Ginny Blue's Boyfriends Page 17

  “Who? Sean?”

  “Yes, ‘Gin Blue-san.’ What the hell is that, anyway?”

  I tried a diversion tactic, not certain I’d be able to explain even if I wanted him to know. “Toss me a Jolly Rancher.” I turned toward him. “Green apple or fire.”

  “Grape?”

  “No.”

  “Lemon?”

  “Are you deaf?”

  “Don’t have any of those left. Watermelon? Oh, wait. One more fire.” He suddenly hurled it at me. I instantly ducked to avoid putting out an eye. The candy pinged against the window and fell into my waste can. I fished it out. Luckily, they’re individually wrapped so I wasn’t too worried about mine coming in contact with anything icky.

  “What are you two throwing around?” Holly demanded, throwing open her inner office door as I popped the candy into my mouth.

  “Jolly Ranchers,” I mumbled, sucking in air to cool my mouth. Hot cinnamon. Holy mama. Doesn’t get any better than this.

  “Want one?” Tom asked.

  He looked ready to fire one her direction and she shook her head and asked me, “Think Sean can drive a cargo van to the job?”

  Jolly Rancher cinnamon juice slipped into my windpipe. I started choking. A cargo van to Sedona? Eight and a half hours away at a good clip? With Sean toking away for all he was worth?

  “God no!” I rasped out.

  The front door banged open and slammed against the wall as Sean, who entered a room about as softly as a jet engine, stuck his head inside. “Am I supposed to go get lunch?”

  We all went dead quiet—except for my compressed coughing as I tried to fend off an all-out cinnamon attack.

  Holly said, “In a while.”

  With a shrug of his shoulders Sean slammed the door shut behind him. A faint, familiar odor floated in his wake. Tom made a motion of drawing hard on a joint behind Holly’s back. I studiously ignored him and said, “I think I might have somebody else already.”

  Holly nodded and returned to work. It really wasn’t her job to hire the PAs. I don’t even know why she mentioned Sean. Maybe she sensed something wasn’t quite jake about him, that his responsibility level lay a little on the low side. Maybe, like Tom, she suspected something was up between us. I needed to squelch that idea, and fast.

  “Who do you have in mind?” Tom asked curiously once Holly was out of earshot.

  “Someone who doesn’t smoke on the job.”

  “Aha.” Tom smirked. “Sean’s usefulness is over and you’re ready to get rid of him.”

  “I can’t risk him behind the wheel,” I snapped.

  “So, who are you gonna get?”

  “Maybe no one.”

  “Come again?”

  “I can drive the van myself.”

  He stared at me. “You?”

  “Yeah, me.”

  I pretended that it was a normal choice. Just a Ginny-Blue kind of whim. The thing is, as production manager, it’s understood that I should be flying with the Above-the-Liners. But the trip was on a commercial airline to Phoenix, and then a small hopper to Sedona. I’m not good with small hoppers. Circling my brain was the thought that I could drive the van myself and we could pick up an extra PA in Sedona to make up for Sean. It would save one day’s PA pay and it would mean Sean wouldn’t have to be on this job at all. I could live with that. My reasons were entirely selfish; I wanted Sean out of my sphere. Avoidance. One of my favorite answers to problem solving. Not exactly the kind of responsible decision making appropriate for a production manager.

  But I was the production manager. So anybody who wanted to argue with me could just piss off.

  “I have a friend who may go with me,” I added, more to myself than Tom. Since our breakfast at Sammy’s CeeCee had called several times, which was unusual as she only used the phone when absolutely necessary and her conversations were notoriously brief. I’d picked up that things at work were still messy and when I mentioned I was about to leave for Sedona, she’d said she might come with me—as if I’d invited her. Clearly, something was up at work.

  “Who?” Tom asked.

  “Someone who might PA for me.”

  This suddenly seemed like a great idea. Still, it didn’t help my stress level to have Sean keep shooting me a smile when he dropped in the productions offices. I felt like a heel. This was really low.

  “I’m a shit,” I muttered under my breath.

  “What?” Tom asked. He’s so nosy.

  I ignored him and called Dr. Dick. I don’t like being a shit. By some strange and wonderful alignment of the stars, his usual receptionist was out of the office. The temp said, “There’s a cancellation this afternoon at three. Does that sound okay?”

  “See you at three!”

  It wasn’t the most satisfactory of sessions. I’d come in all jazzed to tell him about what a terrible person I was and he hit me with, “Tell me about your friends,” almost before we were settled in our client/doctor chairs.

  I frowned at him. What was this all about? “You want to know about my friends?”

  He gazed at me steadily. I was completely aware of the fact that he’d removed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves up his arms. I could see the hair on his arms and I liked the way his hands looked—capable and strong, no namby-pamby pink palms for our Dr. Dick. “You intimated that you’d made some kind of pact with them,” he said. “That exploring your ‘Ex-Files’ is your part of a bargain with them.”

  I quickly reviewed my conversation since I’d walked in the door. Yes, I’d made some throwaway comment about the Ex-Files, but it had been said as a means to segue into what a horrible, deeply troubled soul I was. How I used and abused people. How selfish and egocentric I’d become. I felt (and maybe I was wrong here, okay; I’m willing to admit that I reach for cheap drama from time to time) that Dr. Dick would be more interested in me if I were truly a black hole of depression.

  “That’s not really the important part,” I explained. “I don’t even know why I mentioned it.”

  He was not deterred. “What are their parts of the bargain?”

  Well, for crying out loud. This was my therapy time, not my friends’. But then I figured a straight answer might be the quickest way to move back to what was really important: me. “Okay, in a nutshell: Jill’s going to try to stop stalking Ian and start eating again. CeeCee’s going to fix things at work. I don’t know what that’s all about as yet, but it’s got to do with this guy who she calls Cheese-Dick. Personally, I’m kind of flattered that she’s started naming her exes, too, although he isn’t strictly an ex as he and she never got together.” I hesitated, then added, “She burned him with a cigarette after he kept grabbing her ass.”

  “On purpose?” Dr. Dick asked.

  “Well, yeah.”

  When he didn’t offer further comment, I added, “And Daphne always picks the wrong guys. Her latest slept with his first real girlfriend after he and Daphne got together. He acted as if it was okay because he should have slept with her in the past but didn’t because their relationship was in high school and it just didn’t happen.” I paused. “He’s an actor. Up for a role in Losers, Inc. A new teevee show.”

  He seemed to absorb my recap. I added, “Daphne said she was going to make an appointment to see you. Has she?”

  “I haven’t looked at my schedule.”

  “I’m sure she used me as a reference. Oh, and my friend Kristl’s leaving for Seattle. Already left, I think. She’s getting married for the fourth time.”

  “You don’t sound happy for her.”

  “I’m not.” I was point blank. “I think she’s making a huge mistake, but at least she’ll have some experience to draw upon when it goes south.”

  I waited for him to say something else and when he didn’t, I asked, “Are we ready to talk about me?”

  He smiled. “Step right up.”

  “One more thing.” Although I was desperate to go on and on about Ginny Blue, I said, “My mother called me right before I ca
me here.”

  His brows lifted. I think all therapist types get excited when a patient mentions her mother. Moths to the flame.

  Mom had caught me on the fly. I’d been distracted anyway, what with the job and my friends and thoughts of the Ex-Files churning around in my head, so when she announced, “I’m coming to LA to get my eyes done. I hope you’re going to be around. I’d love to stay with you,” I was initially too blown away to do more than repeat, “You’re coming to LA to get your eyes done?”

  “Do you have room?” she asked.

  I shook the cobwebs out of my head. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Oh, good.”

  Lorraine Bluebell—she of the big-ass purses—was coming my way. I snapped to and asked, “Why aren’t you getting this done in Portland?”

  “I met the doctor on a plane trip. We sat by each other. One thing came to another, and I was signing up. You know, a lot of these new agents are younger and younger.”

  “Real estate agents?”

  “The competition. I gotta stay in the game.”

  “And you think getting your eyes done will even the playing field?”

  “Ginny ...” Mom sighed as if I were extremely dense.

  “Mom, you’re good at what you do.”

  “Thanks, sweetie. So, what’s your schedule?”

  I heard myself telling her about my pending trip to Sedona. Since she wasn’t due to visit until after the shoot, she was thrilled. Before I could really process everything, Mom had booked herself to stay with me for a week at the end of the month.

  Then she dropped the bomb and asked, “Will Nate be around?”

  At this point in my narrative Dr. Dick interrupted me to ask how long Nate and I had been apart. A few weeks, I answered back. He nodded and I continued:

  I could feel the seconds tick by on the phone as Mom waited for an answer. I finally decided to bite the bullet. “Nate’s not really spending a lot of time here anymore.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Well ... he moved out. We’re not together anymore.”

  I inwardly cringed. My mother really liked Nate. After Don the Devout, Nate was her favorite.

  “What about Don?” she asked, right on cue.

  “I haven’t seen him in a while, Mom.”

  “I got a card from him at Christmas,” she said.

  Well, of course you did, I thought. Don the Devout loved Christmas. A salesman, he sent cards out at any given opportunity. He probably had my mother’s birthday listed and sent her birthday cards, too. He was like that. Handy with a date book and a scripture. Though undiagnosed, he was one of the most obsessive/compulsive people I’d ever run across. It’s a wonder I managed to stay sane when we were together, but I guess somebody had to.

  “So ... I guess Mom’s coming to visit,” I finished, tossing up my hands in surrender.

  Dr. Dick said, “You get along fairly well with your mother.”

  “This is true. I’m just not sure how many days we’re talking about. My next job’s in Sedona and then Mom comes.” I paused, then added, “CeeCee might go with me to Sedona.”

  “The one who burned a man with her cigarette?”

  “It was a little burn,” I defended. “A warning. If she’d had a can of mace, she would’ve used that. The cigarette was at hand, so to speak.”

  “You intimated this happened at her workplace.”

  “The radio station. Yeah.”

  “Do you think her way of dealing with sexual harassment was better than going to her employers?”

  I gave Dr. Dick a sharp look. “How do you want me to answer that?”

  “Try giving it your true feelings.”

  Funny man. Though he tried to hide it, I could hear the sarcasm beneath the quiet statement. Leaning forward, I said, “Here’s the thing: though I’m kind of appalled, since, hey, there’s enough violence out there already, I almost admire her. She’s cool and collected and fearless. I mean, truthfully, the guy who grabbed her ass? What is he? A masochist? If you meet CeeCee just one time, you have a pretty good idea what she’s about. And if you want to push her, you’re going to feel it. Like, you don’t piss off a three-hundred-pound bouncer at a fancy club. You just don’t do it. The guy’s a moron.”

  “Have you met him?”

  “Yes, actually. He moonlighted at this restaurant where we all hang out. In fact, CeeCee thinks he took the job just to get in her face. I think she’s right. But then he got his job back at the station, so he’s gone now.”

  “What do you think she thinks of him?”

  “Why ask me?”

  “You seem to be struggling with this.”

  “No.”

  “They both work at the radio station?” I nodded. “How do you think that’s working out?”

  “Terrible. She can’t stand him.” Something must have showed on my face because Dr. Dick’s brows lifted in expectation. I said heatedly, “Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to read CeeCee. Maybe he wanted a reaction. Maybe he wanted her to notice him. Any way around it, he’s seriously screwed-up.”

  “So, no blame goes to CeeCee?”

  “Do you want me to say it was wrong? Okay, it was wrong. She verbally warned him and he ignored her. If he thought it was an okay mating ritual, he was wrong.” My conscience twinged. What had CeeCee thought about it? “I don’t know why we’re talking about this. It’s CeeCee’s problem, not mine.”

  “I just wanted your opinion.” He smiled.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “You gave it to me.”

  He was clearly happy with me. No dissembling this time. Right to the bottom line. “I know, I’m disgustingly normal, right?”

  The smile widened. “Have fun in Sedona,” he said, without even looking at the clock. The guy has a sixth sense about when a session is up. My eyes took in a last, lingering glance of him. Damn. The man was delicious, and I’m not even the kind who usually thinks in those kind of adjectives.

  “Maybe you can suggest to your friend that secondhand smoke should be the extent of a cigarette’s harm to others.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled with the free advice,” I said dryly.

  It turned out CeeCee meant it when she said she wanted to accompany me to Sedona. I mentioned we could probably use another PA on the job, and she dropped everything to jump on board. Though the Holy Terror bitched mightily about the time it would take me to drive, I stuck to the plan and CeeCee and I took off early on a foggy Santa Monica morning after loading up the van with a mountain of camera equipment. The trunks of cameras, lenses, etc. weighed about forty pounds apiece and the van was stuffed to the gills with them. By the time we were heading toward the 10 east my arms ached from weariness—and we had eight and a half hours of driving ahead of us.

  We made it to West Covina before CeeCee felt compelled to light up. I knew she was struggling not to smoke in the car because she knows it about asphyxiates me. I tried not to cough too much because I was glad for her company. Still, my eyes felt gritty, my arms dull, and I knew I was going to have to hit the ground running as soon as we got to Sedona.

  We were traveling along in relative silence, desultorily bringing up thoughts as they occurred to us. I managed to tell her about my mother’s impending visit and my feelings about Sean and how I’d taken the van in order to keep him off the job, and she returned with comments about the traffic, the music on the radio, and the weather.

  My cell phone sang merrily and I answered to Daphne. She was barely coherent.

  “He dumped me!” she cried when she finally got her voice beyond sobbing gasps. “Leo! He got the part and then he dumped me!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it.

  “Leo?” CeeCee asked quietly, and I nodded as Daphne raged on about what a loser he was and how she was just a stupid, stupid, stupid idiot to have possibly believed that he could actually care about her. I offered words of solace—the clucking of a mother hen—and she suddenly had to get off as another call was comi
ng in on her phone.

  I hung up and said, “Huge Waste of Time.”

  CeeCee half laughed. “You called that one.”

  “So, what’s going on with you and work?”

  CeeCee looked out the window, thinking over a response. After a long moment, she admitted, “I’ve fallen for a guy.”

  This was so not what I’d expected that I did a classic double-take and nearly missed my turn off for our In-N-Out burger, one of the last in California, though there are a few in Arizona, I think. There was only a slight squeal of tires and a whole helluva lot of honking behind me at my last-minute turn to the off ramp.

  “Not Cheese-Dick?”

  “Give me a break.” She pulled out another cigarette and turned it end over end, tapping it against the pack on each rotation. “My boss.”

  “Your boss? Gerald something?”

  She regarded me curiously. “Did I tell you his name?”

  “Yep.” I didn’t want to add that Jackson had already told me that his client, the station manager, CeeCee’s boss, was interested in her. I’d mistakenly believed she’d been interested in Cheese-Dick, but it had been Gerald all along. I should have been relieved, I guess, but it sounded like an even bigger, messier can of worms.

  I waited for more information and as we headed into the In-N-Out, CeeCee said, “Okay, here it is ...” and proceeded to give me the complete story as I ordered and sat down to eat my protein burger.

  CeeCee’s boss, Gerald Coopmoor, was in the throes of an ugly divorce with his soon-to-be ex, Pat. To hear Gerald tell it, Pat was a bitch extraordinaire, but CeeCee had met the woman and found her to be witty and decent. CeeCee had chalked Gerald up as a complete corporate loser bending over for the conglomerate bigwigs whenever they demanded. She silently cheered Pat’s decision for the divorce.

  But then, one night, when the usual DJ called in sick, Gerald asked CeeCee if she could take over. Naturally, she jumped at the chance. And Gerald stayed and helped and played general dogsbody to CeeCee, and during the broadcast CeeCee managed to get bleeped less than a half a dozen times so it was a big win all the way around. Gerald was so proud of her that he took her out for a few drinks later. He made no moves on her and listened intently when she told him the full story about Cheese-Dick. Gerald had been against hiring him back, but had been overridden by one of the station’s investors—who just happened to be Cheese-Dick’s uncle. Nepotism at its worst. Upon hearing CeeCee’s side of the story, Gerald immediately planned to fire Cheese-Dick, but CeeCee waved that away.