inside connection, I had an edge: a blinding desire to work on a show that mattered! Ever since that night at the Purr Mansion, I knew: If not now, when?
Meg, who was Alex’s buddy and the show’s Executive Producer, was a powerhouse—as edgy as a Himalayan cliff, and as sharp and dangerous. But she felt like a kindred soul to me. In my second interview for their single, solitary, hugely coveted field producer position, I told her: “This show will improve lives. It will make TV a better place. And I’ll help deliver that with riveting interviews and creative story-telling that will keep audiences glued to the tube. I was born to work for Ricky Dean!” Meg smiled contentedly.
It all felt like destiny unfolding—my life as I dreamt it should be. But there was a bittersweet taste in my mouth. It was because of Naomi. Fix Your Life was my fourth show in LA, but the first one Naomi had no hand in. It was my first win—sans Naomi! Sure, Alex had opened the door for me, but I’d brought in the goods. I should have been proud and, for the most part, I was. I wanted to share my accomplishment with Naomi. But something stopped me from calling her. Was it shame? After all, I had walked out on Matt and Sally Get Married (yes, that was the title) and thereby her.
Three different blenders with three different neon-colored slushy drinks crowded the cupboards. Bodies swarmed the kitchen and balcony. All of our production friends, with the exception of Danny and Naomi, were jammed into our new beach pad for the party. Both Toni and I had called Naomi to invite her to the bash, but we hadn’t heard back. I tried not to think too much about it.
“To Jane’s new job and her two-year contract!” one of the crew girls from the France show shouted, raising her glass in the air.
Perfect. I couldn’t help but think my life was falling into place. Not only had I landed the job of all jobs but, thanks to rent control, Toni and I had managed to sublet a semi-affordable apartment on the beach, one with a balcony and killer view, thereby grabbing my dream pad, too. Waves smacked against the beach in the background as Adele crooned from the speakers.
“Thanks, guys! You’re awesome,” I toasted back, remembering to check “dream dude” off my list too.
“My night is complete,” I said to Grant as he made his way toward my perch on the balcony. The tea lights radiated a fuzzy yellow glow against the white wooden panels separating us from miles of sandy beach. “Did you just get here?”
“Yeah. Long shoot day. Just pulled up a few seconds ago.” He kissed me on the cheek. “What’s all the toasting about?”
“Oh, you know,” I said flirtatiously, admiring the fact that without a second of thought put into his wardrobe, Grant looked gorgeous in jeans, flip-flops, and a t-shirt that pulled just so across his sculpted chest. “I missed you,” I said, leaning into him. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” he said, a funny furrow in his brow, “but your roommate is a little. . .” He made the cuckoo sign beside his head.
“What do you mean?”
“Well. . . she’s a little wasted.”
“What else is new?” I laughed.
“Well, I probably shouldn’t say so,” Grant said carefully, chuckling to himself.
“What?” I said.
“It’s not a big deal—”
“What?” I said, now curious.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “She grabbed my ass.”
“What a spaz!” I laughed it off.
Grant did one of those awkward half-smiles that spoke volumes.
“What?” I pushed. “What else did she do?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Grant!”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Tell me.”
“She, uh, sort of, uh, kissed my neck.”
My jaw dropped.
“You know, she kind of pasted her body to me,” he said half-laughing. “I had to peel her off.” Another chuckle. “Then Donut asked me which one of you I’m ’doing.’ ”
I nearly choked on my 40-proof slushy. “Donut?”
“My camera assist from France.”
“I know who he is. I just can’t believe he’d say that,” I said.
“Ah,” Grant said, “Donut probably didn’t mean it, and I’m sure Toni’s macking on all the guys. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
The kitchen was jammed. I found Toni contorting herself like a second skin, smothering Grant’s audio guy from France. Her gangly arms were looped around his neck, practically strangling him, and she was whispering into his ear as her drink inadvertently trickled down his back.
“Jane!” she bellowed when she saw me enter the kitchen, then quickly became