The Coffee Girl

by Natalie Charles

She reached over and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me tightly to her side. Maybe I was feeling especially vulnerable at the time. God knows real hugs were in short supply in my life. I threw my arms around her in response, inhaling her citrus perfume and pressing my cheek against hers. How did she know that I needed that? "Thanks, Mom," I whispered.

  "Love you, sweetie." She pressed her lips to my forehead.

  I heard Dad cough softly and looked up to see him shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "What do you have in mind? It can't disrupt the business."

  She smiled. "Of course not. I'm thinking new window treatments, for starters. We should freshen up that lettering on the door. New paint." She pursed her lips as she thought. "I'm thinking of a light green, maybe. I'll get some samples."

  I glanced at Dad. I could tell from his frown that he was struggling not to appear too eager. "New paint? How's that going to happen when we're open seven days a week?"

  "It's going to happen after hours, Hank," Mom said gently.

  "I can't supervise painters all night."

  "I told you, I'm keeping it inexpensive. I'm going to do the painting myself."

  "And I'll help," I said.

  "I'll help, too," Emily added. "I enjoy painting."

  Dad sighed. "I can't pay you for that."

  "I can help, too," Jessie said. She was grinning. "Uncle Hank, this sounds great. We need a boost."

  He set his hands on his hips and looked at my mom. "You're sure about this? It's going to be reasonable?"

  "Promise."

  He sighed and took the towel from his shoulder, wiped his hands, and set it back again. "Fine. Have at it. Just as long as I can continue to run the business."

  "Business as usual." Mom reached over and tousled my hair gently. "I'm probably going to head up to the apartment upstairs, too. Unless you've already torn down that awful wood paneling and installed new carpet."

  "Nope." Dad stuck his hands in his pockets. "I haven't."

  "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

  I threw my gaze to Dad, but fortunately, he didn't react to Mom's dig. I wouldn't say that my parents had a terrible relationship as a divorced couple, but they weren't warm and fuzzy, either.

  "I actually have a lot of ideas for the upstairs apartment," Jessie said. "I can show you everything that's wrong with it." She looked at Dad. "No offense, Uncle Hank. It's just a little outdated."

  "Honey, it was outdated ten years ago," Mom sighed. "I've been dying to take an axe to the countertops."

  "And the bathroom vanity!" Jessie giggled. "Oh my gosh, this is going to be the best."

  "Is that tile still in the bathroom?" Mom wrinkled her nose. "That tile still haunts me."

  "It sure is."

  I smiled, remembering the old apartment that was my home for so long, its smells and idiosyncrasies — like the creaking third stair on the staircase, or the dark brown kitchen cabinets with their outdated hardware. I started to laugh, but then stole a glance at Dad, worrying that maybe reminiscing about the apartment my mom had always despised would upset him. To the contrary, he started laughing and joining in.

  "Whatever you do, be sure to keep that old stove," he deadpanned.

  "Oh no," Mom groaned. "That clunky old thing? Please tell me you don't still have it."

  "He does," Jessie said.

  "It still works," he said, feigning injury. "And it's a classic."

  "Dad's right," I said. "They don't make stoves in olive green anymore."

  He laughed and tossed the dishtowel in my direction. "All right, all right. I kept you well fed while we lived there, didn't I? I cooked plenty of good meals in that oven."

  I caught the towel and balled it in my hands. "In fairness, frozen dinners should only be cooked in an old oven."

  Mom sighed and set her hands on her waist. "What is it they say about the cobbler's kids? They have to wear old shoes? I suppose it's only natural that the baker's kid gets frozen dinners. But let there be no mistake: that stove is coming out." She rubbed her palms together. "This is going to be fun. Right now isn't too early to start, is it?"

  Dad rolled his eyes. "I'm guessing it wouldn't stop you if I said yes, would it?"

  "Nope." Mom rolled up her sleeves. "Now, where's the key to the apartment? If I'm going to work miracles, I need to see the damage."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  On Friday, I awoke with bags under my eyes and prayed to the gods of Hollywood that there was makeup to conceal them. Between reading over the screenplay and working into the early morning hours at Hedda's, I'd managed less than three hours of sleep. I wasn't off to a stellar start.

  The screenplay itself was solid, at least. I wouldn't have expected less from Hodges Brennan, though it was a departure from his usual action-packed adventures. This was a romantic comedy based on a book I'd never heard of, but would now have to read. It was charming and light, and it was called The Office of Wayward Problems. I was cast as Maureen, the best friend of the heroine, played by up-and-comer Hayleigh Burroughs. It was a modest role, and I was required to cover the requisite rom-com best friend bases by being a sympathetic ear, a voice of wisdom and insight, and a comedic foil. All things that I felt certain I was utterly incapable of pretending to do on-screen, but was now contractually obligated to do nonetheless. Jax was playing another supporting role, that of the hero's best friend. Honestly, knowing he was going to be on set was the only thing holding me together.

  The studio itself had been newly constructed in the last five years — the result of legislation passed in the state to encourage film development. Wayward Problems would be filmed in Studio 12. I helped Emily load the catering van and bummed a ride with her to the studio. It was five thirty in the morning when we pulled the catering van to the designated place. "Who are they?" Emily asked as she parked the van. Three people were lingering outside of the studio entrance.

  "Maybe they'll help you?"

  But they looked more threatening than helpful as they opened the passenger side door. "Are you Ms. Mallory?" A middle-aged woman with a bold shock of fruit-punch-red hair asked when I stepped out of the van.

  "I am."

  "Great. We'll take it from here." She signaled to the two men waiting with her and said, "It's her. Let's go."

  They went around to the back and opened the van doors. "Wait a minute," I said, feeling my heart flutter in fresh panic. "What's going on?"

  "Mr. Brennan's orders, honey," she replied in a raspy voice.

  Emily watched helplessly as the men began unloading trays of bagels. "What am I supposed to do?"

  "I'm the wrong one to ask." She held out her hand. "Keys?"

  Emily's fingers closed reflexively around the key ring. "What for?"

  "You don't want us to have to tow it, honey. Trust me."

  "Wren!" The voice came from my right and I turned to see Lucian speeding over in a golf cart. "Give her the keys. It's a union thing." He came to a stop beside us. "You need to come with me."

  Emily and I exchanged a glance. "It's okay, Em."

  She hesitated momentarily before setting the keys in the woman's outstretched palm. "I need to make a run back to the bakery. Where will the van be?"

  "What time do you need to leave?"

  "Half an hour from now, at the latest."

  "We'll find you." With that, she walked straight past me to the back of the van.

  I looked at Lucian, who was smiling at me. "Come on, darling," he said, and patted the seat beside him. "She'll be fine. Your chariot has arrived."

  I had just enough time to give a little wave to Emily before he sped me an impressive distance from Studio 12. "I had no idea this place was so huge," I said.

  "Your trailer is quite small," Lou replied. "But private, at least. Perfect for the magic we're about to perform."

  "Magic?" I laughed drily. A flash of anxiety waved through my gut. "Don't you mean 'stunt'?"

  He took a sharp turn and stopped suddenly, jerking the little golf cart. "I like my term
better. Here's your trailer."

  He was right, it was small. At least it looked on the newer side, not like the camping trailers I was imagining. "Wren Mallory" was painted on the door in gold letters, but I didn't feel like a star. I felt like a fraud.

  "We have two sets of keys," Lou said, handing me a ring. "I suggest you take one and allow me to keep the other. Mr. Brennan has hired me to manage the riffraff, so to speak. Prevent anyone from invading your privacy."

  Lou stepped out of the golf cart and walked to the back to collect a cardboard box. I could only assume it was filled to the brim with makeup and the special effects needed to complete my transformation from coffee girl to starlet.

  As I walked up the steps to the trailer, anxiety wound through my gut. My acting experience mostly entailed standing around in a background shot. I wasn't exactly feeling confident about this opportunity.

  Lou followed closely behind me, lugging the box. "I had a meeting with Mr. Brennan's assistant last night. She should be by at some point to introduce herself."

  I took a shaky breath and nodded weakly. "Great. This is all so…great."

  Lou chuckled softly. "You're not walking the plank, love. Go ahead, open the door. Nothing in there will bite."

  I fit the key into the hole with trembling fingers and the door swung open. Something moved toward us, and I shrieked. Seconds later, Jax emerged from the shadows inside, carrying a cup of coffee. "Dammit, Jax." I leaned against the doorjamb and attempted to breathe. "What are you doing here?"

  "Always nice to see you, Wren," he mumbled. He was wearing a dark T-shirt and khakis cut off at the knee, both of which drew attention to his finely sculpted muscles and olive skin. "I enjoy starting my day with melodrama. It's better than espresso."

  I stepped through the door on shaky legs and fumbled my way toward a seat. "It's not even six in the morning. I swear you have reality show cameras following me and that this is all some elaborate practical joke."

  "I'm not that brilliant, baby doll. Sadly." He took a sip of his coffee. "Lou. Welcome to our love nest."

  I groaned into my hand. "Please, let me apologize on behalf of my fake boyfriend, Lou. It's all wishful thinking, I promise."

  Jax laughed and wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, massaging gently. "She's always crabby when she's tense. It's why I came here early — to loosen you up."

  I should've pushed his hand away and stood up, but it felt so darn good. For all of his bragging about his skills in the bedroom, I'd thought he was exaggerating, but I had to hand it to him: Jax had magical fingers. I also had to grudgingly admit that he was right about how tense I was.

  Unfazed, Lou set the box on a table and shut the door behind him. "You two are getting into character already. Lovely. I'll give you the grand tour." He waved one arm around the tiny space. The interior looked more like a dressing room, with lighted mirrors, boxes of makeup, and a closet and changing area. "You have a bathroom. And a little kitchenette. If you get tired, there's a couch." He set his hands on his hips. "Take some time to get settled in. Then Mr. Brennan wants you out and about, being visible. We may as well get you ready for the cameras, Wren. There are some reporters on set."

  I wasn't filming that day, so I'd selected a V-necked sundress in a bright pink, sandals, and a wide-brimmed sun hat to wear. I waited patiently for Lou to perfect my makeup, trying to ignore all of my doubts. Jax had set his coffee down to massage my shoulders while Lou worked. It may have helped me to forget how nervous I was to be appearing in a film, but only because it triggered an entirely different anxiety about making more appearances as Jax's girlfriend. Damn him and his fingers.

  Finally Lou stepped away from the mirror and declared, "Perfect!"

  And he was right. There, staring back at me, was a face I barely recognized. I grasped the hem of the dress and fluttered it nervously. "All right. Where do I begin?"

  Lou leaned closer until his head was just above my shoulder and said, "Might I suggest craft services?"

  I rose from my seat, disappointed that my massage was over. "Are you coming, too?" I said to Jax.

  "Thanks, but no thanks."

  He made a show of lifting his T-shirt to scratch at the washboard abs below. My eyes widened when I saw them, and then I noticed with horror that Jax had caught me looking, and I wanted to combust. He grinned. "I thought I'd finish my coffee and maybe catch a nap."

  No fair. He was going to send me out into the wild all alone? "I thought we were in this together," I said.

  "Sort of." He sat back on the couch and kicked up his feet. "But it's an ungodly hour, and I woke up early to surprise you, so…"

  "Fine. Suit yourself." I turned to Lou. "It's you and me, then."

  We made our way back to the area where we'd begun. Lou led me through a back door and down a series of empty halls until we came to a giant warehouse of a room. If I looked up, all I saw were bright lights and wires, but pressed to one side of the chamber was a long line of tables set with the food I'd just delivered. "The spread looks great," I said, as much to myself as to Lou. I made a note to tell Jessie and Dad.

  "Help yourself to some food, mingle around a bit." Lou's hands fluttered as he spoke. "Make yourself known."

  Lou walked away and I stood still for a moment, deciding where to begin with the buffet. Coffee seemed like as good a place as any. I poured myself a cardboard cup and took a sip. Delicious.

  "Hey, are you Wren?"

  I immediately recognized the woman who asked as Hayleigh Burroughs, the romantic lead in the film. She had large blue eyes and light-brown hair streaked with blonde and curled in loose ringlets. Mostly, I recognized her large, wide mouth. When she smiled, I thought with a stab of guilt about that blog dedicated to asking the question what could and could not fit in Hayleigh Burroughs's mouth. "Yes," I said, and thrust my hand forward. "You must be Hayleigh?"

  "It's great to meet you!" She eschewed the hand and wrapped me in a tight embrace. "I'm actually a big fan of yours."

  I blinked several times. Was she messing with me? "You are?"

  "Huge." She beamed, revealing two rows of straight, bleached white teeth. "I've seen, like, everything you've done."

  I dropped my gaze away to the floor and raised my coffee to my lips. "Wow. That's really flattering."

  It was also quite a feat, considering I'd done practically nothing and had been on film for a grand total of ten seconds. I cleared my throat. "I'm very excited to work with you, Hayleigh."

  "Same here. And you don't need to call me by my full name. My friends just call me Leelee."

  "Is that so? Leelee. It's cute," I mused. "I'm afraid my name is already short, so I never had a nickname."

  Leelee's face drooped sympathetically. "Pauvre petite Wren," she cooed. "I have a friend who's just great at coming up with nicknames. Seriously. I should introduce you two. He'd come up with something like that."

  She snapped her fingers close enough to my face that I flinched and laughed nervously into my coffee. "That's great," I said.

  Leelee rose up on her toes to glance over my shoulder. "Oh, I see someone I've gotta talk to. Can we talk later? Maybe lunch?"

  "Perfect."

  I sent her off with a tight smile and a little wave, relieved to be alone again. Still, I felt a little strange standing by myself while people worked around me. Off in the far distance, a work crew was talking in a small circle. One of the members was carrying a clipboard and gesturing to the lights above. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to break the ice and introduce myself. Wren Mallory the actress, I decided, was gracious. I emptied the remains of a silver tray of bagels and loaded it again with assorted pastry. It was a bit awkward to carry it over to the crew, but I hoped my smile would be enough to make up for that.

  The man with the clipboard was flipping through pages and pointing to the five men gathered around him. "Dave, the lights on the elevator aren't working. Johnny says they're flickering. Can you take care of that?"

  "You got it," on
e of the men said.

  The man with the clipboard yanked a pencil from behind his ear, made a mark on the clipboard page, and returned the pencil to its spot. "Good. Joe, I've got —"

  He saw me and stopped, bringing the conversation to a screeching halt. "Good morning," I beamed as I presented the tray. "Would any of you like some muffins?"

  The six of them eyed me, jaws slack and distrust in their eyes. The silence dragged on, and I imagined tumbleweed rolling between us. The guy with the clipboard turned to his crew. "You guys want some muffins?" They responded with murmurs and shakes of the head and the man with the clipboard shrugged, bemused. "Thanks anyway, sweetheart, but we're kind of busy."

  My cheeks were scorching, but I locked my smile in place and responded brightly, "Everything's over there if you change your mind." But they'd already resumed their meeting.

  I walked around the set, too mortified to simply turn around and return the tray to the table. Instead, I held the tray up high, a smile tacked onto my face. Every now and then, someone would stop me and take a muffin, utter a quick "thanks" if I was lucky, and continue whatever they'd been doing. By the time I'd finally made the rounds and set the food down where it belonged, I was hot-faced and on the verge of tears. I took long paces back out of the studio and into the sunlight, holding the brim of my straw hat down as I walked to the trailer.

  Foolish, I scolded myself. What had I been trying to do, charm them? They were working! I was the only one on this set without a real purpose. The shame of the moment seeped into my pores, and when I reached the trailer, I climbed inside and locked the door behind me. Jax had left a note saying that he'd be back later. I told myself it was just as well that I was alone, even though he would have surely known how to make me laugh enough to forget the entire embarrassing incident.

  The trailer was boring, so I went for a walk by myself mid-morning. A group of tourists stopped me and asked for my autograph, and I happily obliged. I even posed for pictures. "That's Jax Cosgrove's girlfriend," I heard one woman whisper to the person beside her. I smiled. I may have been a nobody deep down, but it lifted my mood all the same.