That Divorce: (Danny's Duet Book 1) (That Boy 4)

by Jillian Dodd

  Me: If I do this, I have to figure out a way to ditch the paparazzi. Going to a hotel, spending the night, and leaving with you in the morning might be ideal. And I could really use some wine.

  Jadyn: I’d love the company.

  She texts me where she’s staying. It’s an iconic Beverly Hills hotel on Rodeo Drive. I was there for an event a few years ago and probably would not choose to stay there. It looked like it’d seen better days.

  Regardless, I pick up my phone and call my assistant.

  “Jennifer, how are you?” she asks by way of greeting.

  “As well as can be expected, Sarah. I need you to do me a favor.” I proceed to give her the specifics.

  When I end the call, I hit the door opener, causing the California sun to stream in and light up the dark garage. Like a new day dawning. A symbol of me starting over. I take a deep breath, back out of the driveway, and pretend not to notice the cameras.

  A few of the more enthusiastic photographers follow me in their cars. The traffic in LA is terrible, and it takes what feels like forever to get from Malibu to the hotel.

  When I pull up, the photographers don’t follow. They know better than to trespass here. When the valet opens the door and I step out, I suddenly realize how I’m dressed. I look down at the slippers on my feet. The dirty white T-shirt I’ve been wearing for three days. I didn’t even look in the mirror this morning. I couldn’t bear to. Now, I wish I had.

  I start laughing at myself. It’s either that or start crying.

  “Miss Edwards,” the valet says gently, obviously knowing that I’m quite possibly going to have a mental breakdown right here in the drive, “do you have a bag?”

  “No.”

  “I understand your assistant will be retrieving your car tomorrow.”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Very well. If you would allow me, I’d be happy to take you through the back entrance and straight to your room.”

  “I look too rough to go through the lobby?” I laugh again. You’d think I was the one who had been on a bender. This is absurd.

  “For what it’s worth,” he says as I follow him through the underbelly of the hotel and up a service elevator, “I’m sorry for what you’re going through. If there’s anything we can do, please let the staff know.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  I text Jadyn.

  Me: I’m here at the hotel. My assistant booked me a room. Troy showed up at home, so I just grabbed my purse. This is a little embarrassing, but when I got here, I realized that I wasn’t dressed appropriately, and I didn’t bring any clothes.

  Jadyn: How about I grab a bottle of wine from the bar and come up there?

  That’s exactly what I need. A bottle of wine and a good cry.

  A few minutes later, there’s a knock at my door. I look out the peephole and can’t help but smile. Jadyn looks just the same. I’d recognize her anywhere.

  I throw open the door.

  “You look amazing,” I tell her.

  She’s dressed so differently than the last time I saw her when she was in jeans and a tight-fitting Nebraska T-shirt, but even in the expensive tailored suit, there’s an underlying casualness about her. Her face is still girlish, her skin glowing and healthy, her hair still long and blonde, and her body still thin and shapely.

  “And you don’t,” she says, taking in my disheveled state, quickly setting the bottle on the closest flat surface, and then wrapping me in a hug.

  I didn’t expect the hug. It feels warm and motherly and wonderful. I start crying.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “Get it all out, and then tell me about it. I can’t believe he just showed up at your house.”

  I stand in the hallway of my suite, the door not even shut behind us, and cry on the shoulder of someone I barely know. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who just hit rock bottom.

  Eventually, I stop bawling, pull myself together, and invite Jadyn to sit down. “Fill me in on what’s going on with you all.”

  “No,” she says sternly. “First, you are going to go shower.” She rummages through a large designer tote and pulls out a bag. “Then, put on a little of this makeup. While you do that, I’m going to run out and get you some things to wear.”

  I study the older Jadyn. “Danny told me you weren’t the typical girlie girl. That you didn’t like to shop.”

  “I have four kids to feed, clothe, and care for. My job involves designing and purchasing construction materials and furnishings for entire buildings. Shopping is pretty much my life now.” She gives me a smirk. “But, trust me, I am not a wander-around kind of shopper. I go to the right store, get exactly what I need, and am out the door. If I can’t find anything for you to wear on Rodeo Drive, something is wrong with me. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  I consider telling her the name of a shop I frequent. They know my sizes and could whip together a wardrobe, but I’ll be going to Kansas City, and I figure she knows what style would suit me better there.

  She gives me another hug, turns me around, walks me into the bathroom, cranks on the shower, and walks out.

  It makes me feel like crying again. This is what a real friend does.

  As I pour body wash into my hand, I do start crying, feeling sorry for myself.

  I traveled with Troy whenever my filming schedule allowed it, but I tried to always go on tour with him, as that was when he was most likely to relapse. One of my best friends stood by me the first time Troy needed rehab, but the second time, she told me that, unless he changed his lifestyle, too, I was going to live my entire life this way. She knew I wanted kids and said that they shouldn’t be brought into that kind of world. Her father was an alcoholic, like mine, and she had suffered from it. I thought she was taking out her past on me, not looking at my situation. But she knew better than I did. When I didn’t listen, we grew apart. I did a lot of things in the name of love that I shouldn’t have. I made excuses to myself, excuses for him.

  As the warm water washes over me, I have a renewed sense of well-being. I deserve better. I deserve to be better to myself.

  This epiphany causes me to stop crying and get serious about making myself presentable and, although I’m going through the motions of making myself look better from an outward standpoint, internally, I am being real. I just turned thirty-six. My internal clock has been ticking for a while. I’ve set aside my dreams for someone else’s—or maybe I didn’t want to bring a child into my relationship with Troy. Maybe I knew something deep down that I wasn’t willing to admit. That, eventually, we’d end like this. Crashed and burned in a wreckage filled with drugs, booze, and an Amsterdam brothel.

  Okay, I never thought a brothel would be involved, but whatever.

  I think about what I want out of life. What I’ve always wanted out of life. A man who loves me unconditionally, who wants to marry me, who wants that commitment. A man who wants a baby with me—but then I stop myself. This is bullshit. I don’t need a man. I have me. If I want a family, I can make my own, either through adoption or donor sperm.

  Maybe staying with Jadyn is exactly what I need. To see how life works for a normal family. How they balance time with their kids, with their jobs, and with each other. Maybe it will show me that I can do it, too.

  Troy and I always kept our money separate—thank goodness. Fortunately, he slightly outearns me, so even though my mother always reminds me that he’s my common-law husband, the state of California does not recognize such unions. Even the house we live in is owned by him. He purchased it right before we got together. Now that I think about it, that’s probably why he showed up there. His manager, Jason, was worried I’d change the locks and try to stake a claim to it.

  What this all means is that our long relationship can end immediately. No messy divorce. No fighting about dividing up assets. All I need to do is send movers to pick up my clothes and personal belongings. I smile. Actually, I’ll make Jason set it up. I grab my phone and make the call.
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  “Jason, it’s me,” I say when he answers. “Please don’t tell Troy I’m calling. I don’t want to upset him further. I assume you had him come home because you were worried I’d try to take the house from him.”

  “Hang on,” he says to me. I hear him say to Troy, “I need to take this outside.”

  A few moments later, he comes back on the line. “I was concerned about it, yes. After what he did, most women would be feeling pretty, uh, spiteful.”

  “You might not know the details of our finances, but we have nothing held jointly. The house is in his name, and we never commingled assets. I was wondering if you would be willing to hire someone to pack up my personal effects—clothes, jewelry, photos, the stuff in my office along with my Jeep, which is still in the garage—and have them sent to my storage unit until I find a place to live.”

  “You’re really not going to sue him?”

  “I just want it to be over. It’s just over,” I say with resolve.

  “I understand,” he says, “and I will take care of that for you. For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry this happened.”

  “Sorry it happened or sorry he got caught?”

  “Sorry it happened. I knew he drank the champagne, which had been happening more and more lately. But he came back to the hotel with me and said he was going to bed. I immediately passed out. With the flights and time changes, we hadn’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours. Obviously, he had something besides the champagne because he should have been dead on his feet like me. I had no idea he would drink more in his room and then go out.”

  “Sounds like Troy,” I say with a sigh. “Jason, take care of him, okay?”

  “I will. Bye.”

  I cry again. But the bout is shorter, and by the time Jadyn returns, I’m looking and feeling more like myself. She’s followed into the room by a bellman, who has a trolley filled with shopping bags and a single suitcase as well as a rolling clothing rack.

  “You moving in?” I ask with a laugh, seeing the suitcase and assuming my suite is probably nicer than her room.

  “No, everything I bought should fit into that suitcase. I figured you wouldn’t want to schlep all these shopping bags around.”

  She tips the bellman handsomely, based on his profuse thanks, and he departs.

  “You really got me a whole wardrobe in under two hours?”

  “Yes, I did. And you look much better.”

  There is a knock on the door.

  “That was fast,” she says, opening the door.

  A steward brings in a tray full of decadent-looking desserts, including a pint of my favorite ice cream, and a chilled bottle of champagne.

  I pick up the ice cream. “I don’t think this is on the menu.”

  “It’s not.” She smiles. “But it’s what you got when we stopped at the convenience store after the football game. Before we went to the hayrack ride. Do you remember that?”

  Tears start to fill my eyes again—not for Troy this time, but because of the one who got away.

  “I was so enamored with Danny. I didn’t care that he was married. I admit, it was selfish of me, and one of my biggest regrets is not pursuing him further. But he was so sincere when he told me he couldn’t even be my friend. I was heartbroken. I truly thought I had found my soul mate.”

  “I thought you had, too,” she says, handing me a spoon. “I felt really torn about his decision. On one hand, I was proud of him for being responsible, for not giving up on his marriage, and for making his baby a priority. On the other hand, my heart ached because I wanted him to be crazy, happy in love.”

  “I’m surprised you’d say that. Aren’t you and his wife best friends? Do you still live next door to each other?”

  “To answer the question of if we are friends, I’d have to go back to the beginning.”

  She grabs a chocolate truffle, pops it into her mouth, and then opens the champagne, pouring us each a glass.

  As I’m trying to come up with something to say that effectively sums up my gratitude for what she’s done, she says simply and graciously, “To renewed friendships.”

  Simple, to the point.

  I’m glad now that I couldn’t come up with anything because I tend to overtalk. Word-vomiting comes to mind. When I won my first Academy Award, I announced to the press that I’d had a few shots. I kissed everyone at the after-party. I realize I’ve gone from the girl who always bluntly blurted out the truth to a woman who’s afraid of the truth.

  Jadyn starts pulling items out of bags and arranges them on the rolling rack.

  “Why don’t you try on clothes while I catch you up?”

  She studies me as she hands me the first outfit. I notice it came from four different stores.

  “Here’s the deal though,” she says. “If I’m going to catch you up, you have to catch me up on your life, too. And no bullshit fairy-tale version. Stuff like what happened in Amsterdam doesn’t usually just happen randomly. There had to have been signs.”

  “There were,” I admit. I take a swig of champagne, shove a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, and take the clothes into the bathroom.

  I come back out, wearing a bra and underwear that fit perfectly, a pair of red velvet skinny jeans, designer booties, and a black graphic tee that says, No Photos Please, along with an Alice + Olivia patched jean jacket. I can’t help but laugh at her sense of humor.

  “It all fits perfectly,” I say in amazement. I usually try on a million pairs of jeans to find one that fits.

  “This kind of thing is my everyday wardrobe,” she says. “Comfortable but pulled together. And you can mix the jeans with these two tops.” She takes out another long-sleeved shirt and a lightweight sweater along with a Burberry scarf that matches the jeans and a cute pair of loafers. “Fall in the Midwest can be a challenge. It’s chilly when you wake up in the morning, but by midday, it’s warm, so layers are key. I got you this brown leather jacket, too. It will go with everything. It seems like, whenever I saw you in the tabloids, you had on black, so I figured you might be ready for a change, something softer.”

  “A softer freaking life,” I blurt out, my old habits coming back.

  Jadyn raises her eyebrows and lets out a laugh. “Finally! The Jennifer I know and love! It’s good to have you back!”

  “Based on this outfit, I don’t think I need to try on the rest,” I say, peeking through the clothes.

  There is a small handbag, an evening clutch, and a tote. All brands I love but styles I haven’t chosen in years.

  When did I change? When did I morph into what I’ve become? When did I go from casual, crazy Jennifer Edwards to this shell of her?

  I dig through the bags, finding undergarments, pajamas and a robe, four different yoga outfits—the kind you look good in at the gym or on the street—a couple of daytime dresses, a few pairs of jeans, a bunch of shirts and scarfs, a pair of dress slacks, a plaid blazer, two skirts, and four pairs of shoes that somehow manage to go with it all.

  “This is amazing,” I tell her. “Really, thank you.” I stop speaking when I notice a garment bag draped over the back of a chair. “What’s that?”

  “I’d like to leave that one wrapped up, if you don’t mind.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a dress. One that I hope you will eventually need. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

  “Let’s go out,” I suddenly say.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Somewhere to be seen. To prove I’m okay,” I reply confidently, getting myself mentally geared up.

  I’ll flip off the paparazzi. Show them I’m fine.

  “Prove to whom?” she asks.

  What she says stops me in my tracks. “Everyone,” I mutter.

  The minute it tumbles out of my mouth, I understand.

  The Jennifer she knew wouldn’t have cared what anyone thought. She was a rebel in Hollywood. She took selfies on the red carpet and openly fangirled. Her award acceptance speeches were routinely bleepe
d. She would get onstage, be handed an award, and say, “I’m so effing shocked I’m even up here, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You’re right. I have nothing to prove, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t eaten in a couple of days.”

  “The bar downstairs where I was when you texted is supposed to have good food. I planned to have dinner there.”

  “Gosh, there you were, enjoying a nice glass of wine after a hard day, and I interrupted all that. You’re probably hungry.”

  “That I am.” She grabs the desserts from the table, thoughtfully putting them in the mini fridge, and then says, “Let’s go.”

  We head downstairs to the hotel’s wood-paneled bar and quickly order a bottle of red along with a couple of Kansas City strips. I take that as a positive sign. In most restaurants here, they call them New York strips.

  “You seem better,” Jadyn says.

  “I am. Not just better than I was because of what had happened, but also because I realize that my relationship with Troy caused me to change. I miss me. But I don’t want to talk about that. Tell me about you! About your family. Show me a million pictures!”

  She grabs her phone and pulls up a photo of a tall, cute boy. “This is Chase, our oldest.”

  “He looks just like you.”

  “He does, but his personality is all Phillip. He’s mature, poised, and smart.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Almost fourteen. He’s an eighth grader this year.”

  “Fourteen? He has muscles. And how tall is he?”

  “Six foot. He’s really into sports, and he works out a lot.” She scrolls to another pic. “Our daughter, Haley James. She’s eleven. Total tomboy, like I was, but dresses like a girlie girl and cheers competitively.”

  “She’s beautiful,” I say. “And she looks like trouble.”

  Jadyn laughs. “I think she and Danny’s son, Damon, might give us a run for our money. Paybacks for the trouble we got into when we were young.”