Somewhere in California

by Toby Neal

  “It’s going to be mobbed. We have a giant Jacuzzi tub in our suite. Let’s invite Sheila, Keilie, Judd, and that cutie Ernesto up to join us.” Being the fun, outgoing guy Alex is, he’s making tons of friends. I’ve been as friendly as I’m able, but can’t say I met a single person I’m eager to spend any more time with.

  Except Brandon Forbes.

  I didn’t just have that thought. I squint my eyes shut. “Sure,” I say, though I am going to have to have another of those tiny vodka bottles from the minibar to get in the mood to deal with more people.

  Alex keys open the door of our suite. “Holy shit,” he exclaims. “Check this out.”

  A huge fancy picnic basket adorns the coffee table in front of the couches. We both advance to look down at a wicker hamper filled with treats: a box of truffles, fresh pears, expensive cheeses and salami, two kinds of crackers, and even a pot of caviar.

  “There’s a card.” Alex plucks it off the plastic holder. “I’m guessing it’s from your guy, so you can open it.”

  “He’s not my guy,” I say automatically, but my heart is thudding with excitement as I open the tiny envelope. “Congratulations on making it to the next round! ~Brandon Forbes” is written in a bold, slanting hand, a mix of block letters and cursive that I want to keep reading over and over.

  “We’re definitely partying now,” Alex picks up a pear, tosses it high, and bites into it. “We have extra tasty food.”

  “I don’t think we should let the others know about this,” I say, sliding the card inside my bra, where I can feel it poking me. He signed it himself. A happy little glow begins somewhere in my tummy. “I doubt everyone got a congratulations basket.”

  A picnic basket is the perfect gift. Thoughtful without being romantic, it’s ideal for dancers eating like horses who shouldn’t drink alcohol before another big day of athletics. It’s the perfect supportive gesture, and the card embraces both of us.

  Brandon Forbes is a classy guy.

  “Maybe you’re right. When we have dinner downstairs—let’s see if anyone else is staying in a penthouse suite and getting food baskets from the big boss.” Alex licks pear juice off his chin. “Oh wait. I’m pretty sure that’s just us.”

  “He might get in trouble if the other contestants found out we were being treated differently.” I almost can’t bear to say the words. “I don’t want you telling anyone.”

  Alex goes still and silent, staring at me with wide eyes. “Do you think he’s protecting us from the judges?”

  “No. No. I don’t think so,” I rub my hands up and down my tights. “I never saw him all day and those judges were like sharks feeding on the weak.”

  “Because—and I hate to say this, and put a dimmer on your very real talent—but I bet having you in the final twenty would be good for ratings. Once they air that interview about you being Pearl’s sister—everyone’s going to be curious about you and want to see what you do.”

  “Oh geez.” I’m rubbing my hands together nonstop now. I have to wash. I run into the bathroom, turn on the tap, pump soap into my hands twice, rub my hands together thirteen times, and pass them back and forth under the water thirteen times.

  Alex follows me in. “What are you doing?”

  “Washing my hands calms me down.” I start another round of washing.

  “You got OCD or something?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, whatever.” Alex has other things on his mind. “We need to shut down this preferential treatment. If we move ahead in the competition and anyone else gets wind of it, we could be disqualified.” Alex stretches his quads, addressing me in the mirror.

  “But who’s going to disqualify us if the owner and producer of the show is the one giving us a few perks?” I feel compelled to play devil’s advocate. “I mean, Forbes is in charge. This is his show.”

  “But it would look bad if someone takes issue with it. Someone could sue or something, say the contest was rigged.” Alex puts his hands on his hips. “I’m surprised the dude doesn’t know better, quite frankly. This is the show’s third season.” Alex seems to be building up a head of steam. “I want you to find out where his room is and take that picnic basket back. And we’ll ask for a regular room. Much as it pains me, it’s the right thing to do.”

  I begin a third round of hand washing. I’m going to need a full thirteen to get through this. “You wouldn’t make me go alone.”

  “Okay, I’ll go with you. But you have to do all the talking. Because if you think this is about me, you’re even more naïve than I took you for.”

  “That’s not nice,” I say. “Really not nice.” I stick my tongue out at him.

  “Well, I’m having another one of those pears and calling Patty to find out where his room is while you finish your hand washing. And don’t wear the skin off while you’re at it. Someone might get the idea you have OCD or something.”

  Brandon

  I’m just getting to the end of a workout, on my second round of pushups, when the doorbell chimes with the room service I ordered.

  I jump up and pull open the door without checking the peephole—and come up short. Jade’s standing there, almost hidden by the huge, stupid picnic basket I couldn’t resist sending to her room because I was so relieved that she’d made it to the next round.

  Her eyes flicker down, and then up, and I realize I’m only wearing those damn tight athletic pants, no shirt.

  “Oh, hey. Didn’t expect you.” I decide to brazen it out rather than running off to find a shirt—after all, I’m here in my room alone, working out, minding my own business. More importantly—does she like what she sees? I’m not as chiseled as a male dancer, but I make up for that with bulk. I lean an arm on the doorjamb and flex my abs, trying for casual. “What’re you doing here?” Like I don’t know she’s returning the damn basket.

  “I...I had to bring this back.” Jade steps forward and thrusts the basket into my midsection so hard it knocks me off balance. “We can’t accept this. Preferential treatment will look bad.”

  I do not take the basket even though the wicker is stabbing me in the belly. “Throw it in the trash, then.” I liked thinking of her eating one of those juicy pears. Disappointment and rejection tighten my stomach.

  Jade sets the basket on the ground at my feet. “Alex and I—we talked it over. We can’t be treated any different than the other contestants.” She looks wildly over her shoulder toward the elevator. The Puerto Rican kid probably came with her, but now I see that the elevator doors have shut and the numbers are changing above the door. “And we need a regular room, too,” Jade says breathlessly.

  I’m prepared for this. I hold my slouching stance, head cocked, eyes at half-mast. “I think the hotel is booked. Did you have a problem with your room?” I push the basket back across the threshold toward her with a foot. “Too bad you didn’t care for the basket. Just thought I’d be supportive of the winners of this round of the competition. If you ask around, you’ll discover that everyone who moved ahead got them.” Yeah, it cost me a fortune to have all those baskets sent, but I couldn’t single her out. I’m not an idiot. Still, no one else got a card signed by me, that’s for damn sure.

  I don’t know why Jade interests me so much—is it just because of Pearl? I’m still not sure.

  The color drains out of Jade’s face. Her hands come up to cup her cheeks. “Oh geez, I’m so embarrassed. And the room was...just because the hotel is full?”

  “What is this about your room? Is there a problem with it?” I frown as if confused. “I’m the producer of the show. You should be talking to Patty.” Patty Scandling is the manager in charge of the dancers and their needs. “Her info should have been in your contest packet, but I can get you her extension.” I push away from the door and leave it open, hoping she will follow me in.

  She doesn’t.

  Over by the desk, I call out. “Come in a minute, and we’ll figure this out together.”

  Jade picks up the bas
ket and wraps both arms around it like she’s gone overboard and it’s a flotation device. Her face is bright red now.

  “I was mistaken,” she murmurs, walking across the carpet as if it’s a minefield. “I’m so sorry. This is embarrassing.”

  I jot down Patty’s extension. “You have any problems with the food, medications, your room, etcetera, Patty’s the gal to get ahold of.”

  Jade’s standing right in front of me now, wearing her ballet gear from the day. Her French braid is unraveling around the edges. Her cheeks are pink. She has one of those glass faces that shows everything she’s feeling.

  Damn, she’s cute. I smile and reach out to take one of the pears from the basket.

  “Since you brought the basket back, though, you might as well share.” I take a big, juicy bite.

  “Oh, thanks so much. I thought you were feeling sorry for me because of Pearl or something, and I thought... oh God.” Jade puts her forehead against the wicker handle of the basket and presses so hard it makes a dent in her skin. “I’ll just go now.” She whirls and heads for the door.

  I take three giant strides and beat her to it, holding up the pear to block her way. “Hey now. Not so fast.” I remove the basket from her hands. “I can see how you might have had that impression if your room was inappropriate in some way. It’s no big deal, and I’m not offended.” I smile big, but not too much teeth—don’t want to spook her. “I just finished my workout and was going to hop in the shower. I’ve got room service on the way. I could sure use some company. It’s lonely at the top, you know.”

  Jade looks taken aback: eyes wide, mouth ajar. I don’t want her to muster enough brainpower to come up with excuses, so I walk over to the table and set the basket on it firmly.

  “Great. Thanks for staying. I want to hear your impressions of the judging process.” I head for the bathroom. “And let the room service guy in if he comes, will ya? He’ll just go away if I don’t answer the door, and then I’d lose my meal.”

  She wouldn’t run off and leave me without food.

  I hope.

  I take the fastest shower in the history of fast showers but realize I didn’t bring in any clothes, and the hotel robe is hanging in my bedroom. I’m going to have to walk out of the bathroom in a towel. Hopefully she won’t faint.

  I wonder if she’s as inexperienced and shy as she seems.

  Couldn’t be, with a sister like Pearl. But didn’t she stay with the mom and grandparents, while Pearl went to live with Ruby because she was in so much trouble? I dry off and wrap the towel around my waist, opening the door.

  “Be right out,” I say in Jade’s direction as I head for the bedroom. I register that the room service cart is parked by the table. I make it to the bedroom and shut the door.

  “Please be there when I get out,” I whisper. Because it really is lonely at the top.

  Jade

  I don’t look at Brandon as he walks by only wearing a towel.

  Or I try not to. I can’t help a tiny peek.

  The view isn’t much more overwhelming than him, all shiny with sweat, bulky and ripped, no shirt on, leaning against the doorjamb.

  Except that now he’s only wearing a towel—which could fall off.

  And leave him wearing nothing at all.

  I swallow as he tells me that he’ll be right out and the bedroom door shuts. It’s almost like he cares whether or not I’m there when he comes out.

  I can’t believe I’m still here.

  I should just leave. But maybe Brandon really does want some company, and if I can get past the awful faux pas that brought me here...At least I intercepted the room service cart and brought it inside.

  There’s a covered carafe of red wine on the cart, and a glass, and whatever he ordered is on a plate under one of those silver dome things. I get his place setting ready for something to do: aligning the heavy silver knife and fork on a silky white napkin on the table. I put the carafe and the glass above the silverware and place the covered plate on the table. I sit down in a chair beside his.

  His dinner smells delicious. Alex and I never took showers or ate after we decided to return the picnic basket, and my stomach growls loudly.

  Brandon walks out of the bedroom, still buttoning his shirt, which gives me a second of regret as his amazing abs are hidden. The grin that breaks over his face looks genuine. “You’re still here. Thanks for keeping me company.”

  “I just want to—you know. Apologize again. For being such an imbecile.”

  “Imbecile. Now that’s a word you don’t hear every day. I like it.” He sits down in front of the food and immediately frowns. “But I didn’t know you were coming, and I only ordered for one.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not hungry.” But the smell wafting up from under the silver dome makes my stomach growl again. He stares pointedly at my middle and I laugh. “Okay, I’m a little hungry. Alex and I were going to drop off the picnic basket and go down to the dining hall next.”

  “We can make this work. Bust out what’s in the basket and we’ll divide this up.”

  I pull the basket over as he lifts the lid off the plate, uncovering a huge rib eye steak, fragrant and juicy, with a baked potato and a generous pile of broccoli on the side.

  I actually moan at the sight. “Oh, dang, that looks so good.”

  “And it’ll taste good too. Look through that basket and find some other stuff we can round off the plates with.” He’s already sawing the steak in half.

  I hunt through the basket. “Got salami and cheese and crackers. We can have the fruit and chocolate for dessert.”

  “That’ll work.” Brandon halves everything that was on his plate and sorts a portion onto the bread plate that came with the meal. He gets up and fetches a water glass from the sink and fills it with wine. I busy myself cutting off pieces of cheese and salami and dividing them onto the two plates along with the fancy crackers.

  His stomach emits a loud rumble, and mine does too. We laugh, and it’s the first moment I don’t feel awkward and terrified. He hands me the nice wine glass, filled with ruby red liquid, and picks up the water glass. “To surviving day one.”

  “Cheers.”

  We clink glasses and sip. The wine’s delicious: light and fruity, with just a little tang to keep things interesting. He pushes the bigger plate of food over to me.

  I push it back. “Oh no. This is your dinner I’m crashing. Besides, I shouldn’t have that many calories.”

  “I’m the boss. This is yours.” He pushes it back.

  “Oh, you’re going to play that card already?” I find myself smiling. “Trying to ruin my chances by weighing me down?”

  “Just want to see you eat.” The tops of his ears go red. “If your waist gets any smaller it’s going to be the size of my arm, not my thigh.”

  He’s been comparing my body to his. That shouldn’t be as sexy as it is.

  I don’t like him that way. He’s Pearl’s ex. I really have to focus to keep that unpleasant fact in mind.

  There is only one set of silverware, but he cuts up my steak so I don’t need anything. I can’t bring myself to touch the food with my fingers because of germs, so I find a toothpick on the cart. I poke a cube of steak and pop it into my mouth, chewing.

  “Ooh,” I moan, shutting my eyes. “This is the best steak ever.”

  Brandon is efficiently mowing through his steak, too. I try not to keep moaning…but it’s hard to stay quiet as I pick up each fragrant, juicy chunk of meat and pop it into my mouth. I’m pretty sure I’ve never tasted anything so delicious. Mere minutes later, we’ve finished the beef, potato, and broccoli. Brandon sits back and takes a sip of wine.

  “That hit the spot. Would have been too much food for one person, anyway.”

  “I still have a little room for cheese and crackers.” I lean back and burp a little behind my fist. “Excuse me.”

  “Remember, you started this.” Brandon lets rip with a really big burp, and we both laugh. I drink my wine, and we
move on to the cheese, crackers, and salami.

  “So tell me more about yourself,” Brandon says. “Pearl never talked much about you and your mom.”

  “You know, I’d rather you started first.” I sit back with the wine glass, swirling it like I’ve seen connoisseurs do. “She never told me about you at all.”

  “Ouch.” He winces comically. That he can clown around about Pearl makes me hope he’s over the hurt she dealt him. “Okay. I rescued Pearl from a mugger in Boston. And when I got her home, I was shocked by how beautiful she was. I wanted to impress her, so I dragged her off to meet my mother, Melissa, who owns a well-known modeling agency. The rest is history.”

  “So it was you that gave her the big break into modeling?” The wine is making me feel pleasantly warm and loose in the knees. “I wondered how that happened. I was so miserable back then, trying to get used to California and in my first year of high school... it just seemed so unfair that my sister was suddenly traveling the world, her face everywhere.”

  “Modeling’s not as glamorous as it seems.” Brandon turns toward me. He leans over and takes hold of my ankle. I gasp as he lifts my foot onto his thigh and removes my ballet slipper.

  “Just as I suspected. Look at these blisters!” He inspects my toes, reddened and bruised from the exertions of the day. His thumb digs into the sole of my foot, his fingers grasping the top of it firmly so I can’t pull it away. “People think dancing is so glamorous. But they don’t see all the ways that it’s one of the most physically challenging things any human can do.” Both of his thumbs are massaging the sole of my foot now.

  I tip my head back against the back of the chair and groan with pleasure. I clap a hand over my mouth. “Sorry. It just feels so good.”

  “That’s okay. Shut your eyes. Relax. You worked hard today.”

  My eyes fall shut as I lean back against the chair. I’m too full and too tired to resist being made to feel this good. I settle deeper, my spine bending in a deep curve as he picks up my other foot. He removes my slipper, and sets both of my feet on his thighs.