Chapter 12 #3
I felt a flush at that, and took a long sip of water to staunch the flood of heat into my face.
Yes, a thousand years ago or so, Rebecca had told me I was the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen.
Surely she’d seen prettier girls by now.
And she’d been—well, not different, not exactly.
But she had shown up to Apple-woods with a small suitcase full of jeans, shorts, and T-shirts, no Gucci loafers to be found.
Her glasses—which I’d gotten really good at tugging off her face before kissing her—had been basic square frames, nothing like the designer pair she wore most regularly now.
As far as women went, these days, Rebecca Frisch was way out of my league.
She wasn’t even complimenting me! She was making a point about how roles were cast, the types of people women were allowed to be. It didn’t mean anything beyond that, and for my body to take it as a compliment was humiliating.
“How do they make you fly?” the female director man asked, and I eagerly dove into a discussion about core strength, practical effects, CGI, and The Volume, which was a special soundstage with LED video walls that still felt a little like insider information to people outside of the industry.
Our entrées arrived, and conversation slowed.
The table was eager to share their thoughts regarding productions from past Jaffe seasons, and even though I had my own opinions, I listened and stayed neutral.
Rebecca too, though she was mainly speaking to the woman next to her, while I tried my best to not worry about that.
Yes, the woman was a bit older than us, but certainly still age-appropriate and beautiful in a low-cut dress that radiated money and undeniable sexuality.
Me, I wasn’t even connected with my body!
Who cared! Rebecca Frisch was out of my league and I didn’t date anyway and if this stupid hot lady wanted to hit on her all night, well, good for her.
By the time dessert and decaf coffees rolled in, I was eager to get home, back to Rosie and back to places I could sit without watching Rebecca be seduced by someone who wasn’t me.
Not that I wanted to seduce Rebecca! I couldn’t imagine myself seducing anyone; it was practically impossible to remember it had once happened at all.
“Oh no,” an old woman practically shouted, and I looked over to see that somehow she’d dropped her spoon at the exact right angle to splatter coffee in Rebecca’s direction. A brown splotch bloomed on that bright white cuff.
“Don’t even worry.” The low-cut woman leaned over and grabbed her clutch bag, from which she pulled out a Tide to Go pen. “May I?”
“My hero,” Rebecca said, watching as the woman slowly and gently moved the pen back and forth across her wrist. Jesus Christ, I’d never wanted to be a pen before. Or, I realized, to punch someone, but it was unbearable watching this play out before me.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, and then, for some reason, “female restroom.” I imagined the donors texting their kids and grandkids that Tess Gardner had to pee and decided I could live with that. Rebecca didn’t notice, thank god, because of everything happening with slutty Tide to Go over there.
By the time I returned, the chocolate tortes had been consumed and the coffee cups were low.
Even though LA days were warm in early fall, at night a chill crept into the air, and the older donors stood from their chairs—and a few got additional selfies or asked me to pose like the princess—and made their way to the valet stand.
Tide to Go stood, too, but not before I saw her slip a business card to Rebecca, who tucked it into her jacket pocket.
“Hey there,” Neil said, walking up next to me. “Some recon in the lobby? The wine sponsor sent way too much, so Steph and I thought we could at least help them get another bottle handled.”
“I’ve already had a glass, but recon sounds good,” I said, grateful to be included in the group.
“Wait for Rebecca and bring her back too,” he said, so I had to stand there while Tide to Go said goodbye for what felt like several years.
I didn’t want to watch but I couldn’t look away.
I imagined the plans they were making, the sex they’d have later, the way Rebecca would walk into rehearsal tomorrow like it was business as usual.
And it hit me like a slap in the face how I was jealous, how I wanted Rebecca, how I couldn’t imagine I’d found myself in a scenario where this played out before me and I just had to let it.
Maybe I deserved it, the heroine getting revenge on the villain who’d broken her heart, but I didn’t have to like it.
“Thanks for waiting,” Rebecca said, walking over to me. “Is everyone headed out?”
“Neil has a whole thing about extra wine and recon,” I said. “But I’m sure if you have plans—”
Rebecca grinned. “I love the sound of wine and recon. Come on.”
A ridiculous rush of relief washed over me as we walked together to the lobby, where Neil and Stephanie were sitting on the empty merch booth and already drinking from paper cups.
“I feel guilty using the glasses from Sylvie’s and, what, bringing them back to wash tomorrow?” Neil said.
“Plus free wine tastes best out of paper cups.” Rebecca grabbed the bottle and poured two very full cups before I could tell her not to. “How’d your evening go?”
“I don’t want to make this about me but I’ll just say it wasn’t my dream scenario to sit there and watch Neil get microaggressioned about twenty-five times,” Stephanie said, shaking her head. “Neil is my hero for getting through it.”
I accepted a cup from Rebecca and took a small sip. “Yeah, a man asked how Rebecca became a female director and I wanted to scream.”
“What about you?” Rebecca asked, and took a huge swig. “Wow, this wine is not good.”
“Absolutely not,” Neil said.
“Anyway, I’m sure you two noticed just how many photos Gardner took, and her eyes never looked dead inside.”
“Princess Platinum would never have dead eyes,” I said. “It’s not canon. Oh, except for the time Fractilicus captured her, but that was a pretty obscure issue.”
“Wow, are you actually a nerd?” Neil asked.
I laughed and shook my head. “No!”
“Yes,” Rebecca said softly, right into my ear, and I laughed even harder.
“Maybe a little. I did a deep dive before my first Pantheon audition. And the comics are amazing, some of the old ones are pretty bonkers. It was so fun to read them.”
“Gardner’s a reader,” Rebecca said. “She read at least twelve books about girls from rural places, violence in small communities, before Hometown rehearsals started.”
“What’s with the whole Gardner thing?” Neil asked, refilling everyone’s cups. I hadn’t realized I’d drunk half of mine. “You two know each other already?”
I glanced at Rebecca, waiting for it to be revealed. Whatever she deemed it to be. All these weeks not breathing a word to anyone—barely to each other—and now whatever it was would be up to her. It was only fair.
“Yeah, a million years ago,” she said. “It’s not intentional, just how I think of her. I assumed she’d stop me if she minded. She used to say—”
“I have three older brothers,” I explained. “I never got to be Gardner! It was always one of the boys. Girls should get to be their last names too.”
“Hear, hear,” Rebecca said, holding out her paper cup, though attempting to clang our cups against hers ended up with most of the remaining wine sloshing out. Maybe Tide to Go would get to fuck her later, but at least Rebecca still remembered stories I’d told her a million years ago.
It felt like only moments later that Verne showed up, their phones poised, but from their disappointed expression and the collection of wine bottles, I realized that we’d been here a bit and also—
“Are you all drunk?” Verne asked in an exhausted tone. “I was hoping to film some content tonight.”
“My bad,” Neil said, which struck us all as very funny.
“What kind of content do you need?” I sat up straight and wondered if I was sober. From the blurry edge to my words, I guessed not so much.
“Yeah, Verne, we can do content,” Rebecca said. At some point she’d taken off her jacket and untied her scarf, and I would have done a better job not noticing just how unbuttoned her shirt was if I hadn’t helped finish off the very bad wine.
“I should have gotten to you all earlier.” Verne sighed and shook their head. “Do you all have ways home? We do need to lock up the lobby.”
Since Rebecca had over a mile to walk and the rest of us had driven, it became apparent that we did need transportation home.
For some reason—details were easy to miss when you were drunk and I was definitely drunk for the first time in a very long time—we ended up waiting at the curb for Verne to pull up in their orange Chevy Spark.
“I have to get in the front seat,” Neil said in an embarrassed tone. “I’ll get carsick otherwise. Even without the worst wine anyone’s ever given me. But especially with the worst wine anyone’s ever given me.”
“That’s fine,” Rebecca said. “Don’t get carsick, Neil.”
“I’m not sure someone six-foot tall can fit in the back seat,” Neil said, though he did get into the front passenger seat while saying it.
“I’m only six-foot in heels,” Rebecca muttered, waiting for Stephanie and me and then squishing in next to us, her thigh tightly fitted against mine, her chin all but resting on the top of my head, her breasts pressed into my side.
“You’re wearing heels,” I said as Verne put the car into gear.
Even in the darkness, I could see Rebecca make a face at me. “What?”
“You said you were only six-foot in heels, but you’re wearing heels,” I explained, and she laughed.
“I forgot how cute you are when you’re drunk. Verne, this is me, that building on the—”
“I know,” Verne said, pulling over. “You gave me your address when you got in.”
“See you tomorrow, everyone,” Rebecca said, taking a while to clumsily unfasten her seat belt, and brushing my hip several times in the process. “Sorry about that, Gardner.”
“It’s fine, what happens in a Chevy Spark stays in a Chevy Spark,” I said, which struck everyone, minus Verne, as hilarious.
Verne waited safely for Rebecca to let herself into her ex-wife’s building, and took off for Stephanie’s place. At some point I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, Verne was clearing their throat loudly while parked outside of my gate.
“Sorry about this,” I said, scrambling to get out of the car. “Thanks for the ride. I feel like this is above and beyond social media managing.”
“Eh, it’s not the first time I’ve done this,” they said, which made me laugh as I closed the door. Verne rolled down the window. “I will have to get some content tomorrow, though, so remember to hydrate.”
I nodded emphatically, trying to redeem myself as Professional Actress Tess Gardner. “Of course. I always hydrate.”
Verne watched me for a second. “I don’t have the phones out, you know. You can be yourself as much as you want.”
Oh, Verne, I thought, letting myself inside. If only that were truly an option. Imagine how my night could have gone.