Chapter Twelve
We pulled up to a simple white house with a beautifully lit, cactus-lined driveway. It was a lot smaller than I expected of action star Drew Williams, and it stood in contrast to Chris Stanson’s massive mansion. Drew entered a code on the keypad, and a modern white security gate opened to reveal a large entranceway where Drew’s vintage red convertible and a black Tesla SUV sat parked next to each other. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the house, revealing a much grander estate than I had guessed from the outside.
The limo pulled up diagonally at the front door, and we filed out, Janelle and I the last to leave. We raised our eyebrows at each other, a nod to how chic this place was, then exited the car. Jaqueline unlocked the door, and we followed her inside while Drew tipped the driver.
The spectacular view hit me as soon as I entered his home. Giant windows exposed a stunning panorama of Century City skyscrapers in the forefront and the whole Los Angeles basin beyond them. With the exception of a few obligatory Southern California palm trees, Drew had a completely uninterrupted and breathtaking view of the valley below.
The house was modern without being cold, masculine without being brutish, and done up in shades of gray with the occasional pop of color, mostly coming from an impressive modern art collection that included a large Catherine Opie print in the front entranceway.
“How much of this was you and how much of this was him?” I asked Jaqueline as she showed us around.
“You don’t spend your whole life around lesbians and gay men and not absorb some of our fabulousness.” She led us into a meticulously organized black-and-gray kitchen. “Shall we have a charcuterie plate with our movie? Popcorn for dessert?”
“Sorry, Janelle, Jaqueline is my new best friend,” I declared as Drew’s mom opened a long, black cabinet door to reveal an almost-empty refrigerator.
“Andy never has food in his house anymore.” Jaqueline sighed. “I miss the days when he was the chubby sidekick.”
“Check the catering kitchen.” Drew pointed to a hidden door off the side of the room. “That fridge should be full.”
“It’s cool, I have a catering kitchen with a second fridge, too,” I said as Jaqueline walked into the other room, this one all white. “We just call it our garage.”
“And I have a wine rack just like that.” Janelle pointed to the glass-enclosed cellar that took up a whole wall. “But, you know, under my sink.”
“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” Drew said, grabbing four wine glasses from the cabinet.
“Somebody has to,” I replied, noticing a sculpture of a curvy, naked woman reaching up into the glass from outside.
“Is it too much?” Drew asked.
“Oh no.” Janelle walked to the wine cabinet and opened one of its four glass doors. “It’s just right.”
Jaqueline reentered with an assortment of cheeses and cured meats loaded in her arms. “I’m glad Serena keeps food for your guests to eat, or we’d be starving.”
“You just ate a five-course meal,” Drew pointed out.
“Who’s Serena?” I asked, helping Jaqueline lay out an array of food.
“His personal chef,” Jaqueline explained.
“Fancy,” I replied.
“Luckily she still keeps salami and popcorn in the house.” Jaqueline handed me a link of cured meat, and I began unwrapping it.
“What wine goes with salami and popcorn?” Janelle slowly walked down the rack, examining every bottle.
“Actually”—Jaqueline reached into her purse and took out a paper bag with a green cannabis cross on it—“I was thinking maybe some of this instead.”
“Yes!” Janelle and I squealed in unison.
Drew shook his head. “What have I gotten myself into?”
I wondered the same thing as his eyes met mine and my heart fluttered a bit. Drew Williams was a handsome, funny, charming, rich movie star. He was the definition of irresistible, and apparently, I was feeling the allure since my stomach filled with butterflies each time he looked at me. Who wouldn’t long to be sucked into his world of personal chefs and celebrity-packed secret dining rooms?
I had to remind myself that I was enamored with the dream, not Drew, as Jaqueline handed me a package of aged ibérico to open.
“You two go pick out a movie,” Jaqueline ordered Drew and Janelle. “Diana and I have this.”
“This place is unreal.” I gawked at Drew’s kitchen—one of two, I reminded myself—which now felt even larger with just us in it. “This whole night has been unreal. I’m not used to hanging out with famous movie stars.”
“Try being the mother of one,” Jaqueline replied.
“Tell me the truth,” I said, struggling to open the package of ibérico. “Does Drew really like my film, or is he desperate to produce something and I’m cheap?”
“It must be good if Andy likes it,” Jaqueline reaffirmed, handing me a pair of scissors. “He has a keen eye for great scripts.”
Then why has he been in such shitty movies lately? I thought, slicing cucumbers to eat with the cheese instead of crackers, which Drew didn’t have.
“I can feel you rolling your eyes.” Jaqueline handed me another cucumber to cut. “But those Total Destruction movies paid for this house, and they will pay for your film. Drew was looking for a cash cow franchise, and he spotted it among the hundreds of scripts that flopped before they even began. He knows what makes a good story, he knows this business, and most importantly, he knows what moviegoers want to see.” Jaqueline paused, grabbing a large wooden serving board from the cupboard. “I worked hard to raise a sensitive, kind, intuitive boy,” she continued, placing the board down in front of me. “He has turned into a handsome, rich, famous man, so too often people forget that he’s still that tender boy under it all.”
“I can see that.” I nodded.
“He took you to putt-putt,” she explained.
“Is that supposed to mean something?” I asked.
“And he invited you here,” she continued.
“He invited Janelle here, too,” I pointed out.
“He didn’t take Janelle to putt-putt,” she countered, like that explained it all.
“I didn’t realize miniature golf was such serious business,” I joked, trying to lighten the tension.
“He likes you,” Jaqueline said. “That’s a good sign. For your movie and your ability to work together.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I decided to change the subject. “Does he have any honey?”
“I think in there.” Jaqueline pointed to a cabinet on the other side of the stove that matched the fridge. “Don’t let the tabloids fool you into thinking my Andy is anything like the man he plays on screen.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I don’t expect him to save the world from an impending nuclear disaster.”
“God help us all if he were our only hope.” Jaqueline laughed, turning away to place chopped walnuts in piles between the chunks of cheese. “What I’m trying to say is he’s picky. If he’s taking you to putt-putt, bringing you to my birthday, and inviting you here, then you’re special. And that means your script is also special. Just don’t take advantage of him, or you’ll have to deal with me.” Jaqueline pointed a knife at me, only half joking.
“I won’t pretend like the perks of hanging out with him aren’t nice”—I gestured around the house—“but I’m not some gold digger trying to manipulate your son. If this movie gets made, I want it to be because of the quality of my script, not because he took pity on me one day.”
“Good for you.” Jaqueline lifted the charcuterie board in one hand and her cane in the other. “Make sure you keep it that way,” she said on her way out.
I stood there in the kitchen, shocked. Was Drew Williams’s mother really worried I’d hurt her rich and famous son? I assured myself that she was simply being an overly protective mother—rightfully so, considering how sweet, trusting, and instantly open with people Drew was. Someone could easily take advantage of him. But I wasn’t one of those people.
Shaking off our conversation, I grabbed the rest of the food and found my way to the living room, which had been converted into a luxurious screening area complete with plush reclining chairs and a vintage movie theater popcorn maker. Drew beamed at me when I entered. He looked so happy and proud right then, a little kid excited to show off his toys to new friends.
“Before we begin, shall we?” Jaqueline reached into her little bag with the green cross on it and pulled out a joint. We all jumped up excitedly and followed her to the edge of the backyard, Los Angeles laid out below us, rare rain clouds brewing above. As Jaqueline lit the joint, Drew pointed to his indoor/outdoor pool and told us it was heated if we wanted to go swimming later.
“This place is a real shithole,” Janelle declared.
“Complete dump,” I agreed, taking the joint Jaqueline offered me. I took a puff and then handed it to Drew, a spark of electricity zapping us as we touched.
“Looks like a storm is coming,” Jaqueline noted, her head lifted, her voice deep and husky. “Let it rain.”
Her words sparked a memory in me, and I started singing “The Late September Dogs,” my favorite Melissa Etheridge song, all about the rain setting love free. As if we’d cast a spell, the sky opened, and water started pouring down on us. We continued singing, grabbing each other’s arms and twirling as Janelle and Drew ran for cover.
“This song was playing when I kissed my first girl!” I confided in Jaqueline.
“I once had sex in a rainstorm to this song!” she countered, and we both laughed at the absurdity of it all, dancing in circles and continuing to sing as our clothes and bodies got drenched. Drew and Janelle yelled at us to come inside, but we ignored them, giddy with the kind of feral joy that came from magical moments of connection.
“Come join us!” I yelled at my best friend.
“We’re both wearing Gucci shoes!” she yelled back.
“Take them off!” I cried, throwing my own now-ruined footwear under the awning where they were standing and grabbing each one by the hand. “Come on!”
Janelle released my grip as she carefully discarded her designer items, but Drew held on tight as we ran out into the rain, clasping on to each other. I looked over at him, and his eyes locked onto mine as we twirled in the tempest, Jaqueline continuing to croon.
At once, I was two places in time. I was a teenage girl sitting on the hood of a purple Geo Prism parked on a country dirt road, a Melissa Etheridge CD blasting from the cracked speakers, surprised to find my lips pressed against another girl’s for the first time. And I was also a grown woman, standing in the lawn of a mansion overlooking Hollywood, shocked to find myself longing to press my lips against a man’s for the first time in years. Time stopped. My heart stopped. Drew moved closer, and my whole world felt topsy-turvy, my axis tilting. I worried I would slip and fall, but Drew was there, his arms strong, holding me up as we spun faster and faster.
Janelle squealed loudly as she entered the storm, breaking my trance and reminding me where I was—and who I was. Not the kind of girl who dreamed of kissing men in the rain, that’s for sure. I dropped Drew’s hand and took hers, gaining some distance before I did something I couldn’t take back. Unlike me, Drew seemed unfazed by the whole situation, grabbing his mother with one arm and Janelle with the other, creating an adult version of “Ring Around the Rosie,” everyone belting out Melissa Etheridge at the top of our lungs as we swung around. We’d probably all have pneumonia in the morning, but it would be worth it. This was a moment I’d never forget.
When we’d had our fill, we giddily ran back inside, Janelle and I shivering as Jaqueline grabbed us all towels and Drew ran to find a change of clothes. He returned with two old shirts and some sweatpants for us to lounge in. I took the larger black pants and Guns N’ Roses shirt, and Janelle took a cozy-looking white shirt with gray sweatpants, then both of us ran off to change in the guest bathroom off the kitchen.
“This evening just keeps getting better.” Janelle smiled as the smell of popcorn started wafting through Drew’s house.
“Get comfortable,” Jaqueline insisted as she walked over to the vintage popcorn maker and filled up bowls for all of us, placing them next to the charcuterie board I’d almost forgotten we’d made earlier.
Drew pressed play on the movie, and the sights and sounds of Italy filled the room as the opening credits rolled for Roman Holiday .
“Good pick.” Jaqueline smiled as she reached for some popcorn.
“One of my favorites,” I admitted, grabbing a bit of salami.
“Janelle gets all the credit,” Drew said as Audrey Hepburn’s face lit up his giant screen.
It felt wonderfully cozy there in our reclining seats, faux-fur blankets tucked around us. Drew’s equipment was state of the art, and I wondered if this was what it was like seeing Roman Holiday when it first came out in theaters. Audrey Hepburn’s Princess Anne sounded even more poised in surround sound, and Gregory Peck looked exceptionally handsome in high definition.
When the movie was over, the popcorn was gone, and the charcuterie plate was wiped clean, Jaqueline invited us outside to finish the joint with her. Drew and I both abstained—I’d had enough for the night—but we still went to keep Janelle and Jaqueline company under the now-clear sky.
“William Wyler sure did know how to tell a good story,” I gushed.
“I met him once at a friend’s wedding. She was a close childhood friend of his daughter Catherine,” Jaqueline claimed.
“What was he like?” I asked.
“Old.” Jaqueline coughed through her laughter. “I think he died about a year later.”
“He has three Oscars for directing,” I noted. “Second only to John Ford.”
“Okay, Professor McBride.” Janelle laughed.
“We went to film school together,” I explained, answering Jaqueline’s questioning look.
“Ah.” She took one last hit of her now-tiny roach.
“This has been so great.” I let out a yawn. “But I really should head home.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Jaqueline declared. “It is too late, and this night has been too magnificent for it to end. You will stay here—Andy has plenty of room and amenities.”
We tried protesting, but Jaqueline wouldn’t hear it. Instead, she led Janelle and me down a hallway and into two guest rooms with an adjoining bathroom between them.
“Help yourself to anything in here.” Jaqueline opened the drawers to reveal top-of-the-line toiletries, including Nopalera soap and a full lineup of JVN hair products. She walked to the hallway and returned with a washcloth, hand towel, and bath sheet (apparently that’s what you call a very large towel) for each of us.
“I stocked this place myself for visitors,” she beamed proudly.
“You did a great job,” Janelle complimented, admiring a brand new beautifully sleek electric toothbrush.
“I took all kinds of needs into consideration”—Jaqueline reached her hand into a drawer and came out with a silk bonnet for Janelle’s hair—“but obviously I have blind spots, so let me know if either of you find the supplies lacking, and I will remedy that.”
“Thank you again for everything tonight.” I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for how welcome they’d made me feel in their lives.
“Our pleasure.” Jaqueline hugged us both good night. Drew followed suit, and soon Janelle and I were alone standing in the bathroom surrounded by expensive toiletries and designer towels. We looked at each other and started giggling, the high of the evening hitting us. I ran and jumped on Janelle’s bed, prompting her to run and jump on mine.
“Switch?” I yelled, hopping up and heading back to the room I’d started in. Janelle didn’t move, so I flopped down next to her.
“I think I like your room better,” I said, laughing at my own joke. Both rooms were identical, down to the last pillow sham. We giggled some more, letting the effects of the evening settle in. “I can’t believe this night.”
“Same.” Janelle opened a drawer next to the bed to find earplugs, eye masks, tissues, lube, condoms, and even dental dams, all neatly arranged together. “How did we get here?”
“‘I led you here.’” I grabbed an eye mask and placed it over my face like sunglasses. “‘For I am Spartacus.’”
She smiled, hugged me, and headed into the other room. We both washed our faces with expensive soaps, applied lavish lotions, brushed our teeth with fancy electric toothbrushes, and said good night, heading to our respective plush beds.
Tugging off Drew’s sweats, I climbed in, the giant, white comforter engulfing me like snow. I giggled with delight as I made angels in the high-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, kicking my feet up and down under the covers. Adult me had kept her cool all night, but the teenage girl inside was jumping with excitement at the evening’s events. It was all too much, and yet every molecule of my being wanted more.
This was the life I wanted.
This was what I’d been waiting for.
I shot up in bed, too excited to sleep. Instead, I got up and padded out into the house, heading for the kitchen. Kitchens , I reminded myself, laughing at the ridiculousness of being in a house with two separate kitchens, each at least twice the size of ours at home. I searched cupboards and ransacked the fridge, but everything I found was empty.
“Looking for something?” Drew said from the other side of the refrigerator door.
I jumped, startled, and yelled a bit too loudly at him. “Snacks!”
“This way.” He chuckled, taking my hand. I didn’t let go as he led me through a set of doors and into his all-white second kitchen. “Sorry, but I don’t have any cheese fries.”
“It’s fries with cheese,” I corrected him as he let go of my hand and opened his fridge. Food packaged in labeled glass containers filled the shelves, with some liquids and condiments on the door.
“I don’t have any fries with cheese, either, but I do have this.” He handed me a large container marked “munchies.”
“Wait, your private chef makes you food to eat when you’re high?”
“Not only for when I’m high.” Drew closed the fridge. “I don’t smoke that often, but I’ve got a sweet tooth, and she makes sure it’s satisfied in a way my trainer approves of.”
I opened the container to find small dark truffles, mounds of coconut dipped in chocolate, and what looked like peanut butter cups.
“Here”—Drew picked up a truffle and handed it to me—“try this.”
The rich ball of chocolate melted seductively on my tongue. “Holy Goddess! Is that cayenne and cinnamon?”
“She says they’re good for you.” Drew popped a chocolate ball in his mouth.
“My taste buds agree.” I reached for a coconut cluster, which was equally delicious.
“Nice outfit.” Drew gestured at my baggy T-shirt, smiling at my bare legs. In my euphoria and excitement, I hadn’t bothered to put on the pants he’d given me, and my lacy see-through underwear poked out from under his Guns N’ Roses shirt.
“I’m Porky Piggin’ it, as my sister would say,” I replied, trying to tuck my shirt down a bit more. “I kind of wish I’d worn less revealing lingerie this evening.”
“It’s sexy.” Drew looked me in the eyes.
“It’s the Guns N’ Roses shirt,” I deflected, trying to ignore the shiver in my body as he gazed at me. “You get some of Axl Rose’s allure by proxy.”
“It’s you,” he insisted, and I found my hand brushing against his.
“You’re high.” I felt my body gravitating toward his.
“I’m sober now,” he said as I intertwined my fingers with his. “Are you?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to talk.
Drew used his free hand to pick up another truffle and offered it to me. I parted my lips, and he placed the chocolatey goodness in my mouth, fingers lingering as he brushed his thumb against my face. I sighed as the dual sensations of decadence and desire flooded my body.
Drew smirked and moved closer to me, bending over, stopping inches away from my lips, close enough for me to feel his breath against my neck but far enough apart that I was given the option of what to do next: lean in or pull away.
Lean in?
Or pull away?
Lean in or…
“Diana,” a voice whispered rather loudly from the other room, and I quickly untangled myself from Drew’s body. “Diana!”
“In here.” I opened the door to let Janelle into the white kitchen. “You okay?”
“Mad munchies!” Janelle declared.
“Here.” Drew handed her the box of sweets.
“Your chef makes you munchies?” she asked, reading the label. “I can’t wait to be rich.”
Janelle dug into a peanut butter cup, moaning loudly. Behind her, Drew grabbed my hand and gave it a quick squeeze before letting it go again.
What the hell just happened? a voice asked in my head.
I had no idea how to answer it.