Twenty-one
THE WITNESS’S MONOTONE voice droned on endlessly.
Watching from the defense table, Taylor glanced over to see how the jury was reacting to the woman’s testimony, which had been going on for hours with seemingly no end in sight.
She saw that three of the jurors had already nodded off and that the remaining six appeared ready to drop like flies any moment. She watched as the juror in the far back corner began bobbing her head like a high school student in history class. Wait . . . wait for it . . .
The juror’s head dropped back against the seat, and her mouth fell open.
Taylor grinned. Another one bites the dust.
Seemingly oblivious to these goings-on, Frank stood at the podium asking one long, drawn-out question after the other. Apparently, he was unaware of the torture he was inflicting upon these jurors he would later ask for $30 million.
“. . . And like I said earlier,” the witness rambled on, “on many occasions, I would overhear my manager refer to women as ‘chicks.’ ”
“How many times did you hear your manager use that word?” Frank asked.
The witness took a moment to answer, as if needing to compose herself. Taylor tried to keep from rolling her eyes at Derek, who sat next to her at the defense table.
“Oh, I couldn’t even guess,” the witness tearfully responded. “My manager used that derogatory term too many times to count.”
Frank nodded sympathetically. “Then perhaps we should go through all the occasions you can remember your manager using the word ‘chicks.’ One incident at a time, in detail.”
This was too much. Taylor rose from her table.
“I have to object to this line of questioning, Your Honor.”
The judge peered over at her. “Grounds?”
“Well, for starters, it’s entirely too boring for four o’clock on a Friday afternoon.”
The jurors—the ones that were awake, anyway—laughed.
Frank pounded the podium furiously. “Your Honor—Ms. Donovan’s objection is highly inappropriate! I ask that she be admonished for her conduct, and I move to strike her comment from the record!”
Taylor shrugged amiably. “Fine—I’ll modify my objection to include the fact that nothing in this witness’s testimony even remotely resembles sexual harassment.”
The judge held up his hand before Frank could respond further.
“All right, counselors, that’s enough. I agree that it’s getting late. It might be a good time to take a break.” He peered down from his bench at Frank. “Counselor, do you intend to continue this line of questioning on Monday?”
“Your Honor, if I may,” Taylor interjected, “in order to keep the trial moving, the defendant will stipulate that this witness would testify that she heard the word ‘chicks’ in her workplace on several occasions.”
“Not several, Your Honor, numerous occasions,” Frank replied pissily.
Taylor held up her hands innocently. “Now counsel is just getting greedy, Your Honor.”
More titters of laughter could be heard coming from the jury box. The judge rapped his gavel lightly.
“In order to keep this trial on schedule, I will accept the defendant’s proposed stipulation. The record will reflect that this witness would testify that she heard the word ‘chicks’ in her workplace on several occasions.” He gave Frank a stern look. “Mr. Siedlecki, you’ve already fallen two days behind on your witness list. I suggest you find ways to structure their testimonies more succinctly.”
Then the judge turned to Taylor. “As for you, Ms. Donovan, in the future, please try to keep your objections within the confines of the Federal Rules of Evidence.” His words were firm, but his expression held a trace of a smile.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Taylor said demurely. She knew when she had pushed a judge just far enough.
“Good. Ladies and gentlemen, you are excused until Monday morning,” the judge told the jury. “I remind you that you are not permitted to discuss this case with anyone, including each other, until it’s time for your deliberations.” He banged his gavel. “This court stands in recess.”
“All rise! This honorable court is in recess,” the clerk of court shouted.
The judge stood to leave, and the entire courtroom rose with him. As the bailiff escorted the jurors out, a few nodded and smiled as they passed by Taylor.
Derek leaned over. “They adore you,” he whispered.
Taylor grinned proudly. God, she loved this stuff.
After the jurors left the courtroom, she quickly began throwing files into her briefcase.
“I’m late—I gotta run,” she told Derek. “But we should plan to meet on Sunday evening to go over next week’s cross-examinations.”
Derek watched her with amusement. Taylor suspected that his knowing smile had something to do with the fact that she had received flowers on Monday from Scott Casey. The news had spread through the office faster than the clap.
“Big plans for tonight, Taylor?” he inquired. “Let me guess—happy hour at L’Ermitage with Johnny Depp, perhaps?”
Taylor looked up, surprised. “Well, well, well . . . so there’s a smart-ass lurking inside you after all, Derek. I like it.”
The junior associate grinned. “I think I’m turning into you. Another week and I’ll be dropping F-bombs around the office.”
Taylor patted his shoulder affectionately. “I think you’re safe. I would never use the term ‘F-bomb.’ ” With a teasing wink, she grabbed her briefcase, wished Derek a good weekend, and left the courtroom in a hurry.
DRIVING TO THE airport, feeling her excitement build, Taylor practiced various ways to tell Val and Kate about everything that had unfolded since she had moved to Los Angeles. Unfortunately, every scenario she had come up with so far made her sound totally, criminally insane.
“Hi, guys,” she supposed she could always say, “guess what’s happened to me? I’ve been working with Jason Andrews on his new film and he flew me in his private jet to Las Vegas where we almost kissed, and then I went to this glamorous party where Scott Casey asked me out, and oh—by the way, he and I did kiss, several times actually, after he cooked me dinner at his multimillion-dollar house up in the Hollywood Hills.”
Now there was a surefire way to earn a straightjacket and a one-way ticket to Chicago’s finest mental institution.
Taylor realized that this situation had to be finessed delicately, especially to avoid hurting Kate and Val’s feelings for not telling them everything earlier. She decided she would wait until they got back to her apartment. They could settle in, and then she would slowly unravel the story for them, in a way that sounded at least somewhat plausible.
Driving along the highway that afternoon, Taylor felt for the first time since coming to L.A. as though she finally had a moment to catch her breath. Some time to herself, so she could really take stock of everything that had happened over the past month.
Jason Andrews.
Scott Casey.
Taylor suddenly began laughing. Really laughing, to the point where she needed to wipe the tears from her eyes in order to see the road in front of her.
Passing by her in a gray Mercedes, a tanned California couple looked at her oddly. True—she must have been quite a sight, alone in her car and laughing hysterically. For one crazy second, she was tempted to roll down her window and shout to them, “But don’t you know who I am? I’m the Mystery Woman!”
But the Mercedes drove by, and the moment passed, and Taylor’s laughter gradually subsided.
But her good mood lasted.
It was a gorgeous day in Los Angeles—not quite sunset—and she was about to see her two best friends for the first time in almost two months. She was excited to show them all the L.A. sights she’d been meaning to get to and looked forward to some quality girl time—something she definitely had been missing as of late.
Taylor wondered how her friends would react to her news.
She wondered what they would say about Jason. Oh yeah, and Scott Casey, too.
She wondered if straightjackets came in a size 2.
TAYLOR STOOD AT the secutity checkpoint, waiting for Kate and Valerie to appear. She saw Val first, who immediately broke into a run with her arms outstretched.
“Taylor Donovan!” she screamed excitedly. Val was like that—she wore every emotion on her sleeve. Every pant leg, sock, and shoe, too.
Kate followed, more sedate than Val, but no less happy to see her. “Look at you, California girl,” she said to Taylor with a wink.
Within seconds, the three of them were jumbled up in their hellos and hugs, all talking excitedly until Taylor finally steered them away from the security gates.
“So how was the flight?” she asked. “Did you check any luggage?”
“Val had to,” Kate informed her. “She brought fifteen outfits for two nights. And nine pairs of shoes.”
“Ignore her crankiness,” Val told Taylor. “She’s just mad that I saw Josh Hartnett sitting in first class and she didn’t.”
“That wasn’t Josh Hartnett; that kid was eighteen years old,” Kate said.
“I told you, they age slower out here. It’s all the fresh California air,” Val replied.
“Yes, because that’s exactly what Los Angeles is known for,” Kate said dryly. “Clean air.”
Taylor stopped and took in her friends. It was like being home again. “God, I missed you two,” she said, taking them both in with a content smile. First Valerie, with her shoulder-length curly blonde hair and typical slightly eclectic attire of jeans, a flowy peasant top, and oversized hoop earrings. In stark contrast next to her stood Kate, with her stick-straight ebony hair pulled back in a serious bun and wearing a gray pinstripe pantsuit and no-nonsense Marc Jacobs one-inch heels.
The fact that these two women were finally in Los Angeles left Taylor feeling quite sentimental. “You guys look so great.” She sighed happily.
At that, Kate leaned over and whispered loudly to Val. “Oh no—I think she’s gone soft on us.”
Val covered her mouth with one hand, “I told you about that giggle I heard,” she said to Kate.
“That’s right!” Kate pointed at Taylor, suddenly remembering. “You. Spill it. Giggling? Mysterious evenings out? What’s been going on out here?”
Taylor gestured to their surroundings. “Can we at least get out of the airport? I think we’re gonna need a few drinks for this.”
Valerie shrugged amiably. “Fine, I want to get back to your place to freshen up, anyway.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Freshen up? You spent twenty minutes doing your makeup on the plane before we landed.”
Valerie fixed Kate with an ultraserious stare. “Katherine. We are in L.A. One must look their best at all times out here. You never know who you might meet.” Val looped her arm through Taylor’s as the three of them headed in the direction of the baggage claim. “Tell her, Taylor.”
Kate pulled her suitcase along, keeping up with them. “Yes, tell me, Taylor,” she said teasingly. “Tell me how the celebrities are just falling off the trees around here, like oranges.”
Taylor stared straight ahead as they walked, praying she didn’t lose her shit right there in the airport.
“Um, well . . . let’s get back to my place. Then I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
BACK AT HER apartment, after getting Kate and Val set up in her guest bedroom, Taylor poured them a round of their usual mango martinis. She sipped her drink quickly, figuring the buzz would help loosen her tongue, which lately seemed to get stuck anytime she even thought the name Jason Andrews.
Oh yeah, and Scott Casey, too. Of course.
Realizing she couldn’t delay any further, Taylor sat her drink down on the kitchen table. Determined to get this over with.
“Okay, look—I need to tell you guys something. Actually, now it’s a couple of somethings.” She took a deep breath. Slowly, ease into it slowly.
“So here’s the deal: the firm put me on this project, and I had to keep things quiet to avoid any publicity conflicts with my trial.” Taylor stopped. Damn—that had come out wrong. “Not that I thought either of you would purposely tell anyone,” she backtracked, “but—”
“Oh my god . . .” Kate whispered. Her eyes widened in shock. “You’re not coming back to Chicago.”
Taylor shook her head. “Of course I am. That’s not it.” She regrouped. “Anyway, for this project, I had to work with a certain someone, and help him out with—”
Valerie gasped excitedly. “I knew it! You’re dating somebody!”
Taylor pointed at her emphatically. “No. We are definitely not dating. Well, but then there’s kind of this other guy, but I just met him last week and I don’t really know where that’s going . . .”
Seeing that her friends were totally lost, she pulled herself together. “Let me start over. About a month ago, I met—”
She was cut off by a loud knock at her front door.
Taylor held a finger up to Val and Kate. “Hold that thought for a second while I get this.”
As she headed into the living room, she overheard Kate mumble to Val, “Hold what thought? I haven’t understood a word she’s said yet.”
Taylor unlocked her front door and opened it. Before she could react, Jason barreled right in, all fired up.
“Where have you been?? I tried calling you—is your cell phone off? I need you to tell me who the hell I can sue. I just met with Marty—we got back the mock-ups for the new publicity posters the studio’s going to use to promote Inferno .”
Jason stormed into the kitchen, so engrossed in his rant he didn’t notice Valerie and Kate. He opened Taylor’s fridge and helped himself to a bottled water.
“And get this,” he fumed angrily, “the dumbasses who designed the posters have me pictured in this scene where I’m putting out a fire with all these other firemen. But if you look at the poster from the side, the water from the hose of one of the other firefighters looks like it’s shooting right out of my crotch. And the best part is, they want to put this poster over the theater entrance for the premiere. I can just see it—” He gestured grandly to the air. “ ‘Come see Inferno! Get pissed on by Jason Andrews!’”
With that, he threw Taylor a wink. “It should be right up your alley.”
Finished with his rant, Jason took a sip of water. Then he finally noticed Kate and Val. He smiled charmingly.
“Oh. People. Hello.”
Kate and Val sat in silence at the table. They stared at the sight of this god, this ideal man of modern time, standing before them in all his glory.
In their friend’s kitchen.
Valerie began giggling nervously.
Kate held her martini glass aloft, still frozen in midair after Jason’s grand entrance.
“Taylor Donovan,” she whispered hoarsely. “What is this man doing in your kitchen?”
Jason tipped his Evian bottle. “Having a drink of water.”
Taylor threw him a look—he wasn’t exactly helping the situation. She turned to her friends to make the introductions. So much for easing slowly into the conversation.
“Kate, Val—I think you know Jason. Jason, this is Kate and Valerie, my friends from Chicago.”
Valerie jumped out of her chair, finally finding her voice. “You little shit!” She wagged her finger in Taylor’s face. “How could you not tell us this?”
Not waiting for an answer, Val rushed over to shake Jason’s hand, gushing effusively. “It’s so nice to meet you, Jason. I’m a big fan—I’ve seen every one of your movies. Like six times.”
Hearing that, Jason proudly folded his arms across his chest and shot Taylor a satisfied grin. “Told you,” he mouthed. Then he turned back to Valerie, who stared at him in a daze, still holding his hand.
“Thank you. That’s always nice to hear,” he said warmly. “So you two are friends of Taylor?”
Kate and Val managed mute nods.
“You’re visiting from Chicago, then?”
More nodding. Chicago, yes, uh-huh, whatever. We saw you naked in Overload.
Jason turned to Kate, trying to draw her out. “So what do you ladies have planned for tonight?”
Val and Kate shrugged, silly grins still plastered on their faces.
Taylor intervened, gently extracting Val’s hand from Jason’s. “I tried to get us reservations at Koi, but they were booked this whole weekend. We’ll come up with something else.”
At this, Jason rolled his eyes. He whipped out his cell phone, unable to suppress his smile. “You never cease to amaze me, Taylor.”
Despite herself, she felt her cheeks blushing.
Jason held Taylor’s gaze as he spoke into his phone. “Yeah, Marty, it’s me. Get me a table at Koi tonight. Party of . . .” He looked at her questioningly. “Is this a girls-only night, or are guys invited, too?”
“Oh my god, guys are so invited!” Valerie cried out, practically barreling Jason over in her excitement.
Over Val’s head, he looked at Taylor teasingly. “I guess that means you’re stuck with me again, Ms. Donovan.” He grinned at Valerie, to explain. “She thinks she hates me.”
He winked, as if to say they all knew the likelihood of that being true.