Chemistry

by Tess Oliver

  Drake seemed to sense us looking at him. "Hey, pal!" He released one of the women to give us an exaggerated wave. She slipped off his lap and landed on her knees with a scowl. "Ah shit," he stared down at her. "Was that my fault?"

  The scowl disappeared and she quickly forgave him. Drake, who had played my body double on many movie sets, had the same build and dark hair as me, but that was pretty much where the similarity ended.

  With a little more strategy and manners, Drake lowered the other woman to the ground. He hopped off the stool and lumbered with long, heavy steps toward the booth.

  "We should have slipped out when we had the chance," Harlow muttered before he reached the table.

  Drake fished in his pocket for a good minute trying to pull out his phone. "You've got to see this video of Kiki's wedding." His words were slurry and came with a good deal of flying spit. He fell into the booth with enough force that the table stuttered a few inches forward across the plank floor. "Have you seen this?" He leaned toward me and fell all the way over, smacking his big shoulder against mine.

  I pushed him roughly back to sitting. "I saw it while the doctor was checking you for loose marbles in that big head," I said quickly, hoping that Harlow wouldn't have noticed the first part. What I left out was that I'd not only seen it, I'd watched it a good twenty times while I waited for Drake.

  "What video?" Harlow was now interested in what my big, slobbery friend had to show us. "I heard something about Kiki getting dumped while she was already in her dress." She pushed her fingers to her lips and pretended to suppress a smile.

  "It was gnarly," Drake said. That was one of the many differences between us. Drake still used words like gnarly. "Man, you've got to see this." He leaned against me again. Harlow fell just short of climbing fully into my lap to see the phone. I'd basically memorized the whole damn thing, but I found myself peering past their two heads to watch it again.

  Harlow dug her elbow into my stomach in her attempt to lean closer and hear the audio. There was Kiki, the girl I once loved to distraction, standing at the altar, looking as beautiful as an artist's masterpiece but as sad and lost as I'd ever seen her. And Blackmoor, standing across from her, looking clueless as a fucking asshole could. Anyone who truly knew Kiki could sense that she was standing there like a fragile piece of porcelain about to break into a million pieces. But the groom looked confused and angry. I grinned to myself thinking about how masterfully and subtly she'd nailed his balls to the wall before she walked out on him.

  Harlow sat back when the video finished. "That was such a bitchy thing to do. She could have just broken it off. Why did she have to humiliate him in public?"

  I looked over at her. "So, the groom is messing around with someone before the wedding, and you're siding with him?" I asked.

  Before she could defend herself, Drake laughed so loud it shook the dusty pendant light hanging over the table. "Can't even believe that she did that. I agree with Harlow. What a bitch. Guess you were well rid of her." He poked me in the ribs. "Could have been you standing up their having Kinsey ripping you a new asshole."

  "No, it couldn't," I said. "Because I wouldn't have been cheating on my bride-to-be."

  Harlow took that as her cue to wrap her arm around mine. "Damn right." She kissed my cheek. "Our wedding is going to be spectacular, and since this man is madly, deeply in love with me, there's no chance of him straying."

  "Way to be humble," Drake joked. It was my turn to suppress a smile.

  "Maybe Kiki just wasn't delivering in bed," Harlow mused. It would have been better if she'd just dropped the subject, but whenever Kinsey came up out of the blue or someone mentioned her at a party or gathering, Harlow got her feathers in a ruffle. I hadn't seen Kinsey in years, but our romance had been so publicized, so scrutinized, it never seemed to go away. Even years after we'd broken up, people still talked about us as if we were a couple.

  Drake sat forward with his phone. "Here's something else from the wedding you might have missed."

  "I don't want to see any more," Harlow said. "I'm going to take a tinkle. Too much beer."

  Drake pushed the phone in front of me, even though I'd seen enough too. "It's a bunch of protesters outside the wedding," he explained.

  "Protesters?" I sat forward. "Why the heck would people be protesting her wedding?" I held the phone closer. A fairly sizable group was gathered outside the gates of the wedding venue. They were carrying signs about Jake and Katy forever and warning Kinsey she was marrying the wrong man. I handed the phone back to him. "People are nuts. Well, I've about had it with this place tonight. What do you say we get you back home so you can sleep this off?"

  Drake pushed the phone into his pocket. "Probably a good idea." He turned to me with a mushy smile. It was the beer. Drake always got overly emotional when he was drunk. "Hey, bro, thanks again for not letting me splat like a bug on the windshield."

  I nodded. "Anytime, buddy. Anytime."

  Five

  Kinsey

  It wasn't as if I hadn't expected to feel like a pile of coughed-up cat hairball after the night of tequila. I had only myself to blame . . . along with the booze. Although, I had to credit the alcohol with providing me at least three blissful, blurry hours of 'I don't give a fuck'. And I really needed it. But the resulting hangover was making the entire morning after that much harder. When my phone rang for the hundredth time with the word Mom flashing across the screen, I could no longer avoid our conversation.

  I picked it up off my kitchen table, took one more long gulp of coffee and answered. "Hey, Mom." My voice was thin. I spoke quietly to avoid the echo in my throbbing head. Unfortunately, my mom did not have a hangover.

  "Kiki, where have you been?" she said loudly enough to send searing pain through my skull. "Dad and I were worried sick. You didn't answer. I left you a few messages."

  I glanced at my phone. I had twenty voicemails. I could assume at least half were from my mom. "Yep, saw that." I scrubbed my face. "Sorry to worry you. I just got up and I had my phone on silent.” Each of my words came out like a tip toe, soft and gentle, to avoid causing me any unnecessary pain. Mom countered with words that came out like tap shoes on a hollow oak floor, snappy and reverberating. My head split open a little more with each syllable.

  I reached up and pressed my hand against my forehead as if to keep it from splintering into a hundred painful pieces. I was sorely regretting answering the phone.

  "Mom, could you please use your inside voice." Since she was a retired teacher, she knew the phrase well. She didn't comply.

  "I reserve my inside voice for peaceful times in my life," she said, in what could easily be categorized as the opposite of the inside voice. "This is definitely not one of them," she continued, but took the time to sob. It sounded extra blubbery through the phone. "I told you he was not a good match. Never trusted him with that smarmy gaze and veneer filled smile. I certainly can't blame you for breaking it off. Although it could have been done in a much more private setting."

  "What would have been the fun in that? And I don't remember you ever saying you didn't trust him or that he wasn't a good match."

  "Well, you're in a bad mood, so you're just going to be contrary no matter what I say." Her sobbing had stopped completely and now she was sounding as snippy as a barber's brand new scissors. "What will you do now?"

  I picked up my cup and leaned back. "I'm going to finish my coffee and work up some energy to shower."

  "Don't be smart with me, Kinsey Anne. Your father and I came all the way out here to celebrate our daughter's wedding, and we're leaving with no new son-in-law. What are Greta and Vivian going to say? I can only imagine the whole neighborhood is probably standing under Beverly's big elm this very moment talking about the calamitous ending to your future happiness."

  "Good to know you're more worried about your nosy neighbors' and gossipy friends' reactions than my calamitous wedding." This time the sob came from my end. Although, it was more of a wavering, feathery
tone than a sob. I was cried out. Drained of teardrop fluid.

  "Sweetie pie, of course I'm more worried about you. It's just that this whole thing has your dad and I so upset. That's why I'm asking what you'll do now?"

  I dropped my head back and drained the cup like an old cowboy at the saloon. I even finished by plunking the cup down hard on the table. The resulting clamor made me flinch in pain. "I'll be fine, Mom. Marley has a few decent parts lined up for me. I'll throw myself back into my work and forget all about this. Tell Dad I'll reimburse him for the flowers and cake."

  "Don't worry about that right now, Kiki. Just take care of yourself. Remember—"

  "Health above all else," I chanted her motto along with her. "I'll get some vitamins and stuff for smoothies." I caught a glance of my hideous, hungover reflection in the chrome toaster. "And maybe a blow torch," I added.

  She clucked her tongue. "Always the joker. Well, Dad and I have to pack up. We'll stop by and see you on the way to the airport."

  Shelby walked with heavy, plodding steps into the kitchen. She had borrowed a pair of my pajamas, pink flannel with white kittens. Since I was a good five inches taller, the hems were dragging on the ground as if she was wearing footies. Her hair looked as if some mad hairdresser had teased it into a bird's nest.

  "I'll drive you guys," I said, pulling my amused expression away from Shelby.

  "No, don't be silly," Mom said. "That LAX is like a scene out of a horror movie. We'll take the Over car."

  "Do you mean Uber?"

  "Uber, Over," she poopooed into the phone. "As long as they get us there on time they can call themselves whatever they want. You sure it's all right that we're leaving today? We could get a later flight if you'd like us to stick around. I could make my famous spaghetti casserole."

  The mention of the spaghetti casserole, a dish that would have normally made my mouth water, sent my stomach into contortions. "I'll be fine. You don't need to drop by. Kiss Dad for me and let me know when you're safely back home. Love you, Mom. Sorry this was such a disaster."

  "Take care of yourself, baby. I want a daily text letting me know you're all right."

  A call beeped through, muting our good-bye. I flicked over without thinking. It was Marley. She had left messages, but I'd been avoiding her call. Now I'd stumbled right into it.

  "How are you doing, Kiki?" she asked with a touch of genuine concern. Marley was a middle-aged, heavy set woman with six kids, who never left the house without bright red lipstick. Her husband was a slick, well respected lawyer. Together they were quite the power duo.

  I waved my empty coffee cup in the air. Shelby carried the pot over. I mouthed Marley to her, and her eyes bugged out with fear. She filled my cup to the brim.

  "I'm hanging in there, Marley. What is word on the street? Is the wedding fiasco snowballing into something gargantuan?" I asked.

  "What do you think? Just got off the phone with Rick Moore, Kent's agent. He practically chewed my ear off right through the receiver. Guess there are a few trending hashtags that are not putting his golden boy client in a good light. Of course, Kent has already gone on a talk show to deny the entire story along with insinuating that you were high as a kite on Valium, a drug you used with regularity."

  "That's really classy of the prick. I took Valium one time to calm my nerves and I'm a goddamn addict. Besides, it made me more agitated, not less. I should sue him for libel or slander or whatever the term is."

  "We'll worry about that later." She fell silent on her end, a rarity for Marley.

  I pulled the phone from my ear hoping and secretly wishing the call had dropped. But it hadn't. I pressed it to my ear again. "Marley? What's up? I'm sensing concern coming through the phone. Don't worry about any of this. You know how quickly things blow over in this town. Tomorrow, some director or actor will be accused of harassment, and we'll be on to the next scandal." No response from her side so I kept right on going. I'd already decided, sometime in the middle of the night, when my empty stomach and sober head woke me, that I needed to get right back to work. A movie set always helped take me out of reality. That's what I needed right now, a good dose of fantasy.

  "About the three scripts sitting on my desk, I think we should go for Darius Gray's science fiction thriller. It's a good part," I said. Again, no response and again, I checked my phone.

  Shelby was leaning against the kitchen counter in her oversized pajamas, cradling her coffee as if it was giving her life support and watching me with dancing eyebrows. She cast me a questioning shoulder raise. I shook my head to let her know I was as confused as her.

  "Marley, are you going to say something or is this a bad connection?"

  There was a small, curt throat clearing. "Kiki, we're going to have to wait for all this to blow over. Gray called this morning and told me he's decided to look for someone else. Not looking good for the other two either."

  I sank into the chair like dead weight. "I don't get it. Kent cheats and sneaks out to kiss his lover on my wedding day but I'm the poison. Yep, now that I think about it, that sounds right. This whole town is fucking upside down." Apparently, my tear fluid had replenished. They were flowing like streams, carrying off the last bits of my expensive makeup job. "I'm sorry about all this, Marley, but you know what? Maybe it's all right that there are no movie offers right now. I've got to take some time to regroup, rethink my future, my life. I've got to go wallow in misery, so I'll talk to you later."

  She sighed loud enough to make me feel even more pathetic. "Let me know if you need anything." I was sure she didn't mean it. We both seemed be coming to the same conclusion. My time in Hollywood was coming to an end. And maybe I was all right with that.

  I smacked the phone down hard enough to startle Shelby, which resulted in her spilling coffee down the front of my pajamas. She stared down at the coffee as it tinted some of the white kittens brown. "Oops." Her head popped back up. She seemed to be feeling much more chipper than me after our night of imbibing. But then she didn't have her entire life coming apart at the seams, just like my overpriced wedding dress. "Bad news from Marley?" she asked with her face scrunched in hesitation.

  "Seems my title as box office poison is official. Nobody wants the angry, Valium popping bride as their female lead." I stood up and braced my hands on the table until the lightheadedness disappeared. "I'm never drinking again. And I'm never marrying again." I walked to the refrigerator, even though I knew it was basically empty except for a week old half eaten breakfast burrito and milk that was probably curdled to cottage cheese. "And I'm never falling in love again. And I'm never acting again . . . apparently. At this point, I'd be lucky to get a spot in a car insurance commercial."

  "Nah, those insurance companies always have spokespeople," Shelby said wryly. She was always good at pointing out when I was feeling unduly sorry for myself. "Maybe a tampon or laxative gig." She sipped her coffee and blinked her lashes at me.

  "Just what I need. A comic who ruins my kitten pajamas." I peered into my refrigerator. Nope, the contents hadn't changed. "Guess the grocery fairy didn't stop by and fill my fridge with healthy, delicious food. Should we go to the diner?"

  "Yep, that's where my mind shot to when you said healthy, delicious food. Maggie's grease pit of a diner. Let's go. My treat. Maybe we can drown our sorrow in maple syrup and bacon grease." She put the coffee cup in the sink.

  "Your sorrow? You still have that hunky boyfriend who is, at this very moment, in some exotic far away land training to be a Navy SEAL." I headed out of the kitchen.

  Shelby padded on pajama covered feet behind me. "Yes, I still have Grant, but you seem to forget that my livelihood is profoundly connected to a certain movie star, and if she's doing tampon commercials, she's not going to need a personal assistant."

  I reached the stairs and smiled at her over my shoulder. "Good to know that the collapse of my life is taking casualties with it. I'd hate to be alone in my hardship. Now, let's go up and pull together a disguise for me, otherwis
e we're not going to be able to enjoy our pancakes."

  Six

  Kinsey

  The front door opened and shut. I pried open an eye and squinted into the shadowy room. For three days after the calamity better known as my wedding, I decided to do what the rich, pampered women of the nineteenth century did when something distressed them—I took to my bed. Although, I did add in the modern day necessity of turning off my phone, a burden those Victorian women of delicate constitution didn't have to deal with. My luxurious quilt, Egyptian cotton sheets and lush mountain of pillows provided the perfect escape, a sort of downy fortress, against attack from the rest of the world. Shelby had to get back to work keeping fans (the few I still had, the new ones I'd gained, mostly extreme feminists, other jilted brides and, of course, animal activists) abreast of my situation. Although, laying like a lump under mounds of bed linens wasn't as much a situation as it was a comfy state of hibernation.

  Bestie supreme that she was, Shelby also dropped off the occasional bag of food and let me know, without mincing words or hiding a nose crinkle, that taking to one's bed definitely did not erase the need for the occasional shower and squirt of toothpaste.

  My blinds had been drawn shut for the duration of my stay in bed, but I could tell by the shady light seeping around the edges of my blinds that my last nap, one of many, had lasted well into the afternoon. It would explain the hollow pain in my stomach. I pressed my arm against it to stop the growl, then realized I was alone in my room and pulled my hand away to let the embarrassing stomach noises have free rein.

  Footsteps padded up the stairs, and the smell of onions preceded Shelby's face peering around the door. "I brought you a cheeseburger and a milkshake." She stepped into the room. "If you're going to make wretched digestion sounds like a man, I figured I might as well feed you like one."