Ginny Blue's Boyfriends Read online

  As I headed for my car I chastised myself for being so petty.

  Holly was leaving at the same time. I said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why was I at the pre-pro meeting?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Owen likes you.”

  Owen was our scowling director. I said, “Really? How could you tell?”

  “He asked you to the pre-pro meeting,” Holly responded with perfect logic.

  I did a quick mental review of my feelings for Owen. He liked me. Did that mean he liked me? If so, could I like him?

  Thinking of his angry, black brows and snapping, snarling commands, I shook off that idea before it could take root. I’ve fallen for directors before, too. I haven’t written them off as completely as actors, but the next time I plan to step a toe into that pond again, I want it to be with someone a whole lot more worthwhile than Owen the Ornery.

  Chapter 8

  My head was so far into the Waterstone Iced Tea commercial that I didn’t keep up with my friends for over a week though they left me a series of cryptic phone calls, reminding me of their current fates. Daphne was now over the moon about Leo, who seemed to be managing to keep himself mano y woman-o, at least for the time being. Kristl was either working or spending her time with Brandon. She’d made no comment on Sean, so I’ve had to assume she missed seeing his bare ass. Since her birthday party, CeeCee had had her nose to the grindstone at work, much like myself, only reporting on my voice mail that she’d been on a date with a coworker and it had gone all right. I wondered if the coworker was Mr. Mane. Then she startled me with the bad news: the guy she’d nailed with her cigarette, Richter, had obtained a permanent position at the radio station. CeeCee sounded mildly contrite about it all, but she rallied back at the end by adding, “At least he’s no longer working at Sammy’s, but I wonder whose dick he’s been sucking at the radio station?” to which I called her back and left my own voice message: “Your boss’s, obviously.”

  “No way,” she said, phoning me back almost instantly. “My boss can’t stand him. It’s the owner he’s in tight with. He hired him in the first place, but he’s not around. He just swoops in and creates havoc from time to time. Trust me. It’s not my immediate boss.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Cheese-Dick’s going to be heading right back out the door if he even looks at me funny. My boss is with me on this.”

  “Good.” It all sounded weird, but hey, I don’t know what goes on over there. It was CeeCee’s gig. “So, who was your date at the party? The guy with the singed hair?”

  She snorted in disgust.

  “You’re not dating him?”

  “He’s a total waste. Works mornings bringing coffee. He just heard about my party when I was inviting Gerald, so I invited him, too.”

  “Who’s Gerald?”

  “My boss. He couldn’t come.”

  She jumped off the phone after that. I was left with the impression there might be something percolating between CeeCee and the boss. Cheese-Dick looked like he was a political hire, someone no one wanted but who knew people at the top, but he was going to have a tough time if CeeCee and Gerald became partners.

  My thoughts turned to Jill, who of all my friends was worrying me the most. She’d catered the shoot as if in a fog. For all anyone knew, Jill and I could have been strangers, that’s how little she’d talked to me. But she caught me after work one night and I quickly learned that what had started out as Jill merely dogging Ian’s heels appeared to be turning into something far more serious. I’d cautioned CeeCee about loaning Jill her car, and that was a huge betrayal in Jill’s eyes; she thought I’d torpedoed her, somehow. I’d just been trying to keep things from going over the edge, but Jill hadn’t seen it that way. Two days ago she’d chewed me out, big-time.

  “You think I’m a sicko, don’t you?”

  “You’re the one who told me what you’d been doing.”

  “And you kind of brushed me off!”

  “You’re mad at me?” I said, a bit hurt.

  We’d met for a quick drink at the teensy wine bar across the street from my condo and not far from the garishly lit Sav-On store, which was where I bought everything from Tide to Beringer’s Founder’s Estate Chardonnay, my current favorite white wine. I was tired and just wanted to go to bed, otherwise Jill and I might have trekked the couple of blocks to the Love Shack and indulged in an Amethyst. We were through filming and heading into post-production, but this had been Jill’s last day. I had wrap ahead of me, which meant nearly a week of balancing and closing the books on this job. I had to make sure that all monies were accounted for, that all rental equipment was returned, that every penny was coded and marked and logged where it belonged. My head was working out a knotty conundrum all the while Jill was yammering at me, so, okay, maybe I wasn’t as empathetic and attentive as I could have been.

  Still, I didn’t expect her to suddenly scrape her chair back and march out of the place, leaving me with staring eyes all around and the bill.

  I threw down some money and charged after her. “I don’t deserve these histrionics,” I told her in short order. “You’ve got a problem. I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

  She stopped short in the parking lot and rounded on me. “Can’t you just be on my side?”

  “Your side?” I questioned.

  “You told CeeCee to stop loaning me her car. How do you think that made me feel?”

  “I guess I was hoping you’d realize what you were doing before things got out of hand.” I was getting hot under the collar.

  “That is so unfair,” she said, wounded.

  “He called you the night of CeeCee’s birthday party. You told me you were meeting with him, but you never told me about it. I gotta tell you: I got the impression it did not go well.”

  “It went okay.”

  “Yeah? Then, why are you—” I stopped.

  She gazed at me. “Stalking him?”

  I spread my hands. We were talking in circles.

  She hesitated, looking oddly uncertain for someone usually so bullheaded. Then she burst out, “It’s all such crap! It’s so silly. I know him, but he acts like we’re strangers. How can he do that, after everything?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t know either. I mean ...” She sighed and her lips trembled slightly. Pressing them together, she drew a deep breath. “He wants me to stop by tonight.”

  “Well ... good.”

  She shook her head. “I have that stuff your friend Sean gave you. Maybe I should try some.”

  “Before you see Ian?”

  “I’m nervous as hell. I feel like everything’s fallen apart. I don’t think I can see him stone-cold sober.”

  It had scarcely been three weeks since he’d offered up the diamond engagement ring. “Sometimes,” I said, picking through my words, “there’s a point in a relationship when a decision has to be made.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that you’ve probably hit that point.”

  “No.” Jill shook her head in utter denial. “Why does it have to be all or nothing? It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.”

  I shrugged by way of an answer, effectively ending our conversation, and Jill went to her car without another word. She hadn’t called me since her meeting with Ian, and I’d been reluctant to phone her. We’d entered that weird zone of friendship where nothing was safe. I had this mental picture of myself jumping from one floating piece of ice to another, all the while afraid I would miss my footing and fall into frigid water and go into hypothermia and drown. I was afraid Jill wouldn’t talk to me again. I was afraid she’d transfer her upset and anger from Ian to me.

  This had bothered me more than I cared to admit. My answer was to make an appointment with Dr. Dick. His receptionist smugly told me that he was booked up till the following month. I really felt I needed some serious counseling a bit sooner, but I scheduled the future appointment anyway. I had a moment of pure bliss when the re
ceptionist called back, clearly on Dr. Dick’s orders, as she would never go out of her way to do anything to help me, and asked in a clipped voice if I could make it for the following Wednesday, as they’d had a cancellation. Grinning, I told her I was delighted and would be there with bells on. She hung up without a goodbye.

  Today was that Wednesday. Thinking about Dr. Dick, I glanced at the clock. I’d just gotten off the phone with one of our PAs and now had a throbbing headache. All the PAs had been given several hundred dollars of petty cash at the start of the shoot. This was money they needed to either a) bring back if unused, or b) bring back receipts for proof of purchases. However, a group of them had been running errands and had apparently passed around the cash to each other as if they were dealing cards. So, Mike had ended up with five hundred dollars whereas Carlos only counted $60.00. Sean was short about a hundred and ten, and someone named Bettina, whom I’d never even seen, was supposed to come back with a pile of receipts and straighten it all out. I’d screamed at all of them about the dangers of passing money around, how they were ultimately responsible, how they might not be offered future jobs because of their negligence and to a one they’d responded with hurt and apology and loaded silence that meant, “What a hysterical bitch.”

  Holly appeared in the midst of my search for some aspirin, or whatever available painkiller I could get my hands on. I would have settled for Sean’s/Jill’s devil weed if it had been nearby. “What’s up?” I asked, as her role in the job was basically over.

  “We’ve been hired on for another job. In Sedona.”

  “Arizona?” I asked, though I knew full well where Sedona was.

  “Uh-huh. Pre-prop next week. Can you do it?”

  I’d really wanted a week off between jobs. I hesitated. Working with the Holy Terror again so soon might be bad for my health.

  “Well?” Holly demanded impatiently.

  But it was good for my financial health. “Yeah, let’s go. Who’s the client?”

  “House About You? Will Torrance is directing.”

  She left and I sat back a moment. I’d heard of Torrance. I’d heard he was kind of a player. Attractive as hell. Dangerous. . .

  “Anyone’s better than Owen the Scowler,” I said to the room at large, just as a young woman who looked like a flower child in a long flowing skirt and mane, peeked tentatively into the room and dropped a cascade of receipts onto my desk, which had been crumpled in her grimy little fist.

  “I’m Bettina,” she said with a sweet smile. “Sean’s friend.”

  I looked at the messy, crumpled pile. I should have been nicer to Sean.

  Settling myself into one of the uncomfortable blue office chairs in Dr. Dick’s waiting room, I picked up a magazine and studiously ignored Janice, as her name tag read, the snooty receptionist. She shot me a superior look and, without bothering to hide her delight, told me Dr. Dick had been called away on an emergency and that I would have to wait. If I hadn’t traversed the Greater Los Angeles area to get here—and been desperate for the appointment—I might have turned on my heel and left right then and there. But that would have been admitting defeat in our cold war, so I smiled instead and said brightly, “That’s great. I’ve got phone calls to return,” and promptly started dialing merrily away, leaving messages and talking to my friends—even some mere acquaintances—as a means to while away the time. There was no one else in the waiting room at this time, as, I supposed, the receptionist had managed to actually phone Dr. Dick’s other appointments and warn them of his absence. This left me to chat, chat, chat away. I had the satisfaction of seeing the snoot’s generally pissy expression become downright black with suppressed fury. Life is full of unexpected pleasures.

  Dr. Dick breezed in, looking decidedly unwound from his usual appearance. He shot me a surprised look, said, “You waited? I’m sorry. Janice should have rescheduled you.”

  This instant blaming of Janice—rightly so—warmed the cockles of my heart and caused her expression to change from disgruntled glower to ashy horror. I became the “bigger person” and said, “Oh, no problem. Actually gave me some time to get some stuff done.” I lifted my cell phone.

  Dr. Dick came back to his usual in-control self with a bang, picking up the nuances very quickly. He ushered me into his inner office and said he’d be right in. I chuckled to myself and settled into a squooshy mocha suede chair. The outer office was all clinical chic, but inside the furniture was made to melt inhibitions. It sure as hell worked with me.

  Apparently it was taking a few minutes for Dr. Dick to switch gears from his emergency. However, by the time he entered he was once again calm, competent, and pressed: his usual demeanor. He’d also changed clothes, and was now wearing a different pair of jeans and a white shirt. I could see the crease. I’ve got to admit, I envy people who actually iron their jeans. They look fantastic. Not that I would ever bother.

  He said again, “Sorry about the delay.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I was called in on an emergency.”

  “One of your patients flipped out?”

  He shook his head. “One of Dr. Drenmill’s.”

  “Psychotic break?” I’m nothing if not nosy.

  “Interruption of meds,” he explained, then gave me that straightforward look that means it’s time to get to the matter at hand. I find this look very sexy, actually, and I felt an odd twinge of guilt for a moment before searching around in my head to find the cause: Sean. A rush of disbelief followed. Sean? I felt guilty about lusting after Dr. Dick because I felt somehow beholden to Sean?

  “So, what’s happened since we last met?” Dr. Dick asked.

  “Nate and I broke up. He took up with a junior-high student and now they’re living together.”

  “How old is she?” He was used to my hyperbole, which is really just a fancy word for exaggeration which basically means lying. I’m into hyperbole, as Dr. Dick well knows.

  “Nineteen? Twenty?”

  “And he started seeing her while you and he were still roommates?”

  “They worked together, I guess. Things ... were falling apart between us anyway.”

  Dr. Dick considered. Without pulling out my file, which sometimes he does just to remind me of the tale I told the last time I was in his office—since I like to “hyberbole” a lot—he said, “You mentioned feeling suffocated and trapped in the relationship.”

  “Did I?” That gave me pause. “Sometimes I really piss myself off.”

  “In what way?”

  “It would be nice if just once I could keep things to myself.”

  Dr. Dick managed a faint smile. “That’s not exactly the point of therapy, is it?”

  “Do you talk to all your patients this way?”

  “No.” He gazed at me, clearly calculating how forthright he should be. He took the Dr. Phil ‘no holds barred’ approach and said, “Some people need to be gently introduced to the truth or they can’t assimilate it. But you want it bold and unvarnished and right between the eyes.”

  I blinked, feeling he might have actually hit me in that spot. “Who says?”

  “You do. Every time I talk to you.”

  “All right. I woke up one morning wanting to lock Nate out of my life. I did manage to lock him out of the bathroom. Then that night he showed up with Tara. He said he knew how I felt about him and was moving out. It—surprised me. And I didn’t like it.”

  “So, now you’re living alone?”

  I nodded. “Well, no. My friend Kristl, who’s been married three times, is temporarily living with me. She just got engaged again, though, so having a roommate will be short-lived. I should bring her to see you. There’s something really wrong with her.”

  He paused for a very long time. I had the feeling I’d touched on something in his own life, but I knew he’d been married only once. The divorce had been civil and discreet, and I’d only heard about it after the fact. Dr. Dick had been single for over a year, which had only increased my fanta
sies where he was concerned.

  “Have you thought about how you feel about Nate? Since he moved out?”

  “Sure. Lots.” I snorted. “I’m not that sorry, actually. It is what I wanted,” I admitted. “It’s just that having it taken out of my hands kind of ... deflated me, I guess.”

  “You’ve moved on.”

  I nodded. I looked around the office and resisted the urge to play with my cuticles, an old habit I can’t quite break. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my Ex-Files lately. All the members. I even called Charlie. Ex-file Number One,” I clarified. “Hearing his voice was like fingernails on a blackboard. He said he might stop by and see me when he’s in LA. It scared the liver out of me.”

  “Charlie was your first real boyfriend.”

  “My first sexual encounter, if you can call it that,” I said. “He wasn’t really a boyfriend. Then after Charlie I thought about Ex-File Numero Dos—Kane Reynolds. You know him? The motivational speaker?”

  Dr. Dick looked interested. “Sure do. He’s going to be in LA next month.”

  I stopped short, not sure how I felt about this news. “You’re into that stuff?”

  “More like I saw his name listed in the paper,” he said with a smile.

  I love it when Dr. Dick smiles. It’s just so ... cool. The curve of his lips briefly derailed me from my trip through the Hall of Exes, which is how I envision all those in my past. Like they’re standing behind the doors in a long hallway. If I could get past them all to the end of the hallway and step outside, I might learn something valuable. But it’s a long, long way ... .

  “Then I skipped ahead to Ex-File Number Four,” I said. “I don’t usually count him, but I’ve been warned by my friends that I can’t just skip over him. I haven’t told you this before, but number four is John Langdon, the actor.”