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Authors: Nancy Kelly

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I smiled. This was her way of apologizing, of letting me know all was forgiven between us. I love it when she gets all bossy. Well, sometimes ...
 
 
Charlie and Hog returned with, lo and behold, Hog’s wallet. Someone had turned it in, and wonder of all wonders, had not taken the thirty-three dollars inside. Also, they hadn’t touched Hog’s ten percent discount coupon at the Sex-It-Up, an erotic specialty store where Charlie and Hog swore they only bought gag gifts for friends. Like, oh sure. But if they wanted me to believe, no problem. What I did care about was that they were going to be on their way, and, after scarfing down my scrambled eggs and politely leaving a small amount for me and Jill—well, okay, for me; Jill wouldn’t have touched it on a dare—they climbed into Charlie’s SUV, a newer model than my own by a long shot, and charged off on their adventure. Silly me. Once they were gone I almost mourned their departure. It’s not that I wanted them back ... just that I wanted company.
But Jill was with me and we took off in my Explorer. When we arrived at Liam’s restaurant we were approached by the man himself, and I was struck by the same quasi-Asian hit. That mustache ... But then he spoke in his clipped-off British-way. “Ms. Bluebell.” He flicked a disinterested glance to Jill, who was looking him up and down.
“You remember me.” I said. “Do you remember how I didn’t give you a contract to sign?”
He inhaled through pinched nostrils, as if I were a particularly noxious smell. Pissed me off to no end. I was going to say as much, but Jill broke in tensely, “I have a catering business, Mr. Engleston. Wyatt Productions doesn’t owe you anything. What were you trying to do?”
“Am I to understand you have some stake in my dealings with Wyatt Productions?” he flared back.
Again I attempted to interject, but Jill held up her hand. “No, I want to hear this. Really. Did you think you were going to get paid? Did you think you’d weasel a few bucks out of them? That no one would notice?”
“We had a gentlemen’s agreement,” Liam stated, rubbing his Fu Manchu with his thumb and forefinger.
“What the fuck is that?” Jill asked, to which I quickly intervened.
“Your price was too high, Mr. Engleston. My producer told you as much. There was no gentlemen’s agreement.”
“No shit,” said Jill.
Liam breathed noisily. “I was led to believe in good faith that I had the job. I made the menu and sent it to you. I asked you to sign and return it. If you did not want my services, you were requested to let me know, otherwise I would go ahead as planned. Your negligence cost me money. I went to the job site with my food and was turned away.”
I said carefully, holding my temper in check, “You sent a menu to my producer that made her laugh. Sandwiches, Mr. Engleston. That’s all we needed. And I was at that job site. No one showed up with food.”
“My assistant did.”
“Who the fuck’s your assistant?” Jill demanded.
“Her name’s Bettina.”
My head swam. Bettina? Sean’s friend? “Bettina was not on the call list,” I said, crossing my fingers and hoping it was true. Everyone involved with a commercial shoot is on the call list, from the director and executive producer down to the production assistants. But if there’d been some error ... ? “If she showed up, she had no right to be there.”
Liam’s mustache quivered. “If you do not pay the bill, I have no choice but to sue you and report you to the Better Business Bureau.”
Jill snorted. “They’ll laugh you out of court. What part of NO SIGNED CONTRACT are you missing?”
“I would prefer to speak to your superior,” he said to me. “Certainly not to people who swear.”
“Are you fuckin’ talking about me?” Jill demanded.
“Just a second,” I said, holding up my hands.
“Well, FUCK YOU!”
Liam snarled, “This meeting has ended.”
He turned on his heel and glided away. I swear, there’s something not quite real about that guy.
Jill watched him go. “Is he like—the living dead, or something? He’s a fucking weirdo.”
“Since when is the ‘F’ word all you say?”
She gave me a look. “Like you never say it.”
“I always say it. But this was supposed to be a business meeting.”
We headed out to my car and climbed inside. Jill had somehow transferred all the turmoil and unrest in her life to Liam Engleston.
“So, you’re blaming me now?” she asked.
“You don’t think we could have handled it better?”
“Would the results have been any different?”
“Probably not,” I conceded. “But that’s not the point. This was my battle, and I would have rather done it without saying fuck a dozen times.”
“Sorry.” She lapsed into silence as I concentrated on the traffic zooming past us on the 10.
“As much as I appreciate your support,” I said with what I felt was incredible patience. “This is my job, not yours. You catered the shoot. That’s all. It’s my ass in a wringer if things get ugly. Uglier.”
We hurtled down the road in further silence. I suspected she was thinking about Ian and her penchant for following his movements. She might not like the term ‘stalker,’ but I couldn’t think of a better word to describe her behavior.
“Who’s this Bettina?” she asked, blowing my theory about her thoughts.
“A friend of Sean’s,” I said.
“Oh, God.”
“She wasn’t hired by me, so therefore she wasn’t hired. But she was around.”
“Liam Engleston’s an ass.”
“Ya got that right.”
“I’ll talk to Holly ... make sure she knows it was me with the potty mouth.”
I shrugged. “It all just pisses me off.”
“So, what are you going to do?” Jill asked seriously.
“I’m going to tell Engleston to fuck himself and the horse he came in on.”
Jill said, “If you’d just given me time, I could have probably handled that one for you, too.”
As it turned out, it was all a tempest in a teapot. Engleston called Holly and actually caught her at work during wrap. He threatened her with the same action, and also complained about my professionalism and language. Holly, who has no serious love for me but can’t handle being told what to do by anyone—especially anyone male—blistered his ears with her own language, making it clear she was going to broadcast to anyone and everyone she knew that he was a “chiseling, slimy, small, little man.” Not an “F” word in sight, but enough to have him slamming down the phone on one of those “or else” threats.
You’d better do a, b, or c, OR ELSE!
Nothing infuriates Holly faster than a superior attitude—which is the only area my producer and I could be said to be truly
sympatico.
Doesn’t matter. It’s a big common denominator. When I heard her short, bitten fury blasting into the receiver I grinned in delight. Tom popped a Jolly Rancher and gave me puzzled eyebrows. I waved him aside. We could do the postmortem later, when Holly was out of the room. For the moment I wanted to just savor the win.
With Charlie and Hog off in Tee-yuh-wahn-ah I was all alone, Kristl having packed up the rest of her belongings and shifting them to Brandon’s. But she realized she’d forgotten her cell phone charger—doesn’t everybody?—and she and Brandon stopped by on their way out of town to retrieve it.
I got my first look at Brandon on my doorstep. Attractive, pleasant, kind of nondescript in a really nice way. Kristl seemed lit up around him, so I tried to discard my cynicism and hope for the best. Maybe he
was
the one. Why shouldn’t he be? She’d failed three times. Fourth time’s the charm ... right?
Then I remembered her reaction to Jackson Wright. She could be a four-time loser, I thought, annoyed with myself for letting the traitorous thought creep in.
“You’ll come to the wedding, I hope,” Brandon said as I handed Kristl her charger.
“Will it be in Seattle?”
Kristl and Brandan looked at each other, neither one of them sure how to answer.
“Why don’t you get back to me on that,” I suggested magnanimously.
“Thanks, Blue.” Kristl half-hugged me.
Brandon shook my hand. “Nice meeting you.”
“You, too,” I said and watched them walk away from my front door.
It was depressing seeing other couples when I wasn’t half of one myself. I was going to have to work on it.
Chapter
10
O
n Saturday morning I showed up at Sammy’s and was pleased and a little surprised to see Jill, CeeCee, and Daphne already seated. “You all made it,” I said.
“It’s been weeks since we got together.” Daphne glanced around as if expecting someone else.
I looked around too and CeeCee drawled, “Cheese-Dick may have quit Sammy’s, but Daphne’s expecting Leo.”
“I invited him,” Daphne quickly inserted.
Leo?
Heretofore Ian had been the only male who ever was allowed and then only because none of us knew how to tell Jill no. I gazed at Jill accusingly, making my feelings clear about who was really to blame.
Jill snorted. Her arms were crossed over her chest in classic, “so sue me” style, but her brown eyes were filled with pain. Uh-oh. More trouble there.
Daphne began waving frantically and Leo, who’d just sauntered through the door, stopped short, finger-combed his tousled tresses, then strolled to our table, sucking up as much attention from the other diners as possible. He grabbed a chair and reversed it, straddling it.
CeeCee watched his approach with a stern face. Her pink-tipped hair had grown longer over the last few weeks and her roots were dark. I thought she might remark on Leo’s backwards chair choice as he gave her a somewhat challenging look. Apart from a faint smile, she kept her own counsel.
Daphne said brightly, “Leo’s got a callback for a recurring guest spot on
Losers, Inc.
, that new comedy on the WB.”
“It’s not on the WB,” said Leo.
I looked away, certain my face was going to give me away. But catching sight of CeeCee’s expression, then Jill’s, a shit-eating grin spread across my mouth. Even CeeCee’s cool started to desert her.
“Well, that about sums it up,” Jill said and we all broke out laughing.
“Oh, yeah, that’s just real funny,” muttered Leo, truly smarting. He nearly knocked the chair over, jumping from the seat. I thought he might stride off in a huff, but he caught himself up and managed to saunter out as he’d sauntered in.
“Thanks a lot, you guys!” Daphne cried, scraping her own chair back. “I knew it was a bad idea to bring him. It’s okay for Ian, but nobody else, right?”
“Daphne, wait ...” I protested between fits of laughter, but she was already at the door, scurrying after him.
“
Losers, Inc.
?” CeeCee repeated in a tone of wonder.
“Oh. My. God.” Jill shook her head.
“Incorporated, no less,” I pointed out, which sent us into new heights of hilarity. Daphne’s sudden return bumped us back to earth and with an effort our amusement finally wore down. She sat in her chair, clearly unamused.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Really. I didn’t mean to crack up. It was just so damn funny.”
“Come on, Daphne,” said Jill. “It
is
funny.”
“It is not,” she said.
“He’ll get the part,” CeeCee assured. “He’s perfect for it.” This time we were able to keep our amusement reigned in. Barely.
Daphne said, “I think I might love him.”
We sobered up instantly. I wanted to say, “Really?
Really?
” but just managed to keep my mouth shut.
“You’re in love with Leo?” CeeCee clarified, sounding as full of disbelief as the rest of us felt.
“We’ve been having such a great time. He told me he was only pretending to be interested in Heather to make me a little jealous. He wasn’t sure how I felt, so he played a little game.”
I could have pointed out his kind of game playing wasn’t exactly a sign of maturity. I could have also told her how I felt about said game playing, but I sensed she wasn’t asking for that. In fact, she seemed to be going somewhere with this.
“You’re not going to tell me you’re getting married, are you?” I burst out, struck by the brain-freezing thought.
“No. Oh, no. No, it’s too soon.” She chewed on her thumbnail. “It’s that ...”
We all waited. When she didn’t continue, CeeCee made motioning signals for her to get on with it.
“It’s that he went to see his old girlfriend.” She sat back.
“Heather?” I asked.
“No! His first real girlfriend. The one that mattered.”
“What do you mean?” Jill demanded.
“Yeah, I’m not following,” said CeeCee.
“Ditto,” I put in.
“You know, your first real love. Not the first one you did it with, necessarily, or even got involved with. Your first
love,
” she stressed.
“And so he went to see her? Why?” Jill asked.
“Because ...” She shrugged. “Because we’re getting closer. And it’s important to clear things up.”
“Did he have feelings for her still?” I asked.
“No, it was just to put it behind him.” Her lips tightened and she glared at us all. “You’re trying not to understand.”
“No,” I burst in and Jill and CeeCee made similar denials. “So, how did it work out for him?”
“Okay ... .”
“Did he get things settled with her?” I asked, feeling my way. I wasn’t sure what she wanted from us.
“You don’t think he should have seen her.” Daphne sounded mad at me.
“Lots of guys go see their old girlfriends,” said Jill. “They have to. It’s like they need to make sure they’ve made the right decision. That they didn’t let the right one get away.” I gave her a sharp look, wondering if she was referring somehow to Ian. But no, she appeared to just be trying to help Daphne along in the telling of the Saga of Leo.
“So, how was the ex?” CeeCee asked.
“Well ... he said she’d gained some weight.”
“Promising,” I murmured.
“Watch out,” CeeCee said. “If it gets really ugly, he’ll do the same to you when it’s over.”
“If it’s over,” Daphne corrected.
“So, what happened?” Jill asked.
Daphne squirmed a bit. We all leaned in closer. “This was a girlfriend from high school. I don’t know if he ever really got her out of his heart before now. She came through LA last week and they—saw each other,” Daphne said. She’d grabbed her napkin and was systematically shredding it. Jill, CeeCee, and I exchanged glances.
“They slept together?” I asked, watching bits of napkin float to the floor.
“Yes.”
A weighty pause ensued. Jill looked at Daphne as if she might be crazy. “And you’re still with this loser ... inc.?”
“They’d never slept together before,” insisted Daphne. “It just didn’t happen when they were together, so they did it now. That’s all. Just to get it out of their systems.”
“Oh, god ...” Jill shot me a look that said, “Don’t just sit there! Get in here!”
I reached a tentative toe into the water. “That isn’t exactly a reason.”
“Oh, go ahead, Blue. Act like my mother.”
“Well, Jesus, somebody has to,” CeeCee told her. “You make an excuse for this, you’re making excuses all the way.”
I was mildly surprised. CeeCee sometimes has an offbeat take on romance. You never know which way she’s going to jump. This was a pretty conventional reaction for her.
Daphne apparently agreed with me. “I thought of all people that you’d be on my side!”
“Was it one time?” Jill asked, sounding like she felt this might matter. “With the ex?”
“One time is more than enough,” I pointed out, surprised again that I seemed to be siding with CeeCee, not Jill.
“It was only once,” Daphne assured.
“So he says.” CeeCee murmured.
Jill asked, “You’re in love with this guy?”
Daphne nodded curtly.
“Then, I don’t know what I’d do. A few weeks ago, I would have said dump him. But it’s hard.”
CeeCee turned from staring disbelievingly at Jill, to gazing directly at Daphne. “Stop it now, before it gets worse.”
“You’re all just a wealth of advice, aren’t you?” Daphne sniffed. She gazed toward the doors where Leo had departed.
“What do you want from us?” I asked. “We don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I just wanted you guys to meet him, to get to know him. Maybe even like him!”
“You may have to get new friends for that,” CeeCee observed, just as the waitress finally came to take our order. “Because honestly, Daphne, from what I’ve seen and what you’ve said, what’s there to like?”
 
 
Food. It strikes fear in the hearts of anorexics and bulimics alike. Since I was neither of these things, I tucked into my Monterey omelet with gusto. Shrimp, crab, and a sweet cheese I wouldn’t even try to pronounce. My saliva glands went on overload while Daphne, silent and wounded, disinterestedly chased a tofu scramble around with her fork. Personally, if that were my diet, I’d probably quit eating, too. But Daphne wasn’t the one with the serious problem. CeeCee didn’t have an eating problem, unless you counted possible lung cancer as a side effect. Her answer to weight control was simple: substitute cigarettes if you gain a few pounds; smoke steadily in place of food until you lose weight. The idea makes me absolutely shudder. I find that I can’t walk into a restaurant that still allows indoor smoking; smelling that permeating odor on all the fixtures and furniture makes me unable to eat ANYTHING. But, each to his own.
No, as I’ve said before, it’s Jill with the anorexic/bulimic tendencies. One hell of a dilemma for a caterer. She’s also one of those who likes to bake, cook, and create. It’s apparently an odd kind of aromatherapy. But if she dares to imbibe, she makes a run for the bathroom. I’ve caught her a time or two but have yet to call her on it. She’s an odd personality to have this problem. Every other anorexic I know—and in southern California there are more than a few of them—is a self-destructive, secretive pleaser churning with inner anxiety. But pugnacious Jill is one for the record books. She’s so not the type to have an eating disorder, yet real food rarely passes her lips. Alcohol, yes. A dressingless salad here and again.
Today I tried hard to keep my eyes on my own plate and resisted the urge to smack my lips. Jill had ordered a parfait glass full of granola and yogurt. She kept sticking her spoon in and pretending to lick off the yogurt, all the while surreptitiously slipping the spoon back inside again.
Most of the time I ignore her habits, but lately I’m having more and more trouble. I don’t know exactly what came over me, but one minute I was chewing my omelet, still feeling prickly about the Liam Engleston incident, wondering about Jill’s relationship with Ian, annoyed with Daphne for being so blind about Leo and currently sitting over there nursing her hurt, and worried about CeeCee and what was going on in her romantic world—and I guess you could say I just kind of lost it. Into the pall that had settled over our table I said suddenly, “Jill, eat something, for God’s sake.”
Three heads popped up, eyes full of surprise and/or horror at my bald statement. I didn’t care. I bit into a piece of toast and chewed heartily.
“Well, thanks a lot, Blue.” Jill looked torn between tears and fury. “I’m eating this granola parfait.”
“I feel like we’re all just lying to each other,” I said, feeling something inside just boiling up. “Jill, you cook. You bake. You foist food on us sometimes, as if that gives you some kind of perverse pleasure. But you
pretend
to eat.”
“By the way, I love those blueberry tart things you make,” Daphne slipped in.
“You’re not helping,” I pointed out tautly.
“Sorry.” She lapsed back into wounded mode.
“Why are you attacking me?” Jill demanded. “I’m not dating Leo.”
“Wow.” Daphne shoved her tofu aside, stunned.
I said, “I just want it all out on the table. You’re torn up about Ian, and I know things aren’t settled. And you don’t eat. And Ian knows it. It’s part of the problem.”
“Oh, I’m a big problem. Thanks. Good.”
CeeCee said, “I’ve got shit going at my job. Relationships and stuff.”
“I’ve got problems, too,” I said. “I just feel like we’re all tiptoeing around everything and it’s not helping any of us.”
“What are your problems?” Jill demanded.
“Hey, I go to Dr. Dick, don’t I? I don’t do it for my health.” I stopped, thought a second. “Actually, I guess I do.”
“He said you were disgustingly normal, or something,” Jill pointed out.
“Well, I’m not.” I turned to CeeCee. “You’ve got a problem at work?”
“I hate everyone I work with.”
“That’s not a problem. That’s the human condition,” said Jill.
“I don’t really hate them,” CeeCee contradicted herself. “It’s just ... a mess.”
Daphne said, “Well, you all think I pick the worst men. And you hate Leo.”
“More like we’re worried he isn’t right for you,” I clarified.

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