Which meant that like me, she was trying to keep her past from getting in the way of her future.
Chapter Eight
Bee
Nolan Shaw had a soft side. Like, a mushy-to-the-touch soft side. And his encouraging words were all I could think of as I walked with a little skip in my step into the costume department, where Luca held a clipboard to his chest as he quickly flipped through a rack of extremely normal street clothes while Angel sat behind the fake toy shop register with his feet propped up on the fake toy shop counter.
“Yeah, their breakup is turning out to be the porn divorce of the century,” Angel said as he eagerly scrolled his phone. “This is like ten times worse than when my actual parents got divorced. At least my mom left Uncle Ray-Ray’s mostly intact.”
“Your mom produces daytime talk shows,” Luca said. “She probably paid Teddy to keep his porn biz to himself.”
“Whose breakup?” I asked as I fiddled with the dress labeledfelicity nighttime present-day montage. A green knee-length velvet dress with a Peter Pan collar and an ivory wool coat topped off with black tights and a red scarf. It was cute. Nothing I’d ever wear, but cute.
“Do you like it?” asked Luca. “Does it say time-traveling virgin?”
“Precisely,” I said as I began to take off my coat.
“Jack Hart and Levi Banks,” Angel said with a sigh. “Things are getting messy.”
I frowned. Jack and Levi had been together since I started in porn, and last year they got married in a huge wedding where they both wore denim tuxedos à la Britney and Justin. In fact, they planned it the same weekend as the AVN Awards after Levi was snubbed for a second year in a row, and their reception was better attended than the AVN after-party at the Virgin Hotel in Vegas. The porn industry had taken the news of their breakup badly to say the least. “I thought their split was amicable.”
“Not according to Jack’s latest Instagram post,” Luca said. “Think of it this way. If this were a custody battle, it looks like Levi is getting everything, even the dog.”
“MissCrumpets?” Poor Jack—oh crap,Jack! I let out a loud gasp and pulled my phone out. “Shit.”
“What’d you forget?” Luca asked as he held open the door of the makeshift dressing room.
“I just need to text someone.” I stepped inside with my costume and began to type out a message to Jack. I knew I was forgetting something when I left town. I’d taken the wholemonth of December off. It was something I’d worked for all year. It would be the month I learned to bake or went to a restaurant on the other side of town just because. But then a few weeks ago, Jack called me, saying he was desperate for a scene partner for a gig he’d booked. He was light on details, but Jack had once fished me out of a bad situation when I was starting out, so I owed him. Plus I’d felt bad about the divorce.
Me:Hey, I hope you’re okay. I know things aren’t easy at the moment. I’m really sorry to do this, but I’m in Vermont (long story), and I’m going to have to reschedule our shoot. I’ll text you when I’m back.
“Everything okay in there?” Luca asked.
I dropped my phone into the pile of clothes I’d slowly shed. “Yup! All good.”
I held both hands over my face, trying to contain my laughter at the sight of Nolan.
“Oh, come on,” he said, touching his hair while Denise, the hair stylist, swatted at his hands. “It’s not that bad.”
I’d encountered Denise on a few shoots for Uncle Ray-Ray’s, and no matter how many times we met, I had to reintroduce myself, so this time I didn’t even bother. Denise had some major Midwestern-mom energy. Her thick auburn hair was very permed, and her matching tracksuit gave offI have a van and I’m not afraid to use itvibes.
“When you get paid to touch your hair,” she said, “you can touch it. Until then, it’s mine.”
Nolan slumped down in his chair. His normally reckless locks had been slicked and parted so that—
“You look like a Young Republican,” I blurted.
He slapped a hand to his wounded heart. “It’s for theart, Bee. The art that will send me a nice, non-arty paycheck. This might come as a surprise, but even ex–boy band members need affordable healthcare.”
“Porn stars too,” I muttered.
“What was that?”
“Out of work actors too,” I said with a smile.
“Well, you look like a librarian.” He patted the director’s chair next to him, and for the first time I realized the back of the chair had my name on it.
I fumbled for my cell phone in the deep pockets of the coat I’d bought from the town’s tiny department store, a coat much better suited for Vermont in December than the one I brought from L.A. “Is it nerdy to take a picture of that?” I gushed.
