Chapter Sixteen
I showed up at Dayna’s apartment Friday night bearing a bottle of Chardonnay, a bottle of Pinot Noir, and a vat of chocolate chip cookie dough. I was ready for prophesies of drunken cookie eating to be fulfilled, calories be damned and good sense thrown to the wind.
The door swung open and I was greeted by a miniature version of Dayna- blonde instead of brunette, bespectacled, and rocking some blindingly pink braces on her teeth. She grinned at me, giving me an eyeful of her hardware, and eyed the bottles of wine and the cookie dough. "You must be Olivia. DAYNA, OLIVIA IS HERE!" I jumped at her sudden change in volume. "Is that for us?" she asked in a normal voice.
"The wine is for the adults. The cookie dough is for all of us," I replied, handing her the dough, which she accepted with a wide smile.
"Excellent." Miniature Dayna ran down the hallway, leaving me standing on the doorstep.
Dayna hurried down the hall, pulling a towel turban from her head. "Sorry, I just got out of the shower." She looked at my drug store wine, impressed. "Oh, excellent choices, madam. That wine will pair well with our finest boxed macaroni and cheese with hot dog mix-ins."
"Indeed," I answered with an upturned nose. "I find orange powder and ketchup pairs well with notes of cherry and pear."
Dayna laughed and ushered me into her apartment, taking the bottles of wine from me and pointing to the table where I could keep my purse. I laid it down and took a look around while Dayna went to the kitchen to uncork the wine.
Dayna’s apartment was modest but impressive. It was cluttered but neat- the sort of organized chaos one expects from a working parent, or someone who was as close to a working parent that this young girl got. Dayna was only twenty-nine, a year older than me, and she was the sole custodian of a twelve-year-old. I admired her. I could barely imagine losing my parents at such a young age, but to also suddenly become a single parent and lose out on the rest of your twenties? Unthinkable. Dayna seemed to be doing well, though, as far as I could tell. She never complained about it, at least.
"Do you want red or white?" she called from the kitchen.
"White," I called back softly. I followed the sound of her voice, studying the pictures lining the walls of the hallway. There was tiny Dayna, riding a bicycle as a little girl, flanked by a young couple with movie star good looks.
Dayna met me in the hallway, handing me an overflowing glass of wine and following my gaze. "Those are my folks."
"They were gorgeous." I took a sip of the wine, lowering the volume in the glass so I didn’t spill as I walked.
"Yeah," Dayna said, pausing to look at another photo on the way back into the kitchen. "Mom was an actress. It’s why I got into the business in the first place."
"Do I know her from anything?" It seemed like everyone who lived here was related to the film industry somehow. It was fascinating.
"I doubt it. She wasn’t a very successful actress. Unless you’ve been watching dish detergent ads from the eighties, you haven’t seen her. She gave up working when she married Dad and had me," Dayna said sadly.
"Was your dad an actor too?"
Dayna snorted. "Far from it. He was a scientist- worked at a water treatment plant his whole career. They were happy, as far as I knew. They were clearly still in love for years, judging by the fact that I got a little sister when I was seventeen."
"That’s beautiful," I said, though I thought it was weird that Dayna was so comfortable with the thought of her parents having sex. The thought of my folks doing the nasty made me want to bleach my brain repeatedly until I had no capability of forming memories anymore.
Silence ensued while I struggled with whether or not to ask the question that was looming at the forefront of my brain. Dayna looked at me knowingly. "They died three years ago," she said. "Drunk driver, head-on collision. No one survived, but I’m told they went quickly."
"I’m so sorry," I said. It felt insufficient. Words could never make up for the tragic loss of her parents due to someone else’s poor choice.
"It’s okay, really," Dayna said. "I spent a long time being angry, but I’ve come to peace with it. It’s awful, I love them and I miss them, but the grief is no longer all-encompassing like it was in the beginning. Now it’s just- there." She sighed. "Getting custody of Lauren changed my life, helped me through the grief. It turned my whole world upside down, completely changing my priorities. No more partying, sleeping around, constant drinking. Now I save that stuff for special occasions." She winked at me. "Well, maybe not the sleeping around. It’s been a while since that happened."
In the kitchen, Lauren had donned an apron and preheated the oven. She’d set out two extra aprons for Dayna and me- mine had "Where’s the Beef?" emblazoned over a sad-looking cow- and was portioning out the dough for us. Dayna and I tied on our aprons and observed Lauren’s neat work space.
"Very professional," I said. "My best friend is a chef. She’d be very impressed with your set up."
"Thank you," Lauren said primly.
I nodded in acknowledgment, sitting on a stool set up under the kitchen island.
"Do you know how to French braid?" Lauren asked me.
"I can do a very messy French braid," I said. "My mom doesn’t know how, so I had to learn via video tutorial, and I didn’t do a very good job. I usually give up after it halfway resembles a braid."
"Dayna doesn’t know how to do one either. After we finish baking, you can braid my hair," Lauren said, handing me my chunk of cookie dough.
"Yes ma’am," I nodded.
"You don’t have to do that," Dayna said, leveling a warning look at an innocent-looking Lauren. "She thinks every female that comes over should have to braid her hair. She’s obsessed with them all of a sudden."
"Brixley always has her hair in a French braid and she’s going out with Tommy," Lauren said.
"Well, that’s Brixley’s business. You are too young to be dating. In fact, I want you to stay braid-free so you stay young and single forever," Dayna said, popping a chunk of dough onto Lauren’s nose. Lauren wrinkled her nose and made a face at Dayna, clearly affronted at being told she was too young to date.
"I’ll still braid your hair," I mouthed to Lauren, and she giggled, brightening up.
Fortunately, the dough I’d brought was pre-made, so there wasn’t a lot of actual baking happening. All we had to do was avoid eating all the raw dough, shape it into balls, and pop it into the oven with the timer set for twelve minutes. We sat back on the kitchen stools while we waited, sipping wine- sparkling grape juice for Lauren- and chatted.
"So what’s it like working for Tyler Sutton?" Lauren asked me, leaning forward eagerly with her elbows on the counter. Was I going to hear this question from every person I met for the rest of my life?
"You know your sister works with him, too, right?" I asked, ignoring the sharp pang I’d felt at the mention of Tyler’s name.
"Yeah, but she’s always doing stuff for Doug. She never has time to hang out with the actors," Lauren said. "Her job is boring."
"She’s right," Dayna said. "I am always working for Doug. My well-paid job for a big name Hollywood guy is boring." She leaned over and chucked Lauren on the shoulder. "Tell me, Olivia, what’s it like working with Tyler?" She waggled her eyebrows at me.
I ignored this. "Well, it’s kind of like working with anyone else, really, except he’s always playing pretend." So was I, though.
"And he’s super hot," Lauren declared. "Even if he’s old."
"And he’s super hot," I concurred, remembering what he looked like in the golden glow of the morning light filtering in through the hotel windows, smiling at me from across the pillow. "But he’s not that old."
"He’s in his thirties. That’s ancient," Lauren said, looking at me and Dayna pointedly. Even if we weren’t quite in our thirties yet, Lauren clearly thought we were also ancient.
"Change of subject," Dayna said, misinterpreting the pained look on my face. "How’s school going, Lauren? Anything exciting happen today?"
"Tommy told Blake that he was thinking of breaking up with Brixley, so I think I might take my chance then." Lauren picked lint off her apron primly.
"Isn’t Brixley your best friend?" Dayna asked.
"Yeah, so? You snooze, you lose, duh." Lauren sipped her sparkling grape juice as if it were the finest mimosa and checked her cell phone. Damn. I’d forgotten how vicious middle school girls, even the ones who seem nice, could be. "Can I be excused?" Lauren asked. "Brix is calling."
"Yeah, go ahead." Dayna waved her wine glass. Once Lauren was out of the room, she turned to me. "How are you holding up?"
"I’m hunky-dory, if you don’t count the fact that I want to jump Tyler’s bones every time he does a shirtless scene," I said. "And I want to stab Vanessa in her perfect face. In a totally rational way."
"Girl, literally everyone has those exact same reactions when they see Tyler or meet Vanessa," Dayna said. "I’d say you’re doing fine." Yeah, as long as I didn’t envision them next weekend, cozying up in a Jacuzzi with candles lit and mood music playing. "By the way, I think you’re doing the right thing. I’ve been around a lot of Hollywood guys, and even the good ones get corrupted eventually. I’d never date an actor. They aren’t meant for mere mortals like me and you."
I considered this glumly. She was right, of course, and it was what I’d been thinking all along, but hearing it confirmed out loud was sobering. The oven timer dinged, breaking me out of my pout, and Lauren came running back into the room. "Brix and Tommy broke up! She’s dating Bobby now."
"That was fast," I said, impressed.
"Life is short," Lauren said sagely.
"YOLO," Dayna said. Lauren looked at her in horror.
"Just don’t. You’re embarrassing yourself," Lauren said.
"That’s why you’ve got to make it lit AF," Dayna said.
Lauren buried her face in her hands. "For the love of God, stop."
"You got it, dude." Dayna gave Lauren a thumbs up.
I chuckled, but Lauren was too young to get the reference so she just stared at Dayna blankly. Dayna sighed and pulled the cookies out of the oven with a flourish. "Who’s ready for empty calories and empty entertainment?"
Lauren and I raised both of our hands. Dayna spooned out the mac, cheese, and franks onto plates while the cookies cooled, and we retired to the living room for the night. "Mac and cheese and cookies. Best dinner ever," Lauren declared.
She was right. We ate until we felt slightly ill, drank until I felt slightly tipsy, and fell asleep to romantic comedies, none of which, thankfully, starred Tyler. When I woke up in the morning, I left a note for Dayna before I snuck out. I’d learned my lesson about sneaking out without a word by now.