down and shut up. He sucked at small talk. He was still rolling his eyes at his attempt to tell Mercedes how much he’d liked her screenplay. He didn’t even like the woman. There was nothing at stake, and he’d still ended up sounding like an idiot.
“It wouldn’t have to be formal,” Kelly argued. “We could have a cookout—”
“It would be hard enough with Tommy there.” Cosmo laughed his disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this.”
“How about Vinh and Angelina Murphy?” Kelly was not going to let go. “They just got back from their honeymoon, and I’ve been dying to hear all about their trip to St. Thomas. You know Vinh, right?”
“Yeah,” Cos said. “He’s part of the team on this op in Hollywood. I’ve never met his wife, though.”
“She’s great,” Kelly told him. “You’re going to love her.”
That was a given.
She pushed harder. “It’s a plan, then, okay? I’ll call Sophia and find out when she’ll get back from Denver and—”
“Whoa,” Cosmo said. “Wait. I need to think about this.”
“Think fast,” Kelly said. “Or else while you’re thinking, Bill Silverman or Jazz Jacquette or, God, Izzy Zanella is going to beat you to it and ask her out first. You’re always grumbling about how you don’t get to meet the nice women until after they’re married to your friends.”
Always? Cosmo had uttered those words only once to Kelly, obviously in a moment of insanity.
“Can we stop talking about this now?” he asked, desperation leaking into his voice.
“Think fast,” Kelly said again.
He could feel her watching him again as he drove. One mile. Two.
“What’s on your schedule for later this afternoon?” she finally asked.
Thank you, Jesus. “After I drop you off in paradise,” Cosmo told her, “I’m heading into L.A. Mercedes—the producer—asked the entire team to show up at some kind of meeting over at the studio at 1630.”
“Mercedes Chadwick, right?” Kelly mused. “I’ve read about her, I don’t remember where . . .
People
magazine, maybe? What’s she really like?”
“Baby’s got back,” Cosmo said. “Her body could make a dead man dance.” He could see that he’d surprised her, so he tried to explain. “She’s this really intelligent woman, an awesome writer, but that’s not what she wants the world to see. She hides behind her knockout body: cleavage set on stun and belly button ring always in full view—you know what I mean?”
Kelly nodded, sighed. “Yeah. I’ve met too many women like that in California, unfortunately.”
“Most of the time, I don’t like her very much.”
She looked at him, eyebrows up. “And the rest of the time . . . ?”
Figures Kelly would pick up on the fact that he’d said
most
of the time . . .
“A five six seven eight!” Cosmo said, then sang a few bars of the instrumental riff of the opening dance number from
A Chorus Line,
and she laughed.
Yeah, Cosmo was far from dead. And where J. Mercedes Chadwick was concerned, he was just a little too ready to break into a dance.
Robin Chadwick looked incredible in his paratrooper uniform, his hair slicked back from his face in a classic forties style.
His scene had wrapped an hour ago. Any other star would have left by now, but several of their extras hadn’t shown up and Robin was filling in, careful to keep his back to the camera at all times.
He stood with a small crowd of extras, all wearing period clothing, on a set dressed to look like a nightclub in London in the late winter of 1945, listening as the director gave instructions for the upcoming shot.
Patty would’ve liked nothing more than to stand there, clipboard clutched to her chest, dreamily reliving last night.
When she’d kissed Robin Chadwick . . .
He’d wanted more. He’d pulled her with him into the kitchen, into the darkness of the formal dining room that was never used and . . .
There definitely would’ve been more to relive this
“It wouldn’t have to be formal,” Kelly argued. “We could have a cookout—”
“It would be hard enough with Tommy there.” Cosmo laughed his disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this.”
“How about Vinh and Angelina Murphy?” Kelly was not going to let go. “They just got back from their honeymoon, and I’ve been dying to hear all about their trip to St. Thomas. You know Vinh, right?”
“Yeah,” Cos said. “He’s part of the team on this op in Hollywood. I’ve never met his wife, though.”
“She’s great,” Kelly told him. “You’re going to love her.”
That was a given.
She pushed harder. “It’s a plan, then, okay? I’ll call Sophia and find out when she’ll get back from Denver and—”
“Whoa,” Cosmo said. “Wait. I need to think about this.”
“Think fast,” Kelly said. “Or else while you’re thinking, Bill Silverman or Jazz Jacquette or, God, Izzy Zanella is going to beat you to it and ask her out first. You’re always grumbling about how you don’t get to meet the nice women until after they’re married to your friends.”
Always? Cosmo had uttered those words only once to Kelly, obviously in a moment of insanity.
“Can we stop talking about this now?” he asked, desperation leaking into his voice.
“Think fast,” Kelly said again.
He could feel her watching him again as he drove. One mile. Two.
“What’s on your schedule for later this afternoon?” she finally asked.
Thank you, Jesus. “After I drop you off in paradise,” Cosmo told her, “I’m heading into L.A. Mercedes—the producer—asked the entire team to show up at some kind of meeting over at the studio at 1630.”
“Mercedes Chadwick, right?” Kelly mused. “I’ve read about her, I don’t remember where . . .
People
magazine, maybe? What’s she really like?”
“Baby’s got back,” Cosmo said. “Her body could make a dead man dance.” He could see that he’d surprised her, so he tried to explain. “She’s this really intelligent woman, an awesome writer, but that’s not what she wants the world to see. She hides behind her knockout body: cleavage set on stun and belly button ring always in full view—you know what I mean?”
Kelly nodded, sighed. “Yeah. I’ve met too many women like that in California, unfortunately.”
“Most of the time, I don’t like her very much.”
She looked at him, eyebrows up. “And the rest of the time . . . ?”
Figures Kelly would pick up on the fact that he’d said
most
of the time . . .
“A five six seven eight!” Cosmo said, then sang a few bars of the instrumental riff of the opening dance number from
A Chorus Line,
and she laughed.
Yeah, Cosmo was far from dead. And where J. Mercedes Chadwick was concerned, he was just a little too ready to break into a dance.
Robin Chadwick looked incredible in his paratrooper uniform, his hair slicked back from his face in a classic forties style.
His scene had wrapped an hour ago. Any other star would have left by now, but several of their extras hadn’t shown up and Robin was filling in, careful to keep his back to the camera at all times.
He stood with a small crowd of extras, all wearing period clothing, on a set dressed to look like a nightclub in London in the late winter of 1945, listening as the director gave instructions for the upcoming shot.
Patty would’ve liked nothing more than to stand there, clipboard clutched to her chest, dreamily reliving last night.
When she’d kissed Robin Chadwick . . .
He’d wanted more. He’d pulled her with him into the kitchen, into the darkness of the formal dining room that was never used and . . .
There definitely would’ve been more to relive this
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