“Maybe I should make an appointment with Dr. Dick.” She turned to me. “Would that bother you?”
“Hell, no.”
“What about your crush on him, Blue?” Jill demanded. She was out for blood and I couldn’t really blame her. I was the one who’d thrown out our tacit “what’s okay to talk about; what’s not” code of ethics.
“Like it’s ever going to happen with him. Reality check. Dr. Dick’s my therapist. Make an appointment, Daphne. Please.”
“I don’t think I have an eating disorder,” Daphne said, as if we’d accused her of it instead of Jill. “But I don’t like eating in front of people. It’s so intimate.”
Jill examined her granola parfait and swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
“I don’t really give a damn who sees me eat,” I said.
“Me, neither,” CeeCee agreed.
“I worry,” Daphne confessed, as if it were a secret she’d just been waiting to unload. “Especially on a date. What if I get something caught in my teeth?”
“Your date will get over it,” I said.
CeeCee looked off into space. “All that mouth action. Lips and teeth and smacking. It’s so sexual.”
“Food is fuel,” I reminded. Fu—el. “That’s all.”
Jill proceeded to take a big bite of her granola parfait, crunching away. She then sat back, cradling her coffee cup, glaring at us.
“Why are we all over each other?” Daphne asked.
“Blue started it,” Jill pointed out.
I threw up my hands. “It’s not like I asked you to consume insect larvae. I just said eat something. Like, so you don’t expire on us.”
“We should face our problems,” CeeCee added, as if from a distance.
“So, what’s wrong with you, Blue?” Jill asked. “We all know what’s wrong with me, thank you very much, but you’ve been a total bitch ever since you showed up today.”
“Is it the job?” CeeCee asked, as if suddenly this were a bald fact rather than a matter of discussion. “I hear ya, there.”
“No ... .”
“We’ve all said what’s wrong with us,” Daphne said.
So, here they were, three of my closest friends, suddenly putting me under the microscope. Not that I hadn’t asked for it, but it’s tough to be in the hot seat. “I’m single,” I said.
“We all are,” CeeCee pointed out, but I’d grabbed her attention. “Tell us what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing ... really.”
“It took you awhile to tell us about the break up with Nate,” Daphne reminded. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You can do better than that,” Jill said.
There was no way to fob them off. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. If we were going to be honest with each other instead of pussyfooting around certain topics, then we had to be completely honest. I couldn’t put my finger on what my exact problems were, so I just started talking. I told them in detail about my problems with Liam Engleston, then I segued into a little bit about Sean, and I ended up launching into the tale of having Charlie and Hog show up at my doorstep. My tale of Charlie and Hog grew stronger as I warmed to being the center of attention. I finished by relating my discussion with Dr. Dick about the Ex-Files. “Shouldn’t I have learned something after all those guys?” I questioned as a final button to my argument. I knew it was a mistake almost immediately, as I’d cracked opened the door to inviting their opinions.
“You said you felt good about seeing Charlie,” Jill reminded.
“Yeah. After he left.” I twisted my cup of coffee around. “I wonder if it’s all that helpful, taking a trip down the soured relationship road.”
“We learn from our mistakes,” said Daphne. “That’s why we’re supposed to talk about them. Can’t bury them.”
CeeCee said, “Kind of like a twelve-step program.”
“An eight-step program,” I said. “Starting with Charlie.”
“Who you can cross off now,” Jill pointed out. “You’ve seen him and dealt with him.”
I nodded. She had a point. “Then there’s Kane. Number Two.” Crinkling my nose, I admitted reluctantly, “He’s coming to LA Kane Reynolds. The motivational speaker?”
“Really?” Daphne was delighted. “We’ve got to all go!”
CeeCee was truly tuned in. “No kidding. You do have to see him. See them all. Get rid of the fascination.”
“That’s what Leo was doing. Getting rid of the fascination,” Daphne piped up. “Okay, he slept with her. But it was supposed to be that he would get over her, once and for all.”
I had a mental image of Leo’s shaggy-haired body getting “over” his old girlfriend, then shook it away. “I’m not sleeping with them.”
“Hell, no. Of course not,” CeeCee agreed. “Just find out what it was that attracted you in the first place. See what it is. Go through them systematically. Check them off, one by one.”
“Who’s number three?” Jill asked.
“Larry Stoddard. Hairy Larry.”
Daphne made a face. “The guy with the matches? Oh, no.”
CeeCee’s head swiveled. “I guess I haven’t heard this one.”
“Hairy Larry’s party trick was to set his chest hair on fire,” I explained. “It would go up in a kind of
swoosh.
I don’t know if he put anything on it or not. Like lighter fluid. But he’d fire it up whenever he drank too much tequila, which was all the time.”
“Yuk,” Jill said, “What about regrowth? Didn’t he need some restoration time?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Four?” Daphne asked.
“That would be John Langdon. You guys are making me count him.”
“Ah, yes ... Mr. Famous Actor,” Jill said.
“Seeing him again might be a kick,” said Daphne.
“Yeah. Right.” I snorted. “Five is Don the Devout. Don’t even go there. I don’t think I could again.”
“He lives here in LA, though doesn’t he?” Jill was being entirely too helpful.
“San Francisco,” I said.
“Six?” CeeCee asked.
“Six is Brad Knowles. Knowles-It-All. No, wait ... he’s Seven. Six is Mark McGruder,” I said. “Black Mark. He’s a director I was once involved with. Lives in San Diego now. Married, with a couple of kids.” I grimaced to myself. Revisiting the Ex-Files might sound like a healthy idea, but it really made you wonder about yourself sometimes.
“So, Seven is Knowles-It-All,” CeeCee said.
“A lawyer. You kinda get the idea.”
“Eight?” Daphne asked.
“Nate the Nearly Normal.”
“Oh, right,” she said. “We’re there already. That’s all the men you’ve had relationships with?”
I nodded. “I’ve had a few minor skirmishes along the way. Like with Sean the other night. He wanted to have sex, but I just couldn’t.” I briefly explained about Sean’s and my tryst and his night on my couch.
“I’m sure my count would be higher,” Daphne said.
“It would?” I was amazed. She’s always so vocal about how it’s got to be “right,” how love should always be part of everything.
CeeCee said, blowing us all away. “I’ve had three lovers.”
“That’s
it
?” I asked, shocked.
“I’d like to have more,” she admitted. “But sex for me can be a little like eating for Daphne and Jill. Way too personal.”
“Well, of course it’s personal,” said Daphne.
“God.” Jill stared into her empty coffee cup. “I quit counting at ten. But none of them meant a damn thing. Except for Ian.” She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Her lashes grew damp. “I know that’s what’s wrong with me and Ian. I don’t eat enough.”
“Has he said so?” I asked.
“No ... but that’s it.”
“I’m going to straighten things out at work,” CeeCee said with sudden determination. “I don’t want to fuck up my job because of all this.”
Daphne added, “Maybe I should tell Leo what I really think about him sleeping with his ex.” She paused. “That it absolutely sucks!”
Jill brushed away her tears. “I’ll talk to Ian. There are clinics all over this city. If he wants me to go to one, I’ll do it.”
I was amazed. “Is this what’s happening? We’re all facing our demons?” Everyone looked at one another and silently agreed. “Well, okay, then. I’ll finish sorting through the Ex-Files and see if that’ll help me find Mr. Right. Or, failing that, Mr. Okay for Right Now.”
“It’d be better to find Mr. Right,” Daphne said wistfully.
Unbidden, Jackson Wright’s face crossed the screen of my mind. I looked down at the table quickly. No one seemed to notice.
But I noticed. And it worried me.
Chapter
11
D
eciding to examine the Ex-Files was one thing—making it a full-time job was nowhere in the cards. Since I didn’t feel it was a truly immediate problem, I pushed it aside and decided to concentrate on work instead. Even so, the Sedona job started before I was really ready. I found myself logging long hours at the office, embroiled in preproduction, working like an automaton. It was good, in a way, as it kept me from worrying about my personal life. However, it did not keep me away from Sean, who popped in and out of the office all day long every day, running errands as all good PAs should. I could feel his eyes on me, but coward that I am, I tried to ignore him. I should not, not,
not
have let things get as far as they had between us. My reputation as a production manager depends on my decision-making ability. And my decision to indulge some kind of relationship with Sean was, well ... not good.
I said aloud to Tom, “Are you any good at casual sex?”
Tom sat up straighter. “Who’s asking and why?”
“One of my friends outranks me in numbers, and she’s the last person I would expect.”
“Oh.” He looked wise. “Now it’s a competition.”
“Hell, no.”
“Oh, yeah.” He bobbed his head up and down.
“I just want to meet someone and fall in lust, like, or love.”
“The three L’s ... hmmmm ...”
“I just have to face it: I’m not good at casual sex.”
At that moment Sean blasted through the front door. He gave me a quick smile and said, “Hey, Gin Blue-san,” then hurried out with new orders from the Holy Terror herself. The door banged shut loudly behind him.
Tom gazed thoughtfully at the closed door. “What’s going on with you and the PA?”
“Who? Sean?”
“Yes, ‘Gin Blue-san.’ What the hell is that, anyway?”
I tried a diversion tactic, not certain I’d be able to explain even if I wanted him to know. “Toss me a Jolly Rancher.” I turned toward him. “Green apple or fire.”
“Grape?”
“No.”
“Lemon?”
“Are you deaf?”
“Don’t have any of those left. Watermelon? Oh, wait. One more fire.” He suddenly hurled it at me. I instantly ducked to avoid putting out an eye. The candy pinged against the window and fell into my waste can. I fished it out. Luckily, they’re individually wrapped so I wasn’t too worried about mine coming in contact with anything icky.
“What are you two throwing around?” Holly demanded, throwing open her inner office door as I popped the candy into my mouth.
“Jolly Ranchers,” I mumbled, sucking in air to cool my mouth. Hot cinnamon. Holy mama. Doesn’t get any better than this.
“Want one?” Tom asked.
He looked ready to fire one her direction and she shook her head and asked me, “Think Sean can drive a cargo van to the job?”
Jolly Rancher cinnamon juice slipped into my windpipe. I started choking. A cargo van to Sedona? Eight and a half hours away at a good clip? With Sean toking away for all he was worth?
“God no!” I rasped out.
The front door banged open and slammed against the wall as Sean, who entered a room about as softly as a jet engine, stuck his head inside. “Am I supposed to go get lunch?”
We all went dead quiet—except for my compressed coughing as I tried to fend off an all-out cinnamon attack.
Holly said, “In a while.”
With a shrug of his shoulders Sean slammed the door shut behind him. A faint, familiar odor floated in his wake. Tom made a motion of drawing hard on a joint behind Holly’s back. I studiously ignored him and said, “I think I might have somebody else already.”
Holly nodded and returned to work. It really wasn’t her job to hire the PAs. I don’t even know why she mentioned Sean. Maybe she sensed something wasn’t quite jake about him, that his responsibility level lay a little on the low side. Maybe, like Tom, she suspected something was up between us. I needed to squelch that idea, and fast.
“Who do you have in mind?” Tom asked curiously once Holly was out of earshot.
“Someone who doesn’t smoke on the job.”
“Aha.” Tom smirked. “Sean’s usefulness is over and you’re ready to get rid of him.”
“I can’t risk him behind the wheel,” I snapped.
“So, who are you gonna get?”
“Maybe no one.”
“Come again?”
“I can drive the van myself.”
He stared at me. “You?”
“Yeah, me.”
I pretended that it was a normal choice. Just a Ginny-Blue kind of whim. The thing is, as production manager, it’s understood that I should be flying with the Above-the-Liners. But the trip was on a commercial airline to Phoenix, and then a small hopper to Sedona. I’m not good with small hoppers. Circling my brain was the thought that I could drive the van myself and we could pick up an extra PA in Sedona to make up for Sean. It would save one day’s PA pay and it would mean Sean wouldn’t have to be on this job at all. I could live with that. My reasons were entirely selfish; I wanted Sean out of my sphere. Avoidance. One of my favorite answers to problem solving. Not exactly the kind of responsible decision making appropriate for a production manager.
But I was the production manager. So anybody who wanted to argue with me could just piss off.
“I have a friend who may go with me,” I added, more to myself than Tom. Since our breakfast at Sammy’s CeeCee had called several times, which was unusual as she only used the phone when absolutely necessary and her conversations were notoriously brief. I’d picked up that things at work were still messy and when I mentioned I was about to leave for Sedona, she’d said she might come with me—as if I’d invited her. Clearly, something was up at work.
“Who?” Tom asked.
“Someone who might PA for me.”
This suddenly seemed like a great idea. Still, it didn’t help my stress level to have Sean keep shooting me a smile when he dropped in the productions offices. I felt like a heel. This was really low.
“I’m a shit,” I muttered under my breath.
“What?” Tom asked. He’s so nosy.
I ignored him and called Dr. Dick. I don’t like being a shit. By some strange and wonderful alignment of the stars, his usual receptionist was out of the office. The temp said, “There’s a cancellation this afternoon at three. Does that sound okay?”
“See you at three!”
It wasn’t the most satisfactory of sessions. I’d come in all jazzed to tell him about what a terrible person I was and he hit me with, “Tell me about your friends,” almost before we were settled in our client/doctor chairs.
I frowned at him. What was this all about? “You want to know about my friends?”
He gazed at me steadily. I was completely aware of the fact that he’d removed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves up his arms. I could see the hair on his arms and I liked the way his hands looked—capable and strong, no namby-pamby pink palms for our Dr. Dick. “You intimated that you’d made some kind of pact with them,” he said. “That exploring your ‘Ex-Files’ is your part of a bargain with them.”
I quickly reviewed my conversation since I’d walked in the door. Yes, I’d made some throwaway comment about the Ex-Files, but it had been said as a means to segue into what a horrible, deeply troubled soul I was. How I used and abused people. How selfish and egocentric I’d become. I felt (and maybe I was wrong here, okay; I’m willing to admit that I reach for cheap drama from time to time) that Dr. Dick would be more interested in me if I were truly a black hole of depression.
“That’s not really the important part,” I explained. “I don’t even know why I mentioned it.”
He was not deterred. “What are their parts of the bargain?”
Well, for crying out loud. This was my therapy time, not my friends’. But then I figured a straight answer might be the quickest way to move back to what was really important: me. “Okay, in a nutshell: Jill’s going to try to stop stalking Ian and start eating again. CeeCee’s going to fix things at work. I don’t know what that’s all about as yet, but it’s got to do with this guy who she calls Cheese-Dick. Personally, I’m kind of flattered that she’s started naming her exes, too, although he isn’t strictly an ex as he and she never got together.” I hesitated, then added, “She burned him with a cigarette after he kept grabbing her ass.”
“On purpose?” Dr. Dick asked.
“Well, yeah.”
When he didn’t offer further comment, I added, “And Daphne always picks the wrong guys. Her latest slept with his first real girlfriend after he and Daphne got together. He acted as if it was okay because he should have slept with her in the past but didn’t because their relationship was in high school and it just didn’t happen.” I paused. “He’s an actor. Up for a role in
Losers, Inc
. A new teevee show.”
He seemed to absorb my recap. I added, “Daphne said she was going to make an appointment to see you. Has she?”
“I haven’t looked at my schedule.”
“I’m sure she used me as a reference. Oh, and my friend Kristl’s leaving for Seattle. Already left, I think. She’s getting married for the fourth time.”
“You don’t sound happy for her.”
“I’m not.” I was point blank. “I think she’s making a huge mistake, but at least she’ll have some experience to draw upon when it goes south.”
I waited for him to say something else and when he didn’t, I asked, “Are we ready to talk about me?”
He smiled. “Step right up.”
“One more thing.” Although I was desperate to go on and on about Ginny Blue, I said, “My mother called me right before I came here.”
His brows lifted. I think all therapist types get excited when a patient mentions her mother. Moths to the flame.
Mom had caught me on the fly. I’d been distracted anyway, what with the job and my friends and thoughts of the Ex-Files churning around in my head, so when she announced, “I’m coming to LA to get my eyes done. I hope you’re going to be around. I’d love to stay with you,” I was initially too blown away to do more than repeat, “You’re coming to LA to get your eyes done?”
“Do you have room?” she asked.
I shook the cobwebs out of my head. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Oh, good.”
Lorraine Bluebell—she of the big-ass purses—was coming my way. I snapped to and asked, “Why aren’t you getting this done in Portland?”
“I met the doctor on a plane trip. We sat by each other. One thing came to another, and I was signing up. You know, a lot of these new agents are younger and younger.”
“Real estate agents?”
“The competition. I gotta stay in the game.”
“And you think getting your eyes done will even the playing field?”
“Ginny ...” Mom sighed as if I were extremely dense.
“Mom, you’re good at what you do.”
“Thanks, sweetie. So, what’s your schedule?”
I heard myself telling her about my pending trip to Sedona. Since she wasn’t due to visit until after the shoot, she was thrilled. Before I could really process everything, Mom had booked herself to stay with me for a week at the end of the month.
Then she dropped the bomb and asked, “Will Nate be around?”
At this point in my narrative Dr. Dick interrupted me to ask how long Nate and I had been apart. A few weeks, I answered back. He nodded and I continued:
I could feel the seconds tick by on the phone as Mom waited for an answer. I finally decided to bite the bullet. “Nate’s not really spending a lot of time here anymore.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Well ... he moved out. We’re not together anymore.”
I inwardly cringed. My mother really liked Nate. After Don the Devout, Nate was her favorite.
“What about Don?” she asked, right on cue.
“I haven’t seen him in a while, Mom.”
“I got a card from him at Christmas,” she said.
Well, of course you did,
I thought. Don the Devout loved Christmas. A salesman, he sent cards out at any given opportunity. He probably had my mother’s birthday listed and sent her birthday cards, too. He was like that. Handy with a date book and a scripture. Though undiagnosed, he was one of the most obsessive/compulsive people I’d ever run across. It’s a wonder I managed to stay sane when we were together, but I guess somebody had to.
“So ... I guess Mom’s coming to visit,” I finished, tossing up my hands in surrender.
Dr. Dick said, “You get along fairly well with your mother.”
“This is true. I’m just not sure how many days we’re talking about. My next job’s in Sedona and then Mom comes.” I paused, then added, “CeeCee might go with me to Sedona.”
“The one who burned a man with her cigarette?”