“Yes, the regular gal wanted to extend her maternity leave one more week,” my mother said. A freelance make-up artist, she specialized in last-minute avails and fill-ins for TV shows. It was a strange niche, but yet her ability to jump in at a moment’s notice put her at the top of most rolodexes, including that of the producers at The Sandy Show, one of the top daytime talk shows. The host was friendly with Veronica Belle and Bradley Bowman, and had once joked on-air that she could officiate at their wedding since she’d been ordained to perform ceremonies.
But where there was a joke, there was often a kernel of seriousness. Maybe she was going to the wedding. Maybe she was going to be at the altar declaring I now pronounce you man and wife. Or maybe someone on her staff knew something about the wedding. I had nothing, and I had to get something, if I was going to try to stake out a money shot.
“I wonder if Sandy is going to the wedding,” I said in my best off-hand voice.
“Oh, I’m sure she is,” my mother said, and none of us needed to say the names of the soon-to-be-betrothed. We all knew there was only one wedding anyone in this town was talking about right now.
“Maybe they’ll hire you to do the makeup, mom,” I mused as I sliced a final piece of chicken. I estimated with the chicken and potatoes, not to mention the ice cream, that I’d hit my calorie limit for the day, so I ate the last bite, then carefully laid my fork and knife in a criss-cross on my plate.
“Oh you’re funny, Jess. You’re so, so funny.”
“It would be interesting though, to find out who’s doing the makeup, don’t you think?”
My mother rolled her eyes. “You are such a gossip hound,” she said, but she was smiling. “You and your father. He’s addicted. I’ll have to send him to a twelve-step program soon.”
My dad shrugged his sheepish admission as she gave him a wink.
“I wonder where the wedding will be,” I said.
“Malibu,” my mom said. “The gals were talking about it at The Sandy Show. Supposedly at one of Veronica and Bradley’s friend’s homes.”
Score! Now all I had to do was narrow down the couple’s lists of friends. I tossed out names of Veronica’s closest actress friends, and my mom shrugged at each name. Her gossip compartment was closing. She started to clear the table.
“Don’t give Jennifer the chicken until everything is clear,” she said to my father, as she brought plates to the sink.
“I’d never do that, Diane,” my dad said, and I shot him a hard stare to second my mom’s command.
“Dad,” I admonished, as he gave a backhand toss to the dog, his former college athlete quickness coming in handy as he furtively fed Jennifer. She knew the drill; she caught the chicken in her mouth like a frog ensnaring a fly. “What? She’s not begging. She’s still lying down.”
I shook my head, but smiled nevertheless.
My dad leaned closer and whispered, “Speaking of gossip, did you hear that they’re close to casting Ren Canton in the remake of We’ll Always Have Paris? I read it in Hollywood Breakdown this afternoon.”
“Ren Canton is just a pretty boy who likes to take his shirt off. How can they even consider him to play one of the greatest roles ever? He doesn’t even look old enough to own a bar in Morocco.”
“If I had a gin joint, I’d never let Ren Canton within a mile of it,” my dad said, then blew air through his lips. “To top it off, it’s a three-pic deal. If the deal goes through, he’ll be in Queen of the Nile and the Sicilian Eagle too.”
“Ugh. I think my dinner just came back up,” I said, but then cursed myself for the slip-up.
My dad’s face fell. “You’re not doing that again, are you?”
“No. And it was only once,” I said, and grabbed my plate to help my mom. It wasn’t only once, but I wasn’t doing it anymore, so it didn’t need to be discussed. They’d never known about my problems with food, and they didn’t need to know. I had everything under control, the way I liked it.
Chapter Six
William
I parked the bike in the lot at my apartment building later that night. John and I had won the round of beach volleyball. At least, I thought so. We didn’t entirely keep score. Games like that were just for fun. I unhooked my helmet, tucked it under my arm, and threaded my way through the other vehicles in the lot. Grabbing my cell from the pocket of my shorts, I scrolled to Matthew’s number.
He answered on the first ring. “Better make it quick. I’m about to head into the Knitting Factory with Jane.”
“Is she performing tonight?” My brother was engaged to Jane Black, a smoking hot and ridiculously talented rock star who’d won a Grammy for an epic break-up album–one that was inspired by the guy before my brother.
“No. We’re seeing Matt Nathanson. Jane loves him.”
“You’re so getting laid tonight. That guy is like catnip for women.”
Matthew laughed. “That may be true. About the Matt Nathanson catnip. And that may be true on the other aspect of your comment, though I think it’ll be because of my skills, rather than the other Matt.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure, or rather the pain, of this phone call,” Matthew asked as I walked into the entryway of my building.
“Just letting you know my new assignment is going quite well. Surprisingly so considering how long it took for him to even give me the time of the day.”