“Sure you don’t want to replace it? I can get you a reliable starter car for less.”
“This one’s special.”
“Mm’kay. You’re the boss. I can order parts and have her back within a week. That work?”
A week. Yeah, that should give me enough time to wiggle my way into Rachel’s life. Become so annoyingly charming she’ll want to snuggle me to her rack like she did the puppy. If not, I’ll have Mark do extra work on the car. “It’s a deal.”
11
Rachel
Today is bittersweet. This job is one I wished could last forever, but since the film itself is a short and studio time costs money, we’re wrapping after three days of work. I’m thankful for the opportunity, though. Grateful knowing there are hundreds of other makeup artists they could have selected, but somehow they picked me. I focus on that, and not the bleak outlook of my future once I walk off set.
I don’t know how, but even with my car out of commission and next month’s rent looming, the time I’ve spent on this set has provided a much needed escape. Maybe because this is the first professional studio set I’ve worked on. Or when I’m here no one sees me as another struggling artist. Or because work on set has been fulfilling, and if anything, cements my decision to be in Los Angeles.
I only pray this isn’t a fluke. As good as it gets. Because I really need another break. A sign or something.
“Let’s break for lunch and finish the final scene when we get back,” Shannon, the director, says after checking the time. It’s well after two and my stomach grumbles in agreement with her decision.
“Rae, you wanna join us? We’re gonna head to the café on lot seven.”
As much as I want to, I don’t have the funds. “No thanks. I’m good.”
“Cool,” Shannon says. “Be back in one hour.”
“I won’t be late.” I won’t be going far, either. There’s a coffee cart one studio over, and they sell yesterday’s baked goods half off. If I’m lucky they’ll still have a muffin or scone, which will pair great with the banana I have packed in my purse. That and a shot of caffeine will get me through the day.
I pull out my cell on the short walk over, but my steps falter at the on-screen notifications. Three missed calls. Two from my brother. But it’s the other one that fills my stomach with dread, a number I’ve been successfully avoiding for over six months. Each call has a corresponding voicemail. Putting off bad news, I click on my brother’s first.
“Rae! You are a godsend. Motherfucking fairy godmother. The stain came out and now I don’t have to explain to Logan what my coworker was doing in my sweater. Seriously, you saved my life and the cashmere. Okay, gotta run. Talk soon. Love you!”
Harmless enough, and I can’t help but smile at his antics. I don’t know how Logan puts up with my brother’s drama. Oh, wait. I do. They’re the perfect match. I sigh and offer up silent hope that someday I find a partner who loves and accepts me so completely.
I tap on the next voicemail. Another from my brother just an hour ago.
“Shit! I almost forgot to tell you. Guess who I ran into last night? Ethan. He looks bad, Rae. Really bad. Matches his personality. But he asked about you and I kinda laid it on a little thick. Said you were working your dream job and loving Los Angeles. Which isn’t entirely untrue, right? Anyway, you should have seen his face.” My brother laughs. “If I could have snapped a photo, I would have. Like he finally realized how stupid he was to let you get away. But I wanted to warn you, because well, I know how men like him operate. I think he might call, and if he does, do not waver! I know how you are with that man-child. I don’t understand it, but I accept he’s basically your kryptonite. Anyway, stay away. Don’t play with sharks. Or assholes with big dicks. The dick ain’t worth it! Okay, gotta run. Talk soon. Love you!”
The next message is from Mr. Big Dick Kryptonite himself. I should delete it. I should block his contact from my phone. I don’t know why I don’t. Or I do, but won’t acknowledge it. Even though leaving him was probably the best thing I ever did, he represents a future I thought I’d always have. Ethan was it for me. My forever guy. We shared a home. I wanted to have his babies. He talked about marriage, though he didn’t get a chance to propose. Together we planned adventures, shared interesting conversation, and yeah, the sex was amazing. Too bad I wasn’t the only one he was sleeping with.
A glutton for punishment, I press play on the waiting voicemail and hold the phone to my ear.
“Rae, baby. How are you? I ran into your brother and he says LA looks good on you. I am going to be in town for business next week. I’d love to hook up for dinner or something. Let’s try and connect while I’m there.” His smooth-as-honey voice conjures up all sorts of memories. Joy. Hurt. Love. He sighs. “I miss you. We were good together, yeah?”
I miss you. It shouldn’t get me, but it does. I blink back the urge to cry and delete the message before I’m tempted to replay it. Or worse, return his call. I cannot go there. Not again. I learned my lesson. I’m not going down that path again.
Sliding my phone into my bag, I walk the remaining steps to the coffee cart. The barista smiles with recognition. “Tall coffee, right?”
“Yep.” I glance to the basket of half-priced items, but today it’s empty.
Her face falls a little, noticing my gaze. “Oh. We just sold the last muffin. The only thing I’ve got left is a cake
