Hollywood Ever After (Red Carpet 1)

n’t have to do this…”

“It’s your birthday, for Christ’s sake. I wanted to.”

“We have to sing, Shannon,” Josh argued, “or it doesn’t count. Come on, be a good sport.”

And they did. Shannon was mortified, red-faced and giggling, while Josh sang loudly and intentionally off-key.

I smiled at them both. “I have to say, this is the most…unique birthday I’ve ever had.”

Shannon rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Food will be here soon, so let’s eat this before we ruin the whole dessert first thing. And you might as well hand me one.” She indicated one of the scripts with a cream-covered finger.

We ate the cake in companionable silence, the remaining blobs of crème and raspberries vanishing as a testament to its sheer deliciousness. In the end, it was completely devoured while the Chinese food was barely touched.

I tried to pay attention to the script I was reading but fell asleep fifteen pages into it. I didn’t mean to, but I had no interest in watching a movie about specially engineered super-fast cars, token sex scenes, racing, and other done-to-death themes, let alone read about it.

I woke up in the bedroom and glanced at the clock; it was three am. I turned over, briefly considered getting up…before drifting off again.

***

“I’ll have an egg-white omelet and a grapefruit half.” I smiled at the waitress and took a sip of my very black coffee.

The sun filtered through the trees that lined the courtyard of the cafe. It was bright and sunny, the lightest breeze blowing my curls out of my face. It was delightful, especially considering the temperature was in the thirties back home.

“That sounds vile.” Shannon closed her menu, stating, “I want the crepes, please.”

The waitress nodded and moved on.

Shannon swept the diners with steady eyes then gave me her full attention. "This is my favorite place for breakfast. They have flaky croissants that are sinful, and scones and chocolate pastries…” Her eyes half closed in thought as she considered her favorites.

“Sounds tempting.”

“How do you manage without really eating? No french fries, bread, cake, pasta? You’re cutting out the soul food.”

“I eat those things. I ate my fair share last night, didn’t I?” I shrugged.

“I don’t care if you are all sexy and sleek. I’ll take a chocolate raspberry trifle over sex every time.”

I rolled my eyes. “Then you’re not doing it right,” I teased. “How late were you up?”

“I turned in about three-thirty. I’m not sure when Josh left.” She shook her head. “I finished one script and tried to read the one Josh gave you to read. I see why you passed out.”

“It was awful.” I was very deliberately keeping Josh out of my mind. When I woke up, I had been in my bed, covered. He’d put a note on the pillow next to me that read Wish I were here. I sincerely regretted not waking up to say goodbye to him.

I would not think of his hazel eyes, or crazy hair, or his long fingers and strong hands. There was a disturbingly real ache in my heart.

“What do you want to do today? I took the whole day off, so let’s have fun!”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m up for anything.”

“Good. We do have a dinner reservation tonight at this very fancy new seafood restaurant. I thought it might be fun to go ogle the rich and famous. Until then, we have some serious shopping to do.” She laughed as my face fell.

Once I gave over to the idea of playing human Barbie doll, I had fun. After years of dressing to hide bruises, showing skin made me nervous. I stood in front of a mirror, forcing myself to become more accustomed to “me” while Shannon filled the gaps in my wardrobe. Several shopping bags later, we headed home for an early evening walk along the beach.

Shannon took a conference call when we got home, giving me a few minutes to poke around the house and enjoy the quiet.

The contract was still sitting there on the end table. I circled it, glancing out the back window at the beach below. Then I avoided it as I walked into the kitchen to get some water. I lingered, finding an apple to snack on and discovering another reason we’d have to go out for dinner: Shannon’s cupboards were bare.

I considered this and turned back to examine her house. There were no photos, no personal bits and bobs to enlighten visitors about who she was, what her likes or dislikes were. It was a great house, but there was nothing remotely personal about it. Because Shannon was never home.