I became close friends with Blair during sophomore year. She was a server at the country club where I played golf. I would spend my weekends hanging out in the restaurant, waiting for her to take a break so we could talk. Her best friend, Holly, started hanging out with us toward the end of the year, and the three of us were inseparable. But Holly showed more interest in me, so we started dating our junior year. Blair seemed more interested in being friends back then, so I thought little of it.
Halfway through our senior year, Holly and I fizzled out, and I started spending more time with Blair. And it felt like we were becoming more than friends.
She was the only person I confided in about the scout from Stanford who came to see me after I won at the American Junior Golf Association Invitational. My father was supportive of athletics, but it took a backseat to academics. He’d alreadyarranged for me to attend UCLA—his alma mater—and follow in his footsteps. After that win, my coaches urged me to explore playing in college, even suggesting I could have a career in the sport.
Blair encouraged me to apply to Stanford and helped me put together the application and a reel of my tournament play to submit with it.
But I fucked it all up. My dad found out and lost his mind. It was then that I realized he was supportive because golf was another skill that would benefit me in my law career. A great way to network. He blamed Blair, said that I’d lost my way. I didn’t stand up to him, and we basically stopped hanging out. I left for UCLA without saying goodbye, and she never called me. And that was the end of it.
“This is like a mini-reunion!” Sophia says. “You’re welcome for reconnecting the two of you.”
Blair’s chin drops to her chest, and I can see her close her eyes for a beat. She turns to face Sophia and flashes a smile, but I can tell it’s fake. It doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I knew Wyatt. I didn’t want to seem like I might take advantage of a connection to meet you. But I can see how it might look like I was hiding something, too.”
I can see Sophia trying to digest all this new information. She’s been burned before, and her eyes dart my way for some reassurance.
“Blair would never take advantage of you, Soph. She’s the real deal,” I tell her.
Blair looks at me with surprise and what looks like maybe a little anger, but I’m not exactly sure why that would make her mad.
An intern knocks on the trailer door and breaks the tension.
“Sounds like they need you for a quick script change,” I say. “Blair and I can catch up while we wait.”
“Ok,” Sophia replies, “but don’t go anywhere. I’m starving.”
I turn to face Blair after Sophia leaves.
“I’m just going to run over to the commissary and get some fresh air,” Brandon says. “It’s way too hot in here for me.” He wipes his lips seductively.
Jesus. I thought he left already.
“I should go, too,” Blair says.
“Wait.”
She hesitates, waiting for me to say something, but my mind goes blank. I rake my hand through my hair and then shove it in my pocket. Blair is gorgeous. She always has been, but this is a grown-up version with fuller lips, thicker hair, and honey-colored eyes filled with confidence. Every feature is amplified, as if in high definition. When we met, she had a look of wholesome innocence. She wore little makeup and was constantly wearing athletic shorts and tank tops, with her hair pulled up and off her face. And she was always eating ice cream. Which brings me back to those lips. Maybe they are the same lips. I loved those lips.
“What, Wyatt?” Blair says, snapping me out of my memories.
“Do you still like ice cream?” I ask. A look of confusion crosses her face. “It’s just that you always ate ice cream. Even if it was freezing out,” I laugh. “I just wondered if you still do.”
Blair doesn’t respond. Instead, she breathes in deeply and lets out a slow sigh.
“I know this is weird, but let’s just keep this as professional as possible. I really want to represent Sophia. I think we’d do a lot of great things together. That’s all I want. Let’s keep the past in the past.”
Blair has effectively shifted right back into agent mode. I stay quiet.
“Maybe you could look at the materials I sent to Sophia,” Blair continues. “It appears she values your advice. You knowthis town as well as I do, and it’s not who you know but who knows you. And the only thing people know about Sophia is she had one good movie and is beautiful.”
“She’s got an Oscar,” I say defensively. “That means something around here.”
Blair bends down to grab her purse. “She does, but fifteen minutes can go fast in this town if you can’t convert. Then that Oscar will only get her on a highlight reel in future shows.”
I watch her walk toward the door, knowing that she’s right.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask.
