Take Two (7 page)

The pictures we
bought while vacationing in Greece were still hangi
ng on the wall. The window coverings
we
purchased in Italy
, the handmade beige and ivory satin drapes
, wer
e still flowing down to the floor.

The rest
of my belongings were
lined
against
the bay window on
the far end of the room
.
One of my charm bracelet
s
,
the last
one Sean
and I
made
together
,
was lying on the floor. I scoop
ed it up a
nd rubbed each of the charms:
plane, film reel, piz
za slice, fountain pen
, and a baby bottle
.

I
once told Sean that when the time came, we could
turn my office into a nursery.
I told him how I saw
us painting the room together, traveling to
Europe
to
find new photographs, and buying only the best baby furniture.
I remembered him laughing as I told him this, smiling at the
thought of our future together.

“Would you like some wi
ne?” blonde bitch
asked.

WHAT?

“No
thank you. I’m just going to get started if you don’t mind
.
”

She looked as if she wanted to say something more, but she nodded her
head and walked away
.

The nerve.

I pulled out a duffle ba
g and
stuff
ed
it with dresses and shoes. I stacked everything else in the center of the room and made a list of
what
I was leaving for Sophie to retrieve tomorrow.

After an hour of organizing,
I
pulled the duffle bag over my
shoulder
and walked down the hallway
. I spotted blonde bitch
reading a book in the kitchen.

“Woman to woman,” I dropped the duffle bag onto the floor. “I need to ask you something.”

“Yes?” she looked up at me.

“Did yo
u sleep with my fiancé before my
wedding?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know that he was engaged?”
my voice cracked.

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t see a problem with that?”

“Of course I did.
But
I just
knew
that he and I—”

I raised my hand. “I just needed to know
how little
of my respect you deserved.”

I pic
ked up the duffle bag
an
d headed outside to hail a
cab.

Matt

The interview with
GQ
was more entertaining than I thought it would be. The interviewer didn’t act like he knew me personally and actually inquired a
bout things that mattered to me:
philanth
ropy, dancing, and fine dining.

Only one of his questions bothered me: “You’re highly successful, you’ve clearly found love, and are surrounded by people who care about you. If you
died
today, will you have accomplished all you wanted in life?”

I gave some bullshit response,
but I kn
ew that the real answer was no.

I’d spent the past two years committed to someone I could barel
y stand. I
spent the past four
acting in films that could’ve been written by a
group of high school girls. I
surrounde
d myself with people who said “y
es,” to everything I asked, and as far as
the “
clearly found love” part? A
t
twenty seven?
I severely doubted that.

A
f
ter the interview, I kept on my
Tom Ford suit and
had my driver take me
to the building that housed
The New York Appeal
.

The
ashen
black building towered over ev
ery business on the block. I
t didn’t look like the type of building where creative people worked. Then again, Melody Carter worked there.

“M-M-Matt Sterling?” the receptionist greeted me.

“That’s me,” I flashed my
smile. “I have a meeting with Melody Carter this afternoon. Is she still available?”

“A meeting with
Melody Carter
?” she
tilted her head to the side.

H
as no one ever seen this woman?

“Yes. Melody Carter,” I enunciated each syllable.

“Hold on one second Mr. Sterling
,” she picked up her phone. “Hello Sophie? This is reception down on the main floor. Does your boss have any meetings scheduled for this afternoon? Okay…I see. Sir, Miss Carter doesn’t have any meetings scheduled for the rest of the month.”

Damnit.

“
Well, it’s clearl
y a misunderstanding on my part. Is there any way I could
go up there and say hello anyway?”

“Not without a meeting.
I’m sorry. All guests have to be personally escorted to the 30
th
floor.”

“Look,” I eyed her name plate. “Miss Hamilton is it?”

She blushed. “Yes.”

“Thank
you for being so accommodating.
Is there anything I could
sign
for you,
anything you
want me to autograph?”

“Umm
my T-shirt?” she pulled a white T-shirt from underneat
h her desk and handed it to me.

“Okay,” I signed her shirt
, and as she admired
it I tried again
. “So
there’s no way I could—”

“Nope.”

“Not even if I—”

“Nope,”
she a
nswered a
ringing phone.

I gave her a curt goodb
ye and walked outside.
Joan
and my driver
were
waiting
across th
e street, but I didn’t want to
giv
e up just yet. I turned
around and saw a paint crew walking around the side of
the building. I followed them.

“Hey you!” a large man called out. “You mind holding the door for us?”

“Not at all,” I sprinted ahea
d of them and held the metal
door open
. After the la
st of the men entered, I
walked around until I
found the
s
erv
ice elevator
. I
punched thirty
.

When the elevator finally reached the floor
,
I felt as if I’d landed in
side
a time capsule. Newspaper clippings, vintage Hollywood posters,
movie tickets, and awards c
overed every inch of the walls.

I
crept past two huge
conference
rooms
,
a kitchen, and found myself
in a semi-circle of closed white doors. There was no way to tell which office belonged to whom.

I heard footsteps and ran into the kitchen. I slid into what appeared to be a pantry.

Why
do they need a pantry
?

When I was certain no one was around, I walked back to where I had been and looked back and forth between the white doors.

I
suddenly heard another set of footsteps so
I headed the other way—down a brightly lit hallway with Hollywood
legends
painted onto the walls.

I turned the corner and saw Melody Carter’s nam
e etched in bright gold letters above
a
black
door. There
was no one sitting at the
desk to the side of it,
so I
made my move.

I ran my fingers along her
name before knocking.

“Come in
Sophie!
” she called.

I slipped inside and
shut
the door
. The back of her
chair was facing me.

She won’t even let her assistant see her face?

“Miss Carter? It’s Matt Sterling. We need to talk.”

The chair wh
irled around and the
re she was.

“You’re definitely
not fat and ugly,” I took a step back.

“Excuse m
e?” she narrowed her eyes
and for a moment I forgot what I was going to sa
y. She was absolutely beautiful. He
r red hair fell past her shoulders, her eyes were a soft green, and her lips—

“I only meet with
talented
people
Mr. Sterling,” she
cut through my thoughts. “How’d you
get past security?”

“I’m
Matt Sterling
. People actually know who I am.”

“You came here for an ego boost?” she smirked.

Oh
my god she’s gorgeous
…
How old is she
?

“No.
I came here to talk about your shitty reviews.”

“That correspond with your shitty movies?”

“With all due respect, which is
none
, I don’t appreciate you taking your poor excuse for a life out on
me
. You trash me in every review and it’d be nice if for once, you said something amicable about homegrown talent.”

“Please don’t use yourself and
talent
in the same sentence, Mr. Sterling,” she stood up. “It’s an insult to those who actually possess it.”

“Ha! I have two other films coming out this—”

“I’m sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry
if
you were offended by my words. If you feel that they are slanderous or emotionally damaging in any way, feel free to voice your concerns to the complaints department on the
twentieth
floor.
There’s also counseling on the seventh
floor. Is that all?”

“N
o!” I said louder than I intende
d to.

“Oh?”

“I would appreciate an
immediate
apology…
for your erratic and unprofessional review of every film I’ve been in
over the past few
years
. In print. In next week’s paper.”

She laughed. “Or else?”

“Or else…I don’t have that part figured out yet but—”

“Mr. Sterling,” she walked over to the door and opened it. “Let me tell you what I would do if I were you right now. If I were Matt Sterling and
I made fifteen million a
movie
—”

“
Eighteen
, sweetheart.”

Is she blushing?

“Eighteen million a
movie
. I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass what someone wrote about me and I would leave Melody Carter’s office before she called security.”

“And if I were you,” I knocked a
huge
vase of Skittles off her desk. “I would spend the rest of my afternoon picking those up.”

Melody

I pulled a mini-vac
out of my
drawer and began extracting
Skittles from
the floor. I should have
known
i
t
wasn’t Sophie. S
he was still running errands
.

Why did it feel like
Matt
Sterling was checking me out? And why did I want him to take his shirt off
?

I shook away the thought and rolled my eyes. I wished I could rewind our encounter, wished I could have been a little nicer. My sarcasm had never developed an off button, or a filter.

This is why no one ever wanted to take you out….besides
Sean
.