by Suzie Nelson
“And he took you on the world’s most incredible vacations!” Angie added.
“And you said his cock was, and I quote, ‘the sexual equivalent of a still-hot chocolate torte topped with whipped cream’,” Claire reminded her.
Odette sighed, “Yes, I did say that, didn’t I? Well, his cock – his whole body – might have been amazing but his brain was not. He was just…he was boring. There’s no nice way to say it.”
“But you’ve been together for over a year,” Angie said. “That’s like a decade in Odette years.” Odette was not known for her lasting relationships. She always said that Angie was doing that for her.
“I know, I know,” Odette nodded. “I honestly don’t know how I lasted that long. Well, I mean, I do. It was because of the sex. But I just couldn’t anymore. My brain was atrophying.”
“Fair enough,” said Claire. “Pity about the sex, though.”
Odette groaned, “Oh my God, you’re telling me. Everyone I’ve slept with since has seemed so small in comparison. It’s killing me.”
“Poor baby,” said Angie, rolling her eyes. “It’s so hard being you.”
Odette stuck her tongue out. Like her short relationships, she was also known for her short recovery time afterward. She could break up with someone and be sleeping with someone else before the first guy had even realized what had happened.
Their conversation wandered. Odette had finally broken down and bought a condo in Seattle. She’d been forever proclaiming that this wasn’t it and that she would move to a more exciting city one day. But her agency was growing and, over the years, she’d discovered that she liked living in Seattle.
“I hate to say I told you so…” said Claire, while Odette rolled her eyes.
“How is business going, anyway?” Angie asked. Odette ran a company that trained and placed personal assistants with CEOs, politicians, and celebrities around the world.
“Really well,” Odette said. “It seems like a weird mix, Seattle and personal assistants, but we actually do a lot of work with Asian businesses. They love our staff.” Odette smiled suddenly, “Actually, you know, Sasha Pollock’s assistant, she’s one of ours.”
“Seriously?” said Claire. “You didn’t say you’d met him too!”
“I didn’t, Odette replied. “My partner Janice did, though only the one time. She said he was very…specific, I think was the term she used. Either way, Janice was unimpressed by him, but every once in a while I hear from Tansy and she loves the job. Says Pollock is a great boss.”
Claire clapped her hands together. “Guys, guys, guys, it’s all coming together!” she squealed.
“Uhhh, what?” asked Odette, looking confused.
Angie sighed. “Claire has this crazy idea that to save my failing career I should do an interview with Sasha Pollock. Then everyone will want me to work for them.”
“Yeah, I had that idea before they bumped into each other. And now this? It’s a sign, Angie. You’re going to meet him and you’re going to get that interview and amaze the world,” Claire grinned at her friend.
“You know,” Odette said thoughtfully, “I could ask Tansy about trying to set something up. The guy’s a recluse, but you never know. Tansy and him seem to get along pretty well.”
“I thought your assistants didn’t shag their bosses,” Claire said.
Odette shot Claire an annoyed look. “They don’t, you dick,” she said. “Tansy a lesbian anyway so he’s wasting his time if he tried. Men and women can just get along, you know.”
“Ehhhh,” said Claire, unconvinced.
Odette rolled her eyes and shared a smile with Angie. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said.
“That would be so indescribably incredible,” said Angie gratefully.
“Our man-hating little friend is right about one thing, though,” Odette admitted, nodding at Claire, who hated being called ‘little’. “An interview with Pollock would definitely put you back on the radar. No one’s ever done a real interview with him.”
“Yeah, it’s always two-second clips from red carpet events,” Angie agreed. “And even then he always seems to manage to escape before the journalist can get any really juicy questions out.”
“Well, now that that’s settled,” Claire said, “what about organizing ourselves a nice little weekend getaway? Angie needs some cheering up after a truly awful interview, I need to get away from my office before I murder my partner, and I’m sure you, Oh, could do with seeing our beautiful faces again.”
Odette laughed, “You’re right about that, Claire. We are seriously overdue for some girl time. How long has it been since we actually hung out in the flesh? A year? Two?”
“Closer to two, I think,” said Angie, making a face.
“Okay, I’m going to look at my calendar and email Tansy and get back to you two, sounds good?” said Odette. “We’re going to make all this happen - the getaway and the interview.”
“There’s the Odette we know and love,” said Claire, smiling.
Odette grinned back then fought to keep down a yawn. “Okay, but now I really have to get to bed, guys. I am exhausted. I love you both heaps!”
“And you,” Claire and Angie chorused. “Byeeeee!”
Claire turned off her phone and leaned back in the couch’s fluffy pillows, smiling up at Angie. “I knew Odette would know somebody useful. You’re going to get this interview, honey. Even if I have to go down to his big old mansion and drag Sasha Pollock to you kicking and screaming.”
Angie laughed, slouching back and resting her head on Claire’s shoulder. “Thanks, Claire,” she said. “For everything. You saved my life.”
“Ah, don’t be melodramatic, Angie. I just think you’re great and life should give you a break,” Claire said, stroking her friend’s hair softly.
Angie had always loved to be touched and whenever she’d gotten a bad grade or fought with Josh in college all she’d ever wanted was to cuddle with Odette and Claire on the couch until she felt better. Claire, who came from a family where no one touched anyone except for a fatherly handshake at Christmas and birthdays had, at first, found Angie’s need for human contact weird and confusing, but by this point, she had learned to love it.
“We’re gonna get you through this,” Claire promised her friend. “And hey, who knows? Maybe Sasha Pollock will meet you and fall wildly in love with you and you’ll never have to work again!”
Angie snorted. “A) yeah, right. And B) even if, through some crazy twist of fate that did happen, you know I’d still work. I’m going stir crazy not having anything to sink my teeth into. I’ve been writing free opinion pieces for start-up blogs lately, just to have something to do.”
Claire nodded in sympathy, reaching for the clicker to the TV. “Come on, let’s put on Chocolat and moon over Johnny Depp and Juliette Binoche together.”
“I love you, Claire,” said Angie, as her friend scrolled through the Netflix menu.
Claire kissed Angie’s hair. “I love you too, babe,” she said.
They sat back with their orange juices and let the first strains of the opening music wash over them. They’d seen the film a dozen times, but it never got old.
***
The next day as Angie and Claire were coming back from a long, late brunch at their all-time favorite breakfast place, Angie got an email from Odette. Opening it on her phone she read it out loud to Claire as their taxi drove them back to her place.
“Hey girl,
I texted Tansy this morning and she’s already replied (even though it’s the weekend – see how efficient we train them to be? Joking!!!). She says that she can’t get you in to see him one on one because it would probably cost her her job to trick him into it. On the other hand, Pollock will be filming in and around Portland for a few weeks as of this coming Wednesday. Apparently, the director’s forcing him to talk to the press so next weekend he’s letting a few journalists come to his hotel. He’ll pick one or t
wo of them and talk to them in private about the movie. She says that she can definitely get you front and center for that, although she stresses that it’s nothing too serious, just movie talk. But I say wear that yellow dress of yours and reel him in! At least this will get your foot in the door.
To that end, I was thinking why don’t you, me, and Claire meet in Portland for the weekend? It’s halfway between us, has a couple of great spas and excellent restaurants, and I think a little bit of (semi) wilderness would be a good change for us city girls, don’t you think?
Anyway, talk it over with Claire and let me know!
Love, as always, O.”
Angie and Claire looked at each other in silence for a moment and then squealed happily, throwing their arms around each other.
“Oh God, if we hadn’t just eaten so much, I’d say this called for a celebratory brunch,” said Claire, grinning at her friend.
“I’m so thrilled I could almost eat another whole brunch as it is!” Angie exclaimed.
“We have to do something to celebrate, though,” said Claire. “Driver!” she shouted. “Change of direction! We’re going shopping!!”
Angie giggled and fell back against the fake leather seats of the taxi. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. It had seemed so insane when Claire had first mentioned it and yet, here she was 24 hours later, on her way to meet Sasha Pollock for the second time. It was like living a dream.
Chapter 4
Sasha watched as the West Coast passed far below him in a patchwork of blue, green and white. He loved the flight from California to Portland: it was so green and lush with the ocean crashing against the tiny black line of the coast and the thick, low clouds streaking across the sky. It didn’t hurt that, if he was on this flight, it meant he was leaving L.A. and heading towards his home in the woods – usually, at least.
This time he had a press conference to look forward to instead. Sasha sighed and let his head rest against the window. Around him, the rest of the cast were chatting or practicing lines or listening to music – but he just wanted to watch the scenery go by. He already knew his lines and his co-stars were pretty boring. Next to him, Bruce sat stony-faced and silent, reading a magazine and effectively keeping anyone from sitting down next to Sasha and striking up a conversation.
Tansy, Sasha’s brilliant assistant, met them at the airport in a sleek BMW that she’d known Sasha would like.
“You wanna drive?” she asked as she led them out to the car.
Sasha shook his head. “I’ll let you do the honors for now, Tansy. Great choice, though.”
Tansy smiled and nodded, “What can I say? I know what you like.”
Sasha grinned at her as he slid into the back seat and Bruce stowed their luggage in the trunk. “What have you got for me?” he asked and Tansy handed him his schedule and various notes she’d made for him, all organized in a neat folder. “Thanks,” he said, taking the folder and leafing through it. When he got to the bit about the press conference, he grimaced.
“Don’t be such a spoiled brat, Sasha,” Tansy told him, correctly interpreting his facial expression. “The press don’t get here for another week. And besides,” she shrugged, starting the engine as Bruce slid into the passenger seat, “Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone you like.”
“The week will go by all too quickly,” Sasha grumbled, looking out the window.
And it did.
Sooner than Sasha thought possible, the first week of shooting in Portland was over and everyone was heading back to the city to wash up and talk to the press. Sasha looked around the jostling Landrover and knew he was the only one in it that would have preferred to stay in the woods. But the director had been very clear: this time, Sasha had to talk to the journalists.
So, the next morning, bright an early, Sasha made his way down to the conference room where the journalists were waiting for him. He was washed and scrubbed and dressed in gray slacks, a white button-down shirt and the thick, black-rimmed glasses that female journalists always loved and that he actually really did need to read things close up. His chin-length hair was washed and he kept running his hands through it, pushing it off his face in annoyance until Tansy slapped his hand and told him to calm down.
“It’s just a few journalists,” she said. “I made sure only to let in the nice ones.”
Sasha smiled. “That’s an oxymoron, Tansy. There are no nice journalists.”
Tansy rolled her eyes. “It’s a good thing you went into acting, Sasha, because you’re such a bloody drama queen.”
Sasha chuckled. It was a good thing she was a lesbian, he thought, glancing at his assistant. Otherwise, he’d just have slept with her and never gotten to know her. And he really did like her. It would have been a waste.
“We’ve got the interview room all set up next door,” she said. “It’s not filmed, just written. So you pick one or two or, who knows, maybe even three journalists, and we’ll all troop over to the interview room where everything will be done in private,” Tansy reminded him before she opened the door to the conference room and sent him in to face the teeming horde.
The conference room was packed to the gills and as soon as they saw the door open, the journalists started jostling each other, shouting for Sasha’s attention. This was, for most of them, a career-defining moment – or at least they hoped it would be.
Sasha looked across the roiling mass of people and forced his face to remain neutral. Then, out of all the dark suits, a bright pop of color towards the front caught his eye. He brought his gaze back to the front of the room and couldn’t help a quiet gasp of surprise. There, front and center, was the woman from the restaurant, her yellow dress and red shoes impossible to miss against the gray, black and white of her colleagues’ clothes. Unlike everyone else, she wasn’t pushing or shouting. She was just standing there, holding her notepad and waiting for him to notice her. Their eyes met and she gave him a knowing half smile. He chuckled to himself. Well played, he thought.
“You,” he said, even though she couldn’t hear him over the din, and crooked a finger at her. With a grin, she slipped under the cordon and followed him out of the room.
She was even more beautiful than he remembered her being. Too bad she had to be a journalist.
Chapter 5
As planned, Odette, Claire, and Angie met in Portland for their weekend getaway. Claire and Odette left work a day early and the three girls spent all Friday lounging around in Portland’s swankiest spa, getting back massages, facials, and, finally, mani-pedis.
“I mean, really, you’ve got to look and feel your best for the big day,” said Claire as she watched her manicurist paint her nails a deep blue.
“It’s not my wedding, Claire,” Angie replied, laughing.
“Exactly. This is much more important!” Odette nodded, agreeing with Claire.
Angie giggled, trying not to laugh too hard and screw up her nail polish. God, she’d missed having all three of them together.
After their spa day, feeling sparkly and pampered and totally relaxed, they got dressed up and went out for dinner and drinks, strutting through the restaurant as if they owned in. Angie felt as if anything were possible at that moment. She felt beautiful and powerful and exhilarated as if she were poised on the edge of a canyon but knew she wouldn’t fall. She felt as if she had learned to fly.
“So what are you going to ask him?” Claire asked out of the blue as they were finishing up their dinner with a luscious citrusy crème brulée.
“Sasha?” Angie replied. Savoring a bite of the creamy dessert, she shrugged. “It depends on whether or not I’m stuck just talking about the movie. I’m hoping I’ll be able to convince him to give me a longer interview. I don’t know that just a few questions about the film will be enough to get me back into everyone’s good books. And,” she said, sighing, her mood deflating a little, “that’s if he chooses to talk to me at all.”
Odette clicked her tong
ue, “Don’t say that, Angie. You have to think positive. We didn’t get you this far just for you to start getting all down in the dumps. You’re going to wear that yellow dress and knock him dead.”
Angie smiled, “You’re right. I shouldn’t worry. This is meant to be,” she grinned at Odette.
“And, even if it isn’t,” said Claire, “at least we’re going to have a fantastic weekend.”
The other two women laughed and they all clinked their glasses together. “To us,” said Odette and Angie and Claire echoed her.
Despite her brave words, Angie couldn’t sleep and was up before the sun, preparing her notes and brushing her hair to an impossible shine. Around seven, Claire appeared from her bedroom in their shared suite, yawning and puffy eyed. “Girl, you’re gonna blind him with your hair if you keep brushing it like that,” she said. “How long have you been up?”
