Chapter 53 Georgina #2
Swimsuits handled, I sit on my bed with my laptop, open the guest list, and pick up where I left off earlier. The next name on the list? Laila Fitzgerald. Well, there’s no need to look her up. Laila is a superstar, thanks to a sophomore album that’s spun off hit after hit this past year.
Aloha Carmichael. No need to look her up, either. After years of watching her Disney show It’s Aloha! as a kid, and nowadays seeing Aloha’s ubiquitous face on viral music videos and shampoo commercials, I’d know that pop star’s gorgeous face and famous green eyes anywhere.
Keane Morgan. Okay, that’s a name I don’t know.
But after a search, I quickly realize he’s an actor from a show I binge-watched last year.
In that show, he was in a small, but pivotal role.
But, now, it seems he’s moved on to a co-starring role on a hugely popular show I’ve never seen.
Well, good for him. I’m glad to see he’s doing so well.
Madelyn Morgan. I’m assuming from the name she’s Keane’s wife.
I google her, and find out I’m right about that.
But I also find out she’s a kickass woman—a documentary filmmaker who was nominated for an Oscar last year.
I’m a bit surprised, actually. In the show I saw, Keane came off like a total “bro.” But, obviously, if he’s married to a woman like Madelyn Morgan, there must be more to him than meets the eye.
Dax Morgan. Well, that’s another easy one.
22 Goats has been one of my favorite bands for the past few years, ever since they broke onto the scene with a music video that went viral.
With his gorgeous face and long, blond hair, Dax Morgan, their frontman, is instantly recognizable to me and half the world.
But even so, I look him up, just to see if he’s related to the actor, Keane Morgan.
And, yup. Wikipedia tells me Dax and Keane are the two youngest brothers of five siblings in the Morgan clan.
Colin Beretta. Another easy one. He’s the drummer of 22 Goats.
Matthew Fishberger. Hmm. I don’t recognize the name, so I google it, and, instantly feel like an idiot. That’s Fish! The bassist for 22 Goats who’s come across as easygoing and likeable in every interview of the band I’ve read this past week.
Josh Faraday. Another easy one. Reed’s “male model” best friend from college, whom I met at the bar.
Kat Faraday. I google her and find out Josh’s wife is a gorgeous blonde bombshell who recently published her first romance novel—a romantic comedy entitled Suck It.
Well, this I’ve got to see. I find Kat’s book online, and when I behold the smoking hot cover, and read the sassy synopsis, I buy that sucker on the spot.
“Kat Faraday,” I murmur. “I think we’re going to be two peas in a pod.”
Ten minutes later, I’m flying through the names on the list, until I reach one that stops me in my tracks.
Isabel Randolph.
Gah. On the one hand, I’m dying to interview her.
She’s been one of my favorite actresses since before she became a massive movie star.
On the other hand, though, I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull off an interview of her, to the best of my abilities, when I have these feelings for Reed.
Will I be distracted the entire interview, with feelings of jealousy and insecurity?
Will I imagine Reed doing all the things he does to me.
.. to Isabel? I don’t want to wonder these things, but I can’t help it.
Did Reed tie Isabel up, the way he did to me?
Did he fuck her in a sex swing? Did Reed give Isabel whatever might have been her equivalents of a Peloton, a Pilates reformer.
.. and the most perfect, breathtaking ruby necklace the world has ever seen?
My heart pangs.
Why am I torturing myself? She’s engaged now, for God’s sake!
And Reed explicitly told me he and Isabel have become more like siblings than ex-lovers.
But, see, that’s the thing. The idea of them being like siblings simply doesn’t ring true to me.
How could Isabel get fucked by Reed the way I’ve gotten fucked, and then, somehow, magically, desire nothing more from his hot body than a brotherly peck on the cheek?
I don’t care how badly Isabel might have gotten hurt by Reed at some point in their relationship—how big an asshole Reed might have been to her in the end.
I can’t imagine she’d turn down the chance to fuck Reed senseless again, regardless, if the opportunity presented itself. ..
If Reed cheated on Isabel, then, yes, maybe I could imagine her never wanting him to lay another pinky on her.
That’s how I feel about Shawn. Physically ill at the thought of him touching me.
But that’s not what happened between those two, or they sure as hell wouldn’t be “like siblings” now.
And, anyway, Reed says he’s not a cheater, and I believe him.
But if things between them really did simply peter out, if things really did just “run their course,” as Reed said, then I can’t imagine Isabel being completely over Reed.
Unless, of course, she’s now so madly in love with her new fiancé, she can’t imagine wanting anyone else, ever again, even someone as swoon-worthy and smoking hot as Reed.
Which brings me to the next name on the list. Howard Devlin. The guy Reed told me is Isabel’s fiancé. As I recall, Reed said Howard Devlin is a big shot billionaire movie producer and studio owner. Which made me retort, “Oh, then he’s the Reed Rivers of the movie industry?”
I input Howard’s name into Google, excited to see how this guy matches up to Reed, and when I see his photo, I gasp.
Howard Devlin looks like Isabel’s pervy grandpa!
Gaping like a fish on a river bank, I read the guy’s Wikipedia page and quickly learn he’s sixty-five years old—thirty-four years older than Isabel!
Holy hell. I know I’m the one who always says “age is just a number.” But, damn.
I’m having a hard time believing a woman as young and vibrant and successful as Isabel said yes to spending the rest of her life boning that guy.
Although, I suppose Isabel only said yes to spending the rest of Howard’s life boning him.
Which, when you’re talking about your pervy grandpa, maybe isn’t all that big a commitment.
Okay, I’m being a total bitch right now, and I need to stop.
Looks aren’t everything. And age really is a number.
For all I know, Howard Devlin is a lovely, kind, generous man who’s a tiger in bed.
A guy who treats Isabel like his queen. Plus, who the hell do I think I am to judge any woman for being in a relationship with a wealthy, powerful, older man?
Come on, Georgie. A girl who lives in a glass house—or, in my case, a house with a whole lot of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hollywood Hills—shouldn’t throw stones.
I read a bit more on Howard Devlin and suddenly realize I’ve seen his face before. But where? I pause. Stare at the wall. And, then... Oh, yes! In that photo spread from CeeCee’s fiftieth birthday party!
I pull out my color copy of the article and scan the photos.
.. and sure enough, Howard is standing in a group shot with a slew of music and movie stars.
Wow. How crazy is that? Isabel and Howard were both at that party ten years ago.
Is that where they first met? Or is this a case of future spouses crossing within inches of each other, never realizing it?
Isabel wasn’t a successful actress back then.
Not even close. Plus, Reed was at that party, too.
So, it wouldn’t surprise me if Isabel and Howard never said two words to each other that night.
On the other hand though, Isabel had to have had acting ambitions back then. Did she spot Howard, a famous movie producer, and try to charm him, or was she too young and inexperienced to recognize him at a party attended by far more recognizable faces?
And what about Howard? Did he spot Isabel that night, from afar, perhaps when she was talking to a young, gorgeous stud in an Armani tux, and think to himself, One day, that woman will be my wife?
Okay, my imagination is running wild now.
But, regardless, I make a mental note to ask Isabel about that party.
I doubt there’s any sort of “written in the stars” or “love at first sight” angle there in regards to Isabel and Howard, but, still, I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least poke around to find out.
Peter Hennessy. That’s the next name on the list. And one I don’t recognize. But when I google the guy, and see his photo, I palm my forehead. He’s Henn! Reed’s nerdy-looking best friend from college. When I met him at the bar, he instantly put me at ease with his authenticity and sweetness.
Hannah Hennessy. Henn’s wife, I assume. I google and find out she is, indeed, Henn’s wife—an adorable brunette with glasses who works in the publicity department of a movie studio.
.. the same studio owned by Howard Devlin, as a matter of fact.
Huh. What a small world! Or is it? Did Reed have something to do with Hannah getting that job?
Did Reed pick up the phone and use his connections to help Hannah get an interview?
Because that’s exactly the kind of thing I could see Reed doing: pulling strings behind the scenes to help his best friend’s woman get her dream job . . .
Ping.
A murky thought raps gently at the back of my brain. Ping. The thought is like a soft cotton ball lobbed at me from ten feet away...
It’s only a blurry idea at the moment, tugging at the outer fringes of my consciousness.
But before the cotton ball hardens into an actual pebble, my phone buzzes with an incoming text that makes me squeal and forget all about the fuzzy thought gently pinging in the back of my head.
It’s a message from Alessandra that reads:
I’m at Reed’s front gate, baby! LET ME IN! It’s time to pre-party like ROCKSTARS before we party with ACTUAL ROCKSTARS! (But first, a sandwich. Please. For the love of all things holy, I’m starving.)