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“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. “You know you’ll miss me in Vancouver.” I hated to bring it up, had avoided thinking about Ben leaving, the writing on the wall begi
He surprised me by coming over and hugging me, his grip surprisingly strong. “Promise me that you’ll bathe daily. And wash your face. And use that Dior mascara that I gave you.”
I pushed him off with a laugh. “I’ve got five more weeks with you. Plenty of time for you to compile a better list of guilty promises to swear me to.”
He smiled and tightened the cinch of his robe. “Want to hit Jimmy’s for lunch?”
I stood. “Sure. I’ll go and grab us a table. Let you get…” I waved a hand at his outfit. “Dressed.”
He mocked my hand wave. “Done.”
I tossed my Cherry Coke in the trash and left. I would miss Ben. I would miss our job. I would miss the excitement and energy of Something New and Different. I didn’t want to go back to a life where my most exciting moments were when the next Baldacci novel released.
I jogged down the staircase and smiled at Ethel Raine, a woman who had warmed tremendously to me after Ben and I reserved every room in her B&B for the next five months. The rooms here would be for the Directors, Assistant Directors, Producers, and Production Manager and Designers—the key people who deserved more than a bunk bed but didn’t deserve an entire house like Cole Masten and Minka Price, for which we’ve rented out the Kirklands’ and Wilsons’ homes. Minka Price—if she didn’t succeed in backing out of the project—was bringing her family, so she got the more ‘comfortable’ of the two homes. We had prepared/hoped/squealed for Cole Masten to bring Nadia Smith but, from the latest issue of STAR, I no longer expected that to happen. They were as done as our Waffle King after the Cow Incident of ‘97.
“Is it normal?” I asked Ben, biting into one of Jimmy’s subs. The secret to a successful Jimmy’s experience is to befriend his wife, Jill. I coughed over a first cigarette with Jill, decorated the homecoming float next to her, lent and borrowed tampons in times of distress. I was in, no questions asked. Ben… it took him a few months of properly coached ass-kissing and attention-giving. Now, at the last leg of his stay, he got the best cuts, could call in an order on his way, and was allowed to sit at one of the window tables. Fancy stuff.
“Is what normal?” Ben responded, loudly sucking on his sweet tea’s straw. Yes, sweet tea. I had actually converted him into a human being.
“A star trying to quit a movie this late in the game. We start filming in less than a month—doesn’t it seem like…” My sentence trailed off in the face of an overdramatic amount of shushing coming from Ben. He glanced around furtively as if the CIA was trying to listen in.
“Not here,” he hissed.
I took my own loud suck of straw, shaking the ice in the cup as I did so, frustrated. But Ben was right. Everyone in Quincy was straining their delicate ears to get every bit of information they could about the movie. You wouldn’t believe the stupid things I was overhearing:
“Did you know that Minka dyes her hair blonde? She’s a natural redhead… that’s what Emma Statton said, and she might be hired to do makeup.”
“I heard the movie’s big scene at the end involves an explosion, and the Miller plantation is going to be blown up. Trace Beenson ordered the dynamite yesterday for it. Four tons of TNT.”
“I just heard from my sister’s dentist that Cole Masten and his wife are swingers. The Kirklands’ place is go
There was so much bullshit flying around that our flies were confused. Every once in a while, I’d hear something with a grain of truth in it, but it was rare. The Fortune Bottle was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to any of us. And I—I was seeing a little of my black curtain of disgrace lifted. Random girls had been calling up ‘just to chat’ and ‘God, we’ve missed you.’ Ghosts of my past wanting to reco
Until the movie.
I didn’t want friendships born out of curiosity and gossip hoarders. It was too late for Quincy and me to rekindle our flame.
I wanted out.
CHAPTER 16
“In Hollywood, an equitable divorce settlement means each party getting fifty percent of publicity.”
~ Lauren Bacall
Cole found Nadia at The Peninsula. Not a gigantic sleuthing job, as it was her hotel of choice. They had stayed there during the kitchen renovation, after late shoots, Emmy parties, and during moves. He could have found her four days ago, but he’d had wounds to lick and was afraid he couldn’t see her face without screaming into it. Now, there was no other choice. He wouldn’t talk through lawyers, not when their relationship was at stake.
Could he get over this? That was the question he had struggled with since Saturday night. There had been rumors since… well, there had always been rumors. But it was Hollywood. Hell, the tabloids had posted false stories of his ‘affairs’ for the last five years. So he’d ignored anything that had been said about Nadia. But now, with the proof of infidelity stuck in his mind, everything came to the surface. The AD in Madrid. That surfer on the Pitt movie. The bodyguard who quit last year. How many more had there been? And how many had been legitimate and not just gossip?
He jerked his car to a stop, nodding curtly to the valet, his feet not slowing, his mouth not smiling, everything focused on getting inside and to her room.
“Cole.” When she spoke, the world stopped. Just as it had six years ago, on the set of Ocean Bodies, when she’d been a nobody, and he’d been the world’s biggest somebody, yet still distracted by just her whisper of his name. Cole stopped short, turning to see her standing in the lobby, her hair in a ponytail, tight leggings on with te