by Lia London
Milo glued his eyes to the screen, biting his lip in anticipation. Had Brock’s jaw tensed?
“Jasper, when I first saw you, it was love at first sight.” Jill’s voice was pure silk. “I’d never been so swept away. There you were, lying so still like you are now, sexy as ever.” She shook her head so her hair cascaded down her shoulder, and she leaned in closer. “I blackmailed your parents into authorizing our marriage and pulled so many strings just to make it legal for your brother, Casper, to say your vows for you. But now …”
Parker bit her knuckle. “This is gold.”
Jill sighed. “Jasper, darling, it isn’t working. I don’t feel like you’re committed to this relationship. You aren’t present. You aren’t there for me.” She shifted so that her upper body lay on top of him, and Slick grunted his approval.
“Even now, I want you.” Jill’s open lips were a mere inch away from Brock’s.
Milo felt the temperature rise.
Slick cleared his throat.
Irving let out a low whistle.
Even stone-faced Brock got some color in his cheeks. No make-up to hide it today.
“But you’re just lying there, limp.” Jill slinked back down to her original position and gave a dissatisfied pout. “I want a divorce. Casper said he’d sign for you. I’m sorry, Jasper, but I’m leaving you.” She stood up and walked off the screen.
Brock shot up and reached after her. “Wait. What just happened?!”
Jill sauntered back into the main room and cocked her head to one side as she glared at Slick. Her voice dripped like toxic honey. “I hope that was a good enough take for you because that’s all this sweet little girl next door has got.”
Parker shot two thumbs high above her head. “Yes, that’ll be just fine.” She smirked. “Yes, indeed. Just fine.”
Evangeline held up her glass of wine and toasted it in Jill’s direction. “Well done. Brock’s been little more than a prop for the last two years. That was good use of him.”
Brock stormed in, his jeans back on, but no shirt. He looked like he wanted to scowl, but couldn’t move his forehead enough. “That’s it?” He turned to Parker. “That can’t be it.”
Evangeline snorted. “You were marvelous, Brock. Best performance you’ve given all summer.”
Brock spun on his heel to face Slick. “That’s it?”
Slick shrugged. “No more action for you tonight, Brock.” He narrowed his eyes at Jill. “Perhaps Miss Ripley prefers more experienced lovers.”
Jill tensed and crossed to Milo. “In your wildest dreams,” she hissed under her breath.
Parker flashed her an apologetic look, but Jill sat down between Milo and Chieko and glared at the floor. Milo could see her trembling.
Brock waved a hand in a vague circle. “If I’m not needed any more—”
“So not needed anymore!” chimed Evangeline.
“Fine.” He stormed out, avoiding eye contact with everyone. The door slammed and a few beats of silence followed.
“How long before he remembers this is his yacht?” asked Parker.
“Who knows?” Evangeline took another drink.
Parker wiped her eyes. “All rightie then. Evangeline, are you ready for your scene with Milo?”
Milo stuttered out an unintelligible response.
Evangeline pointed at Milo. “Meet me in the second room on the left.”
Milo withheld panic long enough to lean over her shoulder from behind the couch. “You just destroyed him for all his fans. The producers will not be happy about this.”
“That was the idea.” She met his eyes with an enigmatic twinkle. “Now how are you going to get out of doing a sex scene with Evangeline?”
“I’ll slip into a coma if I have to.”
To Jill’s relief, the TV didn’t show another bedroom, but rather an office with a big mahogany desk. Milo stood to the side as he donned a white lab coat, and Evangeline moved to sit down in the chair typically designated for the visiting patient.
Milo sat behind the desk, his hands folded neatly, looking too young to be a doctor of any kind. “Okay, so what’s the scene?”
“You’re the one that wants to be a smart guy, aren’t you?” Evangeline feigned a bored yawn. “Go for it, Dr. Polaski. Give me a diagnosis for love, and make it good.”
Jill crossed her fingers and held her breath. Now that she’d ruined her own chances, she hoped Milo would bomb his scene—without humiliating himself, of course—so that it could all be over soon, and they could return to their normal life. Then maybe she’d have time to convince him she wasn’t ten years old in a tree house anymore.
“What is it, Doctor?” Evangeline went from zero to eighty on the sultry factor. “Did you need me for something?”
Milo rounded the desk and took her hands. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Jill chewed her lower lip and willed Milo to come up with something that didn’t involve sprawling on the desktop for a romantic tryst. He’d made the crack about the coma, but was he kidding? Was he still determined to win?
“Your hands are so strong, Doctor.” Evangeline rose to stand so close that a thermometer could have been trapped between them.
“And your hands …” Milo’s voice hinted at seduction. He lifted her fingers to his lips
“Yes, Doctor? What would you like me to do with my hands?”
Milo swallowed, his eyes steamy. Jill felt her body tighten with worry. Where is he taking this? I can’t watch him make love to another woman …
“Let me operate on them.”
Evangeline visibly tensed. “Operate?”
Milo kissed the inside of her wrist, and Jill leaned forward, her thumb caressing her own wrist as Evangeline voiced a sigh.
“Yes, the carpal tunnel can no longer be treated with shots,” said Milo.
“There we go.” Slick chuckled. “Get her in a hospital gown.”
Jill rolled her eyes. What was with the hospital gown obsession? High fashion daytime drama, and every other woman is wearing a bed sheet.
She watched Milo, acutely aware of the way he worked his way up Evangeline’s arm with his lips as he spoke. “We need more drastic measures to cure the pain.”
Evangeline let out a soft moan. “Oh doctor, can you help me feel good again?”
Milo caressed her shoulders, drawing her in. “Since you refuse to get help for your gaming addiction—”
She choked on her way to the kiss. “Gambling?”
Milo shook his head. “Gaming. Too much Mine Craft and Mario Kart will kill anyone’s hands.”
Evangeline squeaked and took a step back. Jill, Parker, and Chieko all gasped.
Milo pursued Evangeline, sifting his hand through her hair. “I appreciate that you’re trying to maintain your global rankings, but Gladys…” He leaned in so close that their noses brushed against each other. His voice dropped to a husky lilt. “Beautiful Gladys, is it really worth the use of your hands?”
Jill covered her mouth, trying to hide her smile. This moment made up for her earlier humiliation with Brock.
Evangeline frowned and turned away, facing the camera. Milo tucked himself behind her, whispering close to her ear. “But before we go into surgery, I thought you’d like to play one last game.”
Her brow shot up and her lips pursed in a coy smile. “What kind of game?”
“Do you want to race through Moo Moo Meadows or Coconut Mall?”
Evangeline let loose a stream of profanity and stormed out of view.
Jill rocked back on the couch with laughter.
Milo entered, sans lab coat, and went to Jill with a face like a puppy caught shredding a couch cushion.
“You’re my hero,” she whispered.
He blushed a little and glanced at Parker. “Where’s Evangeline?”
Parker shrugged. “She didn’t come out here. She must have gone to sulk in another room.” Her face grew stern. “That was … interesting, Mr. Halsey. Not sure what you were g
oing for there.”
“You know how I feel about stripping down to my Speed-o.”
“Hmm.” She gave him a skeptical nod. “There’s still plenty of salvageable footage in that, though.” Shaking her head, she went to the wet bar.
Jill leaned into his shoulder. “We’re not going to win, now. You know that, right?”
Milo looked at her intently and nodded.
She found it difficult to exhale. “We need to talk later.”
“Yes, we do.”
Irving strode over and sneered at Chieko, passing a palm over is bald pate. “Well, little Asian doll? Are you going to mock the industry, too? Or do you want this break bad enough to do a real love scene?”
Chieko’s smile vanished with a sharp intake of breath.
“No bedroom scene, Irving. The sun’s angle is right for the deck shoot.”
“But—”
Parker cupped her hands to her mouth. “Ned, are you done bombing your burritos down the john yet?” She shook her head. “We should be filming him for a Charmin ad, or Pepto-Bismol.”
Ned came out of the hallway carrying his camera.
“Sunset shot,” ordered Parker.
He pointed at Irving and Chieko and jerked his head in the direction of the door by the wet bar.
“Live feed, please,” called Parker after them as they walked out on the deck.
Ned got the monitor working and zoomed in for a close-up of Irving, his body pinning Chieko against the railing, one hand caressing the side of her face and the other drifting lower and lower down her back. Behind them, the setting sun on the Columbia River created the illusion of an open bay.
“Very romantic,” said Parker.
Watching Chieko, Jill’s stomach sank. The confused expression didn’t bode well.
“I’m sorry,” said Chieko.
Crap. Don’t choke! Jill needed Chieko to do a good job so there would be no question of who should advance.
“Who are you?” Chieko’s voice came through as vulnerable and sweet. “I seem to have lost my memory. Are you … my father?”
“Amnesia,” said Slick.
“Platinum,” Parker agreed. “Kamilah said she was ready.”
Jill squeezed Milo’s hand and watched in delight as Chieko gave a classy, clean performance worthy of an Emmy for Daytime Drama.
Scene 13: Fireworks
Milo and Jill parked their camp chairs and cooler on the S curve that connected the hamlets of Monmouth and Independence to watch the annual parade. When a lull in the action occurred, he scraped his chair closer so that their forearms touched.
“Is this our time to talk about last night?”
Jill gave a relaxed smile, and shifted her legs to catch a patch of shade. “About our short-lived flight with fame? So tell me, Doctor, what made you choose to commit character suicide?”
He licked his lips. “I got the impression that maybe you were trying to dump yourself off the show.”
“You got the right impression.”
“When were you going to tell me? What if I’d gone first and decided to get it on with Evangeline?”
Jill lowered her sunglasses and gave him a doubtful pout. “Was that really very likely?”
“Just answer my question.”
“Sorry.” She slid the dark glasses back up her nose and waved at the next group of marchers, children trailing bouquets of aluminum cans and wearing green t-shirts that read, Reduce, Recycle & Reuse.
Milo sensed she was holding something back, but he waited for the clattering of cans to fade. “So?”
“Honestly?”
“Isn’t that what we’ve always done?” Even as he said the barb, he felt his conscience prick the back of his neck. There were secrets he had kept, too.
“At first it was the whole Antonio thing.”
“Antonio.” Milo’s jaw tightened. “Meaning?”
“The racism thing. It’s horrible. I don’t want to be part of it.”
Milo nodded and let go of the budding anger. “You’re right. It’s ugly.”
“But then last night totally cemented it. This show is looking for sleaze, not talent.”
“I don’t think Parker is,” said Milo.
“Parker isn’t as high up as things go,” countered Jill. “I agree she’s cool and all, but I think her hands are tied.”
“So now we sit back and hope Antonio and Amaya win?”
“Why Amaya?” Jill’s question came sharply.
“I … uh … or Chieko, of course. Whichever.”
Jill didn’t look convinced, and Milo silently cursed himself for mentioning Amaya. But she was on his mind. Temptingly attentive.
“Is my face too pink?”
Milo touched her cheeks gently with his finger. “You’re pretty warm. I told you to wear the sun hat.” For the fourth time, he planted a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head.
She wrinkled her nose. “And look like an old lady?”
Milo sighed and pointed at her cut-off jeans and flouncy tube top. “Nothing about you is old, Jilliet.”
She removed her sunglasses and eyed him catlike from beneath the brim. “I never get old to you? Even being a minor celebrity doesn’t seem to be enough to win a whole day with you.”
Her words kicked him in the gut. “Haven’t you been having fun this summer?”
“Some.”
“Doesn’t anyone else go on your wild adventures with you?” Milo tried to think of who her other best friends were. No one local came to mind. They’d all moved away or grown apart.
Jill’s face softened and she smiled, almost wistfully. “You’re my favorite sidekick. You know that.”
Sidekick. Was that all he’d ever been? With Amaya available and interested, should he care?
“I’m sorry. It’s just been a weird few weeks.”
She nodded and waved at the passing flatbed truck of Japanese exchange students dressed as pioneers. “We on for fireworks tonight? They have a show right here on the Willamette River. I think it’s even free.”
Milo froze. They hadn’t missed doing fireworks together more than three times since … Oh, dang.
Her shoulders sagged. “Really? You have other plans?”
Oh dang, oh dang, oh dang. “Uh.”
“I get it. It’s okay. I was taking it for granted, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Why is she apologizing when I’m the scum leaving her with nothing to do on the most romantic night of the year? For the last six years, he’d been trying to work up the courage to kiss her under the fireworks, and now that he was probably brave enough, he had a date with Amaya up in Portland. Same river, just miles and miles away.
“I can change my plans,” he offered. Please ask me to change them. Send me a signal that you want me?
“No, it’s okay. My parents are hosting a bunch of their clients for an all-night BBQ and karaoke under the stars. I can totally join that. It’ll be a fun change of pace.”
“Right.” I guess that’s my answer. He shoved his sunglasses higher up his nose and blinked back the sting in his eyes.
“There they are! The Shetland ponies! Quick, get your phone out. My battery died and I want a selfie of us with them in the background.”
They scrambled into position as they had a thousand times for so many things. Wrapping each other in a half-hug, they grinned up at the phone in his left hand waiting for the ponies to show up in the screen.
“Now!” she signaled.
As he tapped the dot to take the selfie, Jill cupped Milo’s face in her hand and kissed his cheek. The photo only captured a fraction of his surprise.
Jill pulled the Harley into the long circular drive at her parents’ house where at least twelve other cars parked on either side of the lane. Walking into the unlocked front door, she stood in the entry hall and surveyed the scene. Techno-band music from the eighties blared from the back yard, but a handful of people mingled in the larger of the dining rooms, sampling fruit at the chocolate founta
in and sniffing at the gourmet cheeses.
Her parents’ idea of a barbecue and Jill’s differed. She preferred the Halsey family get-togethers with chips on paper plates flying everywhere, little kids underfoot, and lots of hugs and loving gossip from Mabel.
On an impulse, Jill bounded up the stairs to her old room, which her parents had never bothered to reclaim for other purposes. In the closet, she found a sleeveless, white, eyelet lace sundress and some flat sandals. Brushing her hair into a French twist, she studied herself in the mirror.
“The little girl next door … and the boy next door has moved on.” Her sunburned face only made her red, puffy eyes look worse.
She dabbed on some old cherry lip gloss and slipped back downstairs unseen. Snagging a set of keys from the drawer in the entry way, she stepped outside and squinted into the low sunlight. She made it around the side of the house to the free-standing four-car garage. The BMW her dad had bought her for her 16th birthday was collecting dust in the last bay. She’d only driven it for a year before she got the Harley, but she renewed the registration every time it came around. Her parents would never know she’d come and gone.
But Mabel Halsey would. Jill felt empty in so many ways, and she knew Mabel would fill her belly first, and then her heart and mind. At least she hoped so.
***
“Jill! I didn’t know you two were coming today!” Mabel hugged Jill hard and peeked past her into the driveway. “Where’s Milo?”
“I think he had a date.”
“What? With who?”
Jill shrugged.
“Oh, who needs him?” Mabel threw an arm around Jill and dragged her in off the porch. Her home, unlike the ultra-modern Ripley spread a mile away, came from the turn of the twentieth century, with the arched doorways, built-in cabinetry, and dark hardwood everywhere. It suited Mabel and Mendel and all the little M’s perfectly. Old-fashioned. Stable. Potato salad at picnics, family photos on the mantel, dog hair on the area rugs, hug-until-you-gasp greetings. Jill loved it. And at that moment, she had never needed it more.
She sank into a stuffed chair by the window. “Mind if I invade your plans tonight?”
