Ginny Blue's Boyfriends Page 10

  “I’m late,” I told her. “The Holy Terror is waiting for me and she’s not good at waiting.”

  “Am I catering your job, or not?” she asked.

  “Yep. Liam Engleston is out. Too expensive, too gourmet. A bad idea right from the start. Remind me never to listen to my crew again.”

  “Shoot days are Wednesday through Saturday?”

  “Sunday, too, if necessary.”

  “Sandwiches, salads, desserts, beverages,” she said.

  “Nonalcoholic beverages,” I reminded her, to which she snorted.

  “I know my job, Blue,” she said in an acid voice.

  “Well, ex-cu-uuu-se, me.”

  “Did you talk to that PA guy? Y’know ... ?”

  “Got it handled,” I assured her.

  We agreed to stop by her place, which was in Venice, on the way to CeeCee’s party at the trendy bar called Someplace Else. The bar was someone’s brainchild and that same someone had also opened The Other Place across the street. This way you could go from The Other Place to Someplace Else without ever getting behind the wheel. My plan was to deliver Jill the contraband, then head out to Someplace Else. But nobody was smokin’ nothin’ until after the party.

  On this, as it turned out, I was wrong. I’d barely turned off my ignition in front of Jill’s bungalow when Sean, whom I’d invited to our prefunction plans, drove his Jeep into the curb and stopped with a screech of brakes. Jill, who’d stepped outside upon spying my Explorer, eyed his car suspiciously. As Sean stumbled out and slammed the door, she demanded, “Who are you?” in a withering voice meant to intimidate lesser mortals.

  Sean, however, was impervious, unaware, and uncaring. He said, “Sean,” sticking out his hand. Jill carefully shook it, her eyes sliding my way.

  I explained, “Sean is the procurer of our devil weed.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jill looked annoyed. “So, what are you doing here?”

  “I invited him,” I answered.

  “Hope it’s okay,” he said, though his tone suggested he couldn’t have cared less.

  Jill glared at him and then me. “This birthday party is for close friends.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, grinning like a goof. “I’m friendly.”

  Jill slowly turned to me, her face frozen. Taking my cue from Sean, I shrugged, too. “We might as well get going.”

  Jill stiffly climbed into the passenger seat of the Explorer and Sean jumped in the back. I knew I would pay for bringing him along, but truthfully, there was something annoyingly wonderful about Sean that alternately irked and amused me. I’d begun to feel jaded about men, I’d realized, and it was time I got over that.

  Someplace Else was down Abbott-Kinney, toward the beach. Jill sulked sullenly while Sean, already high and in that doofus-like, surfer-boy mode so popular in B-comedies these days, prattled on and on about the most inane Tolkien minutiae, his current obsession, apparently. I finally realized in surprise that he’d actually read the books.

  “You’ve read the whole trilogy?” I said in disbelief. “All of the Lord of the Rings?”

  “Totally, man.”

  Jill snorted and pointed out, “Blue is a woman.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, shooting Jill a quelling look. She just turned her head to the window and Sean leaned forward, breathing his pot-laced breath near my ear.

  “Like, I loved the films. Wow. Went back like eleven times.” He chortled. “Couldn’t wait for the third one, so I started readin’ it, y’know? But shit, man, there are a lotta names! So, I went back to the first one and kept on readin’ till I was done. Read The Hobbit, too.” He turned to Jill. “It’s the prequel.”

  “I’m aware,” she managed tightly.

  “You’re kinda uptight, aren’t ya? Good thing I brought the good stuff. Want some now.” He fished in a pocket, but I quelled this fast.

  “We’ve still got the two you gave me. And I don’t want to do anything in the car. Or at the party. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Jill, who normally wasn’t quite such a prig about things, couldn’t seem to shake her mood. But once started, Sean could not be stopped. He talked about Middle-Earth as if it were more real than Los Angeles. Thinking of the endless traffic and generally ugly commercial storefronts lining the streets, I wondered if he might be on to something.

  “I am GinBlue-san of the shire,” I said.

  Jill snorted. “What are you? Japanese-hobbit?”

  “Cool,” said Sean.

  “Okay, I’ll drop the ‘san’ part.”

  “Hell, no.” Sean threw Jill a thoughtful look. “I like GinBlue-san. Sounds like Bombay Sapphire gin and saki, or something. Hey, maybe we should stop and have some saki bombs? Just to get started.”

  “Someplace Else’ll have some, probably,” I said, sure Jill was about to erupt.

  To my surprise she seemed to think over Sean’s suggestion. “Ian and I had saki bombs at the Paper Door a couple of weeks ago.”

  Her wistful tone surprised Sean who’d only seen Jill in vicious mode thus far. “Who’s Ian?”

  “The fucking asshole,” Jill answered as the words crossed my mind at the exact same moment.

  I recalled those saki bombs; Nate and I had met up with Jill and Ian and imbibed. Not that I’m much for saki, but when in Rome—or Tokyo—so to speak. A saki bomb is a jigger of saki balanced on two chopsticks above a pint of beer. You pound the table with your fists until the jigger falls into the beer then you chug the beer. At least that’s the theory. In my case I go through the pounding ritual then sip at the beer because I’m neither a saki nor a huge beer lover. Okay, I like beer, but I can’t ever drink a brewsky without thinking of all the calories. Don’t ask me why, as I can swill other alcohol without a second thought. Anyway, Jill and Ian were having a wonderful time that night, but Nate and I weren’t, so I couldn’t view the evening through the same set of rose-colored glasses as Jill apparently did.

  We arrived at Someplace Else and were forced to valet park. I always worry that some guy wearing a pair of black pants and carrying a tag-notepad will jump into my car and take off, never to be seen again. I’m fond of my Explorer and as I watched it being driven off I felt a pang of worry, which I did not communicate to Jill or Sean as they would’ve undoubtedly derided me for my fears.

  We walked inside and the bouncer checked our IDs through a computer setup of some kind. I swear, it’s getting harder and harder to cheat and/or talk your way into a bar if you’re not of age—unless maybe you’re Nate’s Tara. I guess I should be glad they still bother to check my ID, but truthfully they check anyone no matter what their age.

  I looked around for CeeCee, worried maybe she was at The Other Place, and I’d screwed up. Suddenly I zeroed in on the one person I really did not want to see: Jackson Wright! Oh. My. God. What the hell was he doing here? And why did he look so damn good, with hair grown a tad long over the collar of a blue silk shirt?

  He was seated at the bar, his back to me. For an immature moment I thought about turning and running, but then I shored up my confidence and sauntered over. I mean, what was the big deal? It’s not like we’d ever slept together or anything. He was just a guy I was bound to run into from time to time since we both lived, and apparently played, around Santa Monica, west LA and Venice.

  I said as an opening gambit, “And here I thought you’d be at The Other Place.”

  He turned to look at me. I was hit afresh by his dark, attractive looks. Not a good sign. He’s got that swarthy complexion and lean, muscular body that gets to me right in the core. I was flummoxed when he smiled widely as if he were truly thrilled to see me.

  “Ginny Blue,” he said, gathering me in a deep hug.

  This was more physical contact than I was prepared for and I immediately tightened up. If he noticed, he had the good graces not to mention it. Instead he released me and said, “CeeCee called me about the party. I thought I might see you here.” His smile was of friendship, nothing more, but it hit m
e in the gut. Or, maybe it was just learning that CeeCee had specifically invited him. That she had his phone number. It was a good thing Kristl wasn’t coming.

  “Is CeeCee here?” I forced out, holding onto my cool with an effort.

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Hey!” Sean said, having finally gotten past the bouncer and coming up on my right. Jackson gave him an assessing look, not unfriendly, just curious. I introduced them, feeling like I was playing a part in some play as Jill joined us, her head swiveling around in search of CeeCee’s party.

  “You know Jill,” I said to Jackson.

  “Of course.” He actually rose from the barstool and gave Jill a quick hug, too, which turned her to stone. Over his shoulder her eyes reached out to me in askance. I shook my head, still bemused that CeeCee had invited Jackson.

  And she hadn’t slept with him, either.

  Jill wasn’t a fan of Jackson. She’d suffered an unrequited crush which had never seriously gotten off the ground. They’d managed some of those almost dates—meet-me-here, we’ll-see-what-happens kinds of things—but as far as I knew it had never progressed much further. For one thing, Ian was always in the background. For another, Jackson Wright never committed. It wasn’t his way. Like me, I think Jill saw that for what it was right away and she veered away from him. Like all of us, she badmouthed him whenever possible.

  As I considered this, I wondered why we all acted so strangely toward him. But I knew. We were all half in love/ lust with him and all our nose-in-the-air disdain was merely to hide our own insecurities. The thought made me squirm. I didn’t want to like Jackson. At all.

  “What have you been doing?” Jackson asked the both of us.

  “Production,” I said.

  “I’m a PA on her job,” Sean said, making it sound far more intimate than it was.

  “Catering,” Jill said.

  “That’s right. You’ve got your own business now.”

  “If you can call it that,” Jill said. “It’s feast or famine. I love weddings,” she added with a catch in her voice. “They’re great gigs.”

  “What about you?” I asked, though I already knew.

  “I’m still a glutton for punishment. Financial management,” he added for Sean’s benefit.

  Sean pretended interest. “Yeah? Cool.”

  “You still taking care of actors, directors, etcetera?”

  “Mostly I’m investing for myself,” Jackson admitted. “And I’m getting involved in some other projects.”

  “What kind of projects?”

  “Film projects.”

  “Really?” I said, totally intrigued.

  He shrugged lightly, dismissing it. “Nothing’s together yet. You know.”

  I nodded. Until the day it happened, one never knew if a project was really going to happen. In the commercial business we were always waiting to see when the job awarded. No use counting one’s chickens until they hatched, because if you did, those chickens would definitely stay in the shell forever.

  “We’ll have to talk,” Jackson said to me.

  “Sure.” Whatever that meant.

  The bartender came and Jackson insisted on buying us all drinks. Jill and Sean ordered saki bombs and squeezed up to the bar beside Jackson to down them, drawing dark looks from the group of girls who’d staked claim to the bar stools on either side. I passed on Ketel One for a gin and tonic. Bombay Sapphire gin martini in honor of ‘Ginny Blue.’ I was actually toying with adding the moniker as a nickname. I could see myself telling everyone I met that my name was Ginny Sapphire Blue, but it sounded sort of pretentious.

  Jackson continued, “When the market went down I lost some clients and had to rethink what I wanted to do.”

  “Taking care of other people’s money wasn’t what it was cracked up to be?” I carefully sipped at my martini. Gin is a little tricky, I always think. Especially basically straight gin.

  “As soon as I decided to get out of the financial management business, some of my clients came back. Go figure.”

  “So, you’re a little of this now, and a little of that.”

  He nodded. “Your friend John stayed with me the whole time, though.”

  “John?”

  “John Langdon.”

  The blood drained from my face. I could feel it. Luckily, the place was dark and hopefully my voice didn’t sound as strangled as it felt when I said, “Oh, yeah, sure. Lang.”

  “You know John Langdon?” Sean breathed, impressed.

  Jackson grimaced, clearly aware that he’d put me in a tough position. I could have kicked him.

  “They had a thing,” Jill decided to reveal, “but she doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  John Langdon. Ex-File Number ... Four. Okay, he’s the real number four. Mr. Famous Actor.

  “It was a short thing,” I said through my teeth.

  “How short?” Jill asked, picking up on the double entendre.

  Jackson’s brows had lifted and he was looking amused. When I didn’t respond he drawled, “According to Lang, that isn’t the case. He can’t keep his mouth shut about its size and where it’s been and with whom.” I must have looked stricken because he added kindly, “Although he refers to you as the ‘one who got away.’ ”

  “Bullshit,” I said.

  “Just the truth,” he assured.

  Sean was staring at me. “Un-be-fuckin’-lievable!”

  To my relief CeeCee and Daphne entered at that moment, followed by a couple of guys and girls I didn’t know. The party swarmed around us and we were carried off to a reserved table. Somehow I’d thought CeeCee’s party was going to be small, but it grew as the evening wore on until we were spilling onto other people’s tables, stealing chairs and tables and absorbing others into our group.

  I stayed sober, being a designated driver and finding that I had no desire whatsoever to have another drink. Maybe it was seeing Jackson, maybe it was learning the disturbing news that he was Lang’s financial manager, maybe it was the phase of the moon. Whatever the case, I had become the least happy person around, and I tried desperately to keep my eyes off Jackson until he had the bad judgment to actually come over and engage me in further conversation.

  I was not interested with a capital not.

  I tried to fob him off, but Jackson can be damn entertaining when he wants to be. For reasons I didn’t want to explore, he seemed to want to be now.

  “Someone ought to watch the candles on the cake,” he observed dryly, “or hair, ribbon, packages are going to catch fire.”

  I was at the far end of the table from CeeCee who was less interested in the usual birthday accouterments than she was in the long-haired guy to her right. People kept thrusting packages and little birthday bags with huge ribbons in her hands, but her eyes and thoughts and ears were bent toward the guy. Jill had told me he was with the radio station. For a brief moment I’d thought it might be the guy with the cigarette burn, but the backs of both hands were unscarred. This was somebody else, apparently. I was relieved to think the ass-grabber could be history.

  Someone said, “What is that? It smells like wet dog.”

  Everyone glanced toward CeeCee. The cake, illuminated by twenty-eight tiny candles, was close to a pile of bags and gifts, but nothing was aflame. CeeCee’s hair, which had been growing out a bit, still wasn’t long enough to catch fire but her male companion’s was. I could see the filaments of his mane curl up and singe.

  Then suddenly tissue paper went up in a bright yellow whoosh.

  “CeeCee!” I yelled.

  Screams echoed through the room. Everyone jumped from their seats. I had to fight to stay where I was. Jackson pushed forward and calmly beat out the flames with a table napkin. Daphne snatched up the cake and held it aloft. The cake teetered for a moment on its cardboard platter and the party collectively screamed as Daphne quickly did a wild balancing act, managing to steady the dessert and miraculously keep the candles flickering merrily away.

  “Geez, Louise,”
I muttered and sat down heavily. Mr. Mane was examining the blackened ends of his hair as Daphne set down the cake and collapsed with relief into a chair. CeeCee looked amused by the spectacle.

  Jill said, “I could use another saki bomb,” which Sean eagerly seconded.

  Jackson shot me a look. I shrugged my shoulders and started laughing. Disaster had been averted. Jackson smiled.

  Before we could settle back into the party, the grim, white-faced manager came over and asked us all to leave. CeeCee’s answer was to blow the candles completely out, then give the manager the finger. Luckily, he’d turned away for just a brief moment, enough to miss her act of insurgence. Jackson took him aside and talked to him and we were all grudgingly allowed to stay.

  I moved toward Jackson as the guests settled back into their seats, a little more alert, a little more sober.

  “You can hardly blame them,” said Jackson. “A fire in a public place ... it’s deadly.”

  “I see the future and it’s a cold, cold place without birthday candles on cakes.” I glanced to the guy with the burned hair. He was desperately trying to laugh it all off while being totally pissed. “What is it with CeeCee and fire around men?”

  “Has this happened before?”

  “Not exactly.” I broke down and told him about the cigarette incident. He wasn’t surprised in the least, as it turns out, which made me give him a long look.

  He admitted, “I knew about what happened with Richter.”

  “What do you mean you knew?”

  “CeeCee and I go out for drinks sometimes. She told me about him. It happened about six months ago.”

  Richter? I was hurt. CeeCee hadn’t revealed this information—this serious information, no less—to her girlfriends but she’d managed to blab the story to Jackson Wright, thank you very much.

  As if reading my thoughts, Jackson said, “She was kind of embarrassed about it. Felt maybe she’d overreacted. She thought he might actually file charges against her and wanted to know what I thought. Jace Richter’s a real asshole, but he’s also a coward. He didn’t want to have to go to court and explain what had provoked CeeCee.”

  “You know him?”