Piper Day's Ultimate Guide To Avoiding George Clooney

by Vanessa Fewings

  I resented Valentine’s Day, remembering my teenage years when I’d mope around all day waiting to see if some stranger had sent me a card or even chocolates. Seriously, who in their right mind ate candy from a stranger? Had they never watched CSI? The next thing you knew you’d be waking up in some weirdo’s basement, regretting scoffing the dark chocolate covered orange creams that came in the unmarked box.

  Especially when you’ve always hated orange creams.

  This party was our way to get back at some centuries old holiday that continued to haunt singles after all this time.

  Ellie studied my expression. “What do you think?”

  “I love it,” I said. “Looks fantastic!”

  Ellie was dressed as Snow White, her makeup flawless. I’d found my tried and tested old spider costume. The eight large legs sticking out either side of me was sure to be a big hit with the guests, and had very often been a topic of conversation at previous parties.

  Ellie prized open a family size bag of salt-n-vinegar chips and tipped the contents in a bowl on the food laden table. “Now we’re ready,” she said, munching on one.

  “Where did you learn to decorate?” I asked.

  “My aunt’s a realtor. She told me the smell of fresh cookies baking in the oven and the scent of candles often sealed the deal when showing a house.”

  “People fell for that?”

  “Oh yes, and when they started pointing to where their furniture would go my aunt said she knew she’d sold the house.”

  “Huh.” I wondered how something so subconscious could have such an influential effect.

  The smell of burning wafted.

  Ellie dashed toward the oven and opened the door, sliding out the tray lined with burned cookies. The smell eerily matched the decor. I sprang into action, opening all the windows, starting in the kitchen. I sprinted into the living room to open those windows too, all the while praying the fire detectors wouldn’t be set off, and wondering what the scent of burning revealed about a person.

  “Looks like I’m your first guest.” Dave gestured hello from the front door. He’d painted his face white and was wearing the button bejeweled jacket and velvet lined black cape of Dracula. A fake drip of blood hung from his chin.

  “Hey Dave,” I said. “Come in.”

  My mind wandered, imagining what it would feel like when he wrapped that long, black cape around me.

  Dave took in the decor, his nodding a sign of approval.

  “Dave, this is my best friend Ellie,” I said.

  She waved her oven gloved hand in a welcoming gesture. “Your timing is perfect.” She motioned for him to join us in the kitchen.

  Within a minute, Ellie had persuaded Dave to take hold of the icing bag and assist in decorating the remaining ghost shaped cookies. Dave took his time, neatly squeezing vanilla cream frosting onto each cookie resting on the fine china dessert plate.

  “I’m going to add some touches to the decor,” Ellie said, winking subtly my way and heading out of the kitchen.

  With as much precision as I could muster, under the precarious circumstance of having my hot neighbor standing right next to me, his warm arm bumping mine from time to time, I oozed vanilla cream onto the misshapen cookies, admiring how the currents used for their eyes and gaping mouths was an inspirational touch on my part.

  “Cool costume,” Dave said, smiling my way. “Very spidery.”

  I gave myself a silent pat on the back for my choice and admired his, taking a deep breath and hoping I didn’t mess up this moment with him. I considered clearing the air from our last interaction when he’d caught me wearing a green facemask, though Dave seemed to have forgotten the horrifying event, or maybe he was just too polite to mention it.

  “How long have you lived here?” he asked.

  “A year,” I said, running out of words all too quickly and focusing on squeezing more icing.

  “Love the way you decorated the place.” He peered into the sitting room. “Halloween’s much preferable to Valentine’s Day.”

  “I know,” I squealed a little too loudly.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Halloween’s my favorite holiday.”

  “Mine too!” I burst out, adding, “I’m a bit of a geek.”

  He lowered his gaze. “I can be a bit of a geek too, sometimes.”

  “Have you ever been to Comic-Con?”

  “No.” He looked sad. “Couldn’t find anyone to go with.”

  “Well now you have.” A wave of happiness washed over me and I offered up the dessert plate with a single cookie. The one I’d neatly iced for him. “This has your name on it.”

  Dave gazed down at the plate, his wide-eyed expression more like that of a nuclear scientist scrutinizing a radioactive rod that might blow at any moment rather than an edible delight. “I can’t eat that.”

  “Of course. You only drink blood,” I said, admiring his quick wit.

  “I’m a fitness instructor. Carbs are the devil’s food.”

  I lowered the plate with an ‘of course and what was I thinking’, expression. “If only carrots tasted like chocolate, right?” I gave a sigh. “But then again milk never tastes good with carrots.”

  “Trying to avoid lactose too.”

  “Very wise.” My cheeks burned with embarrassment. And then a flash of inspiration hit me. “Hippocrates first discovered gastrointestinal upsets in people who drank milk.” I smiled, triumphant that I’d remembered that from watching endless re-runs of the History Channel.

  Dave stared at me blankly.

  “You know,” I said. “Hippocrates the Greek physician. Lived in 460 BC?”

  He failed to look impressed.

  “Did you know,” I continued, “the way Romans discovered how quickly someone digested their food was to slice open their stomach and study the contents?” I felt mildly impressed with how quickly I’d led the conversation away from carbs. “Get this, they got one person to rest after eating and the other to go for a run... then they...”

  Jane, our apartment building’s resident bitch, was standing inside my apartment, her stare locked on Dave like a predator ready to pounce. She was also dressed as a vampire, wearing the long black cape of a hunter of the night, her sexy gown clinging to her skinny frame, her professional makeup showing off her high cheekbones, and her blood red lipstick highlighting her thin lipped smile.

  “Who invited her?” I whispered.

  “I mentioned you were having a party,” Dave admitted. “You don’t mind, do you? I figured everyone in the building was invited.”

  “Piper, what are you trying to feed him?” Jane said, her tone scathing.

  “A home baked cookie?” I swallowed hard to hide my uneasiness.

  She sniffed. “Can you smell burning?”

  Dave and I swapped a knowing smile.

  “I’m going to borrow him.” Jane grabbed Dave’s hand, leading him off to the other side of the room toward the beverages. “More like rescue,” she muttered under her breath.

  I tried to glimpse Dave’s expression as he followed after her.

  Pretending to be finishing up on the cookies, I stole a discreet glance their way. Jane elegantly poured Dave some wine into a plastic cup and handed it to him. She tapped her cup against his, threatening to spill the contents onto my fake Persian rug with her over enthusiastic flirting.

  I bit off the head of Dave’s ghost cookie and stared out of the kitchen window, chewing the small baked treat. While I munched, I drifted back to when I’d pretended to be Ellie at Gemstone, dressed in fake theatre scrubs and trying to avoid the charms of Jamie Hale.

  This was the feeling I wanted to hold onto, not the self-loathing that Jane made me feel.

  More guests trickled in, most of them Ellie’s actor friends, and with perfectly timed theatrics they livened the mood and helped take the pressure off me to host the event. Ellie had delivered on her promise to make me look popular. Now all I needed was for none of them to talk with Dave or Jane and give away
the fact they’d never met me before tonight.

  The rest of Dave’s cookie found its way into my mouth and I munched away my misery.

  A burst of laughter came from across the room. Jane was seemingly amused with one of her own jokes. She should have been the one wearing the spider outfit. It suited her way more. As I struggled with the wayward legs that took on a life of their own, I succumbed to the realization my costume had outgrown its initial charm and now made me feel like a fat insect.

  I tried to fathom why at work I was so self-assured and able to deal with any emergency with poise yet in Jane’s presence I felt deflated. It was depressing that someone like her could enter a room and immediately suck all the fun out of it.

  Jane’s therapist, if she did indeed have one, had probably tried every technique in the book and was now out of ideas.

  I gratefully accepted the cup of wine given to me by Ellie and took a gulp to calm my nerves.

  Ellie, with a thick Scottish accent said, “It’ll gird your loins.” She peered over at Jane. “For battle.”

  I reached for a neatly chopped cube of cheese. “Why do men go for skinny bitch types? Why not the cute girl next door type?” I shoved the cheese into my mouth, barely saying, “Literally the girl next door.”

  “Some men like trophy girlfriends.” Ellie glanced their way. “And that reflects what kind of guy he is.”

  “Dave didn’t stand a chance,” I said. “Jane’s a predator. She can have anyone. Why does she have to make a move on the only cute guy I’ve met in a year?”

  “She’s competitive.” Ellie nodded. “And deeply flawed. And what I find really interesting is that she’s jealous of you.”

  I held a potato chip suspended before my lips. “Of what?”

  “Your specialness.” Ellie’s gaze froze as though the realization just hit her. “Have you read The Art of War?”

  Not quite sure where she was taking this, I hung on her next word, munching on a chip.

  “I have the book. Apparently it’s written by a military strategist.”

  “You read it?”

  “The back cover. It’s pretty interesting.” She raised a finger to emphasize her point. “To secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.”

  “How many times have you read the back cover?”

  “I’m an actress. I retain. It’s one of my natural gifts.”

  “Okay,” I said. “What does that mean exactly?”

  “Well.” Her pointed finger curled in retreat. “Not quite sure, but Jane has no idea who she’s dealing with.”

  “Oh Ellie, look, she’s so elegant.” My lips formed into a sulk, lifting only to allow for a bite out of another ghost shaped cookie.

  “It’s not over till it’s over.” She gestured to them. “Know your enemy’s weak spot.”

  “Um, Jane doesn’t seem to have one.”

  “Everyone has one, according to The Art of War that is.”

  Jane’s elegant vampire costume made me regret wearing mine. Ellie had advised me to go for Sleeping Beauty and I’d stubbornly insisted on going with my old tried and tested spider.

  I’d won costume competitions in the past. Like that time my father blew up a huge balloon and covered it in plaster, and when it’d dried he’d stuck an enormous key in the back. He’d carved out holes for my arms and legs and stuck me inside. Despite the smell of dried paste causing waves of dizziness, I’d soon cheered up when I’d won first place as the Clockwork Orange. The following year, aged ten, my father had removed the key and painted the egg blue. I’d won first place again, only this time as Humpty Dumpty.

  Evidently it was time for an upgrade.

  All confidence dissipated as I followed Ellie across the room toward the enemy. Jane was still conversing with Dave, and by the way he took in her every word he was spellbound.

  I wondered what cable company Dave had signed up to. Clearly he was missing out on the nature channel, and was oblivious to Jane’s mimicking of the classic moves of a praying mantis, the species that bites off her mate’s head after sex.

  Jane took a sip of wine. “What are you exactly?”

  “A spider,” Dave said, smiling my way. “Very cute.”

  If Jane had feathers they’d have been ruffling. Instead the only evidence of her annoyance that Dave had defended me was her pout. “You’re a nurse aren’t you? I see you coming and going wearing scrubs.”

  “That’s right,” I said, wondering why I’d agreed to Ellie’s idea to converse with Jane, who seemed to be getting into her blood sucking character.

  “Which hospital do you work at?” Jane asked.

  “A medical department at--”

  “Oh, does that even count?” she muttered.

  “My sister’s a nurse.” Dave’s face lit up.

  I beamed back. “What specialty?”

  “ER.”

  “But you work in a clinic,” Jane interrupted. “Not quite the same.”

  “She’s an RN at Gemstone Studios,” Ellie said. “She used to work in an ER and now she’s putting those hard earned skills to work as a studio nurse.”

  “Rad,” Dave said. “What a great place to work.”

  Jane hoisted her chin. “Dave and I are both fitness instructors.” She narrowed her gaze. “You must join my class, Piper. I could get you into shape.” Her critical stare lingered on the food. “You really shouldn’t be eating those.”

  “They’re party snacks.”

  “Yoga,” Jane continued, unabated, “will lengthen you. In someone so short that’s important.”

  “I’m five foot five,” I said.

  “Exactly.” Jane turned to Dave. “I’d invite her to bike with us on Sunday, but she’d never keep up.”

  “Piper’s really fit,” Ellie said. “She has to run all over the lot saving lives and stuff.”

  Jane’s nose twitched.

  “Piper would love to go biking with you, wouldn’t you?” Ellie turned to me, her eyebrows raised in a secret signal to trust her.

  Dave looked thrilled. “We’re going to meet up at the Santa Monica pier at nine.”

  “I’m sure Piper’s already got plans,” Jane said.

  Ellie folded her arms. “I wish I could be there but I have a rehearsal. Piper’s morning is wide open.”

  Jane sucked in her cheeks. “You have a racing bike, Piper?”

  Ellie was quiet, her gazed locked on Dave who was staring across the room, seemingly bored.

  “Not a racing bicycle per se,” I said, holding back that if the shopping basket came off my powder blue bicycle it was more than capable of picking up speed.

  “Come on, Piper. There’s someone I want you to meet.” Ellie grabbed my arm and led me away.

  She guided me through the crowd and we made our way into my bedroom.

  I shut the door behind us. “I take it the war’s over. I knew you’d come to realize I can’t compete with that.”

  Ellie looked amused. “I’m afraid the war was over before it ever begun.”

  I slumped onto the edge of the bed.

  Ellie sat beside me. “I hate to break it to you, but Dave’s gay.”

  I studied her face, looking for the truth that she really believed that.

  “While you and Jane were checking him out,” Ellie said, “he was checking out the other guys.”

  “Then my Art of War skills are redundant?”

  Ellie’s grin widened. “Jane has no idea. You have to join them on Sunday.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Dave’s bound to introduce you to one of his straight clients.” She looked delighted with the idea. “And well before Jane gets a whiff he’s unobtainable.”

  I fell back onto the bed and stared up at the popcorn ceiling, thinking how I’d rather spend Sunday morning watching shows I’d recorded all week on HBO and Showtime. Maybe even the one that Jamie Hale was currently starring in.

  Ellie nud
ged my arm. “The fresh air will do you good.”

  “You just want me to be around when Jane finds out the guy she’s been outrageously flirting with is gay.”

  “The element of surprise. Sun Tzu was onto something.” She fell back beside me, staring up at the ceiling. “Jane’s face will be a picture.”

  “Still,” I said, “I really like Dave and spending time with him will be fun. He looked like he was happy when I agreed to go, didn’t he?”

  Ellie’s eyes lit up. “I bet he has some hot straight friends.”

  “You sure you’re not using me to get a hot date?”

  “Well, if your new boyfriend happens to have a cute brother...”

  “Okay, I’ll go,” I said, but what I refused to share was that my shopping basket was staying on my bicycle and Teddy would be riding in it. It was my day off, therefore my rules.

  And, silently, I hoped Ellie was wrong on this one.

  CHAPTER 9

  Resident Hero - Day 54 OF 60

  Call Time: 11:00

  Shooting Call: 11:45 am

  Weather: Sunny

  Location: Stage 9

  I slowed the golf cart to a stop outside Stage 21.

  Sandy was waiting for me, the production assistant for Space Clash II. With my medical bag slung over my right shoulder, I followed her.

  “One of our actors has a headache,” she explained, and pointed toward the actor’s trailer. “He’s in there.”

  I lugged the kit up the six steps and knocked. There was no answer. Sandy motioned I was to enter anyway.

  Once inside, I tried to make out exactly what was in the corner. Black, beady eyes stared back out of an egg shaped head. The alien’s face was mottled with a grayish hue and pulled taut. He wore an intergalactic space traveler’s uniform. My kit dropped from my grasp and thudded on the floor.

  “I’ve got a cracking headache,” the creature said in a New York accent.

  I snapped back to reality. “Dehydration?” Rummaging through my medical bag, grateful for the dim lighting, I withdrew a packet of Tylenol. “Um...may I have your name?”