Abottle of vodka in one hand and the ankle straps of my Jimmy Choos tangled around an empty lowball in the other, I was a Hollywood cliché and my agent’s worst nightmare—lonely and inebriated, stumbling back to my room.
“Thank you, Frank,” I told my security detail after he opened the door to my weekend apartment, walking in first and giving a quick sweep.
“Anything else, Miss Billy?” His eyes were compassionate and soft despite his body being hard and built for defense.
I shook my head while walking across the threshold, my black dress swishing around my bony body. My chilled toes and fingers were a distant memory; the heat of the suite enveloped my skin as sadness ran the length of my spine.
No one was waiting for me. As usual.
“I’m only a few doors away,” Frank said before closing the door behind me.
“I know,” I mumbled, but he was gone already.
I set the bottle and lowball on the mahogany gaming table and let my shoes fall to the hardwood floor. With one hand on the table, I reached up with the other and freed my blond hair from the chignon, the soft ends tickling my shoulders, before making quick work of pouring myself a few too many fingers of straight vodka. I’d swiped the bottle from the bar at the country club—the bartender didn’t mind—before leaving the wedding. My brother would cover the cost and he’d never know the difference.
Sitting down on the love seat opposite the gaming table, I curled my feet under me, not caring about my dress. It had done its job after being photographed for my mother’s upcoming media frenzy. Allowing myself a long sip of the clear liquid, it burned my throat and warmed my belly. It had been a beautiful night, and I was happy for the blissfully married couple.
My brother, Ford Conway III, had married his childhood best friend. Two decades later than they should’ve tied the knot, but they finally reunited and did it.
At forty-five, he’d crawled out from under our mother’s political widow’s agenda and married who he freaking wanted (a girl who grew up with close to nothing, from nobody parents), where he wanted (on the tenth hole of the golf course under a heated canopy on Christmas Eve) and made our mother bend to his will (wrangled her into only one elaborate and orchestrated photo of the event). Our dad, the beloved late Supreme Court justice, might have been smiling down on us…
I savored another liquid burn down my throat, allowing it to massage my vocal cords, while closing my eyes. Of course I was beyond happy for Ford and Jamie. My damn brother kept going on about their second half together.
Myself—solo at forty-one—I knew my second half would be as lonely as my first.
At least I’d recently grown close with James, who we called Jamie. Even though I’d pretty much known her all my life, we’d always been acquaintances but notfriendsfriends. Today, I’d been the one to hold her bouquet while she and my oldest brother said their vows. After all, I was the reason Ford went after his James, two separate times.
Now, I was back to being alone in my room. Even my younger brother, Scott, was tucked away with his wife and kids.
But it was Ford who I’d always been closest with… We had moved to Los Angeles at twenty-two and nineteen. He became a powerful producer with a few gold statues on his shelf. And as for me, I was the quintessential neurotic, never pretty enough, never popular enough actress. I’d been in more movies than I could remember, and at middle age (their words), the roles kept coming. My face Botoxed to within an inch of its original elasticity, my lips filled, and my boobs lifted kept me in the thirtysomething casting category.
Lifting my head, watching the vodka slosh around in the glass, I was further reminded of the solitude surrounding me.It’s only my drink and me after a romantic evening. No date, no one-night stand, and not even a brother I could go bother.
As I started to get drowsy, I thought about Scotty’s demanding wife wearing a strap-on. I didn’t know if she wore one, but it made for a funny visual. Which was how I came to fall asleep smiling, my vodka spilling on the Ritz Residence’s carpet.
“See you soon!” James exclaimed a bit too loudly for my liking the next morning as I guzzled coffee. It was the day after the wedding, Christmas Day brunch, all perfectly choreographed by my new sister-in-law.
Jamie and Ford were off to a quick honeymoon in Hawaii before settling into his bungalow in Los Angeles. Here I was, making the same mistakes—I’d gone and tied myself up with another pathetic single-turned-married person for a friend.
“Definitely. See you when you’re back.” I spoke over my almond milk latte toward James. “Actually, are you taking Kellan’s plane back to LA?” The idea had come to me at the last minute. Kellan was Ford’s wealthy fraternity brother and another person who considered himself part of Team Get James and Ford Back Together.
Jamie nodded. “We’re going to stop home for a night before heading to Maui.”
“Can I hitch a ride? This makes it easy for me to avoid Christmas dinner with mom.”
“I’m sure it’s fine, but then you’ll be all alone this evening.”
“I’ll be fine. Swear.” I tossed my hand up in the air, making a scout’s promise, and then downed my latte. I had no desire to sit around and watch my mother make a media moment out of the holiday with Scotty and his family. This was a much better alternative.
Callum
Five months later
“Morning,” I said to my latest patient. Name was Laura Waters, age thirty-one, third pregnancy, second surrogacy, and no known issues.
“Good morning,” she spoke softly.
At two months pregnant she didn’t show at all, and likely didn’t need a high-risk obstetrician, but this was how it went with high-profile patients. Not her, but the parents she was lugging a baby around for—the late Honorable Ford Conway’s son and his wife. The happy and wealthy parents-to-be also happened to be running late. I tapped my pen onto the file, pretending to peruse it for pertinent information.
