Chapter Ten
Taylor drew herself a hot bath later that evening and, because she was feeling extra indulgent, sprinkled lavender bath salts over the running water, filling her bathroom with the most wonderful aroma. She draped herself in one of her favorite oversized bath towels and sat along the tub, watching it fill. She’d had fun at Pink’s with Isabel that night, and not just the standard “everything is beautiful” in Hollywood kind of fun, but the genuine kind. She hadn’t realized until tonight how much she’d missed that feeling, or even that she’d somehow drifted so far away from it.
This evening had served as a shocking reminder, and she wanted more.
Their conversation had been free of discussions straight out of Variety or gossip about one studio head or another. There had been no jockeying for position or assertion of success or the making of deals or the tearing down of others.
No. They’d simply laughed over delicious hot dogs, and it had been the best night Taylor could remember having had in years. Dropping the towel, she eased herself into the tub and sighed loudly as the hot water caressed her skin, chasing away the tension she’d spent the day collecting. With her hair in a knot on the top of her head, she leaned back against the small satin pillow she kept behind the tub and ruminated back on a time when she was far from a Hollywood player.
Somewhere between Tubby Taylor and Taylor Andrews the Showrunner, she’d lost a small part of herself. Eating hot dogs and chili fries at Pink’s with an outspoken kindred spirit had her reconnecting with it in the most wonderful way. It was good to be back.
*****
Isabel picked up a warm handful of sand and let it trickle through her fingers, enjoying the light translucent quality. For mid-September, they’d lucked out with the weather, the temperature sitting at eighty-three degrees.
“You’d think you’d never seen sand before,” Hadley said, watching from her towel next to Isabel’s. She wore one of those cute bikinis from the 1950s, sky blue with little white flowers. Isabel’s own red two-piece seemed boring in comparison.
“We have sand up north, but it comes with a lot more grit. Like me. This stuff,” she said, picking up another handful, “is surprisingly soft.”
“Like me,” Hadley said, her turquoise eyes sparkling.
After trekking past the Venice boardwalk, Muscle Beach, skateboarders, food vendors, and even a drum circle, Hadley had led them to a much quieter section of the beach, apart from the tourists and much more appropriate for sunbathing and water sports.
“Oh, wait. Okay. Get ready. Here she goes.” Hadley sat up straight on her towel and gestured to the water where one surfer emerged from the pack as a large unbroken wave moved in. Isabel shielded her eyes from the sun and sat forward, joining Hadley. Gia caught the wave with ease and Isabel marveled at the fluidity of motion, as if Gia belonged out there in the water with the fish, the dolphins, and whatever else. She looked just as much at home. Gorgeous.
Isabel turned to Hadley. “I’ve seen people surf plenty of times on television, but this is so much different. Someone I know is killing it out there. I’m on a contact adrenaline high!”
“Isn’t it crazy? G’s an amazing surfer. And Venice is known for its pretty mellow waves, so imagine her on a bigger beach. She’d blow your mind,” Hadley said just as Gia caught another wave. “There you go!” Hadley yelled, her hands cupped around her mouth. “You show that big, bad wave who owns it. You make it your bitch!”
Isabel turned to Hadley, eyes wide.
“Sorry,” she said quietly. “About the language. I just get all worked up.”
“You do you,” Isabel said in amusement.
They watched Gia for over an hour, and she got more impressive each time out. Isabel had no idea how she did what she did on that surfboard. When it came to team sports in school, Isabel was generally picked second to last, only because she schemed behind the scenes, talked to who she needed to talk to in order to ensure she wouldn’t be the dead-last pick. She could be wildly persuasive. But the athleticism Gia demonstrated, coupled with a superior instinct, explained her prestigious ranking in the surf world. Isabel sat there in awe.
“Hey,” Autumn said, joining them. She quickly threw a towel alongside Isabel and set down a tray of iced coffees. “Anyone need a pick-me-up?”
Isabel looked up at her. “More than air from nature. Thank you, benevolent coffee fairy.” Her tone was even, but her heart was full.
“Yay, coffee!” Hadley said, celebrating demonstratively enough for them both.
“Just fulfilling my life’s work,” Autumn said and took one of the four sweating cups for herself. “Caffeinating the planet.” She glanced over at Isabel. “Sorry, I missed you at Pajamas this week. I traded out the early shifts with my assistant manager.”
“I tried not to take it personally.”
“Atta girl,” Autumn said.
Isabel reflected on the bookish little guy she’d chatted up each morning this week. “Your guy is cool, though. Steve. He’s from North Carolina originally. Believes if the coffee isn’t roasted that day, it’s crap. Has a girlfriend who doesn’t understand coffee and thereby doesn’t fully get Steve.” She inclined her drink to Autumn, using her straw to point. “I predict a breakup in the next six months, so you might want to plan for that, scheduling-wise.”
“Wow. You might know more about him than I do,” Autumn said.
“Just fulfilling my life’s work, to understand humankind so I can write them like it’s my job. Oh, wait. It is.”
Autumn touched her cup to Isabel’s in solidarity. “What have I missed?”
“She’s killing it,” Hadley said, jutting her chin to the water.
Autumn waved her off. “So, nothing new then.”
“Not into surfing?” Isabel asked her.
“It’s fine, but I come here for the tan and conversation. I leave the rabid cheering to Had.” Autumn popped on her shades and lifted her face to the sun. “What’s new with you, Iz? You get that No Trespassing sign out of your head yet when it comes to Taylor Andrews? I feel like I’m weeks behind.”
Isabel turned to her. “The sign doesn’t say that anymore.”
Autumn quirked her head. “What’s it say now? Take My Clothes Off Quickly?”
The mere idea of taking Taylor’s clothes off had Isabel struggling not to choke on her coffee. She shook her head while she composed herself. “My current sign says Proceed with Caution, and I’m doing just that. Proceeding being the operative word. We hung out last week and it was…one of my favorite nights in LA so far. No—scratch that. My favorite.”
Hadley must have tuned in somewhere along the way. “So, it’s happening? The Hollywood romance I’ve been hoping for? Newcomer to LA and television goddess fall madly in love and live happily ever after, snapping wedding photos in front of the Hollywood sign at dusk.”
Isabel held up a finger. “Didn’t say that.”
“Damn,” Hadley looked crestfallen.
“But it’s a cornucopia. It really is,” Isabel continued.
Autumn tilted her head to the side in confusion. “That’s some sort of personification, isn’t it? You’re about to enlighten us.”
“Taylor. She’s the cornucopia—so many things at once that it’s like my mind can’t keep up. To begin with, she’s someone I look up to. I respect her, and that goes a long way. Are you with me?” Two heads nodded. “She also frustrates me, and turns me on, and challenges me, and makes me laugh, because I always forget she can be funny.”
Autumn nodded more aggressively. “A fucking cornucopia.”
Isabel nodded. “Right?”
Hadley rubbed her hands together. “I’m ready to meet her. Go pick her up, please. Is she free tonight? Let’s do a beach fire and invite her. It’s perfect.”
Autumn nodded. “I’d be down for a beach fire. Would G?”
Hadley nodded happily “She mentioned it last week, which is why it was in my head. It’s been too long.”
Isabel raised her hand. “Confused New Englander here. Is a beach fire what it sounds like?” Isabel asked. “A fire on the beach?”
“With chill music and beer,” Autumn said.
“And my famous steaks on the hibachi.”
“You do steaks out here?” Isabel asked, her stomach growling from lack of lunch.
“I do the best steaks out here,” Hadley said in ultra-serious mode. “I even bring my own homemade chimichurri sauce because I do not mess around when the hibachi is out.”
“Isn’t all of that illegal?” She was sure she’d seen signs posted.
Hadley dropped her voice as if the world were listening. “I don’t like the idea of breaking the rules, and I rarely do. But beach fires are different. Plus, most of the patrol guys out here know Gia and leave us alone. She signs the occasional autograph for their nieces or daughters, and everyone’s happy and full of steak.”
Isabel held up her hands. “I can’t argue with that. Illegal fires and steaks on a tiny grill it is.”
“Great. So, you’ll call her?” Hadley asked.
Isabel looked from Hadley to Autumn. “You don’t seriously want me to call Taylor Andrews and invite her for hibachi steaks on Venice Beach?”
Hadley grinned. “Oh, but we do.”
*****
“When was the last time you were on Venice Beach?” Taylor asked Scarlett, who sat with her MacBook in her lap and her feet stretched across the couch in Taylor’s office. Raisin batted playfully at her shoe in between rawhide chewing sessions. While they were working on the upcoming week’s schedule for Sister Dale, Taylor opted to do so in her own office. Something about the familiar territory kept her focus laser sharp. They’d been working most of that Saturday, and only the buzzing of Taylor’s phone had pulled her from the haze.
Scarlett squinted. “Well, that would have been back when I had a life, which means before I met you, so maybe 1986?”
“You’re only twenty-five, Scar.”
Scarlett turned to her, glazed over. “Why do I feel thirty years older than that?”
“Studio time is like dog years,” Taylor said, nodding. She thought about the beach. “I can’t even remember the last time I was on Venice Beach. Any beach really.” She closed her eyes and imagined the feel of the cool breeze off the water, the sand between her toes. Now, that would be something.
“What makes you bring up Venice?” Scarlett asked.
Taylor held up her phone. “Oh, it was just…Isabel. Not a big deal. She texted about it. The beach.” Why was she being so vague? And jittery? The feeling was new and concerning.
It was clear that Scarlett’s attention had been snagged as the typing had ceased. Damn it. They spent too much time together. “Did Isabel invite you to the beach?” She sat up on the sofa and pushed her glasses up on her nose as if the soap opera in her head had just taken a juicy turn.
Taylor pointed at her. “Not like that she didn’t. Not like that.”
“What’s funny is that I didn’t insinuate anything specific.”
“Oh.” This had Taylor momentarily stymied, because Scarlett hadn’t.
“But the fact that you leapt there says a lot.” Scarlett studied her as if working an intriguing puzzle. “You like her. You like Isabel Chase.”
Taylor looked around at the items on her desk and set about picking them up and setting them down again. Why? She had no clue. “I do like her. What’s not to like?”
“What are you doing right now?”
Taylor followed Scarlett’s gaze to the handful of paper clips in her hand. “Nothing. Just…making sure we have paper clips.”
Scarlett took off her glasses. “You’re being weird with office supplies. Do we need to call it a day?”
Taylor glanced at her watch, thankful to see that it was approaching four o’clock, safely within the call-it-a-day range for a Saturday. “Yeah. You know, why don’t we do that?”
“Great.” Scarlett flipped her laptop closed. “Because I have a date. Not a Venice Beach date, but a date.”
“You do?”
“I do.” Scarlett walked from the office to her cubicle with Taylor hot on her heels. Scarlett hadn’t mentioned that she was seeing someone. Taylor felt her ultra-protective chip click on.
“This isn’t someone you met on match.com, is it? Because I heard a girl got murdered when she met up with—”
“No need to worry. My guy is a friend of a friend, and vetted in advance. He’s pretty great so far.” She smiled and it was heartwarming.
Taylor shook her head, enjoying the playout. “You seem, I don’t know, really excited. How did I not know about this guy?”
“It’s all very new.” Scarlett nodded several times, the wattage of her smile increasing exponentially, almost like a flower blossoming before Taylor’s eyes. “It’s one of those things. I’m not quite sure how to describe it. When I think about him,” she paused to consider her word choice, “I get this jittery thing in my stomach. My day seems brighter and I wonder about the next time we’ll talk. I wait for it.”
“That sounds fantastic.” She didn’t identify at all. Not even a tiny bit.
Scarlett picked up her bag. “I hope so. See you Monday?”
“Yeah, I’ll be here.”
“Oh, and Taylor. If you’re headed to the beach tonight, take a six-pack of beer. People love it when you bring beer to a gathering.”
“So, not wine then, because I was thinking a bottle of—”
“Beer. And dress casually.” She pointed at her feet. “No heels.” She paused and squinted. “Do you want me to write this down?”
Taylor grabbed a stress ball from her desk and lobbed it at Scarlett. “Get out of here before I kill you.”
Scarlett grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
Alone in the office, Taylor contemplated her evening. What she hadn’t mentioned to Scarlett was that she also had a text message from Aspen. She glanced down at her phone.
We should get together tonight. There are things to say. Let me buy dinner for you, Gorgeous.
There were, in fact, things to say. The text didn’t lie. But she was now of the opinion that Aspen was never going to hear her, no matter how many ways she told her it was over. If anything, this was just another ploy to get Taylor within arm’s length so she could work her magic, try to lure Taylor back into the never-ending cycle of anger and crazy—or more accurately, if anger and crazy were dancing a tango together upside down on the ceiling.
That’s what life with Aspen was like.
Only she found herself in the unique position of not being able to properly extract herself from her crazy ex-girlfriend because she was forced to see her every day of her damn life. At the same time, she had to work extra hard to stop Aspen from having a meltdown and halting production—something her budget couldn’t afford. Why her, God? Why?
Then there was Isabel and the pretty dark hair and the dry delivery and the ease their interactions always came with…and the working together. The brakes squealed. The same damn issue all over again. She needed someone to smack her across the face—and hard.
She made a hasty decision, stole three pretzels from the bag on her desk, fired off two text messages, grabbed her bag, her dog, and what was left of her sanity, and headed out the door into the wider world.