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Authors: Nancy Kelly

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BOOK: Ginny Blue's Boyfriends
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“That’s not the way it is with Ian and me.”
“Yeah? Well, last week you thought it was all some strange plot on his part. I thought you might even break up with him.”
“Never,” she murmured, nose in her glass.
“You’re nuts,” I decreed. Okay, okay. I
am
judgmental sometimes. Just not most of the time.
“I love him, Blue.”
I gave her a look. “Is that any reason to get married?”
She snorted on a laugh.
“I think arranged marriages might be the way to go,” I said. “This searching for the right partner takes too much effort, and the results aren’t any better than having someone say, ‘Hey, you. You’re with him now. Congratulations.’” I paused, intrigued by my own idea. “I need a yenta.”
“If you were in love right now, you’d think differently.”
I shook my head. “Love only lasts two years, three at the most. That’s when the endorphins, or whatever the hell, wear off. And your serotonin levels go up, I think. Those levels are depressed when you’re in love, and that’s why you can’t think about anything but this wonderful other person. It’s kind of like obsession. Obsessive people have depressed serotonin levels.”
“I’m not depressed,” she pointed out, annoyed by my tangent.
But I was on a roll. “So, when you’re all obsessed and in love, it’s a chemical imbalance. And you know stalkers, the really, really obsessed people? Their serotonin levels are
way
down. They must be terribly depressed.” I paused. “Or, is it way up? No, I think it’s down. So, they focus on someone and really think they’re in love. So being in love is kind of like being a stalker. Luckily, if you both feel the same way, it doesn’t really matter. You can stalk each other.”
The look on Jill’s face caught me up short. It was fear mixed with realization. “What?” I asked, wondering what I’d said that had actually gotten to her.
She put her mouth over the edge of her wine glass and mumbled, “I guess you could say I kind of stalked Ian last weekend.”
“You mean ... what? You drove by his house a few times?”
She drew a breath and said, “You know after we went to see Kristl? And then you went home because we saw Nate with that girl?”
“Tara, yes. The teenager.”
“Well, I took the long way home and drove by Ian’s place and there was someone there. I’m pretty sure. I think I saw her. He had the blinds down but there was someone there.”
I thought that over. If Ian were really with someone else, I was going to have to totally rethink my opinion of him. Frankly, I’d never felt he possessed the balls. It’s not that he’s a wimp. It’s just that he’s so serious and careful and truly in love with Jill. “Are you sure?” I asked.
“I heard them, Blue. The window was open and she was laughing. And it was that kind of flirty laughing. She was into him.”
I slid past the issue. “I wouldn’t call that stalking. That’s wanting information. There’s a difference.”
“It gets better,” she warned.
“Oh, goody.” I braced myself.
“The next day I went over early. I was going to talk to him, but then this girl came out.”
“Of his apartment?”
“I think so. It was one of ’em. Maybe it was his neighbor’s. I don’t know. But I just wanted to kill him, y’know? So ... I followed him.”
“You followed him in your car?”
“Yeah. Only it was CeeCee’s car. We’d switched.”
I finished the last bit of my sandwich and chased crumbs around on the plate with my licked index finger. “I know I’m going to hate myself for asking, but why did you switch?”
“Because I didn’t want him to see me following him, okay?” She stirred her salad with renewed vigor. The motion was as if she were cooling off a bowl of soup, except the bits of salad were getting mangled, crushed, and pulverized.
“And CeeCee went for this?”
“Stop sounding so judgmental.”
Momentarily I was stopped. Am I going to have to
completely
rethink my own vision of myself? I put that aside for the moment. “Following Ian around sounds kind of boring to me. Where’d he go? The gym?”
“He went over to his friend’s place and they just hung out for a couple of hours.”
“You didn’t wait the whole time.”
“No.” She shook her head. Something about her body language bothered me.
“How long did you wait?”
“Okay, fine! I waited the whole goddamn time. Happy now?”
I lifted my hands in surrender and noticed a bit of brie stuck to my wrist. I debated licking it off, but I do occasionally try to have some class so I wiped it off with my napkin instead. “You wanted me to listen. I’m listening. I’m just not sure what I’m hearing. Last week you were pissed off because he asked you to marry him, and now you’re following him around like a jilted girlfriend. But just because he took the ring back doesn’t mean you’re completely through. You guys are still Jill-Ian,” I said with more conviction than I felt. I watched her carefully. Her head jerked in a nod. Then to my surprise her eyes filled with sudden tears. She seemed not to know what to do about them, so I awkwardly handed her an unused cloth napkin I filched from the just-set nearby table. The waiter gave me a dirty look, but didn’t complain when he saw Jill press the cloth to both eyes.
“He called last night and broke up with me,” she choked out. “The
fucking
asshole.”
“Oh ... .”
“I should have told you. I know. I just can’t believe it.” Her face contorted in an effort to stem more tears.
Jill and Ian had been Jill-Ian for so long that this sudden switch was difficult to process. Okay, she’d had a brief delusional moment when she’d been starry-eyed over Jackson, but she and Ian had never fully separated, even then. From a purely selfish standpoint I liked the idea of Jill being free. Ian seemed to just always be so
there.
But her pain distressed me. She’s usually so good at hiding her feelings. This really hurt.
I tried to come up with something sage and truthful and helpful, but my mind was a blank. And fresh off how badly I’d wounded Kristl, I didn’t think any militant feminist stuff from me about how she was lucky to be rid of the
fucking
asshole was going to be the answer.
I said, “You need something stronger than Chardonnay.”
She blinked at me. “What exactly are you suggesting? Straight vodka?”
“Not a bad idea ...”
Her gaze sharpened on me. “Something even stronger? Something ... illegal?”
“No. Well, I don’t think so.” I was surprised by the way she jumped to that conclusion.
“Well, what then? You sounded so ... nefarious.”
Had I? I really had only meant to comfort. But seeing the interested look on her face—the only glimpse of hope that she might actually ascend from the depths of wallowing grief—made me suddenly want to help her out chemically. I said, off the top, “I caught one of our PAs smoking dope in the men’s room at work. I didn’t tell Holly. I don’t know exactly why.”
“ ’Cause you hate being a rat. You’re almost pathological about it.”
“I like the guy, and he likes me. I could probably score you some, if you’re interested.”
She sank back into her chair, defeated. “I fear I need more than marijuana to kill this pain,” she said.
“That’s about as far into controlled substance procuring as I go.”
She thought it over, shrugged, and said, “Okay, why not?”
I hesitated a moment, not certain quite how I’d suddenly become the pusher. This was not a role I’d ever been in before. It was definitely outside of the Ginny Blue boundaries for okay behavior.
Then I looked over at Jill. Her unhappiness was huge, practically a living thing. Medical marijuana helps glaucoma and is helpful in controlling pain in cancer patients. Maybe this would do some good. And dope was a notorious trigger for the munchies. Jill might actually
eat
something.
I’m all about rationalization sometimes.
I said, “We’ll talk again at 2100 hours.”
“Oh, Blue.”
“Get the check and let’s skedaddle.”
Chapter
6
S
ean came back to the office in the afternoon for a delivery and pick up. I followed him outside and caught him at his car, a Jeep, as he was just about to leave on another run. He looked at me expectantly. For a moment I was tongue-tied. What had sounded like “help for a friend” at the restaurant now didn’t seem like such a hot idea. Was I really going to ask this kid for some dope?
“I’ve got this friend ...” I started lamely.
“Yeah? A guy friend?” He gave me a look and a smile, the kind that says he finds you attractive.
I suddenly worried about my hair, my clothes, my lack of discernible makeup. I was on a job for pete’s sake. In jeans and a green T-shirt. He couldn’t expect me to look like a model, could he? As soon as these thoughts crossed my mind I wanted to slap myself. I was not, not, not interested in Sean. “No, it’s my friend Jill. Rough time with the guy she’s been with.”
He waited patiently for the point. My mind wandered, briefly, as I considered what he would look like without his shirt. Like me, he was working, and you never knew when that could involve lifting or minor carpentry or, in my case, a six-page document on cost analysis. You had to be ready for anything. Still, I catalogued his denim jeans and shirt and work boots and wondered what his real wardrobe was like. I pegged him for rumpled, like Nate.
“She’s incredibly depressed. I think she needs medication.”
“Prozac? That stuff ’ll dead’n ya.”
“I was thinking more like—dope. Could I buy a joint from you?”
He laughed. “Hell, no. Man, that’s commerce, y’know? Bein’ a dealer? Forget it ... here.” He dug into one of his pockets and pulled out two rather beaten-up joints. “They’re yours. Have fun with your friend.”
I felt a warm feeling for Sean as he handed over the contraband. And that’s when I said it, just off the top of my head. “My friend—another friend—is having a birthday next Saturday. We’re celebrating. Having a party.”
“You inviting me?”
I nodded.
“Cool,” he said, and the lifted brow he sent me was decidedly flirty.
I gave him a long look over my shoulder as he left and he did the same. For the rest of the afternoon and into the rest of the week we caught each other’s eyes and smiled. It was so high school it made me giddy. I didn’t ask myself what I was doing because I was pretty sure I wouldn’t want to know the answer.
As luck would have it, I didn’t connect with Jill until the weekend. By that time I’d nearly forgotten about the dope and CeeCee’s birthday party. Sean, however, had entered a new space in my mind. I listened for his return and took extra effort on my appearance. I even found myself plucking my eyebrows Thursday night, a bit of personal grooming I’d let slide those last months with Nate. It was curious how unable I was to conjure up Nate’s face. I was shocked one morning when I realized I hadn’t required tons and tons of counseling from my friends. My God! It was highly possible they didn’t even all know yet. Had I told CeeCee? Kristl?
Liam Engleston himself called on Tuesday. I was surprised not to speak to an underling, but upon hearing his supercilious voice I made an executive decision and said, tersely and sharply, “I’m sorry, Mr. Engleston. We have hired a different catering firm.” I hoped Jill was up for the job. I should have nailed this down earlier. I had a memory of the defeated slump of her shoulders at the Farm and worried that I should have made a greater effort to contact her over the course of the week.
There was silence on Engleston’s end. When he finally spoke, I could tell he was trying extremely hard not to scream. He asked for my superior, one of his favorite lines, apparently, and I waved at Holly who just happened to be walking by at that moment. She silently queried me with furrowed brow as she took the receiver. I mimed that I was eating.
“Hello?” she said in a cool voice, glaring at me. She expects me to handle all problems. I lifted my palms in surrender, but then whatever Liam was saying snapped her attention to the matter at hand. She listened for a solid ten seconds and then said crisply, “I don’t give a rat’s ass about anything you’re saying. Either deal with Ginny or get off the phone.” She handed the receiver back to me without a word and kept walking.
Tom started choking on one of the Jolly Ranchers he likes to consume by the truckload. I could tell he was about to burst as I gingerly put the receiver to my ear. “Mr. Engleston?”
There was only dead air. I hung up and Tom hooted with laughter and gave me a high five. I grinned. I decided I liked Holly. I really, really liked her. Okay, I knew that would last a New York minute, but I love it when someone steps up and takes care of things just the way you’d like them to be done.
Friday morning I was driving west on the 10 at breakneck speed when my cell phone started singing. It was Jill. She needed to see me right away. She and Ian truly were split up, apparently. I found this notion so hard to wrap my brain around that I couldn’t quite process it as truth.
“I’m late,” I told her. “The Holy Terror is waiting for me and she’s not good at waiting.”
“Am I catering your job, or not?” she asked.
“Yep. Liam Engleston is out. Too expensive, too gourmet. A bad idea right from the start. Remind me never to listen to my crew again.”
“Shoot days are Wednesday through Saturday?”
“Sunday, too, if necessary.”
“Sandwiches, salads, desserts, beverages,” she said.
“Nonalcoholic beverages,” I reminded her, to which she snorted.
“I know my job, Blue,” she said in an acid voice.
“Well, ex-cu-uuu-se, me.”
“Did you talk to that PA guy? Y’know ... ?”
“Got it handled,” I assured her.
We agreed to stop by her place, which was in Venice, on the way to CeeCee’s party at the trendy bar called Someplace Else. The bar was someone’s brainchild and that same someone had also opened The Other Place across the street. This way you could go from The Other Place to Someplace Else without ever getting behind the wheel. My plan was to deliver Jill the contraband, then head out to Someplace Else. But nobody was smokin’ nothin’ until after the party.
On this, as it turned out, I was wrong. I’d barely turned off my ignition in front of Jill’s bungalow when Sean, whom I’d invited to our prefunction plans, drove his Jeep into the curb and stopped with a screech of brakes. Jill, who’d stepped outside upon spying my Explorer, eyed his car suspiciously. As Sean stumbled out and slammed the door, she demanded, “Who are you?” in a withering voice meant to intimidate lesser mortals.
Sean, however, was impervious, unaware, and uncaring. He said, “Sean,” sticking out his hand. Jill carefully shook it, her eyes sliding my way.
I explained, “Sean is the procurer of our devil weed.”
“Uh-huh.” Jill looked annoyed. “So, what are you doing here?”
“I invited him,” I answered.
“Hope it’s okay,” he said, though his tone suggested he couldn’t have cared less.
Jill glared at him and then me. “This birthday party is for close friends.”
He shrugged his shoulders, grinning like a goof. “I’m friendly.”
Jill slowly turned to me, her face frozen. Taking my cue from Sean, I shrugged, too. “We might as well get going.”
Jill stiffly climbed into the passenger seat of the Explorer and Sean jumped in the back. I knew I would pay for bringing him along, but truthfully, there was something annoyingly wonderful about Sean that alternately irked and amused me. I’d begun to feel jaded about men, I’d realized, and it was time I got over that.
Someplace Else was down Abbott-Kinney, toward the beach. Jill sulked sullenly while Sean, already high and in that doofus-like, surfer-boy mode so popular in B-comedies these days, prattled on and on about the most inane Tolkien minutiae, his current obsession, apparently. I finally realized in surprise that he’d actually read the books.
“You’ve read the whole trilogy?” I said in disbelief. “All of the
Lord of the Rings?
”
“Totally, man.”
Jill snorted and pointed out, “Blue is a woman.”
“It’s okay,” I said, shooting Jill a quelling look. She just turned her head to the window and Sean leaned forward, breathing his pot-laced breath near my ear.
“Like, I loved the films. Wow. Went back like eleven times.” He chortled. “Couldn’t wait for the third one, so I started readin’ it, y’know? But shit, man, there are a lotta names! So, I went back to the first one and kept on readin’ till I was done. Read
The Hobbit,
too.” He turned to Jill. “It’s the prequel.”
“I’m aware,” she managed tightly.
“You’re kinda uptight, aren’t ya? Good thing I brought the good stuff. Want some now.” He fished in a pocket, but I quelled this fast.
“We’ve still got the two you gave me. And I don’t want to do anything in the car. Or at the party. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Jill, who normally wasn’t quite such a prig about things, couldn’t seem to shake her mood. But once started, Sean could not be stopped. He talked about Middle-Earth as if it were more real than Los Angeles. Thinking of the endless traffic and generally ugly commercial storefronts lining the streets, I wondered if he might be on to something.
“I am GinBlue-san of the shire,” I said.
Jill snorted. “What are you? Japanese-hobbit?”
“Cool,” said Sean.
“Okay, I’ll drop the ‘san’ part.”
“Hell, no.” Sean threw Jill a thoughtful look. “I like GinBlue-san. Sounds like Bombay Sapphire gin and saki, or something. Hey, maybe we should stop and have some saki bombs? Just to get started.”
“Someplace Else’ll have some, probably,” I said, sure Jill was about to erupt.
To my surprise she seemed to think over Sean’s suggestion. “Ian and I had saki bombs at the Paper Door a couple of weeks ago.”
Her wistful tone surprised Sean who’d only seen Jill in vicious mode thus far. “Who’s Ian?”
“The
fucking
asshole,” Jill answered as the words crossed my mind at the exact same moment.
I recalled those saki bombs; Nate and I had met up with Jill and Ian and imbibed. Not that I’m much for saki, but when in Rome—or Tokyo—so to speak. A saki bomb is a jigger of saki balanced on two chopsticks above a pint of beer. You pound the table with your fists until the jigger falls into the beer then you chug the beer. At least that’s the theory. In my case I go through the pounding ritual then sip at the beer because I’m neither a saki nor a huge beer lover. Okay, I like beer, but I can’t ever drink a brewsky without thinking of all the calories. Don’t ask me why, as I can swill other alcohol without a second thought. Anyway, Jill and Ian were having a wonderful time that night, but Nate and I weren’t, so I couldn’t view the evening through the same set of rose-colored glasses as Jill apparently did.
We arrived at Someplace Else and were forced to valet park. I always worry that some guy wearing a pair of black pants and carrying a tag-notepad will jump into my car and take off, never to be seen again. I’m fond of my Explorer and as I watched it being driven off I felt a pang of worry, which I did not communicate to Jill or Sean as they would’ve undoubtedly derided me for my fears.
We walked inside and the bouncer checked our IDs through a computer setup of some kind. I swear, it’s getting harder and harder to cheat and/or talk your way into a bar if you’re not of age—unless maybe you’re Nate’s Tara. I guess I should be glad they still bother to check my ID, but truthfully they check anyone no matter what their age.
I looked around for CeeCee, worried maybe she was at The Other Place, and I’d screwed up. Suddenly I zeroed in on the one person I really did not want to see: Jackson Wright!
Oh. My. God
. What the hell was he doing here? And why did he look so damn good, with hair grown a tad long over the collar of a blue silk shirt?
He was seated at the bar, his back to me. For an immature moment I thought about turning and running, but then I shored up my confidence and sauntered over. I mean, what was the big deal? It’s not like we’d ever slept together or anything. He was just a guy I was bound to run into from time to time since we both lived, and apparently played, around Santa Monica, west LA and Venice.
I said as an opening gambit, “And here I thought you’d be at The Other Place.”
He turned to look at me. I was hit afresh by his dark, attractive looks. Not a good sign. He’s got that swarthy complexion and lean, muscular body that gets to me right in the core. I was flummoxed when he smiled widely as if he were truly thrilled to see me.
“Ginny Blue,” he said, gathering me in a deep hug.
This was more physical contact than I was prepared for and I immediately tightened up. If he noticed, he had the good graces not to mention it. Instead he released me and said, “CeeCee called me about the party. I thought I might see you here.” His smile was of friendship, nothing more, but it hit me in the gut. Or, maybe it was just learning that CeeCee had specifically invited him. That she had his phone number. It was a good thing Kristl wasn’t coming.
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