.
“It’s not that complicated.” I threw my hands in the air for some reason, the big movement feeling good. “We’re friends. We love each other as friends. The end.”
“Rae. He cheated on you, and now you’re friends? You came home early from shooting halfway around the world, found him in bed with two men, and you’re telling me you’re over that?”
Hmm. Maybe I trusted Sienna so much because she was the only other person—other than me, Harrison, and his two boy toys—who knew the truth about that night, and she hadn’t told anyone. His cheating being the reason for our split was well and widely known, who(m) he cheated with was still a secret. The debacle had happened when Sienna and I were shooting our one and only film together, and she had been the person I stayed with that night after walking in on the threesome.
“I am over it because, in retrospect, I can see now that I loved Harrison only as a friend. We were—are—friends.” God, it felt so good to discuss this with someone who wasn’t Harrison. I’d been keeping this secret for years, and it just felt good to talk about my ex, our non-relationship, and my thoughts on the subject.
“You think he prefers men?”
“Yes. I do. Sexual orientation is a spectrum of course, but I think he prefers peen and pecs, and I get it. I prefer peen and pecs. What do I want with boobs and beavers? So many parts, so many holes. Why do we have so many hills and holes? Women are basically golf courses.”
Sienna made a short snorting sound of both humor and surprise, her shoulders shaking with laughter, and she lowered her attention to the table. After a moment, no longer laughing, she cleared her throat and asked, “Okay, but you didn’t answer my question. Why do you think he prefers men?”
“Perhaps I’m wrong? Perhaps it’s just me? I do think he wasn’t super attracted to me. My breasts do nothing for him, they never did. It was actually one of the reasons we got together in the first place. He looked at my face when we spoke.” Despite our table being shaded by a mighty oak, I felt hot. I started to unbutton the linen shirt I wore over my tank top.
“You started dating him because he looked at your face when you spoke? That’s as high as you’ve set your bar?”
I gave her a flat look. “At the time, it made him special, unique. He was different than everyone else and seemed genuinely interested in me and my career. We shared the same goals, we wanted the same things. Plus, he’s Harrison. Funny, charming, sexy Harrison.”
“If tall, dark, and handsome do it for you.” Her admission sounded reluctant.
“Since we’re in a fake relationship there is no actual cheating anymore. I mean, other than sanctioned cheating, which I guess is what he does now. But it’s my turn to cause a scandal and I just—I’m just out of energy.” I plopped both of my elbows on the table and released a noisy breath.
“Cause a scandal? What do you mean sanctioned cheating?”
“All right, so per the agreement, to ensure we stay in the public spotlight, we’re engaged, right? But it can’t be smooth sailing. We’re back together, on again, off again, on again, off again. Everybody loves it, they follow it, constantly trending everywhere. Hashtag Harriquel, hashtag TeamRaquel, blah, blah, blah. And so he created the last scandal. Now it’s my turn.”
“You mean when he was photographed last month making out with Sabina Ureil?” Her question sounded salty, like she’d been harboring resentment on my behalf. It warmed my heart.
“Yes, the soccer player. And it’s fine because I knew about it. I guess we have an open relationship, except we can have sex with everyone but each other.” I hadn’t been with anyone, but I knew Harrison had. “We’re not romantic or touchy-feely at all unless we’re in public.”
“Now you have to. . . ?”
“Oh! Yes. Now it’s my turn to cheat and get photographed ‘accidentally.’ We got a guy who’ll tip off the right paps whenever I decide to give the go-ahead.” I used air quotes around the word accidentally because, apparently, I’d had enough whiskey to use air quotes. “But time’s a tickin’ and Domino is worried that if I'm not photographed being sexy with someone soon, then I will look pathetic getting back with Harrison yet again. I forgave him for the soccer player, therefore Harrison should forgive me for something. You know how it is.”
“I don’t.” She shook her head, her eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “I honestly do not know how it is.”
“Well, this is how it is. On and on.” I stared at my last whiskey, still untouched. “Now that I explain it out loud, you’re right. It sounds twisted.”
“I didn’t say it sounded twisted.”
“But it’s crazy, right?”
She took another sip of her second whiskey, saying nothing, her expression giving nothing of her thoughts away.
My brain felt warm, fuzzy, which made me inclined to add, “It’s like we’re playing these roles for the public. And I didn’t mind at first. I mean, it’s just like playing another part, right? But that means my personal life has become another acting job.”
“Rae�
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“And I should be fine with that, as long as it gets me to where I want to be in my career.”
“Where exactly are you wanting to go with your career? You’re already at the top.”
“You’re right. My career has never been better since we’ve done this.” I smacked the table. “And I’m considered for roles I wouldn’t usually be considered for, even though I’m tempted to turn them down.”
“I find this hard to believe. Last I heard, you’re considered for every role.”
“Not every role.”
“Name one.”
“The new Scortez film.”
“Oh! I wanted to read that script. I heard it’s excellent.”
“Depends on which character you play. I think the male part is great, strong.”
“But yours isn’t?”
“It’s. . .” I made a face. “See, the whole angle is that I, Raquel Ezra, actual woman scorned by the ‘love of my life’ Harrison Copeland—” more air quotes “—am pouring my heart and real feelings of betrayal into the role, leaving a man who is no good for me, only to come full circle and have an affair with said cheater at the end. Like, we can’t escape who we are, we can’t escape our destiny, even if our destiny is bad for us. It’s a whole tragic the heart wants what it wants theme.”
“And you’re taking the role?” She eyed me over the rim of her shot glass. “Or are you retiring?”
“I have no idea. I’m just—my agent wants me to take it, so does Harrison.”
“What do you want?”
“It would be good for my career.”
“That’s not what I asked. I asked what do you want.”
“I have no idea. God, I’m a mess.” I released a tremendous breath, Sienna blurring in my vision.
If I were being honest, I didn’t actually want the Scortez part. Yes, it was more serious and artier than my usual projects, but nothing about the role felt new or interesting to me. I used to enjoy the work I was offered, grateful for any chance to improve my craft. Making an actual paycheck from acting felt like hitting the lottery.
And yet, after playing the victim of circumstances and/or bad choices over and over again, just once I wanted to be someone who made their own destiny and knew exactly who they were—good, bad, didn’t matter. My heart twisted, lodging itself in my throat as I released an aggrieved sigh.
I’d actually found the perfect part six months ago. Over the objections and concerns of my agent and basically my entire team, I’d signed on to an indie film that paid peanuts with a location shoot in Cuba!
I couldn’t wait. I was excited about a role for the first time in ages just to have the part taken away from me at the last minute and recast with my best friend—scratch that, FORMER best friend.
Sienna and I sat quietly for a long moment and my mind went blank, which might’ve been why when I broke the silence, random thoughts gushed forth. “I feel like I don’t have anything real in my life. My relationship with Harrison is fake. Obviously my LA friendships are fake. My career is real. But then again, it’s not. I play the same part over and over, and it’s not what I want anymore. Plus, how am I helping people? What am I doing that’s making any kind of difference? And I need a new bra. This one itches.”
“Let me ask you this.” Sienna patted the table, as though to get my attention. She waited until I gave her my gaze before continuing, “If you could pick one real thing that you want—just one thing—what would it be? And I don’t mean a career goal, or a part, or an award. I also don’t mean something you can buy. What is something real you want, maybe even something selfish, just for you?”
I bit and chewed on my bottom lip, staring at her and considering the question. “I guess. . .”
I have no idea.
None of the typical responses applied in my case. Not a vacation. Who would I go with? Not a spa day. In LA, I had a team of people who took care of my skin and hair, gave me massages, guided me through meditations and yoga, directed my daily workouts, dictated and prepared what I ate whether I wanted them to or not.
I was so tired of their company, of being watched, of being told what was best for me, of being surrounded by colleagues and employees and yet isolated because none of them were truly my friends. And the answers came to me all at once: Privacy. Freedom. Anonymity.
But more than all that, I wanted a real friend.
A friend who wasn’t using me—like Harrison—or one who pretended to be my friend but wasn’t—like my role-stealing ex-BFF, Lina. A person I could talk to without worrying my statements would end up in a gossip magazine, provided by “a source close to Raquel Ezra.”
“Something obtainable,” Sienna pressed, cutting into my sad thoughts. “Something you’ve wanted for a while.”
Wanting to ask Sienna to be my friend and feeling utterly pathetic at the thought, I shrugged. “I don’t know, eating a whole chocolate cake?”
She gave me a patient smile. “We can do that while you’re here, I know of an excellent bakery. But I’m trying to get at something else. Something good, something healthy.”
“Healthy,” I parroted, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms under my chest.
While I debated how to address her question without giving the real, pitiful answer, a server approached. He placed his hand on the back of a vacant chair at our table and grinned down at Sienna first and then I felt his attention move to me. “Hey ladies, how are we doing?”
I tilted my head back to look at him and found his gaze resting on the neckline of my tank top and the swells of my girls. Ah, girl power.
“Hey Damon. We could use some privacy.” Sienna’s tone sounded unmistakably wry with the barest dusting of irritation. “I’ll come get you if we need anything.”
“Sounds good.” He licked his lips, his eyes still on my chest. “Please, do not hesitate.”
I righted my head as he walked away, looking at Sienna and finding her wearing an apologetic expression. “I am so sorry about that.”
“Uffda, I’m used to it. I developed at ten. By the time I was twelve I’d learned to ignore men’s stares.” Lifting my heavy hair off my neck, I shrugged. “It’s also a good way of weeding out assholes. If a guy makes lasting eye contact, they’ve passed the first test, ya know?”
“Yes. I know.” Sienna chuckled, flashing her winning smile. “But I’m sorry all the same. I know you didn’t come here for that.”
“Actually, I kinda did. Remember? I need to be photographed making out with someone.” I groaned inwardly at the thought. The last time I had to “cheat” on my “boyfriend” for the benefit of a camera, the random guy I’d chosen had been incredibly grabby. I’d ended the short encounter with bruises all over my arms and sides, and a super painful hickey on my neck.
“Hopefully, you’ll be doing this with someone you’re actually interested in.” Concern flickered behind her gaze.
“Hopefully.” A vision of Deputy Dreamy from our night together years ago flashed through my mind, him sitting on the couch just before I’d straddled him, just before we’d kissed. My neck heated and a twisting warmth curled low in my belly. He’d given me plenty of eye contact that night, and he hadn’t been at all grabby. I tried to recall the last time a man had looked me in the eye longer than in the chest.
Deputy Dreamy was the last.
As though poking around in my thoughts, Sienna asked, “When was the last time you were with someone you were actually interested in?”
I worked to make my small smile look sincere, but knew I failed when Sienna’s neutral expression became a frown.
Wanting to disarm her worry, I let the whiskey do the talking, “It’s actually a funny story.”
“Is it?” She sipped her second shot, finishing it, her gaze direct and disbelieving.
“Remember your wedding?” I asked, and then rolled my eyes at myself as soon as the words were out. “Of course you remember your wedding. Sorry. Anyway, there was a guy at the wedding, and we kind of hooked
up.”
She sat up straighter. “What? Who?”
I picked up the last whiskey shot and sipped it, rolling the liquid around on my tongue to delay responding. According to Sienna and Jethro, Jackson didn’t have any kids, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t married or in a serious relationship with someone.
“Rae. Why am I just hearing about this now? Who was it? Do I know him?”
Nodding, I took another sip. Please oh please let him be single.
“Oh my God. It wasn’t one of Jethro’s brothers, was it?”
“No! No, it wasn’t.”
“Oh, good. That might’ve made things awkward.”
“Why?”
“I’ve decided you’re staying with us in our carriage house, and you’re staying as long as you want—hopefully two weeks or longer, if you can spare the time. Jet’s brothers stop by pretty frequently.”
I forced a smile to hide the abrupt pang of bitterness. “I can stay two weeks, thank you.” The truth was I could stay months if Sienna wanted. The movie I was supposed to begin filming had dropped me a mere three days ago, replacing me on the project with my once and former BFF. I now had a gaping hole in my schedule for the first time in years.
“Good. It’s two bedrooms with tons of privacy, you’ll love it. Now, who is he? Who is the guy?”
“Ah, yes, the hookup.”
“Who was it?”
“He’s—uh—the deputy. From today.” I braced myself, watching her, holding my breath.
Why are you holding your breath, Rae? And why is your heart beating so fast?
Sienna didn’t frown, but her eyes grew impossibly large. “Jackson? Jackson James?”
All pretense of self-control lost, I drank the rest of the fourth whiskey and smacked my lips together. “Yep. That’s the guy.”
“Are you serious?”
“As serious as a Botox shortage in Beverly Hills.”
“Wow.” Her gaze lowered to the table, losing focus. “Wow.”
“Do you know him?” I picked up the last shot glass, but then I remembered it was already empty. “Is he a bad guy? Is he married?”