Chapter 26 ZACHERY AND THE RED RIVER
Chapter 26
Z ACHERY AND THE R ED R IVER
Kelsey seems subdued as we load our cars the next morning. She texted around eight that she was headed to a small Wyoming town north of Cheyenne and dropped a pin at a motel she’d found.
It looked atrocious. I quickly searched up a house to rent and found several. I booked one and sent her the link.
She said she would stay at her place, and I could stay in mine.
I get it. The aftereffects of our night have hit me, too.
I spent a good chunk of the evening drinking brandy-laced coffee with Livia. She told a lot of stories about Dillville, and I subtly steered us away from any of her hints about having a dalliance. She didn’t push.
It was good. It kept me from brooding about Kelsey or, worse, sneaking into her bed.
When I got back to my room, I checked on her, sleeping soundly in the old-fashioned four-poster bed. She was beautiful and ethereal, surrounded by floral sheets and lace.
I will never forget our night.
There is no open phone call or shared song list on this leg of the journey. She drives ahead of me, and all I see of her is the vague bulge of her loose bun over the headrest. Mostly, I follow her taillights and wonder if we made a grave mistake last night.
We get off the interstate when she pulls into a large truck stop with charging stations. There’s a diner, and I park nearby and walk up to her with trepidation as she hooks up her hybrid.
Normally my interactions with women the day after are easy. I set the tone, making clear that I’ll let the woman know if another opportunity arises to get her some press, as if everything that transpired was always about her career.
Then I don’t call her again unless that scenario comes to fruition, which, honestly, is rare. Desdemona doesn’t give them much opportunity to prove themselves. Her list is deep with stalled-out hopefuls.
But with Kelsey, I’m in uncharted territory. We work together. I’m here to help her out of the low period she’s been in.
And speaking of periods, she’s having one. Right through her cute white shorts. There was no hint of it last night.
She’s having trouble with the lock of the charging-port door, bent over, peering at it.
“Hey, Kels,” I say.
She bangs the door and it pops open. “There,” she says, plugging in the cord. “Now we wait.”
“Hey.”
I think she might be ignoring me, but then she turns. “Hey.”
I fumble for words. “I think something is happening.” I shift my gaze to her shorts.
For a moment, her mouth opens like she’s shocked I would say that. I realize she thinks I’m propositioning her again.
“No, no, I mean, there’s something on your ...”
She looks down, but I think from her angle, she can’t see it.
“What?”
“Bleeding?” I manage.
She bends farther over, and this time, she sees it. “Damn it!” She turns in a circle a moment, then practically leaps into her back seat. She surfaces with the gray sweater she’s been wearing to bed and a pair of denim shorts.
“Oh, underwear. And the cup.” She isn’t speaking to me, but herself.
I take several steps back, and she turns around to dig some more.
When she emerges the second time, she ties the gray sweater around her waist. “I guess I’m going in.” She’s not embarrassed, which makes me glad. It’s a normal thing.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just unexpected. It’s fine. I should have known. Ugggh.” She hurries toward the diner in long, power-walking strides.
I rush to keep up. “I’ll see you in the diner in a minute? I’ll get us a table.”
She stops short, seems to think about it, and turns. “Of course. Yes. Get a table. Thank you.”
“Your usual coffee?”
She shakes her head. “Drip coffee with room for cream.”
“Oh?” This is new.
“I’m trying to be less high maintenance.” Then she’s off again.
The waitress inside the diner points me to an empty booth. I order two plain coffees in solidarity.
When Kelsey returns, she slides into the seat with a long sigh. “It’s already been a day.”
I push her mug toward her. “I’m not sure this is going to help. I’m happy to drive as far as I need to go to get an iced espresso with almond milk and a drizzle of caramel, shaken rather than stirred.”
She dumps a tiny prepackaged slash of cream and a packet of sugar into her coffee and stirs. When she takes a sip, she grimaces. “Maybe I can be Hollywood on the road and small town when I have an audience.”
While she checks email, I find a Starbucks a few miles away and order a DoorDash to bring it to the diner. She can at least have good coffee on the drive.
We order pancakes and talk about where Desdemona’s headed after Cannes, the filming of a snappy mystery set in London. We’re not going to be there, but she will.
“I’m worried poor Devonta is going to crack if the Demon gets too harsh with her,” Kelsey says. “It’s only her second project.”
I’m incredibly relieved that we’re able to talk business like always. “I’ll see who’s on the crew. Maybe we can find someone to watch out for her.”
Kelsey rims the edge of her pancake with syrup. She doesn’t like to pour it on top. “Everybody is scared of the Demon.”
“You’re not.”
Kelsey shrugs. “Neither are you.”
“That’s how we’ve managed to stay employed.”
“I’ve seen the books,” Kelsey says between bites of pancake. “She doesn’t pay you enough to be worth your time.”
“It’s the intangibles I’m after.”
Kelsey aims her fork at me. “You mean the women.”
It’s like last night never happened. I’m not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“It’s the connections,” I say. “I get to stay in the fray.”
She stabs the last bite of her pancake and swirls it through the remaining syrup. “Do you think you’ll get an agent again? Go for parts?”
She’s asked this before. “No. If I was going to work on-screen again, I’d call in the favor with Desdemona.”
Kelsey sets down her fork. “You think she’d do it?”
“I could make her. But I don’t.”
“Because people would say you didn’t earn it.”
I shrug. “People will say what they want to no matter what.”
“That’s true.” She sips her coffee, then grimaces again. “It’s worse cold.”
I spot a car with a DoorDash sticker pull up. Right on time. A young, lean man steps out, coffee cup in hand, and looks around. I wave at him through the window.
Kelsey spots him. “Did you order yourself good coffee?” She smacks my arm with her napkin.
The man enters. “Coffee for Kelsey?”
“Right here,” I tell him.
He sets the cup in front of her and takes off.
The waitress sidles up. “I don’t blame you, but seriously?”
I shrug. She’ll forget her annoyance when she sees her tip.
Kelsey hangs on to the cup like it’s her infant child, both hands wrapped around it, pressed to her cheek. “You love me, Zachery Carter.”
I probably do, but I simply say, “I prefer not to be murdered by a menstruating woman.”
She lets out a low shriek. “You are the worst!”
I laugh. “I know.”
She sips the drink and groans, a sound that hits me straight in the groin. “You know what you never see in rom-coms?”
“What?”
“Menstruation. Nobody gets their period in those movies.”
I grunt. “It’s too realistic.”
“Great. Another thing I’m getting wrong on this trip.”
Was last night the other thing she got wrong? I don’t want to know. “Come on. We’ve got to hit the road.”
“To the motel?” she asks.
“To the house.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m staying in the motel.”
I drop cash on the paper ticket as we slide out of the booth. “I’ll get you Starbucks again in the morning if you stay in the house.”
“Damn it. You know my weaknesses.”
I drape my arm around her shoulders, determined to keep our light banter the way it’s always been. “Every single one.”
“But still no.”
And when she calls me the moment we’re back on the highway, challenging me to black-and-white-movie trivia as we drive, I know I’ve done the right thing in keeping things light after what happened in Dillville.
The world of Zach and Kelsey has been put back in its rightful place.
Somebody needs to tell that to my heart.