by Lia London
“Parker, can you get yourself to Anacortes by five? A charter flight will pick you up. We need you hear ASAP. No one handles a crisis like you do.”
The praise struck Parker. She knew Hollywood types were quick to lavish on the compliments when they desperately needed you, but she also knew Sandy spoke the truth.
Reviewing the whole call in her mind, she swore, eliciting a look of surprise from Guy.
“Parker, I need an answer as of now. I’ve already put calls in to Ivar Odell from Team Midwest. You were next in line, but you need to get here by tonight, or the job goes to him.”
Parker looked at Guy, withered with shame. She knew he could sense something big happening. Chewing her lip, she smacked the side of her head a few times, willing the right answer to come to her head. This was a huge break. Not a dream job, but so much money! The resume clout it would give her might make her real dreams a reality sooner than expected.
“Parker?”
“Yes, Sandy. I’ll be there. Anacortes airport, five o’clock.”
“Small craft area. I’ll text you the info. Will you be able to get it?”
“The reception on the mainland should be good enough.”
“Bye. See you soon.”
Parker disconnected, breathing hard. She dropped the phone in her lap and palmed away the tears coating her cheeks.
“Did someone die?”
“No, but …” She swallowed hard. “Ugh, my life is so upside-down.”
“Do we need to get you back to Orcas, so you can get to the airport?”
Parker inhaled a calming breath. Damp dog smell. She rolled down the window and tried again. Fresh air. “What time is it?”
“Almost two.”
She let her head flop to the side, so she could watch him. “Are you doing okay now?” Each breath of island air brought her blood pressure back down.
“The panic attack is over. Now I’m sick to my stomach because you’re leaving even earlier.”
She reached out and stroked his arm. “You and me both, Guy. You and me both.”
“Back to the ferry?”
“No. I want to see the whales.”
“But you don’t have much time.”
“Can’t I take the ferry straight to Anacortes from here?”
“Yes, but your stuff, your car—it’s all back in the cabin.” He pulled onto a driveway labeled Lime Kiln State Park.
“I’ve got my wallet and phone. It’ll be enough.” She grazed on the passing scenery as they rolled into a parking lot with picnic areas and trees. She could glimpse the open water beyond. “Maybe you could pick up my stuff from the cabin and keep it at your place? I can send instructions and funds to have anything important shipped.”
“What about the rental car?”
“I’ll tell the studio to keep paying for it since this is their dumb problem.”
“What is the problem?” He turned off the motor and beckoned Booster forward for a good backrub.
“The jerk wad who beat me out for the directorship of the national season has gotten himself fired for being a jerk wad.”
“What a jerk wad.”
“This is what I told everyone, but they wanted his brand of sleaze. Apparently, he can’t tell fiction from reality, though, and made the moves on some of the contestants.”
Guy sneered with obvious disgust. “And they want you to come and take his place now?”
“Yep. Parker to the rescue. Five-figure bonus and full salary for the rest of this and next season.”
“Next season!” He worked his jaw in a slow circle. “I see. So …”
“So …”
“Your project is postponed, then.”
Parker smirked. “I hadn’t even started the project, Guy. This’ll give me time to think. Iron out the details.”
“You’ll have time to think in crisis-management mode?”
She sighed. He was right. “This gig could solidify my name in the business, and it will for sure make me the money.”
“Right. Well, there’s that.” His wistful expression twisted her intestines.
Raw, indescribable emotions grated at her, and in frustration, she swung open the van door. “I need to see some whales now. Let’s go.”
They crossed the empty parking lot, and Parker pulled the jacket tighter around her body. She’d be going home to L.A. looking like something a sea otter coughed up on shore. That would make a great impression on the remaining cast. As she followed Guy and Booster down the mulchy path, she tried to decide if she cared what they thought of her. A week without having to impress anyone had been liberating. Could she carry that kind of self-possession home to her world, or was it a luxury unique to the islands? To being with Guy Fox?
The lighthouse came into view, and Parker stopped in her tracks. “Oh my gosh, you should live here!” A squat, white bungalow with a reddish roof and a three-story light tower stood happy in its solitude. The rough ground surrounding it dipped quickly into the Sound, and invited her to sit and rest for a while.
“You like it?” Guy settled down onto a stony patch with Booster under his arm.
“I love it.” She sat on the other side of the dog, and she and Guy both gave him a good scratch. Occasionally, her fingers would brush against Guy’s. She longed to take his hand, to take him with her back to L.A., but that was futile. He did not belong in her world.
“There!” Guy gripped her wrist and pointed with his other hand. “See it?”
Parker leaned in to follow the line of his arm out into the water. “Where?”
“There! Again! It just surfaced to—”
“I see it!” He lowered his arm, but she let her head rest on his shoulder. When he didn’t pull away, she shifted the hand in his grip until their fingers intertwined. “I’ve never see a killer whale outside of a water show.”
“We’re lucky. We have three pods that live here most of the time and others that wander through.” He rested his head on the top of hers.
“Awesome! And you’ve kayaked out there with them?”
“Mm-hmm.” His eyes warmed again. “Which one are you, Miss Daisy? A local pod who stays, or one who just happened by?”
Guy dropped Parker off at the ferry as the P.A. announced the last call for walk-on passengers. Leaving the motor running and the emergency brake on, he got out to wish her well, but then found himself at a loss for words.
Parker looked up at him, her eyes the only gentle part of her now stony expression. “I’m so sorry, Guy.”
“I understand.”
“You’ve been great. I really appreciate everything you did for me.”
His hands found their way into her hair as he lifted her face to his. Every part of him longed to hold her, but if he stole even one kiss, he knew it would haunt him. Miserably, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m glad I got to know you, even for a little while.” How he wished she could be beside him always. “Thank you for letting me be a part of your getaway.”
Without a word, she stood on tip-toe and kissed him softly on the cheek. Then she turned and marched down the grated-metal plank to board the ferry with the same determined air he had seen in her the first day on the ferry.
An angry car horn reminded him he was blocking traffic, and he quickly scrambled back into his van and hurried home with Booster. Inside his apartment again, he sank to his knees on the floor with Booster, silent tears falling, not for fear of crowds, but for fear of losing the one.
“I blew it, Boo. I wasn’t strong enough.”
Booster licked his face once and eyed him, listening as only a loyal dog could.
Guy knocked the back of his head against the door. “I should have told her the truth earlier. I shouldn’t have gone to Friday Harbor. I …” He shook his head. “I should have been braver. I’ve done it before, with Dad and Uncle Bob. I have you. There are ways to avoid crowded places. I could have tried harder.”
His mind raced back over the last few days. Every sassy come-back, ever
y soft laugh, every turn of her head, and every sweep of her hand swam in his mind’s eye with moonlit waves and harbor seals. Her words of praise and encouragement for his talents echoed through his mind. The taste of her kisses and the passion they ignited set him on fire with unrequited longing. And in the middle of the memories were those moments when she’d let her guard down and he’d seen her need, a hole in her heart that he wanted to fill, the crease in her brow he wanted to smooth, the tension in her being he wanted to soothe.
Didn’t love mean caring more about giving than getting? Did he love her? But how could he give her what she needed when she was gone, and he was broken?
Disaster #13 ~ Back on the Job
Parker hired a taxi from the ferry to the airport, and stared at the facility in disbelief. Scarcely larger than the one on Orcas Island, it featured no shops for grabbing a change of clothes and some make-up. Worse yet, she’d probably be on a small plane again.
“This is not happening to me.” She trudged, windswept and muddy-bottomed into the terminal and asked the lone attendant if she knew of any flights coming in for a Daisy Parker.
“It’s fueling up now, ma’am. Sign here.”
“For what? I thought Star Studio paid?”
“I don’t know who paid for it, but it’s a safety waiver. You gotta sign it for chartered flights.” She snapped her gum and tapped the form with a pen. “No baggage today?”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ve got plenty of baggage, but it’s all internal,” muttered Parker. She spun on her heel to take in the lobby. “For the love of peanut butter, isn’t there even a working vending machine here?”
“Nope. Sorry.” The attendant shoved the paper closer. “Sign please. Then it’ll be out the door and to your left. It’s the one with green wings.”
Parker scribbled her signature on the line. “How long is the flight?”
“About three hours.”
“No meal, huh?”
“Nope. Sorry.” The girl sniffed. “Outside to your left. Enjoy your flight!”
Parker growled and slammed the door open with a fist. “Well, at least I won’t spew much on my clothes,” she groused to herself. She smoothed the front of the jacket. Guy’s jacket. She grabbed out her phone, cringing to see the screen flash a few times and go black. The battery had died, and she had no charger with her.
“For the love of peanut butter …” She crammed it into her back pocket and marched up to the plane with green wings.
Parker stormed into the greenroom, removing her blue jacket as she walked. Four wide-eyed Who Wants to Be a Soap Star? contestants jolted at the noise and then gawped at her as she began the spiel she had given so many times. “My name is Parker. I’m the director of this show for the duration of the season. As far as you’re concerned, I am Zeus. Do not cross me because we don’t have time for the shriveling despair my wrath would cause you. I need you each to give me your name, the roles you play to date, and any special instructions Charles gave you in the last rehearsal. Also, someone get me a script. Go. You first, blondie, and don’t—I mean really don’t—talk more than is absolutely necessary to give me the information I asked for. I haven’t eaten since lunch, and I got interrupted in the middle of the best vacation getaway I’ve ever had. I’m hangry, and I pretty much resent you all for needing me here now.”
She blinked. Maybe that wasn’t her usual spiel.
“And by the way, I’m sorry the jerk wad groped some of you, or whatever. I tried to warn the producers. I promise I won’t do the same.”
The four aspiring stars broke into nervous laughter, and Parker allowed herself to smile.
“Unlike Charles, I will not be asking you to show off any more of your body than you feel comfortable with, and you …” She pointed at the blonde with abnormally perky body parts. “You will need to prove to me you can act fully-clothed.”
Her competitor, a brunette, leggy woman snickered, and the curvaceous one scowled.
“Oh, and anyone who has a charger for my phone will get preferential treatment for the first hour of rehearsal, which mostly means I’ll remember your name and try not to yell at you.”
“I have one!” A beefy young man with sandy hair raised his hand. “And I’m Dwayne.”
After the late-night rehearsal, Parker took a taxi home and searched for the hidden compartment on the rain gutter by her condo patio. Finding her house key, she let herself in and collapsed against the door, sinking to the ground and sprawling her legs out in front of her. Though the weather in L.A. was thirty degrees warmer, she shivered and waited for her vision to adjust to the dark living room, her mind racing with things she wanted to change.
Still sitting on the floor, she pulled out her phone and dialed. “Hi Jill? It’s Parker.”
“Parker, hi. What time is it?”
“Oh, ooops. Sorry. 12:53am. Were you already asleep?”
Jill gave a groggy chuckle. “A lot of people do at this hour. What’s up?”
“Did you hear about Charles W. Wynn—”
“Yes! The Turd got fired!” Jill sounded wide awake now. “I am so glad. Total slime ball.”
“Please tell me he never touched you.”
“Only with his eyes. He was Ned and Slick rolled into one.”
Parker uttered an oath into the palm of her hand. “Well, he’s gone now. Hopefully to jail time, soon. In the meantime, guess who gets to take over directing the last five shows?”
“What? No way! I’m so glad they picked you! They should’ve done that in the first place!”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but honestly, there’s not much to work with. With you and Antonio gone, I’m left with four totally plastic people whose combined IQs only marginally compete with a chicken nugget.”
Jill snorted. “You’ve got Dwayne, Tallahassee, Nikki, and Luke, right?”
“Tallahassee’s real name is something else. What was it? Janna? Hanna? Vanna? Banana?”
“Brianna.”
“I was close.”
Jill chuckled.
“Hey, I need your help with regards to Tallahassee, actually.”
“Need a nice sharp needle? It’ll be her undoing.”
Parker grinned “Pop pop. There goes her career!” Jill might be a bit of a Barbie doll herself, but a smart one who didn’t take anyone’s crap. “I need to rewrite some of her scenes. They’ve got her near naked the whole dang time. I can’t change the story arc, but if I send you the upcoming scripts, can you tweak stuff to get her back in actual clothing?”
“No hospital gowns?”
“Oh, for the love of bedpans, girl, you know how I feel about those things!”
Jill giggled. “But Suzette knows how to make the hospital gowns glorifimous! Ask Leonel.”
“I might ask Leonel to do some other work on her. He’s a genius in his own way.” She felt a wry smirk creep onto her face at the thought of enlisting the star make-up stylist. “Anyway, can you do it? Do you have time?”
“For you, Parker, I’ll make time. Send it to me tonight, and I’ll get to it first thing in the morning. I assume you need it fast?”
“I’ll stall with some directorial tirades, but yes. Get it to me by … nine o’clock? The first scene, anyway. Just Tallahassee’s stuff.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks, Jill.” Parker hesitated. “Hey, Jill?”
“Yeah?” Jill yawned. Maybe she should wait and ask tomorrow.
“Milo’s pretty much perfect for you, right?”
“One hundred per cent.”
“What if he was everything perfect, but had one big flaw?”
“Like what? A hump on his back?”
“More like a significant phobia.”
“Parker, be direct, or I won’t know who I’m talking to. What’s up?”
“What if you met a—what if Milo had a near-crippling fear of crowds? Would you still love him? Would you still want to marry him?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“Really?�
��
“Duh. You work around it. Crowds, you can avoid. Finding someone who is your perfect fit. You don’t throw that away.” Jill yawned again. “Did you meet such a man?”
Parker sighed and knocked the toes of her shoes together. The shoes that had stepped in doggy do on their first date. “I think there’s a chance … maybe.”
“You already talking marriage?!”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” She toyed with the zipper on the jacket. “In a heartbeat, huh?”
“Lub-dub.”
Parker inhaled this thought. “Okay, thanks.”
“I’m going to hang up on you now, Parker. If you want me to be coherent when I’m writing tomorrow, I’ll need my smarty sleep.”
“As opposed to beauty sleep. Right. Clever. Goodnight, Jill. I owe you!”
Parker disconnected the call and wagged the phone back and forth between her thumb and fingers, thinking of Guy’s smile.
How could he already feel more vital to her than some of her internal organs? Some of those were disposable, right? The appendix, the gall bladder, one of the kidneys. But somewhere deep inside her, Guy had claimed territory.
The clicking of Booster’s nails on the kitchen’s tile floor alerted him to the hour. “Oh wow, Boo. I am dead. Can we skip the morning run?”
Booster whined, his eyes darting to the door and back.
“All right. What about a brisk walk to the grocery store for a maple bar?”
At the word ‘walk’, Booster’s tail swished.
Guy pulled on his jacket and checked for the wallet and keys before hooking Booster’s leash in place. The market was only a quarter of a mile away, and at this hour, he never bumped into more than one or two pedestrians, the other dog-owners and/or joggers in town. At the market, he looped Booster’s leash around the bike rack out front and strode in, bee-lining to the bakery.
“Morning, Georgia!” he called to the girl loading the doughnut case.
“You’re here early.” She gave him a questioning look and straightened her hairnet. “Got somewhere to be today?”
