by Denise Wells
Andrew comes to stand by them. “Tabatha?” he asks. Hunter nods in response.
“You’re going to have to get her back in line. Can’t be letting her go off doing her own thing.”
“I know,” Hunter says, giving me a look of superiority as he does. “It will not happen again. She knows better.”
She knows better? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
I ask Gregor about it once we are back in the cart on our way to the next hole. “Yeah, I thought that was a little weird too,” he says when I mention Hunter saying Tabatha should know better.
“He better not be thinking he can boss her around or stop her from pursuing her own interests. That shit’s not okay.”
“I’m sure we just heard it wrong,” Gregor says. “I mean, I may not have a lot of love for Tabatha, but even I know she wouldn’t put up with that.”
“Are you ever going to forgive her?” I ask.
“She broke your heart, man.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t like her even before that.”
“Well, that’s ’cause I was young, stupid, and jealous.”
“Hey, maybe I broke her heart, not the other way around.”
“I don’t think so,” he says.
“Well, I do.”
“Okay.”
I hate it when he does that. Stops a discussion by just agreeing. It drives me nuts. We pull up to the next hole.
“Hey, can you just par me out, I’ve gotta take a leak,” I say to Gregor.
“That’ll be your best score yet,” he says. I flip him off and head out toward the nearest restroom. I hear Hunter ask where I’m going, then clench my fists when he responds with a similar comment to Gregor’s about this being my best score yet.
Dick times two.
19
Tabatha
“Cut!” the director calls and everyone scrambles to prepare for the next scene. “That was fantastic, Tabby. Your best yet.”
I smile in return, grateful for the compliment, and head straight for my trailer. Shooting this mini-series has been the hardest and most rewarding thing I’ve done. The hours are grueling, the action exhausting, and the lines ever-changing. Aside from that, it’s been fantastic. The only letdown is, I’ve not been able to keep my promise to Hunter about participating with the wedding planning. But I don’t regret it. I think he and Liza have done great without me. And I’m not picky about what we are doing or serving. As long as I feel pretty in my dress, that’s all I really care about.
Which I already know I will. The designer that I chose to make it for me is one of my favorites. Her name is Si, pronounced sigh. She’s crafted a dress that is absolutely perfect for me. I had her design dresses for both Crystal and Angela too based on ideas they liked. We are going for the final fittings later today.
Si is making a concession for me due to my crazy hours lately, which I know is due in part to the buzz about this mini-series. The online streaming service is hyping the crap out of it. They’ve been working to do a lot of the editing and post-production as we shoot, which saves them time, but also requires more adaptability from the cast than would ordinarily be expected.
The other good thing is I’ve lost that last ten pounds I hated. More than that even. They are having me do many of my own action shots, which is just as fun as it is tiring. It’s got me used to working with a trainer again though and my body is toning in places I’d forgotten I have. It’s also altering my outlook on life a bit, in that my character is way more gritty and raw than I’ve ever been. I’m a firm believer in method acting and can easily lose myself in a role to the point where I almost get confused as to who is the real me. It makes for great screen presence but isn’t always so great on my personal life.
Hunter does not approve of this “new” Tabatha. Not at all. But I find her to be refreshing. At worst, I’m transitioning into a combination of the two. The real me tempering the character and that character roughing up the real me. Needless to say, it’s been cause for more than one disagreement between Hunter and me. I’m hoping to make it up to him once we wrap, which should be in two days.
As long as we are on time, then I’ll have Tuesday through Friday free before the wedding on Saturday. And I still feel like that’s plenty of time. I mean, Liza has got all the little things under control, that’s what we pay her a boatload of money for. But what has been put on hold is the documentation of the planning process that Hunter wanted. Because I haven’t been around much, there hasn’t been a need for the new photographer to take pictures of us.
Which he hasn’t been super happy about, since I’m sure he was counting on a big payday. But he’ll still be capturing the week just prior as well as the rehearsal dinner before the wedding. And from what I’ve been able to gather, the rehearsal dinner is almost as elaborate as the actual wedding, just with one-tenth of the attendees.
Hunter is at a charity golf tournament today, and then is having his bachelor gathering this evening. I’m not really having a bachelorette party, but Crystal, Angela, and I are getting together for dinner and the fitting. After which, we’ll all kick back, have some drinks, and cut a little loose. Crystal has a babysitter all night, and Michael is on call, so she has no responsibilities. We haven’t had a night like this in probably three years or more.
I work for a couple more hours before the director calls it a wrap for the day. On a whim, I invite one of the makeup girls, Maisey, to go out with us. She and I have gotten along really well during the entire shoot and it seems like she doesn’t get out much either.
She’s a single mom and she and her daughter live with her mother, who was also a single mom before she remarried when Maisey was in high school. Sadly, her mom was widowed a few years back, which is when Maisey and her daughter moved in with her. Most of Maisey’s makeup work experience is proms and weddings or special events as the chance of a movie or show being shot on location in Seattle is slim. Sometimes she fills in for the news stations, but according to her, that’s as elaborate as it gets. She’s grateful for any job she’s given.
I already hired her to do both mine and Crystal’s makeup for the wedding, as well as Angela’s, my other bridesmaid. And she’s offered to do my makeup tonight, so we are going to get ready in my trailer before having the limo take us to pick up Angela and Crystal. We’ll all go to the fitting, and then go out from there.
Maisey is a statuesque blonde and naturally crazy beautiful. The only way I can believe she is still single is because she’s got a kid and most guys are stupid. We decide to borrow clothes and shoes from wardrobe. There are a few scenes where my character attends either a formal party, or has to scout out a nightclub for suspects, and she dresses to the nines when she does. There’s a slew of options as a result. We both pick items that are out of character from what we would normally wear.
She goes with a khaki-colored, knit, long-sleeve crop top with a deep V in the front, and a matching knit, wrap-style skirt with the slit in the middle. Even though it’s seemingly conservative with its long sleeves and skirt, it actually shows a lot of skin and is sexy as hell. She pairs it with metallic gold, strappy stilettos, and the khaki green color makes her green eyes totally pop. She straightens her long blonde hair, then curls just the ends to give it a tousled look. Her makeup is light and natural. She’s stunning.
I let her make my hair big—like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman big—and then give me a smoky eye with a shiny lip. My outfit is a one-piece romper-goes-to-the-disco. The top is a cold-shoulder style with a three-quarter length sleeve. It’s a cowl neck, loose and billowy. The bottom is short shorts—tight short shorts that show a lot of leg. It’s a black base with purple and silver slashes and sequins. I pair it with black, strappy stilettos. I feel fierce in it. Like I can kick ass. More like my character, than myself.
We start with champagne while we are getting ready and finish it in the limo after picking up Angela. By the time we get to Crystal’s, we are well on to the second bottle. It’s safe to say
we will all be just a little tipsy by the time we reach the fitting.
The dresses Si designed—the only requirement being that they’re black—look amazing. Crystal’s is a tea-length, A-line silhouette with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves. It showcases everything about her body that is beautiful, and it makes her look tall, which she loves. Angela’s choice is a short, body-con, bandage style with long sleeves. Both look stunning in their dresses.
Of course, this dress disparity goes against Hunter’s big idea of total coordination at the altar, but I don’t care. The worst possible thing a woman can do to her friends is make them buy a bridesmaid dress. Everyone says you can wear it again, but you can’t. Unless it’s to another wedding where you’re a bridesmaid again and they’ve picked the same dress.
“Your turn, Tab!” Crystal claps her hands and bounces in place. I’ve only tried the dress on once before and it was more a mock-up and not the actual dress. When I finally see it in the dressing room, I’m overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude. The dress is breathtaking on the hanger, looking almost see-through by design. I’m taking a huge risk with it since Hunter does not like to see me in revealing clothing. Tight, yes. Just not revealing. I hadn’t realized there was a difference before I met him.
I want my dress to wow him. To the point where immediately after our vows, he pulls me into a closet somewhere and fucks me up against a wall because he can’t help himself. Because he is so overcome with desire and so possessive that he wants to know that his seed is dripping down my thighs all night long.
The gown is very delicate looking and made almost entirely of sheer tulle. It’s a blend of ivory and gold threading, with tiny spaghetti straps, plunging neckline, and almost no back. With a wide waistband in the middle and then a flowing A-line skirt. At first glance it might appear as though it’s transparent, but it’s not. And it’s exquisite.
I put my big hair up in a smallish bun and take off all my jewelry. Si helps me get it on, taking care with the delicate straps and skirt. She will be there the day of the wedding to help me put it on. I keep my eyes shut as she buttons the back and then situates the dress better on my body to analyze the fit.
“Ees peerfect,” she says in her thick accent that I can’t quite place. “You look now, Tabeetha.”
I open my eyes.
She’s right.
It’s perfect.
Tears form in my eyes. I grab a tissue to dab at them before I ruin my makeup.
“Are you guys ready for this?” I call out to the girls.
“More than,” Angela yells back.
Si opens the privacy curtain and I turn from the mirror to face the girls.
All three faces look back at me with similar awestruck expressions.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask, looking down at my gown.
“No, Tab, you’re beautiful. Wait until Hunter sees you, he’s going to lose his techy little brain,” Crystal says, tears streaking down her face.
“I have never seen a more gorgeous bride,” Angela says.
“You are breathtaking, girl,” Maisey adds.
I admire my gown some more in the mirror, as well as me in my gown. Si has outdone herself with this. After a few minutes of wedding talk, the girls and I change back into our clothes to go out. We make the final arrangements for delivery on the wedding day and discuss the time schedule. Si also says she will try to stay for the wedding.
“It would mean a lot to me if you could,” I tell her as I give her a big hug. She kisses me on both cheeks and walks us to the door.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m freakin’ hungry, and now that I know I can fit in my dress, mama wants to eat,” Crystal tells us.
Maisey fixes my hair in the limo, returning it from the messy bun to the original loud red mess it was before. I almost feel like my hair gets there faster than I do, it’s that big.
Instead of stopping somewhere for dinner, we hit a drive-thru burger joint and picnic on the trunk of the limo, watching the sunset and drinking a third bottle of champagne. The food helps, because I was feeling a little drunk. And even though Crystal and Angela drink the bulk of the third bottle, I still feel those first and second bottles. I’m a lightweight, which I hate.
I switch to water for a bit as we make our way to the first club, not wanting to be too drunk to enjoy myself. This is my night and I want to make the most of it, stretching it out to last forever. The driver pulls up in front of the club, and I notice where we are and what’s across the street.
“Ladies, I have an idea . . .”
20
Pax
I take my time hitting the restroom and returning to the guys. By the time I catch up to them, they are just finishing the seventeenth hole.
Thank god!
The sooner this miserable game is over the better. I’m sobered up a little bit, the walk having done me some good. As have the five bottled waters I’ve forced myself to drink. They aren’t huge bottles, mind you. Maybe twelve ounces apiece, but it still helps.
One thing remains certain, I do not want to go to Hunter’s soiree this evening. Not even one little bit.
“I was wondering what happened to you,” Gregor calls to me as I approach.
“Yeah, I just took a little walk, no big deal.”
“Your score has gotten considerably better since you actually stopped playing,” Hunter says. I fight the urge to flip him off. No matter how hard I try, I can’t figure out what Tabby sees in him.
I step up to the forward tees to take my final turn. Visions of grandeur race through my mind as I prepare my stance and attempt to channel anyone who is better at this sport than me. I look down the fairway, picturing my ball flying through the air and landing just short of a hole-in-one, resulting in a putt so easy, that even I will be able to sink it.
Tee in the ground, ball balanced atop. Legs widened, knees relaxed, the head of the club at the base of the ball, take it back, curve my body, and swing. That solid feeling of ball connecting with metal head travels up the club, through my arms, and into my soul. I watch as it soars through the air, clearing one hundred, then one fifty, and what must be two hundred yards before dropping on the green.
It’s like a fucking modern-day miracle.
Or the power of positive thinking.
Either way, I’m a fucking golf-god right now. I turn to the guys, trying my best not to gloat, probably not succeeding. Gregor gives me a well-deserved high-five. Andrew gives me a chin nod with a “nice shot.” And Hunter pretends he didn’t see it.
Asshole.
The other guys take their turns and we head down to the green.
I hit Gregor in the biceps. “Did you see that shot, man?”
“It was a helluva lucky shot, brother.”
“Pfft. Lucky, my ass. I mastered the game of golf today.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. The fifteen holes before your little break say something else.”
“That was practice,” I tell him, even I know I’m full of shit. But for some reason, I’m going with this.
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.”
We pull up to the green. My ball is a good thirty feet from the pin. Practically a hole-in-one as far as I’m concerned. Until I realize I’m the furthest from the hole and I still have to go first.
I eye the pin from where my ball sits. It seems much further when you’re standing at the ball looking at the pin, and not the pin looking at the ball. I know, from my earlier experiences today, the chances of overshooting the hole are good, so I give my ball a light tap. It rolls about ten feet before coming to a stop.
Shit!
I replace my ball with the marker and wait for the other guys. Gregor sinks his, Andrew and Hunter do not. I’m up again.
Tap.
It goes straight for the hole. I hold my breath, waiting for my redemption of the day.
“You overshot,” Hunter says.
“I did not,” I reply, as the ball does that half-circle
thing around the rim of the hole and keeps going. He smirks. I refrain from punching him as a combination of embarrassment and rage courses through me.
I hate this fucking game.
Both Hunter and Andrew sink it on their next shots, leaving me up again.
I take a deep breath and focus.
See the ball go in the hole.
I almost have to giggle, because ball and hole. Except that I’m a grown man despite the fact I’ve had way too much beer today and I’m perpetually immature. Today, I’m a golf-god.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
And . . . tap.
My ball rolls nowhere near the hole.
Fuck!
This bullshit fucking sport is fucking bullshit.
I one-hand it.
And it’s a miss.
Kick it with my toe.
Sink the motherfucker like a boss.
That’s what I’m talking about.
Yes!
Except the guys have moved on. The par was three. I’m way over that. No one cares. Not even Gregor.
Why am I here again?
Gregor convinces me to go back to his place before we meet Hunter for dinner, not trusting that I’ll show up for the bachelor shindig after drinking all day. I’ve done my absolute best to sober up, and I think I’m pretty much there. I shower and change into the clothes we stopped for at my place. Gregor makes us both an espresso from his fancy machine, reminding me of when we were younger and would pound energy drinks before going out.
“Okay,” I say, feeling fired up. “So, is tonight gonna be like the Gregor and Pax show, or are we respectful and shit?”
“We’re respectful and shit. My agent said that I have to lay low before the season starts.”
