Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
WILLA
Orange blossom. Jasmine. Geranium. Lavender. Rosemary.
I’m going to blend all of these heavenly scents together as essential oils when we get home, but for now I’m going to lie here on this chaise lounge on the enclosed patio while Shane is out “running an errand.” We had breakfast in the room.
We had in-room massages. We made out in the hot tub.
We even Skyped with Summer and Lucky. Summer wanted me to sing “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly” with her, but I was so blissed out I forgot half the lyrics.
It’s like I lose an IQ point every time Shane gives me an orgasm.
I’ll be down to zero by the time we’re back in LA.
This is such a beautiful place, and I don’t want to leave it.
I want to wake up with Shane Miller between gazillion thread count Italian sheets every morning.
I don’t want spring break to end, but it will.
I don’t want to think about the New York job, but I have to.
I don’t want to think about what I’ll do or what it will be like for me and Shane once I stop working for him and Margo hires a permanent nanny, but I have to.
But not yet.
For now, I will lie here with my eyes closed and the sun on my face, enjoying the orange blossom, jasmine, geranium, lavender, and rosemary.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but I’m suddenly hearing music from inside the cottage.
Motown. The Temptations. “Just My Imagination.”
“Aren’t you Nico’s little sister?” asks a familiar voice.
Without opening my eyes, I reach up, take hold of the waist of Shane’s jeans, and pull him down to me. Just like he did to me that time he fell asleep watching Austin Powers. I squint up at him, but it’s not Shane Miller that I see. It’s Greyson Manning.
His hair is gelled straight up, and he’s wearing a blazer, white button-down shirt, and a loose skinny tie. I open my eyes, sit up, and look down at his feet—Converse high tops!
“You wanna dance?” he asks, grinning as he holds his hands out and stands up.
I cover my mouth, nod, and take his hand so he can pull me up.
He leads me over to an open area on the patio, pulls me in, placing both hands on the small of my back.
I hold my hands behind his neck and gaze up at him, head shaking in disbelief, heart bursting.
“Wow. This is even cheesier than the necklace. I can’t imagine how filthy you’re going to have to be to get me to forget how fucking adorable you are this time. ”
“Let’s just say I went to the mall to buy the skinny tie, high tops, hair gel, and some lube.”
I chuckle at that—well aware that he’s kidding but also completely aware that I would probably do anything he wanted me to. “That’s really thoughtful of you, thanks. You are so wizard.”
“You are so welcome.” He kisses the top of my head, and I rest my forehead against his chest. “Never, ever speak of this to Nico.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
“Don’t worry. I’m used to not talking about you with my brother. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“You can, you know?”
“Can what?”
“Talk about me with people. I was thinking we should tell the twins, since Margo knows.”
Oh God, my cheeks are burning. First the slow dancing with Greyson Manning and now this? It’s too much. “Knows what?”
“About us. That we’re…going to Homecoming together.”
I look up at his handsome face and see that patented Disney Channel star expression—so earnest and yet playful.
“Well, I would love to. But I think we should wait until I’m not working for you anymore. So it’s less confusing.”
“For them or for you?”
“Both.”
“Are you confused?”
“About you? Never. Not when I’m with you, anyway. That’s the problem. I always feel so sure of things, even though I can’t really know for sure.”
“What’ll it take for you to know for sure? Because I don’t dress up as Greyson Manning and buy lube for everyone. You’re the first, since the show was cancelled, and hopefully the last.”
I tug on that skinny tie around his neck and bring his lips to mine.
“I just want to finish being your nanny before I’m officially something else. Okay?”
He nods once, eyes closed. “You really are something else, though,” he whispers. “I wish I could have taken you to Homecoming. And prom. And the Kids’ Choice Awards. And the Golden Globes. And my movie premieres. I wish I could have taken you to France.”
“Is that a euphemism for something?”
“Yes. And no.”
“You know where you can take me now?” I ask as I unbutton his shirt.
“Where? Name it and I’ll take you there.”
“Bed.”
“You really are a swell girl.”
We had to leave that amazing bed in Santa Barbara eventually, and now that we’re back in the Pacific Palisades and I don’t have to look after the kids, I am using my free time to visit a few of the fancy boutiques in the village to see if the owners will stock a few bottles of my perfume oil.
The first attempt was a bust, even though the lady seemed to really love the fragrance and was super interested in hearing about my Scent Design and Creation degree and the education of a perfumer in general.
I left her with samples, a business card, and a pamphlet that I had printed up—with my logo and pretty pictures and little stories about my fragrances and the ingredients.
It’s a great package. I’m a great package!
I just don’t get LA store owners. How many more degrees does a girl need to get a break around here?
Now I’m in a pretty shop that sells fashionable organic clothing and handmade jewelry as well as a small selection of scented candles, organic cosmetics and perfume.
If any shop in this neighborhood should be selling Aura perfume oils, it’s this one.
I do a lap around the store, looking at the displays.
A tanned blonde woman who is probably in her fifties comes by to welcome me and asks if she can help me with anything, and miracle of miracles—she tells me that I smell amazing.
I tell her that it’s my own perfume blend called Sleeper and that I just happen to have a sample of it right here.
I ask if she’s the owner of the store, and she is.
I don’t launch into a hard sell or anything.
It’s very conversational, and Christina seems really interested.
She asks to see the bottles and loves everything she smells.
But when I ask if she’d be interested in carrying a few bottles of each fragrance in her store, she says she’s not really looking to stock more perfume right now.
And then I hear the bell above the door jingle, and when the lady looks over my shoulder, her face lights up. “Well hello, stranger!” she says, hand on her hip. “Long time no see, you!”
I glance over to get a look at who she’s ignoring me for, and wouldn’t you know it? Shane Miller is strolling towards us, lifting his aviator glasses to the top of his head and grinning. “Been waiting for a special occasion to buy a new dress. You know how it is.”
“Ohhh! I mean I haven’t seen you at breakfast in ages. The kids on spring break?”
“They are, yeah. I was just checking on Willa.” He comes over to put his arm around me. I don’t have a fucking clue how he found me here, but I did tell him I was going to scout out the boutiques in the Palisades. “Oh, you got your perfumes out.”
“Yeah. Do we have to get ready for your screening?”
“No, we have a little time. Are you going to be stocking Willa’s perfume here, Christina? They’re selling like hotcakes on Etsy. She just sold a fragrance design to Margo—they’re going to sell it on her website later this year.”
“Well, we were just discussing that, actually. They smell fantastic, and I’m very interested. Let’s discuss prices.”
And just like that, Christina and I are discussing prices and filling out paperwork.
When I leave the store with Shane, I’m carrying nine fewer bottles of roll-on perfume oil than I had walked in with.
I wait until we’ve turned the corner and started walking back toward home to slap his arm. “How did you know I’d be there?”
“Process of deduction. I’d already been to the other two stores that looked like the kind of place you’d want to sell your stuff in.”
“You know, she was not at all interested in selling my stuff until you walked in.”
He rests his arm around my shoulder again. “This is LA, babe. Celebrity endorsement is the name of the game. No matter what game you’re playing.”
“Well, thank you. Part of me was really looking forward to walking in there with you tomorrow if she had turned me down outright and I’d ask if she worked on commission, and then I’d say, ‘Big mistake. Huge!’”
“Your perfume will sell itself one day. I just wanted to help in any way I could. Hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t. I hope I can return the favor. Ha-ha.”
“Well, you can. Just go easy on me and the movie tonight.”
“I’m not that big of an asshole! Are you really worried that I won’t like it?”
“I don’t know, I’ve been talking it up. I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“I don’t think you could ever disappoint me, Shane.”
Unless you marry someone else again.
We’re in a small screening room at some fancy private Hollywood club called SoHo House, on Sunset Boulevard.
We have a drink at the bar first. Everyone looks like they just had a facial and a hair appointment, and I recognize every third person I see here.
Shane introduces me simply by name, to his agent and the producers and writer-director, a couple of his costars.
But he has his hand around my waist almost the whole time we’re standing together.
The film is called Hard Shell, and Shane is the lead.
He “carries” the film, as his agent said, but there are some amazing middle-aged and older character actors, and the teenager who plays his nephew is fantastic.
It’s about this sarcastic, troubled, but privileged teenage boy who runs away from home to stay with his very young uncle who lives in Maine.
The kid’s workaholic dad comes out from New York to get him, and you see the strained and awkward relationship between him and his much younger brother.
This old lobsterman has a monologue about the exoskeleton as armor but how difficult it is for a lobster to molt and how vulnerable they are when they have their new soft shell.
It’s subtle but obvious that the story is about manhood and masculinity and the vulnerabilities of these men who are trying to be tough but also trying to change.
Shane is the young uncle who is a functional alcoholic.
He works on a lobster boat. He’s funny and charming but sometimes he’s a mess and just so angry one minute and heartbreaking the next.
And he looks tired. In a good way, that’s right for the character, but it’s so poignant for me to watch, knowing that he really couldn’t sleep back then.
I would totally fall in love with him because of this movie if I hadn’t already been head over heels.
Watching him is thrilling. Hearing the twenty or so other people in the audience laugh at his lines makes me so happy. Every time I look over at Shane, he’s either wincing at the screen or he’s watching me. I cry three times, and each time, he squeezes my leg.
When the credits roll, everyone applauds, and I still have a huge lump in my throat.
People descend upon Shane as soon as he stands up, so all I can do is smile at him and try to convey to him with my eyes just how much I loved the movie.
I can tell that Shane’s agent is as excited about the performance as I am, but Shane seems to be taking it all in stride.
When the agent asks if we’ll join him for drinks, Shane says we have to be getting home, takes my hand, and doesn’t let go until we’re alone in the elevator to the parking level. I can tell he’s a little overwhelmed, so I don’t say anything until he looks over at me.
“Shane, you were so wonderful. Truly. The movie is great. I loved every minute of it.”
“Really?”
“Of course, really—didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I think it’s really good. I just wish I’d done certain things differently. It’s hard to watch myself. But the cinematography is great.”
“It’s beautiful! Maine looks so beautiful, and the score is beautiful, and the script is fantastic, and all of the actors—it’s so funny and sad and heartwarming. It’s going to be a hit.”
“I hope so.”
“I have no doubt. You’ll see. Once people start seeing this, you’ll get to play any kind of role in any kind of movie you want.”
He laughs. “Except a period piece.”
“Aw, who cares. I hate period pieces. Unless they’re about perfume.”
He kisses my cheek. “It really means a lot to me that you liked it.”
“Well I loved it. I’m really proud of you. Is that weird to say? I don’t even care. I am. I’m so proud of you. I can’t wait to see what happens next for you.”
And I mean it.
I am so proud of him that I don’t even wonder what happens next for us. I just want him to get what he wants in life. And I hope that one of the things he wants in life is me.