Chapter 20
Margarite is sitting by herself. Jake appears, walks over and sits next to her.
MARGARITE
You lost?
JAKE
I was looking for you.
Margarite rolls her eyes in obvious disbelief.
MARGARITE
The fans not paying enough attention? Is this where you tell me it’s so hard to be you?
Jake laughs.
JAKE
Security has cleared out the fans. They were getting in the way of production.
MARGARITE
How sad for you.
JAKE
I don’t like having them around either. I need to focus on my work.
MARGARITE
And when work is over? Won’t you really miss them, then? Imagine if you had to spend a night alone. The world would stop turning.
JAKE
Is that what you really think of me?
MARGARITE
It’s what everyone thinks of you.
Jake looks chagrined.
JAKE
You’re assuming I’m an asshole.
Margarite looks away, making it clear she does.
MARGARITE
This is normally where I’d make a sports reference to change the subject, but I barely know where we are, let alone the season
back home. It’s summer here, but what? January. Oh, football playoffs. Who do you like for the Super Bowl?
Jake gives her a meaningful look.
JAKE
You did good work today. You just step in and do what’s expected. There’s no drama.
Margarite is uncomfortable with the praise.
MARGARITE
It was a simple fall. Even you could have done it.
Jake chuckles.
JAKE
High praise. And I have a thing about heights.
MARGARITE
Oh, please. I saw the work you did on your last movie. There’s no way you’re afraid of heights.
JAKE
What scares you?
Victoria’s productive morning took a turn for the WTF. Margarite wasn’t scared of anything. Why did Jake have to ask such a stupid question? It was just like him.
She stared at the screen for five more minutes, groaned, then saved her work. She would let the question sit and come back
and try to answer it later. In the meantime, she would do something to clear her head. As a quick jog was out of the question,
she decided to take herself out for a drive and possibly a coffee.
She drove down streets, made turns, all the while not really paying attention to where she was going, then found herself unexpectedly
in front of Shannon and Cindy’s place of work. She impulsively turned into the real estate office and parked and went inside.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Shannon’s not here,” the receptionist said when Victoria asked for her. “Would you like me to leave her a
message?”
Before Victoria could answer, she heard a familiar voice calling her name. Cindy hurried over, her expression welcoming, her
smile wide.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, just a little writer’s block,” Victoria told her. “I was taking a drive to clear my head when I saw the office. I thought
I’d stop by.”
“Shannon’s at a home inspection,” Cindy said, motioning for her to follow her into her office. “She’ll be a couple of more
hours.”
“Totally fine. Like I said, this was an impulse.”
Cindy’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it and immediately tensed.
“Oh, that’s unexpected.”
Victoria watched her. “Are you all right?”
“What? Oh, the message.” Cindy tried to smile, but failed. “It’s nothing. Silliness. I just . . .” She pressed a hand to her
chest. “My heart’s pounding. How ridiculous.” She waved her phone. “I have an appointment to try on wedding gowns. That’s
what you have to do—make an appointment. Who knew? Mine is in a couple of weeks. Shannon’s going to come with me. But they
just texted and said they have a cancellation if I’d like to come by now.”
Victoria waited to hear what the problem was, because she couldn’t figure out why Cindy was so weirded out by a simple text.
Only Cindy didn’t seem to have anything else to say.
“You’re concerned that you . . .” she prompted.
“It’s my wedding dress. Picking it is huge. I’m not sure I’m ready.” She sank into a chair. “We have the venue and the date, so I need to get going on the dress, but I don’t know. This feels so real.”
“Are you thinking you’re not ready to look at wedding dresses?” Victoria asked to be supportive. Which she thought was pretty
big of her because, hey, it was just a dress, and what was the big-ass deal? If you were into weddings, that was what you
did. The bride wore a fluffy dress, and everyone oohed and aahed. It was a thing.
“No, I want to.” Cindy sounded more doubtful than certain.
Victoria looked at her. “Is it because Shannon’s busy? Do you need her along?” She paused. “Or do you just want company? Because
I could come with you.”
Cindy stared at her, wide-eyed. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I’m volunteering.”
Because while she was antiwedding, it was more of a personal decision than any rejection of the societal norm that was weddings. She pointed
to Cindy’s phone. “Text Shannon and ask if she minds if we have a look-see. Then accept the appointment, and we’ll go. In
a way, having me along will be easier for you. The situation will just be a couple of girls looking at pretty dresses. Nothing
more than that. You can try on a few, get some info and make your real choice later.”
She was actually kind of proud of herself for making the suggestion. Or maybe her willingness to help Cindy spoke more to
how lonely—no, not lonely—but how something she’d been lately. She was trapped in her house with a broken leg, a career she wasn’t sure she wanted to get back to and
a screenplay she couldn’t seem to finish.
“You’re right,” Cindy said, surprising her. “Let me text Shannon right now.”
She dutifully typed on her phone and waited. Seconds later, there was a response.
She smiled. “Shannon says I should absolutely go, as long as I promise not to buy anything. She also says thank you.” Cindy looked at her. “That was to you. For being so nice.”
“I’m not nice,” Victoria said automatically. “You can ask my mom.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. Ava thinks you’re amazing.”
She held in a snort, confident her mother could come up with a dozen words to describe her and not a single one of them would
be amazing.
The decision made, they piled into Cindy’s car and drove the short distance to the fancy bridal store on Wilshire Boulevard.
Once they were inside, Victoria felt very much out of place and underdressed. The ceilings were high, the lighting flattering.
Dresses were on display, but more than that, actual wedding tableaux were everywhere. There was an entire room devoted to
Mother of the Bride dresses, along with elegant hats and veils and impossibly high shoes.
Victoria eyed the heels with distaste. Despite her lack of height, she rarely wore them in real life, mostly because she frequently
had to wear them for work. Idiot writers and directors were forever putting their female actors in heels while forcing them
to run from bad guys or jump off buildings—aka stunts she had to perform. Nobody made the guys do that. They got to wear sensible
boots or athletic shoes. The inherent misogyny was so . . .
She put on the mental brakes and returned her attention to the reason she was looking at high heels. Right—wedding-gown shopping
with a friend.
Cindy gave her name to the receptionist because, yes, the store had one, then they waited.
“I’m nervous,” Cindy whispered.
Victoria leaned in close. “Me, too, and I’m not the one getting married. This place is fancy.”
Cindy’s face fell. “Is it too much? Should we leave?”
Victoria linked arms to keep her from bolting. “Absolutely not! You need to do this. Even if you don’t find the dress of your dreams, you have to take the first step. Just try on a couple and see how you feel.”
Before she could say anything else, a tall, elegant sales associate approached. “Cindy, how lovely to meet you. I’m Angelina.”
She turned to Victoria with a warm smile. “And you are?”
“Family friend,” Victoria said easily, then waved one of her crutches. “The klutzy family friend.”
“You’re not klutzy,” Cindy said, instantly distracted from her nervousness to defend her. “She’s a stuntwoman. There was a
truck and a whole thing.”
Angelina wasn’t impressed. “How unfortunate,” she murmured. “Now, to the dresses. I’ve pulled several for you to consider.
Thank you for sending over your measurements. Most of our samples will fit well enough to give you an idea of what you’d like.”
She motioned to a wall of dressing rooms. “You’d said something about a princess dress?” Her tone was doubtful.
Cindy seemed to cringe. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m probably too old, but I’ve had a dream about wearing a princess dress at
my wedding since I was a little girl.”
Angelina’s smile tightened. “Of course. I understand. And this is a first wedding for you?”
Victoria hadn’t really been paying that much attention to the dynamics. She’d been too busy thinking this was the kind of
store her mother would love, with its elegant lighting and hushed, important air. Frankly, it gave her hives, but whatever.
But when she started to hear a little judgment in old Angelina’s attitude, her senses went on alert. Whether or not Victoria
got the whole princess-dress thing didn’t matter. If that was what a paying customer wanted to try on, then it was Angelina’s
job to make that happen—no snark allowed.
Victoria stepped between the two women and faced the sales clerk.
“She needs to have a princess dress to try on. Maybe two. Cindy’s tall and pretty.
She has the body to carry that off. On me, well, let’s just be clear that I’d look like the fairy godmother from the original Cinderella movie.
Not a great look. But this isn’t about me or you. It’s about Cindy.”
Victoria didn’t channel her inner Ava very often, but she knew all the lines by heart and could absolutely replicate her mother
when the situation called for it. Not that she would confess the truth to anyone, but she was kind of proud of how Angelina
tried to stare her down only to cave in about twenty seconds.
“Of course,” the sales clerk murmured. “I have two for her to try, along with a few other styles.”