He studies me. “You’re right, I don’t. But I think I’ve seen you.”
My mind jumps to my videos. I’ve only had about ten views on them. Could he be one of them? Or has he seen me on the show? If it’s that, I don’t want to talk to him. If it’s the videos, it’d be okay. But why would this guy be watching braiding videos? “Have you?”
He nods, but the flight attendant moves to stand next to us to do the safety announcement and he rolls his eyes and begins stashing away his carry-on bag under the seat in front of him. He doesn’t speak again while the attendant does her thing, but I can feel him looking at me. I don’t know whether I like it or not.
Once the safety bit is complete, the flight attendant gives a little sigh and says, “Sir, seatbelt please.”
“Of course,” he says, sounding apologetic but with a hint of mockery. She moves on and he says, “My belt’s not working. Mind if I move over next to you?”
I wouldn’t mind him sitting in my lap if the seat belt were long enough to go around us both. “Go right ahead.”
He does, sending a wave of a clean grassy cologne toward me, then says, “Since we’re neighbors, might as well introduce myself. I’m Will.”
I take the hand he offers, trying not to shiver at the warmth of his skin against mine. “Ashley. Nice to meet you.”
“You too... Ashley.”
The way he paused and emphasized my name makes me uncomfortable, so I pull my notebook from the seat pocket in front of me and rest it on my knee to keep working on my latest braid, hoping that’ll make it clear I don’t want to talk.
It must, because he doesn’t speak to me as we take off and once we’re in the air he pulls out his phone and begins playing what the hints of sound I can hear suggests is Angry Birds.
My spirit animals.
I keep working on the braid in my notebook, but it’s just not working out.
Of course not. Nothing ever works out. I’m not supposed to be sitting beside some random game-playing jackass on my way back from a mangled version of ‘Stranded!’. I’m supposed to be sitting with Brett, joyful after fulfilling our plans to win a million dollars and ready to get our lives going. It’s not right.
I look down at my notebook again, at the mess I’ve made of the braid, and as rage snaps through me I scribble it out hard.
“You need a drink.”
I turn my head sharply. “What?”
Will smiles at me. “Rum and coke? Vodka and orange? What’s your poison, Ashley?”
“Why do you think I need a drink?”
He gestures to my notebook. “What’d that poor...” He leans in closer. “Braid? Why are you drawing braids?”
I shrug, realizing this means he doesn’t recognize me from my videos.
“Well, anyhow. That poor thing didn’t do anything to you and you trashed it, so I’m guessing you might be a little tense. Booze helps with that, I’m told.”
He’s right, but... “I won’t pay eight hundred bucks or whatever the airline charges.”
He chuckles. “Me either. Ask for whatever mixer you want when she gets to us.”
A few moments later the flight attendant arrives with her cart, and though I don’t understand what this guy is up to and I feel like he’s screwing with me I order an orange juice because I haven’t had any for weeks.
Will gets a Coke, and as soon as the flight attendant moves on he ducks under his table tray and begin rummaging in his carry-on bag. When he reappears, he’s clutching a small clear bottle in each hand. “Vodka and orange for the lady?”
I stare at the bottles, then at him. “Is that even legal? How’d you get them on the plane?”
“Bringing them on is legal,” he says, uncapping one and pouring it into his plastic cup. “Drinking them is... less so. But it doesn’t matter unless you get caught. And I never have. So...” He wiggles the other bottle at me.
If I did such a thing I’d be caught. For sure. But this guy? He clearly gets whatever he wants out of life, and I’m jealous. I smile, trying to hide my sudden desperation for a life that’s bigger and better than mine’s ever been, and hold out my cup.
He winks at me and says, “Attagirl,” as he turns my juice into an illegal cocktail.
Once he’s stowed the now-empty bottles in his bag, he says, “It’s bugging me. I do know you from somewhere.”
“Can’t help you.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Can’t or won’t?”
Yes to both, but I don’t know how to say that so I wrap my hand around my cup and take a long drink.
As I set it down, he says, “You know, a pretty girl like you should take better care of her nails.”
I splay my hand out on the tray table and realize all my nails are broken and most of them have dirt under them despite my showers. “Yeah, I’m a mess,” I say, then catch myself and get mad. “Like it’s any of your business, but I haven’t exactly been able to get regular manicures. Not that I have to get manicures just because you think I should.”
He touches my shoulder, letting his hand slide partway down my arm before pulling back. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I guess I’m just too comfortable with you.”
The idea that this guy is comfortable with someone like me surprises and confuses me but also takes a bit of the edge off my rage, but before I can think of a response he says, “Wait, now I remember you. Just needed you to get angry! My buddy’s girlfriend and her friends have been watching your show and they made us watch the last episode with them. You guys having that etiquette lunch thing, and then that ‘dig up a bag while blindfolded’ idiocy. Yeah, no wonder your nails look like hell. You’ve been through hell, haven’t you?”
My throat tightens at what sounds like sympathy in his voice, and I throw down the rest of my drink to loosen it. “Pretty much, yeah.”
He grimaces, then shrugs. “Still. I’d punch a nun to be on television. Why so pissed, Angry Ashley?”
I take a breath to answer, then realize I don’t want to spend another second talking to him. If he hadn’t called me that, I would, but now I flip to a new page in my notebook and begin drawing a braid I made up on the show.
Will gives a low chuckle. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t realize how sensitive you are. Okay, Ashley, just Ashley, talk to me. What was it like being on the show? Is that host guy wearing as much makeup as he seems to be? And what’s the deal with that Summer chick?”
Before I can answer, although I haven’t decided if I want to, he looks back over his shoulder then says softly, “Flight attendant’s coming back. Want another v and o?”
I don’t want to talk to him, but I do want another drink, and that want wins out. “If you’ve got more v, definitely.”
“Good stuff.” He smiles and sucks down the rest of his drink then puts our cups together and stuffs our napkins into the top one.
“Why don’t we reuse--”
He holds out a hand to stop me and murmurs, “Watch and learn.”
When the flight attendant reaches us he says, “Another orange juice for her and Coke for me, please. Sorry, I messed up these cups before we decided we wanted more.”
The flight attendant gives that cool professional smile they must practice in training. “Of course, sir.”
She pours us new drinks, and when she’s moved on I say softly, “Why’d you do that?”
He leans in and whispers into my ear, letting his hand rest on my shoulder as he does, “Booze smell. Dead giveaway.”
His breath against my skin sends a shiver through me I can’t hold back, and I pull away.
He smiles at me, bigger than before, and again digs in his carry-on bag of goodies.
“How many of those do you bring?” I ask once he’s spiked our drinks and stowed the evidence.
He winks at me. “As many as will fit in that stupid plastic bag for liquids. Well, drink up.”
I do, and he does too, and before I know it I’m telling him about Brett and how horribly the show tricked me and all my plans th
at will never work out now.
“Come on, An-- Ashley,” he says when I wind down, then winces and says, “Sorry. It’s what the girls call you so it’s stuck in my head. But seriously. You act like it’s the end of the world, not being on the right show.”
I take a breath to protest and he holds up a hand and says, “I’m not saying it doesn’t suck about Brett. Of course that sucks. But look, you seem like a smart enough girl, so just figure out how to make your dreams come true and go after them. That’s what I do.”
That’s what I tried to do, with Brett, and the mere thought of doing it again makes me so angry I chug down the rest of my drink.
“Or you can sue the show for like ten million dollars and make your dreams come true that way,” he says, grinning at me. “Whatever works.”
“What are you, a lawyer?”
He laughs. “Yes, actually. Thought you were being sarcastic, didn’t you?”
I did, but now I’m intrigued. “Really? So I can sue?”
“You can sue for anything. Sue the dry cleaner for losing your pants, sue because your foot-long sandwich is only eleven inches, sue because you spilled hot coffee on yourself and got burned...”
He takes a breath to go on, and I remember Brett telling me that the coffee lawsuit actually made sense because the coffee the poor burned woman spilled was way too hot to actually be safe to drink. Surprised a lawyer doesn’t know this, I say, “But--”
“But yeah, there’s no guarantee of winning,” he says. “You can sue but the court decides. So let’s think on this. What did they tell you about the show?”
“That I’d be on ‘Stranded!’.”
“Nothing else?”
I shake my head, and Will pulls out a scruffy-looking notebook and a pen and begins writing. “And when did you find out it had changed?”
A shudder goes through me at the memory. “In the hotel ballroom, when they had all of us girls lined up and Kent walked in.” I’d just stared, horrified, and then started yelling. Had they aired that? They must have. That’d be how I got my stupid nickname.
“So after you’d already left your family and friends and every part of your regular happy life behind,” he says as he writes. “Hardly fair.”
“I know, right?” I’d tell him that I have next to no family or friends and no happy life but I can already see him formulating a case and I want him to keep going. “I had to leave my bird Silver in my aunt’s care, and Silver really only likes me. I had to take an unpaid leave from work, I missed all my favorite TV shows. I was... I was ripped away from everything that matters to me.”
“Nice wording,” he says, grinning at me. “Sure you’re not a lawyer?”
I blush, and his grin widens, and we spend the rest of the flight talking about all the hardships the show put me through. I can’t share anything that hasn’t been broadcast yet or risk being fined a million bucks, so I can’t tell him about Kent throwing the final contest and all the other later stuff, but even so the more we talk the better I feel about being able to get back at the producers for what they did to me. Will won’t let me include being forced to talk to Dory, since getting support from the show is apparently a positive thing not the nightmare I’ve seen it as, but he does include my loss of wages and the unwanted notoriety of being “Angry Ashley” and even the weight I lost on the show.
“You look great, though,” he says, running his eyes over me. “I don’t want you to gain an ounce. Deal?”
I blink, since I feel too skinny without all the weight I lost, and he laughs. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind girls with some meat on their bones.”
I’m not sure what to say to this so I just smile. He does too.
The captain announces that we’re starting our descent, and I blurt out, “So what now?”
“Now we land in Portland. Well, not yet. Soon.”
I slap his arm. “You know what I mean.”
“Geez, slugger,” he says, rubbing his arm. “You don’t need me, just go beat them into submission.”
A little alarmed at how much I like the idea of getting hands-on revenge, I say, “Yeah, right. Seriously, though... where do we go from here?”
“You really want to go through with this?”
I nod, confused. “Of course. They screwed me over. I need to get back at them. You’re going to help me, right?”
“Sue a national TV network?” He laughs. “That’ll make me famous if nothing else. Sure, why not.”
Happier than I’ve been in weeks at the idea of getting the show back, I say, “So I ask again, what now?”
He pulls over my notebook and starts writing on a blank page. I don’t really want him writing in my book but he didn’t ask and since he’s started it seems pointless to stop him. “You will call me, or email me, once you get home. And then we’ll talk. Deal?”
“I can give you my contact info too,” I offer, then feel stupid since he didn’t ask for it.
He finishes writing then turns and smiles at me. “I’d like that, but I go paperless. Email me and I’ll put it in the computer. Give it to me here and I’ll lose it for sure.”
I nod, still feeling like I said the wrong thing, and glance at the notebook. Then I turn sharply and glare at him. “If you don’t want to help me, fine, but don’t lie to me.”
He frowns, then laughs and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “No, really,” he says, digging through it. “It’s my name. My legal name.”
He holds out a gold credit card, with his finger across the number, and I stare at the name embossed into the front.
Mr. Will Smith.
“Do your parents hate you or something?”
He shrugs. “The other one wasn’t famous when I was born. And I don’t mind it, really. Means people never forget my name after meeting me.”
I won’t either. But I wouldn’t have no matter his name. “Okay, so I’ll email when I get home. I will. Will.”
As he chuckles I remember Lynn and Dory both saying I needed the will to be open to change, and wonder if this Will is the ‘thing to change my life’ I’ve been wanting to find.
Well, I’m not going to pass him up. For once, maybe, things are going my way, and I’m going to latch onto Will like Dory latching onto one little stupid comment and never let him go.
He’s going to be my ticket to getting my life in order.
Chapter Four
“The princess is here!”
Everyone starts laughing and clapping, and I give Sally a disgusted look.
“What?” She smiles at me and goes on in the same syrupy tone. “You are a princess, right? Or were on your show?”
“I wasn’t, actually,” I say, stuffing my bag into my locker and trying not to scream with frustration.
“Oh, right, you were a ‘lady-in-waiting’, weren’t you?” She snickers. “Or we could call you ‘Angry Ashley’ instead.”
I just roll my eyes, because telling her off would only let her know she’s getting to me.
I didn’t want to tell anyone I was going on the show but I had to because I needed weeks off work. They teased me before I left, but I didn’t care because I knew I’d never be back here. I knew I’d use everything Brett and I had learned to win us the money and then change both our lives. But now he’s gone and I’m here, and I hate my nickname and every inch of this factory and my whole horrible life.
I was feeling a little better after my talk with Will yesterday, and so of course everything went wrong once I got home. Aunt Elaine was supposed to be taking care of my bird, since she’s always thought Silver was cute, but instead of her meeting me when I got home as we’d planned I found my grandmother sitting in my living room. Since she had that expression she gets where she’s pretending she feels awful about what she has to tell you but is really delighting in bringing bad news, I immediately assumed Silver had died, but she said, “No, that filthy thing is fine. More’s the pity. No, it’s Elaine.”
“She’s...”
“Not dead
either, Ashley. Honestly, don’t be so morbid. No, she left. Said she couldn’t stay here another second, and left the day after Brett’s funeral. So I, of course, had to take care of everything. So selfish, just like her sister.”
Her sister, my mother. After how horrible everything was when my parents left, I can’t believe Aunt Elaine would take off and leave me too. But then, I’m an adult now. Chronologically, anyhow. I’d hoped to sit with her and talk about Brett and his funeral and maybe cry and then feel a little better, but I guess that won’t be happening. “Where did she go?”
“I told you, I don’t know. She just left. Maybe she’ll send us a Christmas card and we’ll know where she is. I doubt it, though.”
So instead of talking to my aunt, I spent my first evening at home listening to Grandmother telling me how ridiculous my show was and exactly what was wrong with anyone who enjoyed watching it. I couldn’t help noticing that she had clearly watched both episodes carefully, but I didn’t mention that. I just nodded and made noises at appropriate intervals to show her that I agreed that the whole thing was stupid, and eventually she ran out of things to say and left and I got drunk and went to bed.
I didn’t sleep much, though, and my alarm went off far too early, and I haven’t had an answer from Will yet though I emailed him from the taxi on the way home from the airport. If he ditches me too, I’ll really have nothing.
“So who won the million bucks?”
“No comment,” I say, kicking my locker shut without looking at Marshall. Most of my coworkers aren’t too bad but I’ve got a special disgust for him. He’s at least fifty years old and fifty pounds overweight, and as I lost weight during my training he kept leering at me and commenting on where I’d lost and where I still needed to lose. My body may not be perfect, but at least the waistband of my work pants isn’t always about to rip apart.
“She wouldn’t be here if she had.” Sally nudges me. “Right?”
Absolutely, but I won’t give her the satisfaction of admitting it. Most of us aren’t exactly in love with our jobs but Sally’s been at this same factory for nearly thirty years and I don’t think she has much in her life beside her work and the opportunities it gives her for harassing the other staff.
Bad Will Hunting Page 3
