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SEVEN MONTHS LATER...
“You look skinny,” Jenny blurted out. But her derisive tone didn’t at all mesh with the words. Especially not after pinching Anda’s forearm as if checking for bones.
Anda kept walking right past the bar of The Wellsbourne and slid into one of the giant leather booths. Sitting in the Library Room, with floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with books and goose-necked reading lights on the table, made the bar feel like a club. Or, well, a library. Either way, it was a big step up from the plethora of college bars around UCLA filled with Greeks, jocks, or kids who hadn’t yet learned their limits.
Clearly, Jenny still hadn’t learned her limit on bluntness.
Unwrapping her scarf, Anda said, “Normally, I’d thank you for the compliment. But...that sounded like a criticism? Which is weird, coming from someone in television?”
“It was. I haven’t seen you in what, six months?”
“Seven,” Anda corrected softly.
Because she knew to the day how long it had been since Jenny had escorted her to the limo back in Colorado. It had been seven months and one day since Chance kicked her off the show.
The morning after the best sex of her life.
No, make that the best night of her life.
“Okay, you were gorgeous seven months ago. Now you’re still gorgeous, but trending toward waif levels of skinny. Great if you’re sixteen and modeling and not hooked on drugs...” Jenny waited expectantly.
Oh. God. “No,” Anda blurted. “I’m not on drugs. Geez. Is that really your life? Where when a friend hits a rough patch your first assumption is a new drug habit?”
“Yep. That’s my life. Which is why I’m so grateful to have you as my normal, antidote-to-Hollywood friend.”
It was a sad statement of fact. But it also warmed Anda’s heart to know that their ongoing text friendship as Jenny bopped around the South Pacific filming back-to-back seasons of King of the Island and Paradise Cove: LoveMatch meant as much to the other woman as it did to her.
The waiter approached, but Anda was in no mood to hear the Happy Hour spiel. “The Last Word. Two of ’em. And a couple of menus, because apparently my friend here wants to fatten me up. No way am I doing it alone,” she said with a pointed grin.
“I could make the supreme sacrifice of eating a burger. I’ve overdosed on every kind of fish since I last saw you. Let me tell you, being stuck on a tropical island isn’t as much fun as it sounds. There’s no variety.”
“Figured as much. That’s why I ordered your drink, too. Gin and chartreuse. Nothing fruity or rum-based.”
“Thank you.” Jenny flicked off her fashionable pink felt beret (because even in January in Los Angeles, the only need for a hat was to be stylish). “But you are too skinny.”
“I’ve been exercising more regularly.”
“Doing what? Training for an ultramarathon?”
“Dog walking, actually.” Lots of dogs. Lots of miles every day. Anda had burned through her backlog of podcasts in the first two months. Now she was working through the Rosetta Stone lessons to learn Portuguese. “Dog Walker to the Stars Extraordinaire, that’s me. But I can’t name names. I’ve signed so many NDAs I barely admit my own name when I drop off my dry cleaning.”
“Why are you walking dogs? I thought you ran a boutique?”
“Past tense, yes. I told you that’s how I was able to join the show. My parents’ boutique got shut down, and I was suddenly without a job.” Without a career. Or a future.
Not that Anda was bitter. Resentful. Frustrated at months of job searching and coming up with zero leads because of the horrible recession. So many boutiques had shuttered in the past few months.
But the one thing the recession didn’t touch was the movie industry. Crazy rich stars still paid ridiculously high sums for tight-lipped, trustworthy dog walkers. Anda was grateful for the job.
She wanted to it stay a job, though, and desperately hoped it wouldn’t end up as her career.
Jenny frowned at her. “You told me you were fine. That you were making contacts, networking, and on the verge of a new job.”
All true. In her mind, anyway. Which was better than worrying a friend stuck a literal ocean away. “Positive manifestation. You have to believe the good thing will happen to make it happen. Or so I’m told.”
Yes, it was the latest trendy self-help gimmick. No, she hadn’t shelled out twenty-five dollars for the book. Anda had gotten it for free at the library, which left her enough to pay for gel insoles (a necessity) and a new, glamazon red lipstick (an emotional necessity).
If this new hoodoo magic whatever actually got her a job from the two big interviews she’d just done? Anda would go back and pay full price for the hardcover in gratitude.
Tapping on the table, Jenny asked, “Do you need me to make some calls? See if I can line you up another reality show gig?”
“No!” Whoops. That was far more of a yelp than a calm response. Possibly even a full-out yell.
Jenny held up her hands, palms out. “Hey, don’t bite my head off. It’s good money for a few months. The work isn’t exactly toiling in the fields, either.”
“I’m grateful for the offer. The money from Man of Her Dreams has been so helpful in tiding me over between...things.” Anda didn’t want to squander it. She used it for rent and used her dog walking paycheck for everything else. Because that big wad of cash from the show would run out eventually. She had to be smart. Frugal.
God, it was exhausting being frugal. And beyond boring.
This was the first time she’d been out in weeks. New Year’s Eve had come and gone with a solo binge-watch of Hallmark movies to celebrate. Because they cost far less than a new outfit, an outrageous bar bill, and whatever ridiculous upcharge Uber went with on the biggest party night of the year.
Luckily, Jenny was good at reading people, so Anda didn’t have to blurt out her sad tale. With a raised brown eyebrow and a knowing nod, she said, “But you’d rather go live under the Hollywood sign than do another reality show?”
“Pretty much.”
“Trust me, I get it. The non-stop drama, the non-stop filming...” she shook her head and burst out laughing. “Who am I kidding? I love torturing myself with it. It’s such a challenge to watch everyday interactions and craft a whole, ‘real’ storyline.”
“Maybe you should be a writer.” Anda nodded gratefully as the waiter dropped off their drinks and menus.
“The money’s not as good.”
And right there was the difference between Anda and Jenny.
Anda believed passion should be the driving force behind a life. Passion for your career, a passionate love for where you lived, and of course, a love beyond all telling. No settling. Nothing bland or boring.
Jenny, on the other hand, followed the money.
Maybe it was the smarter approach. Maybe spending another three months on a crappy reality show would beef up her savings enough to open her own boutique.
But Anda didn’t want to risk another broken heart.
She lifted her martini glass. “Here’s to being reunited with my friend.”
“To girl talk over cocktails instead of Skype!” They clinked glasses. Almost immediately, Jenny’s head did a slow swivel to take in the room.
“Are you spotting for celebrities? Geez, you really have been out of town too long. Stop that. You look like a tourist,” Anda scolded.
“I’m not on the prowl for autographs. I’m looking for networking opportunities. Either with big names—or with big personalities who would be an asset to my show.”
“Can that wait a day? Can we just have fun tonight? I could do with some fun.”
That snapped Jenny’s head around so fast her neck audibly cracked. “Don’t tell me you’re still pining for Chance.”
Pining? Well, that word was sure coated in negativity.
On the other hand, she couldn’t flat-out lie to the woman....
Anda tossed back a more-than-healthy swallow of her cocktail. “Have I put Chance completely in my rearview mirror? No. But I’ve got other things going on. I had two big interviews this week that could land me back into career land. For completely different jobs. I honestly don’t know which one I’d prefer, if it came down to it.”
Of course, if the last six months were any reflection, she’d be lucky to get a single follow-up interview, let alone two of them. Of course, if Jenny was even halfway observant, she’d realize that Anda was babbling to cover up how darned much she was still pining for Chance...
“We’ll get to the jobs after dinner. Clearly, we need to fix this Chance thing first.”
“There’s nothing to fix,” Anda insisted with a tight smile.
“Really? You’re not humiliated that he cut you from the show?”
With the automatic answer she’d perfected since it happened, she said, “He cut twenty-three other women, too.”
“But he cut you the moment you crawled out of his bed.”
Ouch! The truth had hurt seven months ago, when producers had knocked on her door right at dawn, telling her to pack her bags. And no matter how she tried to ignore it, or move past it, the truth still hurt.
“Yes, it’s more than a tad humiliating that I fell for the old ‘let me sleep with you because I care so much’ gambit. Men have used it for centuries because it works.” Anda glared across the table. “Why are you poking at a half-healed scab?”
“Not to be cruel. To get you to fully admit it so that you can put it behind you.”
Anda almost did a spit take. Right. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Just moving on? “Believe me, I’ve tried. I ate all the ice cream. I watched movies where women wreaked bad-ass vengeance on men who did them wrong. I cut my hair.”
Jenny folded her arms and tapped her index finger against her mouth. “Those sound like the actions of a woman who is hurt, not humiliated.”
“If by ‘hurt’ you mean ‘heartbroken,’ then yeah. Sure. Slap on that label, too.” It felt good to let all this out to Jenny. Thanks to her NDAs, Anda hadn’t been able to spill the details to her other friends. Especially thanks to the clause that spelled out that if she badmouthed Chance DiMarco to anyone, she’d have to return her entire paycheck from the show.
So Anda had mourned alone. Cried alone. And then pulled all her fragile, still shattered pieces of her heart back together. Alone.
“You’re still thinking of him as the tender, charming man who cared about you. That’s who broke your heart.” Jenny flattened her palms on the polished dark wood and slid them forward to lean closer. “Except that man doesn’t exist. Chance DiMarco is a player. He was upfront about that to us, to all of you, and to the viewing audience.”
“He was. I know. But then...”
“Then he met you, the woman of his dreams, and completely changed his spots? Went from tiger to tamed? Come on, Anda. If a friend told you a version of this story, would you buy it? Or would you tell her that she got taken? Played? Used and discarded like the condoms that night?”
Ouch again. So harsh.
And yet...Jenny’s tough love was probably right. It was the only thing that explained why Chance didn’t have the courtesy to break it off with her in person.
That lack of an explanation, that lack of a goodbye, was what had kept her treading water for the past seven months. Her utter confusion at the way he’d gone back on his promises that they’d be a real couple left Anda unable to let it go.
Occam’s Razor—the principle that the simplest explanation is often the truest—hadn’t occurred to her until right now.
Chance had never cared about her. He’d lied to her. Put on a big show, just for an easy lay. Had he really swept the room for cameras? Omigosh, had their night together been recorded?
That was a panic attack for another time.
Anda tossed back the rest of her drink, winced at the burn, and swore the tears in her eyes were the last she’d waste on Chance.
“We’re getting more drinks. Lots more,” she announced. “And some burgers. They’re great here. I feel like I could eat ten. Hopefully, by the time we’re done, you’ll have helped me figure out how to get over that lying, low-down jerk.”
“That’s the spirit.” Jenny scanned the menu while high-fiving her across the table.
“I wish I could get revenge on Chance. On the other hand, that would require seeing him again, which is a definite non-starter. They say living well is the best revenge. Guess I’ll have to content myself with that.”
Jenny slammed the menu shut. When she looked up, her eyes glittered with excitement. “I have a solution.”
“You haven’t even finished your first Last Word. How can you possibly have come up with an idea so fast?”
“I’m that good.” Obligingly, she swallowed the last of her drink. Without all the wincing and grimacing that Anda had done. “You need a man.”
“Ha!” It was more of an exhalation of surprise than a laugh. Because another man would’ve been about number twenty-three thousand on Anda’s list of priorities right now. She did a quick scan of the room, of the clumps of guys laughing and drinking. Not a single one so much as sparked a flutter of interest. “That’s...um...drastic.”
Jenny waved off her lack of enthusiasm with a lazy flick of her hand. “You’ve already done the non-drastic, clichéd steps. Time to get you off the couch and back out there.”
Nope. No. No way, no how.
She’d only figured out that Chance was a no-good snake three minutes ago. That the man she’d fallen for had been nothing more than a mirage. An act. Her heart could move on now with that knowledge, but not at warp speed.
Anda lunged sideways to catch their waiter. “Two Bolognese burgers, roasted brussels sprouts, and another round as fast as humanly possible.” If this was Jenny’s opening gambit, she’d need a lot of liquid courage to get through whatever came next. “I know the rules of brainstorming say there are no bad ideas, but...I’m not ready for another relationship.”
“Of course you’re not. You need empowering, ego rebuilding sex first. Possibly several times. You need a hot hookup.”
That was...something entirely different. Anda toyed with the ends of her hair curling down past the neckline of her bright red blouse. She tried to come up with an answer that didn’t reveal her to be a chicken. A wuss. A complete coward.
Because hooking up with a near-stranger seemed like the kind of thing that would require a level of bravery and self-confidence only owned by Wonder Woman and Meghan Markle.
“Oh. Well. I’ve never really been into one-night stands.”
“Bad experiences, huh?” Then, before Anda could respond, Jenny’s eyes widened. “Have you ever had one?”
“No.” Unless you counted Chance. Which Anda did not because the intention had been for a relationship. The sex was supposed to be the next step in their evolving, growing relationship.
Not the last step in it.
Jenny slapped her hands together loudly, like they were already done. “Then consider this a necessary life experience that it’s about time you crossed off the bucket list.”
“My bucket list is more about traveling to Australia and scuba diving and maybe running a marathon. Oh, and eating actual Belgian chocolate in Belgium. All of those things come with guaranteed satisfaction. Sex with a stranger? Not so much.”
“Nonsense. This isn’t 1894. Or even 1952.” Jenny stabbed an arm out, gesturing to the men lined up in their identical uniforms of jeans, Chelsea boots and Henleys. “Men are more evolved nowadays. They are fully aware that our orgasms are nonnegotiable. A prereq to their own, even.”
A guaranteed orgasm definitely made the idea more palatable. Anda pursed her lips, trying to weigh the believability of Jenny’s claim. “Are you sure?”
“I hear men talk about sex all day, every day on the job. Kind of unavoidable on reality dating shows. Plus, I hear the women talk, too. I’m telling you, hookups are on trend right now. And if men were sucking at them? Women would go home to their vibrators.”
“Okayyyyyy.” Anda dragged out the word because she couldn’t think of a way to refute a single point. “But I live in a college town. I’m not hooking up with a coed. And if I venture outside of my college town, I hit actor-land. No thank you.”
“Agreed. You need to do this with someone who looks at you more often than he looks at himself.”
Might as well throw in a jaunt down the Yellow Brick Road to make that happen. “Am I going to have to take a road trip to accomplish this magical, empowering, ego rebuilding one-night stand?”
“Yes. Yes!” Jenny shouted, pumping her fist into the air.
“Geez. That’s a lot of excitement for a road trip.” Dawning horror had Anda clutching her throat. “Tell me you’re not suggesting I hang out at a truck stop to look for my perfect hookup. Because that’s very Movie of the Week, and I don’t want to end up coyote food in the Mojave Desert.”
After blowing a raspberry, Jenny said, “Worst case scenario much?”
Deservedly so. “Well, my last relationship ended up being a total lie and I got dumped on national TV, so yeah, call me a teensy bit gun-shy. Guarded. Paranoid. Whatever.”
“I think you should take a road trip. A free one. Remember the hotel Man of Her Dreams used in Colorado?”
“Of course. It was a crazy beautiful, luxurious resort.” One Anda would never be able to afford for herself.
“Which got a ton of free publicity by letting us base there. They tried to build on that by giving all of you a free week’s stay at their sister property in Las Vegas.”
“All of who? The women on the show? Me?”
“Yes.” Jenny rolled her eyes as the waiter dropped off two more frosty glasses. “Didn’t you look through your exit packet?”
After each contestant got booted, a bag with the show’s logo was waiting for them in the getaway limo. Or, as some of the women had called it, “The Tear Wagon.”
“I dumped everything out, looking for a note from Chance. When there wasn’t one, I stuffed it all back together and tossed it in the back of my closet when I got home.” Anda didn’t need any reminders of Chance. She saw him every time she closed her eyes.
“Well, in addition to the obligatory tissues, chocolate and airplane-sized bottles of booze, there were coupons and freebies from all the show sponsors. Some might’ve expired by now. But if I remember right, the hotel stay didn’t expire until after February. They hoped to catch the V-Day crowd.”
“Really?” No way was a hearts and flowers Valentine’s Day in her future. But this could be fun. A fancy hotel. Better than average clientele. The inherent safety of hooking up in a hotel instead of going to a stranger’s house, or worse, bringing one to hers. Anda had to admit this plan had possibilities. “I could drive there, so it would cost—”
Jenny cut her off by making an O with her thumb and first finger. “It costs nothing. Food’s included. It’s an all-inclusive resort. Do it soon before those job opportunities you’re going to tell me all about pan out.”
“You know what? This is crazy enough to be right.” Anda lifted her glass in a toast. “On one condition. Come on this adventure with me. You’ve been gone six months—you’ve got vacation time galore, I’ll bet. Help me find the right man.”
“There’s an offer I can’t refuse.”
Anda just hoped her future Orgasm-Guaranteed Man would feel the same way...