CHAPTER ELEVEN

Weeks Later

You’re going to give your mother an ulcer,” Kitty Grissom said, slurping down her third mimosa of her Mother’s Day brunch.

“Are you sure it won’t be the drinks that do that?” Annie teased her mom, but she wasn’t drinking her own plain orange juice. Something about the taste was making her stomach upset, so she sipped water, instead.

“Very funny,” was all Kitty said.

“Darling, at least your daughter takes you out for brunch,” Kitty’s friend Vivian declared, her (fourth) martini sloshing as she waved her arm around. “My sons won’t even call me. It’s dreadful. Positively dreadful. I mean, I got them their first jobs in this business. You would think that they’d be grateful! Instead, they act like I’m a pariah of some kind.”

“My daughter is wonderful,” said Honoria, who was nursing an enormous glass of wine. “Except she had those babies and got fat as a blimp. Now she’ll never get a role. What’s the point in living in Hollywood if you don’t want to work in the industry?”

All three women murmured agreement as Annie stared at the menu.

“She has a great point, sweetie pie,” Kitty said to Annie. “When does your next movie start?”

“I told you, Mom. It got shelved. There’s already a St. Bernard movie shooting that they feel it’s too close to and they don’t want to compete. Something else will come up.”

Kitty reached over and smacked Annie’s arm, her heavily made-up eyes widening. “Don’t call me that.”

“Right. Sorry. Kitty.” She rolled her eyes while the other two women tsked.

For Mother’s Day, Annie had offered to take her mother out to brunch, just the two of them. It had turned into brunch at The Ivy, no less, so they could do some celebrity spotting (her mother’s favorite pastime) and her mother’s best friends had shown up as well. Now they were all in the process of getting day-drunk and well, Annie couldn’t really complain. They were all mothers, after all, and it was Mother’s Day. So she was now picking up the tab for three soon-to-be-soused women at a restaurant that was more than she’d budgeted for. But that was okay.

Funny how not a lot mattered when you were depressed.

Six weeks had passed since she’d run away from Painted Barrel. She’d been in hiding, avoiding her phone, avoiding email, avoiding Facebook, until enough time had passed that Dustin’d stopped contacting her. Of course, then she was just hurt that he’d stopped altogether, which was silly of her. She told herself that she’d gather her thoughts in LA for a week or two, find Spidey a new home, and then fling herself into her next movie, training her new project and forgetting all about a cowboy with a laughing smile and fantastic shoulders.

Then, her next movie was canceled a week before she was supposed to acquire her newest dog. In a way, it was a blessing. She hadn’t yet found a home for Spidey. It wasn’t for lack of interest—he was an adorable Boston terrier and she had the names of several families that were looking for a well-trained family dog to add to their home. But Spidey was sweet and loving and he understood that she was sad. He curled up next to her and slept so sweetly at her side that she spent most nights hugging him (and crying a little). If she didn’t have to give him up, that was all the better.

Her mother didn’t understand, but Kitty rarely understood these sorts of things. Her life (and that of her two best friends, Honoria and Vivian) was entirely focused around Hollywood and movie roles. All three were well-connected enough that they got walk-ons in all sorts of movies, just enough to make ends meet. They hustled. They schmoozed. They networked. And when one found a good lead, she made sure to share it with the others. They’d all had so much plastic surgery that they got roles for women ten to fifteen years younger than they actually were. Kitty was pushing fifty but liked to think she could get parts for “soccer mom” or “office professional” or even “aging hooker” as long as no one looked too closely. All three friends had their faces plumped with so much filler that they had apple cheeks and plastic expressions and they were the epitome of Hollywood clichés . . . but they were happy, so who was Annie to complain?

“Darling,” Vivian cooed at Annie. “If you need work, my daughter’s friend is in one of those period pieces. The sixties. They’re going to be shooting a Woodstock scene and I’m sure you’d work for ‘hippie number three’ or something along those lines.” She gave Annie a beaming smile and finished her martini.

“I’m fine, thanks. I think I’m just going to take a bit more time off work and figure out what my next steps are.”

They all three stared at her like she was growing another head.

“Next steps?” Honoria asked, with a little shake of her purple hair. “What next steps are these? You need to stay in the game. Do you need a new agent? I can get you in touch with someone.”

“No, I’m fine. Truly.” The waiter arrived with their lunches, saving Annie from having to make excuses. They didn’t understand wanting to pick projects, not when they chased down every movie they could. It was less about the money for them and more about the glamour of seeing yourself on camera for those rare fifteen seconds or so. Annie wasn’t sure if she envied them or pitied them. They loved their lives, after all. They were living their dreams. So what if it seemed like a messy nightmare to her?

The waiter set down Annie’s eggs in front of her, and suddenly the smell hit her like a wave. Next to her, Kitty had a bowl of fresh fruit, and the scent of bananas and cantaloupe seemed overwhelmingly powerful. It mingled with the eggs, and a cold sweat broke out on her brow.

Oh no. She was going to vomit.

Annie bolted from the table, her hand clapped to her mouth, and wove through the crowded restaurant. Luckily, she made it to the bathroom before puking her guts up. After a few rounds of dry heaves, she felt better. She washed her face, composed herself, and went back out to the table with a faint smile on her face.

All three women were staring at her. Kitty and Vivian were looking at Annie with horror, and Honoria had a knowing smirk.

“Sorry,” Annie said, sitting back down and pushing her eggs away. “I think there was something in the orange juice that upset my stomach.”

“It’s not the orange juice, honey.” Honoria cast a smug look at Kitty. “I used to get sick at the smell of eggs all the time when I was pregnant with my Carmen.”

“Oh, I’m not pregnant,” Annie said quickly.

“Have you had sex, darling?” Vivian asked.

Annie blinked. “I . . . I don’t know that it’s anyone’s business.”

Kitty gasped. “Oh, Annie. Was it a director? Sloane?” Her eyes widened. “Is he cheating on his wife? This is wonderful. He’s got another movie coming up and I bet we can all get roles in it—”

“Mo—Kitty, no,” Annie protested, shuddering in horror at the thought of sleeping with Sloane. “I didn’t sleep with anyone in the film crew. Jesus.”

“A local, then,” Honoria said. When Annie’s cheeks grew hot, Honoria gave a smug nod. “Told you both.”

“Oh Annie, you didn’t.” Kitty looked disappointed. “Locals are just a mistake.”

Boy, she knew that. “I’m really not pregnant, everyone. I promise.”

Honoria reached into her purse and pulled out a box. “Here. I’ve got pee sticks. Go take one in the bathroom. It’ll tell you if you’re pregnant.”

Vivian snagged her newest martini from the waiter before he could set it on the table. “Darling, do we need to ask why you’re carrying around pregnancy tests in your purse? You’re pushing forty-seven—”

“Shhh,” Honoria snarled, a dangerous look in her eyes. “And I’m seeing someone.” She shrugged. “He’s a casting director.”

Their attention suddenly went to Honoria. “You don’t say,” Kitty leaned in. “Tell us more.”

“It’s a small, independent film company,” Honoria began.

Vivian snorted, taking a deep slurp of her drink. “Porn.”

“No! It’s legit. They do found footage types of movies for Netflix. I promise it’s not porn. Anyway, he’s very nice and he has a lot of money.” She looked smug. “And he’s going to cast me in The Paranormal Castle. He said so.”

“Oooh, a horror flick.” Kitty’s plastic face was full of longing.

Annie eyed the pregnancy test on the table. This was ridiculous. And yet . . . before she could overthink it, she snatched the kit from the table and headed back to the restroom.

There was no way she was pregnant. So she was a little sensitive to smell today. So she’d missed having her period. She’d taken a morning-after pill. That took care of things, right? She wasn’t pregnant. They’d used condoms.

But one of the condoms had broken.

Another cold sweat broke out over her body and this time, Annie was prepared for the vomiting.

Round two of puking was terrible, especially because there was nothing in her stomach. But that just meant she had food poisoning, right? She clung to the toilet for a little, trying not to think about how dirty it was because she could only handle so much this morning. Then, when everything settled, Annie got to her feet, opened the box, and used one of the kits.

Five minutes later, she used the other kit in the box, just to be sure. It had to be a mistake.

Both read “pregnant.”

Tears threatened to flood her eyes. How? How was it possible?

The bathroom door opened and Annie winced when she heard Vivian’s voice. This was not what she needed at the moment. Maybe if she was quiet, Vivian would go sit down again.

“Darling?” Kitty said, and Annie bit back a groan, picturing all three women with their drinks huddling in the bathroom outside her stall.

“I’m here,” Annie managed.

“Well?”

“Pregnant,” she admitted. “I don’t understand. I took a morning-after pill.”

“Those don’t work if you’re ovulating,” Honoria volunteered.

“How would you know?” Vivian demanded.

“I have five kids. Of course I know,” Honoria snapped.

“Hmph. I thought you were getting pregnant for roles.”

“Oh please. No one gets pregnant just for roles.”

“Darling.” It was her mother again. “I know a good doctor in Malibu. We can get you fixed right up.”

“Or you can get a few pregnancy roles,” Vivian suggested. “And I hear there are people that pay for babies in foreign countries, so there’s that.”

“You’re drunk,” Honoria told Vivian in disgust.

Annie laughed. What else could she do? Hysterical, she just laughed and laughed, burying her face in her hands. She laughed so long and so hard that at some point it turned into sobbing.

“Oh honey,” her mother said softly. “Happy Mother’s Day to both of us.”