Chapter 10
Nic
“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, Nic.” Ida looks past me. “I just spotted Avery Hall.”
“She’s had a massive crush on her since Queer Girl Summer came out.” Faye may roll her eyes, but her voice is full of mischief.
Ida and Faye’s banter is just background noise as I turn around. I look straight into Avery’s face. I try not to smile, but the corners of my mouth seem to have a life of their own. It’s completely wrong to think of a client this way, but she looks smoking hot. To the point of smoldering—
“Excuse us.” Ida and Faye barrel past me as they walk over to Avery.
“Hm,” Derek hums in my ear. “It looks like Faye and Ida may enjoy something in their sandwich, after all.” He puts a hand in the small of my back. “Let’s go meet the toast of the town.”
My heart hammering in my chest, we take the few steps that separate us from the group of three that Avery, Ida, and Faye have formed.
Pull it together, Nic. For crying out loud.
“I’ve seen it at least five times,” I hear Ida say.
“And that’s a gross understatement,” Faye says.
“Honestly,” Ida, who I’ve never seen like this, says, “you are sensational.”
“Nu-huh.” Avery’s smile is wide and gregarious. “You’re Ida fucking Burton and I worship at your goddamned feet.”
Oh, no. As Avery shoots the breeze with Faye and Ida as though it’s all she’s ever done in her life—with the kind of charm that’s both dazzling and easy—I know I’m in trouble. Even more so because I can’t keep my eyes off her.
“Excuse us, ladies,” Derek butts in. “Is there room for a gay man in this conversation?”
“There’s always room for a gay man in any conversation,” Avery says.
Ida introduces Derek to Avery. While Derek looks around for Ben, Ida turns to me and says, “This is our good friend Nic.”
For a split second, I have no idea how Avery will react.
“I know Nic,” Avery’s voice is as smooth as glass. “She’s my shrink.” Her smile is blinding as she fixes her gaze on me. “Hey. There you are.”
“Hi.” Unlike Ida, Faye, and Derek, I can’t get chummy with Avery. “Good to see you.” My voice sounds as though it doesn’t belong to me.
Luckily, Ben joins our group and, despite being a mere civilian among Hollywood stars, he has a way of sucking all the attention to him.
“I’m going to get some air,” I whisper to Derek. He seems just as enthralled with Avery as Ida and Faye are. And I totally get it—all too well.
On my way out, I grab another glass of champagne. On the patio, I’m accosted by a few of Leslie’s friends I haven’t seen in ages, and we talk, and reminisce, and drink more champagne but, all the while, I’m much too aware of the magnificent star power of one particular person at this party.
I’ve finally found a moment to catch my breath, to process what I felt when I saw Avery—and to start hatching a plan of action.
I crash into a lounge chair in the far corner of the garden, beyond the shimmering blue of the swimming pool.
I drain my glass of champagne. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had—surely too many.
But it’s my sister’s birthday. And I don’t know where my head is at.
But I will need to get my bearings soon.
If not, I’ll have to fire myself as Avery’s therapist. There’s simply no other way about it.
“I may need an extra session this week, Doc.”
There goes my heart again at the sound of her voice. Without asking, she pulls up a chair.
“Are you okay?” I ask, trying to sound professional.
“It’s a bit weird seeing you here, but, well, I know how it looks. When I’m in there and Ida Fucking Burton is all over me… you know that I’m just one of those people with first-world problems.”
“That is not what I saw, Avery.”
“What did you see?” She rests her elbows on her knees and that skimpy vest she’s wearing scoots down, leaving very little to the imagination.
“A hot movie star.” Come on, Nic.
“Oh, yeah?”
“I’ve known Ida for a long time and I’ve never seen her like that.” I try to pull myself together, but all that champagne is not helping.
“It’s the whole queer movie thing. Some people go a bit cray-cray over it.”
“It’s a next-level queer movie. I mean, if you compare it to the tameness of Ida and Faye’s movie —”
“Still, A New Day was revolutionary,” Avery says.
“Absolutely.” I need to get up and walk away from this situation, but my legs are unwilling to cooperate.
Avery tilts her head. “How many times exactly have you seen Queer Girl Summer?”
“I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it may incriminate me,” I blurt out.
“I’m sorry.” I bring my hand to my mouth.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” I try to, at least, straighten my posture.
“We shouldn’t be talking like this, Avery.
It’s my bad because it’s my responsibility as your therapist.”
“I don’t mind.” Avery locks her gaze on me.
“That’s not the point.” Why am I still in this chair?
And why am I acting like this? There are at least two of my other current clients here and so many former ones, I can’t even begin to count them.
I’ve barely registered their presence, yet I can’t tear myself away from this particular client.
Is it her star power? How she holds herself with an amount of—frankly, rather intoxicating—confidence I wasn’t expecting?
I’ve been working with celebrities for the better part of my life and now, at age fifty-four, I’m going to let this actor, who is so much younger than me, get to me? I don’t think so.
“I like talking to you.” Avery leans closer toward me. “More than I like talking to Ida Burton.”
“We’ll talk in my office on Wednesday,” I manage to say as I push myself out of the chair—although we might very well never talk again, but that’s not something to discuss right now.
“I look forward to it, Doc,” I hear her say as I walk away, my feet unsteady, and my heart—dangerously—only wanting to return.
Clients have tried to flirt with me before—it’s basically a given in my profession—but I’ve never been receptive. I’ve never felt anything remotely like what I’m feeling right now. If I could, I’d flee, get as far away from Avery Hall as possible, but I can’t leave my own sister’s party.
“Hey, girl.” Derek curls his arm around my shoulders. “There you are.” He slides his arm off me and examines my face. “What’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Oh, Dez. I think I’m in trouble,” I say.
“Tell me all about it.”
“I can’t. It’s impossible.” Jesus. Do I even hear myself?
“Right,” Derek says. “It’s like that.” He waves at the dozens of waiters milling about and snatches two glasses of champagne off a tray. “Then we know what to do.”