Ginny Blue's Boyfriends Read online

  “Lots of guys go see their old girlfriends,” said Jill. “They have to. It’s like they need to make sure they’ve made the right decision. That they didn’t let the right one get away.” I gave her a sharp look, wondering if she was referring somehow to Ian. But no, she appeared to just be trying to help Daphne along in the telling of the Saga of Leo.

  “So, how was the ex?” CeeCee asked.

  “Well ... he said she’d gained some weight.”

  “Promising,” I murmured.

  “Watch out,” CeeCee said. “If it gets really ugly, he’ll do the same to you when it’s over.”

  “If it’s over,” Daphne corrected.

  “So, what happened?” Jill asked.

  Daphne squirmed a bit. We all leaned in closer. “This was a girlfriend from high school. I don’t know if he ever really got her out of his heart before now. She came through LA last week and they—saw each other,” Daphne said. She’d grabbed her napkin and was systematically shredding it. Jill, CeeCee, and I exchanged glances.

  “They slept together?” I asked, watching bits of napkin float to the floor.

  “Yes.”

  A weighty pause ensued. Jill looked at Daphne as if she might be crazy. “And you’re still with this loser ... inc.?”

  “They’d never slept together before,” insisted Daphne. “It just didn’t happen when they were together, so they did it now. That’s all. Just to get it out of their systems.”

  “Oh, god ...” Jill shot me a look that said, “Don’t just sit there! Get in here!”

  I reached a tentative toe into the water. “That isn’t exactly a reason.”

  “Oh, go ahead, Blue. Act like my mother.”

  “Well, Jesus, somebody has to,” CeeCee told her. “You make an excuse for this, you’re making excuses all the way.”

  I was mildly surprised. CeeCee sometimes has an offbeat take on romance. You never know which way she’s going to jump. This was a pretty conventional reaction for her.

  Daphne apparently agreed with me. “I thought of all people that you’d be on my side!”

  “Was it one time?” Jill asked, sounding like she felt this might matter. “With the ex?”

  “One time is more than enough,” I pointed out, surprised again that I seemed to be siding with CeeCee, not Jill.

  “It was only once,” Daphne assured.

  “So he says.” CeeCee murmured.

  Jill asked, “You’re in love with this guy?”

  Daphne nodded curtly.

  “Then, I don’t know what I’d do. A few weeks ago, I would have said dump him. But it’s hard.”

  CeeCee turned from staring disbelievingly at Jill, to gazing directly at Daphne. “Stop it now, before it gets worse.”

  “You’re all just a wealth of advice, aren’t you?” Daphne sniffed. She gazed toward the doors where Leo had departed.

  “What do you want from us?” I asked. “We don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I just wanted you guys to meet him, to get to know him. Maybe even like him!”

  “You may have to get new friends for that,” CeeCee observed, just as the waitress finally came to take our order. “Because honestly, Daphne, from what I’ve seen and what you’ve said, what’s there to like?”

  Food. It strikes fear in the hearts of anorexics and bulimics alike. Since I was neither of these things, I tucked into my Monterey omelet with gusto. Shrimp, crab, and a sweet cheese I wouldn’t even try to pronounce. My saliva glands went on overload while Daphne, silent and wounded, disinterestedly chased a tofu scramble around with her fork. Personally, if that were my diet, I’d probably quit eating, too. But Daphne wasn’t the one with the serious problem. CeeCee didn’t have an eating problem, unless you counted possible lung cancer as a side effect. Her answer to weight control was simple: substitute cigarettes if you gain a few pounds; smoke steadily in place of food until you lose weight. The idea makes me absolutely shudder. I find that I can’t walk into a restaurant that still allows indoor smoking; smelling that permeating odor on all the fixtures and furniture makes me unable to eat ANYTHING. But, each to his own.

  No, as I’ve said before, it’s Jill with the anorexic/bulimic tendencies. One hell of a dilemma for a caterer. She’s also one of those who likes to bake, cook, and create. It’s apparently an odd kind of aromatherapy. But if she dares to imbibe, she makes a run for the bathroom. I’ve caught her a time or two but have yet to call her on it. She’s an odd personality to have this problem. Every other anorexic I know—and in southern California there are more than a few of them—is a self-destructive, secretive pleaser churning with inner anxiety. But pugnacious Jill is one for the record books. She’s so not the type to have an eating disorder, yet real food rarely passes her lips. Alcohol, yes. A dressingless salad here and again.

  Today I tried hard to keep my eyes on my own plate and resisted the urge to smack my lips. Jill had ordered a parfait glass full of granola and yogurt. She kept sticking her spoon in and pretending to lick off the yogurt, all the while surreptitiously slipping the spoon back inside again.

  Most of the time I ignore her habits, but lately I’m having more and more trouble. I don’t know exactly what came over me, but one minute I was chewing my omelet, still feeling prickly about the Liam Engleston incident, wondering about Jill’s relationship with Ian, annoyed with Daphne for being so blind about Leo and currently sitting over there nursing her hurt, and worried about CeeCee and what was going on in her romantic world—and I guess you could say I just kind of lost it. Into the pall that had settled over our table I said suddenly, “Jill, eat something, for God’s sake.”

  Three heads popped up, eyes full of surprise and/or horror at my bald statement. I didn’t care. I bit into a piece of toast and chewed heartily.

  “Well, thanks a lot, Blue.” Jill looked torn between tears and fury. “I’m eating this granola parfait.”

  “I feel like we’re all just lying to each other,” I said, feeling something inside just boiling up. “Jill, you cook. You bake. You foist food on us sometimes, as if that gives you some kind of perverse pleasure. But you pretend to eat.”

  “By the way, I love those blueberry tart things you make,” Daphne slipped in.

  “You’re not helping,” I pointed out tautly.

  “Sorry.” She lapsed back into wounded mode.

  “Why are you attacking me?” Jill demanded. “I’m not dating Leo.”

  “Wow.” Daphne shoved her tofu aside, stunned.

  I said, “I just want it all out on the table. You’re torn up about Ian, and I know things aren’t settled. And you don’t eat. And Ian knows it. It’s part of the problem.”

  “Oh, I’m a big problem. Thanks. Good.”

  CeeCee said, “I’ve got shit going at my job. Relationships and stuff.”

  “I’ve got problems, too,” I said. “I just feel like we’re all tiptoeing around everything and it’s not helping any of us.”

  “What are your problems?” Jill demanded.

  “Hey, I go to Dr. Dick, don’t I? I don’t do it for my health.” I stopped, thought a second. “Actually, I guess I do.”

  “He said you were disgustingly normal, or something,” Jill pointed out.

  “Well, I’m not.” I turned to CeeCee. “You’ve got a problem at work?”

  “I hate everyone I work with.”

  “That’s not a problem. That’s the human condition,” said Jill.

  “I don’t really hate them,” CeeCee contradicted herself. “It’s just ... a mess.”

  Daphne said, “Well, you all think I pick the worst men. And you hate Leo.”

  “More like we’re worried he isn’t right for you,” I clarified.

  “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

  Deciding 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?”