On Saturday mornings, I’d taken to going boxing at my uncle Connor’s place. Since he recently decided to crawl out of the depths and resurrect himself from Hollywood infamy (long story), he’d been more social. Part of his newfound sociability included hosting folks at his house for workouts. My brother Peter’s friend Mark, who we’d all but adopted in recent months, provided the direction.
I hit the garage first, which meant I won.
“Who’s weird now,” I asked him. “Loser.”
“Still you.”
I shrugged. Was I being weird? I was excited about tomorrow. Tomorrow I had a date with Cindy. I hadn’t had a date in ages. Or, if I had, I hadn’t cared. I honestly couldn’t remember which it was. But tomorrow I had a date with Cindy, and even though I still didn’t know her last name, I was excited.
My agent had called this morning to let me know that the Oscar campaign for my best actor nomination was officially in full swing. I had a dozen press appointments and appearances that I’d need to make in the next few weeks. I was being put through the full Hollywood dog and pony show for that little gold statue. But even with that on the horizon, it was Cindy I was excited about.
“No chatting,” Mark barked at us. “More running.”
We took off toward the mailbox again. I was still in the lead. I had so much energy today, it was amazing. Especially because I’d had three glasses of wine the night before. They crept up on me now. In my twenties three glasses of wine would do nothing the morning after. Lately that had not been the case, but today it was like I was twenty-five again.
The running around part of these workouts was not as much fun as the punching parts. There’s something particularly satisfying about punching your family members in the face. I loved my family, but sometimes… sometimes they just needed to be punched. It was healthy to express our frustrations in a safe and constructive environment. Plus, punching burned a lot of calories.
“He’s a slave driver,” I remarked about Mark. I liked him, but the military had conditioned him to be relentless.
“Noticed that, did you?” my brother asked me. “It only took seven months. What’s going on with you? Did you start taking Zoloft?”
I would have turned and blinked in surprise, but it would have slowed me down. I shrugged instead. “Zoloft?”
“Yeah,” Derek said, still two steps behind me. “Zoloft or some other mood-altering drug. You seem different.”
“Do I usually seem depressed?” I asked.
I was not depressed.
We were back at the garage again. Derek was panting but nothing but total asphyxiation would prevent him from talking. He was the loud twin. Always had been. Always would be. “No. Not depressed. That was not what I meant. But I haven’t seen you this… uppity in a while.”
“Uppity?” I cocked an eyebrow at him.
I wasn’t entirely sure I liked the sound of that much better.
“Okay, maybe that’s not the best word either,” Derek said, laughing. “You just seem excitable. Like you just woke up this morning and remembered you have a personality. You’ve talked more this morning than you have in the last three weeks combined.”
I hadn’t realized that my low-level boredom and dissatisfaction with literally everything in the world had been apparent to anyone but me. I guess the guy who shared a womb with me would be the one to identify it though.
That didn’t mean I had to admit it. There was no need for Derek or my other relatives (plus Mark) to know about my date. After all, it was just a first date.
“Excitable, huh?” I smirked. “Okay, Derek. Whatever you say.”
“There’s something going on with you,” Derek insisted. “I’m going to figure out what it is if I have to punch it out of you.”
I grinned at him. “You’re welcome to try. After all, that’s why we’re here.”
7
Cindy
“You can’t have the day off.” Marigold was looking at me like I’d just asked for the moon with a cherry on top. “No way.”
I took a deep breath before speaking. If I lost my temper, she would too. “I’m not actually asking for the day off, Marigold. I’m not even scheduled to work tomorrow. I’m just not going to swap my shift with Quincy’s. I have an appointment.”
Marigold rolled into the shop around lunchtime, with fresh nails and a bag of In-n-Out. It was not unusual for her to drop in for a few hours on Saturdays, putter around and criticize me and Connie and then take off again. But today she’d come in and headed straight to the whiteboard that said who was on duty and tried to put me down to work tomorrow afternoon. I’d marched right over to complain.
“Reschedule your appointment,” Marigold told me. “Quincy has an audition.”
“I’m not able to do that on short notice. I’ve already committed.” My voice came out clear and even. I wasn’t angry or emotional. I was just direct.
Tomorrow, I was seeing Tommy. It would probably be the last time I ever saw him, because I was going to tell him who I was, but I wasn’t going to miss my chance. Besides, I’d committed to going on this date for the whales. My libido aside, I couldn’t disappoint the whales. Besides, Tommy had paid a lot of money for me. I couldn’t stand him up. It would be rude.
Marigold seemed shocked that I was standing up to her. I was a bit shocked too. It turns out I did have a spine buried under all my mousy insecurity. It felt good to speak my mind. Marigold certainly wasn’t used to hearing it.
“Quincy needs this audition,” Marigold sputtered. “Cindy, what could you possibly have to do that’s more important. Cindy, what do you even do?”
I bristled. It seemed my spine also had a sense of pride. I did things. “That’s my business.”
She shook her head. Her expression was condescending. “No. This is our family’s business. You, me, Quincy, and Greenlee. We’re all in this together. Sometimes we have to make personal sacrifices for our family.”
That’s what she always said. That’s what she said when she used the settlement that had been put in trust for me when my dad died in an industrial accident to buy a dry-cleaning business in LA. That’s what she said when she sold all my mom’s jewelry to pay for the move from Wisconsin. That’s what she said when she devoted all our meager profits to her daughters’ ambitions instead of my education. I had known for a while that we were only family when she got something out of me. But it had taken wanting something to wake me up to it.
“Well, this time it’s Quincy who can make the sacrifice instead of me,” I told her. “This is too short notice, and let’s face it, she probably won’t get the part anyway. I’m keeping my appointment.”
Marigold turned crimson.
“How can you say that?” she gasped. “Quincy was born for this part.”
I paused. “What kind of a part?”
Entitled Midwesterner? Fame-hungry waif? Anorexic cheerleader?
“It’s for a national commercial. She’d be playing a young suburban soccer mom.”
I laughed but turned it into a cough. “Quincy is twenty. Nobody is going to buy that she’s a young suburban soccer mom. Come on.”
I never talked like this to Marigold. I’d always thought it. But I never said it.
“How can you—” I could tell that she was about to explode.
“Why don’t you audition for the part instead?” I suggested, thinking fast. “You’re much closer to what they’re looking for.” The last time Marigold lost her shit, I’d paid for weeks.
She gaped. “I should?”
Self-preservation had just kicked in. The memories came flooding back to me. I’d been sixteen and I wanted to be on the dance team. I’d even made the second round of tryouts. But then I brought home the packet that showed how much it would cost to participate. Marigold had taken one look at the amount and declared that I was talentless, and it was a waste of money. Now, that might have been true, but I’d never asked for anything. I’d pushed back, reminded her that Greenlee had only been t
he second runner-up in her last pageant, and ended up grounded for three months. My dad rolled over the way he always did. Much like Cersei on Game of Thrones, Marigold loved her children. And nothing would stand between her and their success. Except, maybe, Marigold.
“Yes,” I told my stepmother. “You should audition. You’re a young mom.” Forty-nine, but whatever. “You look much more like this part than Quincy.”
Like her daughters, Marigold was tall, blonde, and slim. She had been beautiful before she went crazy with the tanning, the peroxide, and the teeth whitening. Now she was merely attractive, but she was legitimately more likely to get the part than Quincy, who had a zero percent chance.
“Hmm,” Marigold said, stepping back from the whiteboard. “You might be right.”
Across the shop, behind Marigold’s back, Connie shot me a double thumbs-up.
8
Cindy
Tommy Prince [2:10 p.m.]: So, are we on for tomorrow? Dating for the whales?
Cindy Brown [2:30 p.m.]: Of course. I can’t let down the Humpback Whale Foundation. Unlike you, I’m filled with altruism.
Tommy Prince [2:31 p.m.]: You aren’t obligated to go out with me if you don’t want to.
Cindy Brown [2:32 p.m.]: You aren’t obligated to go out with me either.
Tommy Prince [2:33 p.m.]: I don’t feel any misplaced obligation. I want to go out with you.
Cindy Brown [2:34 p.m.]: I don’t feel any obligation either. But what kind of monster would do that to the whales? We made them a promise.
Tommy Prince [2:35 p.m.]: Is that the only reason you want to go?
Cindy Brown [2:38 p.m.]: Is that the only reason you bid on me?
Tommy Prince [2:40 p.m.]: No. I already told you. Your turn.
Cindy Brown [2:45 p.m.]: You want me to admit that I’m attracted to you? Doesn’t it get old to have every woman in the world fall in love with you?
Tommy Prince [3:00 p.m.]: It was a yes or no answer. Are you only going out with me for the whales?
Cindy Brown [3:10 p.m.]: Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. I’m a human woman with a pulse. I have a crush on you.
Tommy Prince [3:12 p.m.]: That’s nice to hear. You know, my ego is just as fragile as any other man’s.
Cindy Brown [3:14 p.m.]: Sure. I imagine that scores of screaming fans really do terrible things for your ego.
Tommy Prince [3:25 p.m.]: In all honesty, my ego could probably use some adjustment. Maybe I need someone to knock me down a few pegs.
Cindy Brown [3:30 p.m.]: Is that why you bid on me? I seem like a mean person?
Tommy Prince [3:34 p.m.]: Hardly.
Cindy Brown [3:35 p.m.]: Then why?
Tommy Prince [3:40 p.m.]: Why can’t whales fly?
Cindy Brown [4:00 p.m.]: What?
Tommy Prince [4:05 p.m.]: Oh sorry. I thought we were asking silly questions now. I bid on you because you’re beautiful, you dance well, and you’re smart. Isn’t that enough?
Cindy Brown [4:10 p.m.]: It’s more than enough. Thank you. I hope you aren’t making fun of me.
Tommy Prince [4:15 p.m.]: Why would I make fun of you?
Cindy Brown [4:20 p.m.]: I don’t know. It’s easy? That’s what my sisters usually say when I ask them.
Tommy Prince [4:24 p.m.]: I’m not making fun of you. And I don’t think doing so would be easy. You seem tough.
Cindy Brown [4:45 p.m.]: Now you’re definitely making fun of me.
Tommy Prince [5:00 p.m.]: See you tomorrow, Cindy. I’m looking forward to our date.
9
Cindy
A car came and picked me up for the date. Everything had been arranged already, and I just had to be there. I’d even been told what to wear: jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt, closed toe shoes. It still required an almost five-hour clothing selection process, but I eventually managed to get dressed, ready, and out the door. I “borrowed” a white silk scarf from the dry cleaners and wove it into my hair to add some interest to my otherwise blah look. I took comfort in knowing that there was some structure already planned, which I hoped would help me cover for any inevitable awkwardness.
After all, I’d only met Tommy Prince for three minutes while dancing. What if we had nothing in common? Oh, who was I kidding? We officially had nothing in common. I worked at a dry cleaner. He was about to win an Oscar. We might as well be from separate planets. I was sure we’d exhausted all three minutes of common ground already. So, I was grateful this date was all planned out.
Then I arrived at “LA Tandem Skydiving.”
No fucking way.
I gaped at the entrance for so long that the Uber driver asked if I was okay.
“Are you sure this is where I’m going?” I asked him, gripping the edges of my seat in white-knuckle terror. “This isn’t some kind of joke?”
He frowned at me in the rearview mirror. “I don’t know, miss. I just went to the address they gave me. Do you want me to call and confirm?”
I mumbled something in the negative and threw myself out of the black Cadillac, knowing that I’d probably be throwing myself out of a plane soon. At least I wasn’t particularly afraid of heights! I mean, I didn’t love them, but I didn’t wet myself over them.
I guessed I was about to find out how brave I really was. At least I’d already warmed up my confidence by fighting with Marigold yesterday. Because my newfound sense of self-esteem was about to get her first workout.
Go big or go home.
But honestly, skydiving? Because a personal interaction with an A-list movie star wasn’t stressful enough? My blood pressure rocketed up to aneurism levels, but I made it through the door. Maybe if I just took this experience in small manageable chunks, I could get through it.
My dad used to say that the way to eat an elephant was one bite at a time. Right about now, eating an elephant seemed like a viable alternative to whatever was going to happen on this date. It was equally unbelievable to my current state.
Tommy was there when I walked in, looking like he did this every day. He was so good looking it wasn’t even funny. There’s regular handsome, and then there’s Tommy Prince handsome. His tousled hair and bright green eyes were enough to make me feel weak in the knees.
“Hi,” I managed, still not sure if I was genuinely having this experience or if I’d fallen into another bizarre fugue state or suffered some kind of “Fight Club” personality split. This was beyond weird.
“Hi,” he replied. Tommy grinned at me. “Nice to see you again, Cindy. You look beautiful. I’m glad you came.”
“I couldn’t let the whales down,” I stuttered out, starstruck. He thought I was beautiful. No, he was just being polite…
“Is that the only reason you came?” he asked me. I got the sudden, absurd feeling he might care about the answer.
I shook my head, suddenly not sure what to say. Oh no. I was blowing it already. Only ten seconds in and I was already speechless.
Get a fucking grip! I made myself take a slow, deep breath. It wouldn’t be a good idea to pass out.
“Skydiving on a first date?” Tommy asked me, graciously covering for my awkwardness. “Was this your suggestion? I’m impressed.”
I shook my head. “God no! I thought it was yours.”
His expression shifted to concern and his smile faded. “We can do something else.”
Whoever planned these dates was a sadist, but in that moment, staring into Tommy’s face, I wanted to be the type of girl who would go skydiving on a first date. I wanted to be the kind of girl who could impress Tommy Prince. I wanted to be the girl who made him smile. He probably had a billion dates with girls way prettier, smarter, and more talented than me. All I could hope for was, I guess, to be interesting. Even though I knew I could never really be the girl who could hold his interest, I desperately needed to fake it.
“I’m fine with this,” I heard myself saying. “I’ve always wanted to go skydiving.”
It was true but I’d always thought of it as a one-hundred-year buck
et list item. Who cares if you die when you’re jumping out of a plane at age one hundred? You’re going to die soon anyway. But I was only twenty-three. This had better freaking work because I was not cool with dying a virgin.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s really fine. We can just go have a beer around the corner if you want.”
“I’m sure. Why? Are you scared?” I teased. I liked beer, but I’d die of embarrassment if I walked it back now. I doubled down. My pride, once awakened, was proving to be a bit of a pain in the ass.
Tommy raised an eyebrow at me. “Scared? Me? Never.”
He grinned and I smiled nervously back at him.
10
Tommy
“You’ve done this before,” Cindy accused as we were walked through the basics with the instructors. She’d been eyeing me suspiciously during the training session.
“Not for real,” I told her. “But I’ve pretended in movies.”
Unlike some of my brothers, I was not an action movie kind of guy. I’d done a couple but punching bad guys in action movies wasn’t nearly as interesting to me as arguing with them in dramas. I played a lot of lawyers, politicians, and diplomats. But I’d played a few more action-y roles, and one of them had required me to jump out of a plane. Only it wasn’t a plane, it was a prop. The sky was a greenscreen.
Cindy’s reply was a noncommittal hmm. Then she blinked. “Exhilarate,” she said. “That was the movie, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. That’s the one. There’s another trivia point for you.”
She smirked. “I’m not that good at pop culture categories.”
Auctioned to the A-Lister Page 3
