Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Awake. Alive. And definitely in need
My bestie holds her champagne flute out in mute demand, and I dutifully heft our bottle of bubbly out of the ice bucket and top her off before serving myself.
Kicked back in her lounge chair, eyes closed, Vanessa takes a sip, smacks her lips, and sighs with satisfaction. At peace with the world.
Ah, to be so happy and content. So at ease with oneself.
And why shouldn’t she be? Our overnight digs nestle among the rows and rows of grape vines at one of Long Island’s wineries, the kind of chic establishment seemingly built with “future setting of a movie romcom” in mind.
Late afternoon sunlight blankets the porch of our guest house in a soft, spring glow, a warm cuddle perfect for lazing away the couple of hours between the wedding earlier and this evening’s reception.
The whole mise-en-scène gives hella tranquil vibes. So why am I not soaking up the peace and quiet?
I wiggle my bare toes, newly painted hot pink.
The sassy color is a hundred-and-eighty-degree pivot from the nude tones I wore for the duration of my marriage.
Nude, bone, ecru, buff.
Didn’t matter what the label on the bottle said. It was all fifty shades of beige, beige, beige.
An all too familiar niggle of worry worms around in my gut. What if Leonard sees? What if anybody else sees?
No. I push back, hard, on my reflexive fretting. That era of my life is over. I no longer have to live up to Len’s impossible standards.
Still, the urge to hide my toes under a throw pillow jabs at me. I tighten my hold on my champagne flute, resisting knee jerk obedience with all my willpower.
“Okay, give. What’s on your mind, that you can’t take an hour to chill?
You are the noisiest thinker, I swear.” Van rearranges herself so she’s resting on her hip, facing my direction.
“First, though, answer me this. Are you going to have some of your drink or are you planning to strangle it into submission?”
“Could go either way.”
“My vote’s for drinking. Lovely vintage. Be a shame to waste it.”
Bowing to her logic, I bring the glass to my lips and let the bubbles dance on my tongue.
A simple act. A simple pleasure. Bright and lively, the champagne delights my taste buds with a hint of green apple.
The flavor is here and now.
Vanessa and my new life are here and now.
I am here and now.
Loosening my throat muscles, I go a step further, drinking too fast, enjoying the hint of a secret transgression. Of doing something a little impetuous. A little improper.
Van makes a grunt of approval. “Good. Now, what’s up?”
“I’m rethinking. Everything. Again.”
“Ah. Letting the Bitch Chorus crowd your brainbox?” she asks with a sympathetic grimace. “What are the little fuckers lying about this time?”
“It’s just… What am I doing here? Not here as your plus one at a wedding that was not on my bingo card for this weekend, but here.
” I spin a circle in the air with my finger to indicate the universe.
“Starting over at age fifty-four in a new city, staging a desperate, last-chance pass to get my career off life support, with no family, no pets, and no—”
“If you say friends, you know I have to pull your hair. It’s the rules.”
“—sex life to take my mind off my troubles.” I squint at my empty glass. What the hell? Did that just come out of my mouth?
“Hallelujah, you’re a human. I was beginning to doubt.”
“Um, excuse me?”
Van swings her legs to the floor, grabs the champagne bottle, and refills our glasses, pouring mine just shy of overflowing the rim.
“You admitted to having a sex drive. A need that has jack all to do with your acting career or your public image. Means that even with all the effort Len put into keeping you in line to play his pure and demure robot wifey, your bastard ex didn’t win.
This is good. No, this is great.” She clinks her glass to mine before taking a hefty swallow. “No take backsies.”
“No take backsies.” I wouldn’t return to that old, rigidly controlled life, not even to save the world. “I hate that I’m still measuring myself through his lens.”
“It’s not a surprise, though, is it? Len had you under his thumb, for what, twenty-five, twenty-six years?”
“Closer to thirty.” I ease my hold on my glass before I snap its fragile stem. “Looking back, he had his fingers in my business from the minute I popped on his radar, fresh and naive and ready for grooming.”
“Creep.”
“Does that make me a creep magnet? A creep enabler? I stayed with him for so long.” Unable to maintain eye contact, I stare at my champagne, the pale gold bubbles rising and bursting. “Once I realized history was repeating itself, I tried to warn Katy.”
“Not your fault she blew you off. Hey.” She squeezes my knee. “Have I said recently how proud I am of you?”
“How so?”
“You could have let Leonard continue to pull your strings, direct your life. Instead, you called bullshit and walked off the set. Regardless of the timeframe, that took guts. And instead of enacting a poor pity me narrative, you’re here, taking up space, getting loud, and saying yes to you. That takes more guts.”
“Getting loud?”
“I’m still weighing that yodeling monologue to close out the second act.”
“Please, no. For the love of all the New York City hot dogs, no.” Alarm jolts me into meeting her gaze.
“Gotcha.”
Her smirk of self-satisfied delight makes me shake my head, but I can’t help chuckling.
“You are a menace.”
“If by menace you mean genius, I agree.”
“I mean something.” But she’s succeeded in breaking my spiral, so I nod—acknowledgement and thanks and so much freaking love, all bundled into a simple, silent dip of my head.
Her grin softens for a beat before going gamine again. She takes a quick sip before setting her drink down then rubs her hands together, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Okay, Evie girl, time to refute the rest of the crap your Bitch Chorus is spewing.”
“Hang on.” I take my own fortifying swig. “Okay. Lay it on me.”
“First, left to your own devices, the squares on your bingo card would all read ‘stay home, drink tea, and run lines.’ Very dedicated of you. As the playwright and director of your upcoming Off-Broadway debut, I appreciate the commitment. I won’t even quibble about the whole desperate career move label, at least not today.
As your best friend, though, I’m going to go with ‘Yawn. Boring.’”
“Boring, huh?”
“And sad. And enraging.” She slaps the cushion beside her. “From the jump, Leonard gaslit you into embracing an ‘all work, no time for pleasure’ grind. He kept you so busy, you didn’t have time for family or a pet. Or your best friend.”
“I’m sor—.”
“Zip it. I’m not angling for an apology. What I’m saying is you are way overdue to jump off that toxic gerbil wheel and into some pleasure.”
“But—”
“But nothing. So what if you’ve aged out of being Hollywood’s go-to ingénue?
So what if Len replaced you with model two point oh?
We’ve already established you’re well rid of him and you did your best to protect her.
But it’s a new day and now you have an opportunity to stretch yourself in ways he never allowed.
Doesn’t matter how old you are. Freedom is a good thing. ”
“I thought you said great.”
“Good and great. And awesome. What I’m saying is, you have choices.” She tilts her head to the side, a calculating expression on her face. “In fact, by my estimate, you probably have at least a few dozen choices.”
“I don’t follow.”
“We can’t hey-presto you an insta-fam, that’s just a true fact. Your career is about to reignite and a trip to the pound will net you a pet whenever you want. More true facts. But your sex life? Now that’s a fun fact. That, you can start working on tonight.”
“I’m not tracking.”
“There are at least three hundred guests at this wedding. Say half of them are men. Say half of those are unavailable. That still leaves you with a pretty big playing field.”
“You want me to troll for a date?”
“Uh, no. I want you to troll for sex.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That’s—”
“Wait. Hear me out.” She stops me with a raised hand. “Whether you end up having sex with a stranger tonight isn’t really the point.”
“What is?”
“Going after something you want that’s just for you. No hidden agenda.”
I lean back in my lounge chair.
A one night stand.
Not really scandal material in this day and age. Still, not something I’ve ever contemplated for myself.
But… why not?
Van’s right. I’m a free agent. A free agent with needs. Needs that need tending. Needs that could be tended to by another free agent. Not in some distant moment when the timing is right, but tonight.
Here and now. Now and here.
Why not take a chance on something a megaton more brash and bold than chugging a glass of champagne?
A weightless tingling spreads from my belly outward. My toes itch to dance. My heart skips with anticipation. An achy, pining warmth stirs between my thighs. My body, coming online, for the first time in longer than I can remember.
Awake. Alive. And definitely in need.
“All right,” I say, testing how the words sound aloud.
Not bad. Could use a little more punch. I breathe in the late afternoon air, full of sunlight and promise, filling my lungs, my soul, with certainty.
Yes. That’s better. A smile breaks over my face, growing wide, wider, until it almost hurts. “I’m in.”
“Huzzah!” Van bounces on her cushion, sending her black curls into a happy riot.
“Let’s get you into makeup and costume. You’d be stunning outfitted in a paper bag, but men are simple creatures.
It’s never a bad idea to lead them down the garden path you want them to travel.
” You also make sure your content is justified.
This means your paragraphs reach from one side to the other.
This paragraph, for example, is justified. The next one is not.