Billy
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 trusted security detail after he opened the door to my hotel suite/weekend apartment, walking in first and giving a quick sweep with his eyes.
“Anything else, Bill?” 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 dining 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. They could send me a bill, or my brother would cover the cost and he’d never know the difference.
Sitting down on the love seat opposite the 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, I felt it burn my throat and warm my belly. It had been a beautiful night, and I was happy for the blissfully married couple.
My big 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, where he wanted, and made our mother bend to his will. Our dad, the beloved Supreme Court justice, might have been smiling down on him…but not on me. Sadly, I’d never been able to do any of the above.
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.
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 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.
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-three 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.
Rolling my head side to side, 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 tipsy and smiling—a luxury I rarely afforded myself—my vodka spilling on the Ritz Residence’s carpet. They could bill me too.
“See you soon!” Jamie exclaimed a bit too loudly for my liking the morning after the wedding as I guzzled coffee. It was a beautiful 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 massive 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 Jamie. “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 single person who recently came back into Ford’s life. Not meant-for-me kind of single, just a needed friend with a jet at the right moment.
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 okay. 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. Spending Christmas Day alone was a much better alternative to willing the time to pass in my childhood home with constant reminders of what I wasn’t doing or wouldn’t have in my life.
Callum
Late May
“Morning,” I said to my latest patient. Noting the name as Laura Waters—age thirty-one, third pregnancy, second surrogacy, and no known issues—I inhaled, thinking this wasn’t my typical caseload.
“Good morning,” she spoke softly.
