in all honest selfishness…this is our big chance to prove we're not just…Twinkies.”
“That doesn't sound so bad.” Jim rubbed his hands on his pants. “It's not, is it?”
“No, it's not. Nothing is bad about this. Daisy and I are just trying to make a bit more out of our lives and…” Another sigh. “Just trying for more, you know?”
“Okay.” The credits had stopped and given way to a static advertisement for a local car dealership. “So you and Daisy, you're quite the package deal.” The casual, concerned tone of Jim's voice got Griffin's attention. His eyes widened, and the frown teasing the corners of his mouth was impossible to miss. “She's my best friend.”
“Right, I got that.” The employees wandered in, sweeping up the dregs of the crowd. Jim knew they were the last people there and should get the hell out, but this seemed too important a moment to delay. “I just mean—you work together, you hang out together…”
“Nothing's going on,” Griffin said defensively. “If that's what you're worried about.”
“No, no. Wasn't going there. You told me you had no interest in her lady parts, and I believe you.”
“Thank you; I appreciate you believing I'm gay.” Griffin gathered up his empty cup and Raisinet box and stood up to go. “So what—don't you spend a lot of time with your friends?”
“Well—actually.” Jim stood and shuffled down the aisle.
“Lemme guess: not a lot of friends.”
“It's more a casual cop thing, and uh—okay, there's the Power Cabal.”
“Excuse me?” Griffin tossed his trash away and faced Jim in the lobby, a confused expression on his face. “Oh God, you're not in some weird cult, are 100
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you? Or one of those vigilante groups that goes after criminals who aren't convicted.”
Jim shook his head. “Wait—I've seen that movie.”
“Michaels Douglas, Hal Holbrook. Frickin' brilliant.” Griffin wiped his hands on his jeans. “What were we talking about again?”
“I don't have a clue.”
They made it out to the parking lot before Griffin snapped his fingers.
“What the hell is the Power Cabal anyway?”
“Oh.” Jim opened the door for Griffin, feeling embarrassed about calling his friends that out loud. “It's three couples—my partner and his wife. My ex-roommate and his wife. Two people from the prosecutor's office—they're getting married in a few months. Anyway, they have dinner together once a month, on a Friday, and I always get invited and—well, they're great people, but it's like hanging out with six grandmas who are trying to get you married off as soon as possible.”
Griffin slipped into the truck, clearly trying to hold back his laughter.
“Your friends are a bunch of hetero yentas? Seriously? Jim, you haven't stopped surprising me yet.”
“They're very good people,” Jim said, almost defensively. He started up the truck. “They're almost all—Well, Terry worked with me on the case. Nick and Heather were the prosecutors on Ed's daughter's case.” Griffin perked up. “Huh. I should probably meet them. When's the next dinner?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. No way. I've never brought a guy with me, and I never will. They'll be all over you—seriously, you have no idea.”
“It's a research project! For the movie! You could just tell them I'm a writer…”
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“Terry knows.”
“Terry—your partner, knows what?”
“That we've been…that you've been here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“At my apartment with me!”
“So your partner knows you slept with me, and that means I can't go to dinner with you?”
“If you met my friends, you'd understand.”
“But I can't meet your friends,” Griffin said drily.
“That was a rhetorical statement.”
Griffin snickered, then made chicken sounds under his breath for the rest of the ride home.
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Chapter Fifteen
Griffin pushed his sunglasses onto the top of his head as he maneuvered poolside at Claus and Daisy's party. The Four Seasons had been unable to comply with all Claus's demands, so the event for his new girlfriend had been relocated to the Bel Air mansion he and his wife shared.
Fucked up, Hollywood-style.
The Nirvana T-shirt, disreputable jeans, and flip-flops were Griffin's way of giving Claus the middle finger and also helpful when he needed to duck into a crowd of servers and catch his breath.
He felt like he'd been away from this shit for months instead of a few days.
Seattle felt like a pull at the back of his mind; LA felt like a stranger.
The crowd currently eating lettuce wraps and sucking down pomegranate martinis comprised the early birds, those with better places to be in an hour, personal assistants who got on the list as a favor from their bosses (and were excellent gossip conduits), and a smattering of folks who lived for spectacles like this.
It was like NASCAR for the rich and famous; if they were really lucky, there would be a wreck, like Daisy getting drunk and throwing Lina in the pool.
Griffin, of course, was there out of love and to be moral support. And to stop Lina from being drowned in the hot tub.
“Griffin!” He heard an Australian lilt to his name and turned with a smile; Jules, Daisy's long-suffering assistant, was headed his way, two giant margaritas in hand.
“Those both for me?”
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“God, no, you need to fetch your own, darling. Herr Claus is in a
mood
, and Daisy's being a wee bitchy herself. I'm going to need both of these to get through the next hour,” she said drily, then took a long sip as punctuation.
“Give me a number on the Richter scale, please.” Griffin ignored her as he snatched one of the elaborate drinks for himself.
“He's a twelve, she's a five. I got her dressed, gave her a Valium, and made her eat. We should be okay so long as Claus doesn't fuck Lina on the diving board.”
“I really think having the three of them around a large pool of water is a terrible idea.”
“Oh, I don't know. A few banana peels and all our problems could be solved.”
“Jules!” Griffin tsk-tsked at her.
“What?”
“Not enough salt,” he said, gesturing at the glass.
* * * * *
In the pool house, he found his friend pacing in circles around the small bedroom, heels clicking on the wooden floor. From the tight clutch of her hands against her chest, he imagined this had been going on since Jules left.
Griffin plastered a smile on his face and pushed the door open, knocking as he went.
“Gorgeous girl! I told you the pink was perfection.” He opened his arms and braced himself for impact when Daisy ran to give him a hug.
“You're late, but I forgive you.” She sniffled theatrically, avoiding his white shirt with her heavily made-up face. “You smell funny.” 104
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“Compliments will get you everywhere. Also? Jules forced me to drink a margarita.”
“She gave me a Valium. And a banana.”
“I win!”
Daisy laughed, and it was a real laugh, not the fake dazzle charm she did for the media or the various hangers-on who made their living off her talent.
He'd never wanted to sleep with Daisy, but he liked being the only one to make her happy.
“Come on, you need to make a grand entrance and have people eating out of the palm of your hand before whatshername and Claus trip in.” Her thousand-watt smile dimmed slightly. “Claus is in a terrible mood. He fired Nico Watts.”
The writer doing Lina's debut film. Griffin shrugged. “What? He use too many two-syllable words for her to learn?”
“He didn't say. He just hated the script and threw it in the fireplace, and then fired him.”
“Nico will shortly look back on this firing as the best thing that ever happened to him. And Claus will find another desperate screenwriter to pull together some crap for the French whore.”
“I don't know.” Daisy bit her lip. “What if he asks you?” Griffin laughed and shook his head. “He can't afford me.”
“Your contract…”
“Says I have to write movies for Bright Side. Claus isn't going to waste me on Lina and her soft-core, straight-to-DVD debut.”
“Okay.” Daisy didn't seem to believe him. Maybe she was remembering, as he was, her own straight-to-VHS debut all those years ago. “Should we go out?”
“Yes, yes, we should. Maybe Jules will get us more margaritas.”
* * * * *
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Daisy clung to Griffin's arm until they came into sight of the party; then she quickly let go. He knew she had to appear in control and blithely ignoring the whole ugly mess when Claus arrived with Lina. So he trailed behind, signaling Jules across the patio, who quickly grabbed some margaritas and headed their way.
“Thank you,” Daisy said sweetly as Griffin gave Jules a wink. He knew that her drink would be mild so as not to play havoc with the Valium.
“Mine better be a double,” he murmured, and Jules smirked at him, straightening her square black glasses.
“Triple,” she whispered back as she moved to stand next to Daisy, ever present and alert. “Everything's taken care of. I double-checked with the caterer. Just let me know when you want to set out the food…”
“Have the valet at the gate text you when Claus pulls up and set the food out then.” Daisy smiled, stirring her glass and calling out hellos to passing guests.
“So everyone will have their mouths full when the French tickler shows up,” Griffin said. “Clever girl.”
Daisy shrugged, but her semievil grin said everything. “I'm going to mingle. Let me know when he shows up, all right?”
“Of course,” Jules said as Daisy swished off, her long maxi dress brushing over her cork platforms. She looked like the perfect hostess, carefree and beautiful as she surveyed the fruits of her career.
Griffin sucked down the rest of his margarita, getting a head rush for his trouble. Daisy was in “fuck you” mode, which meant he and Jules might be very busy later.
“Are there paps here?”
“The usual invitees, but we've got like five people on the list who smell fishy to me.” Jules pursed her very red lips. Dressed all in black with short, 106
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spiked blonde hair, she looked painfully out of place at this party; in reality, she was probably the only person even remotely together on the premises.
“Undercover paps, Herr Claus, the French whore, and Daisy. Around a large pool of water. This might be better than that Aspen trip where Claus brought Hedda and Daisy had too much cognac…” Jules shuddered. “We swore to never speak of that again.”
* * * * *
In Seattle, at Jim's sterile loft.
Leaving proved more difficult than he imagined, their few days together a comfortable routine he hated to break out of. Even Jim seemed blue about the whole thing—which was both incredibly fabulous and incredibly unsettling.
No one said anything about Griffin coming back, but he felt like it was unspoken. They'd of course have to meet more regarding the screenplay, and Griffin sensed Jim wouldn't mind a return “date.” But being manly jerks, they left it at “see you soon” and that was that.
Griffin wondered if twenty-eight hours was too early to call or text.
Was there a
Cosmo
article about this?
Could he Google an answer?
“Screw it,” he muttered. It was the weekend—Jim would probably be out and about doing “single cop with no social life” things. He would most likely get voice mail…
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As the house phone rang, Griffin had second thoughts, but the “hello?” at the other end made him smile too much to remember he was nervous.
“Hey, it's me. Griffin.” He cleared his throat. “So I'm sitting at this glamorous Hollywood party and bored stupid. Entertain me.” Jim laughed through the phone, and Griffin ducked his head to hide the bursting grin across his face.
“My singing voice is terrible, and I don't know any jokes.”
“Sad, very sad. Okay, then, tell me about your day.”
“That might be even sadder. I went for a run, did an hour at the gym, cleaned the loft, and went to the grocery store.”
“Did you buy for more than one day?”
“Yes, I actually did. I used a cart, even. I thought the cashier was going to need smelling salts.”
“I'm very impressed!”
“Thank you. When, uh, when you get back up here, I'll cook something for you.”
There was an awkward silence, and Griffin shuffled his feet to hide his absolute delight.
“That sounds nice,” Griffin said, clearing his throat. “I was thinking—you know, to be honest, I got more written at your place than I've done at my own in ages…”
“So you coming up here would be good. For the screenplay.”
“Right, exactly. And I'd love to drive up to see Ed at some point. We could, uh, do that together.”
“Sure. Absolutely.” Jim coughed. “So, you know, just let me know when you're coming up—to work on the screenplay, and I'll leave you a spare set of keys.”