Twenty-three
SO THE GROUP adjourned to Taylor’s, where there was much laughing and drinking. Merriment, Kate jokingly declared, that’s how she would describe it when she told
Us Weekly
all about the night as soon as she got back to Chicago. Ballyhoo, Jeremy said, backing Kate. Taylor wondered if they were flirting.
Meanwhile, Valerie sprawled across the couch. In her inebriated state, she had just remembered something that now didn’t seem to make much sense.
“Taylor, didn’t you say something earlier about having a date?” She waved her glass around, mango martini sloshing precariously inside.
It was like a record had skipped to a stop in the room.
Somehow, Taylor had completely forgotten all about Scott Casey for the entire evening.
Reading the frozen look on Taylor’s face, a more sober Kate quickly intervened. “Oh, who cares about
that
after everything we’ve done tonight? Taylor—you can fill us in tomorrow.”
But then a voice spoke out from corner of the room.
“Actually,
I
would like to hear more about Taylor’s big date.”
Everyone turned and looked over at Jason, who sat in the armchair in the corner of the room.
“After all,” he said, holding Taylor’s gaze, “it’s not every day that a woman is lucky enough to go on a date with Scott Casey.”
This news was just too much for Valerie to bear.
“Scott Casey?” she gasped. She grabbed Taylor’s hand, nearly cutting off the circulation. Sitting next to her, even the usually cool Kate appeared shocked at this unexpected development.
Taylor strove for nonchalance. “It was just one date. I planned to tell you about it in the morning.”
And with that, mass hysteria erupted.
Val shrieked and leapt off the couch. Mango martini flew everywhere. Kate immediately began firing questions at Taylor. Who? What? Where?
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” cried Val, her contribution to the interrogation. Kate continued firing away, full speed. How? When? And then what?
As Taylor tried to wave off their questions, she caught a glimpse of Jason out of the corner of her eye. To put it mildly, he looked pissed. His grip on the highball glass grew tighter and tighter with every question asked.
Suddenly, Taylor found herself a bit annoyed. First of all,
he
had brought up the subject of her date with Scott Casey, not her. Second (and far more important in Taylor’s mind),
she hadn’t done anything wrong
. In fact, it was just recently that Jason had been flaunting
his
date with Naomi in front of
her.
She didn’t know exactly what kind of game Jason was playing, but she did know one thing for certain:
Two
could play at it.
So she flung her hair back, happy to answer any and all questions her friends might have.
First they covered the basics. Including how Scott had cooked for her.
“Oh . . . how sweet.” Valerie sighed romantically. This was about the point at which Jeremy excused himself to have a smoke in the courtyard outside. Jason, on the other hand, sat quietly in the corner, simply listening, and for a few minutes, the girls forgot he was there.
“So, what does this mean?” Kate asked, moving onto the more substantive questions. “Are you going to see Scott again?”
Taylor paused. “Yes. This Saturday.”
Jason glanced over sharply. “You didn’t tell me that.”
Taylor shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”
Valerie turned toward Jason, leaning tipsily over the arm of the couch. “See,
women
know how to ask the right questions,” she explained.
“I see that,” Jason said. “Please continue. I’d like to know what else I’ve missed about this date.”
Kate appeared uncertain. “Maybe we should finish this later.”
Jason waved her on, encouraging. “No, really—keep going. Pretend I’m not here. What would you ladies normally cover next? What kind of shoes he was wearing? What type of dressing they had with their salads?” Scoffing, he took a macho sip of his drink, all haughty man-like.
Kate shrugged matter-of-factly. “Actually, I’d ask if he was good in bed.”
Jason choked on his drink. He leapt out of his chair and pointed at Taylor.
“Well, I certainly hope you don’t know the answer to
that
!”
She stared at him. “Why? How many first dates have you had sex on?”
Jason sat back down. Shutting up now.
“Exactly,” Taylor sassed him. “So don’t act so appalled. You men ask the same questions.”
Jason snickered at this. “No, generally, men start with whether she has big . . .” He trailed off, considering his audience. “. . . whether she’s well-endowed,” he rephrased politely.
Kate shrugged, happy to play along. “Fine. Is Scott Casey well-endowed?”
Jason gasped and pointed at Taylor again.
“Not one word.”
Taylor studied him carefully. This was an interesting development. If there was indeed some game being played between her and Jason—which of course there was not—then she would have to say that Team Donovan had just scored another point.
She got up from the couch and began picking up the group’s empty glasses. “Is there a problem, Jason?” she asked casually. “I thought you said you weren’t jealous of Scott Casey.”
In response, Jason grabbed some glasses and followed her into the kitchen. “It’s not jealousy,” he said. “I’m just trying to rush us through the girl talk so we can move on to the pillow fight or whatever other activities you ladies have planned for your sleepover.”
They passed by Jeremy, who was coming in from outside, having finished his cigarette.
“Because we don’t have to talk about my date, if it bothers you.” Taylor began stacking glasses in the dishwasher.
Jason laughed this off. “Go ahead, talk all you want. I don’t care.”
She looked at him, trying to decide if he was telling the truth.
Jason looked at her earnestly. “Really, keep going. I think maybe you were about to tell us whether you slept with Scott Casey.”
Taylor was about to answer when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of—
Kate, Val, and Jeremy.
The three of them sat in a row, wide-eyed, staring over the back of the couch at her and Jason. Mesmerized by the scene. Val had gotten hold of some M&M’s from the dish on the coffee table and was chewing them distractedly, as if watching a movie.
Taylor cleared her throat.
Ahem . . .
Kate and Jeremy blinked and jumped off the couch, realizing they were busted.
“Oh, wow, look at the time,” Jeremy said in a rush. “You know, Jason, I really think it’s time for us to get going.”
Kate grabbed Valerie by the wrist, thinking along the same lines. “Come on, Val. It’s time to crash—there’s a lot we want to do tomorrow.” She pulled her reluctant friend off the couch and led her down the hallway. Valerie dragged her feet the whole way. “But Katherine, this shit is better than
Grey’s Anatomy
. . .” she whispered loudly.
And so the party came to an end.
Taylor walked the men to the door, where Jeremy held out his hand in good-bye. “Taylor, it was a pleasure, as always.” With a wink, he left.
Leaving just her and Jason.
Jason leaned against the door with his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t say anything, but Taylor knew what he was waiting for.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” she said, “but the answer to your question . . . is no.” She braced herself, expecting his smug comment.
But instead, Jason’s reaction surprised her. His entire demeanor changed. Softened.
“Okay . . .” He exhaled. Then he headed over and stood before her to say good-bye.
“Good night, Taylor,” he said gently. He lightly kissed her cheek.
The kiss and the soft tone of his voice gave her butterflies. A moment later, he was gone.
Taylor shut the door behind him and leaned against it for support. Then she headed down the hallway to her room.
Val and Kate were sitting on the bed, waiting, just as she knew they would be. Kate pointed at her.
“Talk.”
TAYLOR FLOPPED ON the bed next to them and sighed.
“I don’t even know where to start anymore.”
“Fine, I’ll start then,” Val said. She seemed to have sobered a little while waiting for Taylor. “I’ll begin with the obvious: he’s Jason Andrews.”
She stared at Taylor pointedly, making sure they were on the same page with this. “He’s
Jason Andrews
.”
“I know that, Val.”
“Do you?” she asked skeptically. “Because from what I’ve seen, I’m not so sure.”
“Trust me, I know who he is.”
“Good—then let’s move on to the fact that he’s gorgeous, smart, witty, and—I hate to say it—filthy rich.”
Taylor stopped her there. “You know I don’t care about that.”
“That doesn’t mean it can’t go in the plus column.”
“I’m already aware of all these things,” Taylor told her. “Every woman in the world is aware of these things.”
“But he doesn’t look at every woman in the world the way he looks at you.” Valerie smiled. “He’s crazy about you, Taylor.”
She considered this. “You know, Val, for one brief moment, I thought the same as you. But you’re wrong.”
Val held her hands out, frustrated. “How do you know that?”
Taylor was tempted to tell them about Jason’s party and her encounter with Naomi Cross. But she knew that Naomi Cross was only a small part of a much bigger problem.
“He’s
Jason Andrews
,” she said. “I could name a hundred women—very famous ones at that—who would tell you that he once looked at them the same way you think he looks at me.” She caught Val’s skeptical look. “He’s an actor. A very good actor.” Taylor held up a finger warningly. “Don’t ever tell him I said that.”
Seeing that Val remained unconvinced, she continued. “Think about who he is. He’s the guy who said on national television that women should be treated like film scripts: kicked to the curb after an hour if they don’t hold his interest.”
Valerie shook her head resolutely. “But that was before he met you.” She turned to Kate, who had been strangely quiet thus far. “Help me out here. Talk some sense into her,” she pleaded.
Kate paused. When she finally spoke, her words were cautious. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what I think.”
“Oh no, not you, too,” Val said despairingly. “What am I missing here?” She glanced back and forth between Kate and Taylor.
Taylor saw Kate’s hesitation. “Go ahead—you can say it.”
“It’s just that . . .” Kate proceeded carefully, knowing that she was about to enter very risky territory. “Well, you’ve been down this road before, Taylor.”
Valerie snorted disdainfully at this. “Jason Andrews is
nothing
like Daniel.”
“You’re right—he’s worse,” Taylor said dryly. “He’s the legend that men like Daniel only aspire to be. You guys should’ve seen it at the bar—this woman went crazy just trying to
talk
to Jason.”
“All of us were so infatuated with Daniel in law school,” Kate told Valerie. “And we all knew about his reputation. But the way he acted with Taylor . . . I thought he had changed.”
She shook her head apologetically at Taylor. “Wow—was I ever wrong about that, huh?”
“We all were,” Taylor said. “Most of all me. I should’ve trusted my instincts.”
“And I think that’s what you need to do this time.” Kate squeezed Taylor’s hand reassuringly. “As much as I might like Jason, as much I think it would be a dream come true to date a movie star like him, I can’t be the one who tells you to go for it this time. You’re not going to get any more bullshit from me about love changing people. They can save that stuff for fairy tales and movies.”
Val was crushed by what she was hearing. “I think this is the single most depressing conversation I’ve ever heard.” She turned to Taylor for assurance. “Tell her she’s wrong, Taylor. You’re living proof that these things can happen. Tell her you still believe that.”
Taylor stared into Valerie’s hopeful eyes. Her friend, the romantic, who idolized celebrities because to her, they lived the dream. The glamorous life. Beautiful people who had adventures and romance, who fell deeply in love with other beautiful people and lived happily ever after.
And in Valerie’s mind, if it could happen to her—Taylor Donovan from the south side of Chicago, who didn’t know a soul in Hollywood when she got there—then maybe, just maybe, it could happen to anyone.
But there was one small problem.
Taylor
didn’t believe it.
She believed in logic. She believed in studying the evidence and following it to its natural conclusion. She did
not
believe in fantasies and fairy tales. She had learned, all too well after finding Daniel and his assistant and the naked thrusting butt cheeks, that life is not a romantic comedy.
So she turned to Valerie with her answer.
“What I think, Val, is that the biggest mistake a woman can make is convincing herself that
she
is the one who will be different. I’ve made that mistake once—it’s not going to happen again.”
Taylor had nothing further to say on the subject of Jason Andrews.
The conversation was over.
Twenty-four
THE FOLLOWING WEEK flew by uneventfully. Business as usual with her trial, and before Taylor knew it, another Friday morning had rolled around.
Unfortunately, on this particular Friday morning, Taylor was stuck in some very nasty Los Angeles traffic. Possibly, she was lost. Most definitely, she was late.
Trial-wise, the past four days had proceeded smoothly. The plaintiffs were nearing the end of their case-in-chief and had begun presenting their final witnesses in support of their claims for emotional distress damages. From the skeptical looks she’d seen on the jurors’ faces, Taylor suspected they had as much problem as she did awarding someone $30 million for alleged sexually harassing behavior that was about as sexual as a Hilary Duff movie. Nowadays, and nowhere more so than in Los Angeles, juries wanted to see trials like the ones they saw on television. They wanted drama. Scandal. In the era of HBO, they expected a little bada-bang for $30 million.
Taylor thought again about how much she wanted to win this trial. Actually, it was pretty fair to say that she
needed
to win this trial. Because lately, work was the only thing in her life that still made sense.
She had been hoping that Val and Kate’s visit would provide her with some much-needed clarity. But all it did was leave her even more confused.
After their conversation late Friday night, in a silent agreement to keep the rest of the weekend stress-free, the three of them had avoided the subject of Jason. On Saturday morning, they woke up and treated themselves to the full California workup: shopping on Rodeo Drive, a ridiculously overpriced lunch at the Ivy, an afternoon at the beach, and dinner at a quaint outdoor bistro in Santa Monica. While the night hadn’t been as glamorous as the previous one spent with Hollywood’s Sexiest Man Alive, it was the perfect way for the girls to relax, talk, and leave all cares of men behind.
Sunday morning, after a late brunch at the Viceroy hotel, Taylor had dropped off Kate and Val at the airport, shocked by how fast the weekend had flown by. It was when they were saying good-bye that Val first dared to broach the topic of her love life.
“So call us next week and tell us how Saturday goes.” She hugged Taylor tightly. “I can’t wait to hear all about your second date with Scott Casey.”
Taylor smiled tentatively at her friend. “It’s okay, Val, I’ll say it if you won’t. I know you think I’m making a mistake.”
Val shook her head. “I don’t think you’re making a mistake. I think the same thing as Kate—that you should follow your instincts. I just hope you’re willing to listen to those instincts no matter what they tell you.”
Val’s final words on the subject had stuck with Taylor well after her friends waved good-bye and boarded their plane back to Chicago. The words were in the back of her mind later that evening, as she worked alongside Derek late into Sunday night. They had stuck with her all week, during her trial, as she cross-examined the plaintiffs’ witnesses.
And they still echoed in her head that Friday morning, as she sat in that damn L.A. traffic.
Taylor tapped her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. She checked her watch again, growing more agitated by the minute. She had never once been late for court. But lucky her—this morning there had been a detour on Wilshire Boulevard that had led her to the freeway, where she had no clue where she was going.
Taylor peered out the windows, looking for any sort of sign or street name she recognized. By now, she had turned against the PT Cruiser. What, the stupid thing couldn’t have a navigation system?
Traffic suddenly began to move. This turned out to be even more problematic for Taylor, who had no idea where she should be moving
to
. Figuring this was no time to be proud, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed up Derek for directions. He answered from his post at the courthouse, relieved to hear that yes, of course she was still coming and no, she had not run off to Lake Como, Italy, to do backflips with the boys off George Clooney’s yacht.
As Taylor jotted down the directions Derek gave her on a valet sticker she found in the glove compartment, she went over the day’s strategy. Never one to miss an opportunity to multitask.
“Just make sure the exhibits are ready to go, one on top of the next,” she told him as she precariously balanced a phone, a pen, and the steering wheel all at once. “I don’t want to give the witnesses any time to think between questions.”
“Do you really think Frank’s going to keep putting them on the stand?” Derek asked on the other end of the line. “They’re all doing so horribly.”
Glancing up at the road ahead, Taylor spotted the exit she was supposed to take. Thank god. She guided her car toward the off ramp, still holding her cell phone with one hand.
“You and I may see that,” she answered Derek, “but Frank seems to be living in crazy—”
Suddenly, she was cut off as another car shot out of nowhere into her lane, trying to make the exit ramp. With barely any time to react, she yanked the steering wheel to the right, trying to get out of the car’s way, swerving into the next lane and—
—felt the jolt of an impact as another car hit her.
Everything happened in a lightning-quick blur: the wheels of the PT Cruiser spun out as Taylor’s head struck the driver’s side window and everything spun around and around and around and then—
The car suddenly lurched to a stop in a ditch on the side of the road.
Taylor’s airbag exploded.
Well, at least the stupid PT Cruiser had those.
WITH A GROAN, Taylor pulled her head away from the inflated airbag. She gingerly touched the side of her head where she had cracked it against the window. While it felt quite painful, she didn’t feel anything warm, icky, or gushing, which she took as a positive sign. She then began mentally running through a checklist: fingers moving, toes moving, all teeth appeared to be intact.
After what felt like only seconds, Taylor heard a frantic knock to her left. In her daze, she turned in the direction of the sound and saw a middle-aged man wearing a light blue suit and a Mickey Mouse tie at the driver’s side window. The man yanked open her car door.
Taylor’s first thought was that she, Taylor Donovan, was about to be rescued by a man in a blue leisure suit and Mickey Mouse tie.
Her second thought was that she, Taylor Donovan, didn’t need to be rescued by anyone.
Her third thought was that she was oddly thinking of herself in the third person, and that couldn’t be a good sign.
The Mickey Mouse guy stuck his head into the car. “Miss! Are you okay? Are you all right?”
Taylor smiled reassuringly. No worries, man. After all, she was Taylor Donovan. Confident that, through her customary humor and wit, she could show just how unfazed and confident a person Taylor Donovan was, she held up her cell phone for the Mouse man to see.
“Could I be more of a cliché?” she asked jokingly.
And that was the last thing Taylor Donovan said before passing out cold.
“I’M TELLING YOU, I’m fine. There’s
nothing
to worry about. I feel great.”
The doctor scribbled something in his chart, ignoring Taylor’s assurances. She sat on the edge of the examination table, thinking that the Los Angeles emergency room certainly must have had more important things to worry about than the little bump on her head. Wasn’t there some Lindsay Lohan “heat exhaustion” crisis to tend to?
Taylor had already called the courthouse and, luckily, the judge had been very understanding. He had agreed to recess the trial until Monday and told her to take care of herself for the weekend. Now if she could just get out of this darn hospital.
The doctor finally finished his scribbling and snapped his file shut.
“Well, you have a concussion, Taylor. And that means I can’t release you for the next twenty-four hours unless you’re under the care of another adult.”
“No, but look—I’m fine,” Taylor insisted. “See?” She wiggled her fingers and toes for the doctor’s benefit, although being fully dressed in her suit and high heels meant the toe part of the demonstration wasn’t particularly impressive.
“I’m sorry, but that’s hospital policy. Blame it on you lawyers for making us so careful.” He grinned at the joke.
Taylor groaned, not because of the lame attack on her profession, and not even because her head felt worse than it did when she was seven years old and her brother Patrick had dropped her on the sidewalk in a chicken fight against the O’Malley brothers gone awry, but because she really, really hated hospitals—possibly even more than airplanes. They had a funny smell.
The doctor looked at Taylor sympathetically. “Isn’t there anyone you can call to come pick you up?”
Taylor silently debated the ethics of asking one’s secretary to babysit one’s concussed self on a Friday night. Then her cell phone rang.
She sheepishly gestured to her ringing purse, which sat on the chair in the corner of the examination room. “Sorry,” she apologized to the doctor. “I forgot to turn it off.”
The doctor was wholly nonplussed. “This is L.A., Taylor. I’ve seen women deliver babies while on their cell phones.”
Taylor jumped off the table and pulled the phone out of her purse. She saw it was Scott calling and answered with surprise.
“Hello?”
“Hey! Gorgeous!” Scott’s voice rang out cheerfully. “I was just calling to see what time I should pick you up tomorrow.”
Shit—she had forgotten all about their date. Again.
“Um . . . Scott, hi . . . there’s a slight problem.” Taylor moved to the corner of the room and lowered her voice, not wanting the doctor to overhear.
“I was kind of in a car accident,” she whispered into the phone. “Nothing serious—but I guess I have a concussion or something. They say they won’t release me today unless someone comes to pick me up. I guess it’s hospital policy.”
Taylor paused, debating whether to continue. She decided to go for broke, driven on by dreaded thoughts of staying in the hospital overnight.
“So I don’t suppose you have any interest in changing our date to tonight, do you?” she asked Scott, laughing lightly to cover how stupid she felt. “You’d just have to make sure I don’t vomit after eating or anything. Although I suppose in Los Angeles, that’s more a sign of peer pressure than a concussion, right?”
Instead of a reciprocal (or even polite) laugh, there was a long, silent pause on the other end of the line.
Okay, so that hadn’t been her finest one-liner, Taylor thought. She had a concussion, after all. Cut her a little friggin’ slack.
Finally, Scott answered, sounding even more uncomfortable than her. “Shit, Taylor, you know . . . normally I would love to help you out, but see—we’re in the middle of filming right now, and I can’t leave the set. Plus I don’t know how long the director wants to go tonight. You understand, don’t you, gorgeous?”
Taylor nodded. What had she expected, anyway? She’d had
one
date with the guy. “Sure, no problem,” she said lightly, hoping to cover her supreme lameness. “Why don’t I call you later, when things settle down?” She hurriedly said good-bye and hung up.
Taylor turned around and saw the doctor watching her. Clearly, he had heard every word.
“It’s not like jail,” he said with a kind smile. “You can make more than one phone call. I know you’re new in town, but you must know someone else.”
Of course, Taylor’s mind did indeed turn right then to the one “someone else” in Los Angeles she knew.
Oh sure, like
that
was a possibility.
Maybe, in Valerie’s fantasy world, Taylor would call up Jason Andrews, the (alleged) Sexiest Man Alive, and he would ride up to the hospital like a knight in shining armor and whisk her off to his magnificent palace far, far away.
But this was the real world. And Taylor happened to know for a fact that Jason was tied up at that very moment, filming. She certainly wasn’t about to ask another man for help, only to again be rejected. Especially this particular man.
So Taylor took her seat on the examination table. She shook her head definitively.
“No—I can’t think of anyone else to call,” she told the doctor. “At least, no one any less busy.”
“Not even a colleague from work?” the doctor asked insistently. “I’d really hate to keep you overnight.”
Taylor shrugged. “I guess I don’t have any choice, do I?”
The doctor nodded reluctantly. He sighed and opened his mouth to say something when—
“She’ll stay with me.”
The voice came from the doorway. Taylor turned around to look—
And saw Jason standing there.
Ignoring the surprised look on the doctor’s face, he stepped into the room.
“You’ll stay with me, Taylor,” he said firmly.
She stared at him in shock. “What are you doing here?”
Jason shrugged her question off with a grin. “I heard you were here,” he said, looking a little embarrassed.
And when his eyes met hers, Taylor—who as a matter of pride never, ever, let people see her rattled—suddenly found that she had absolutely no idea what to say.
Jason waited for some kind of reaction from her. When she remained silent, he turned to the doctor worriedly.
“I thought they said she was fine. She’s too quiet.”
The doctor shrugged. “Ms. Donovan seemed perfectly fine until you showed up, Mr. Andrews.”
“Oh. Yes, well, that’s generally how it works with us.” Jason rubbed his hands together. “So what do I have to do to spring her out of here?”
“If you agree to have Taylor released in your care, you’ll need to watch her closely for the next twenty-four hours,” the doctor said. “Most important, when she’s sleeping, you need to wake her every four hours and ask her a few questions to make sure she’s conscious.”
The doctor peered over. “As for you, Taylor, I want you to promise to take it easy these next couple of days. If you do, you should be okay to go back to work on Monday.”
But Taylor could not stop staring at Jason. “How did you know?”
“How did I know what?”
“That I was in the hospital.”
“I called your office looking for you. Linda told me you were here.”