Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
A normal person would have picked up my dangling word and prodded for the rest, but Miller hadn’t even noticed. He was lost in his dallies again, a smug smile on his face. He loved this strange, Avant Garde-style of filmmaking. I loved it too. It was weird and experimental, and I didn’t know how many films like this the world needed, but I was glad it was getting this one.
I hoped it got the reception Miller wanted for it.
That Julian wanted for it.
“I’ve got to go,” I said, checking the time on my phone. “Dinner plans. Do you need anything before I leave?”
Normally Miller would have made a pithy comment about production assistants telling the director when their job was done, but now he just waved me away. “Get out of here.”
“Have fun,” the first AD called as I headed out.
I smiled and waved, waiting until I was in my car to let the expression drop off my face. My dinner plans weren’t exactly going to be fun. I was going to Fletcher’s house for his seventieth birthday. He was going to have a huge party this weekend, but tonight was his actual birthday, and it was just for family and his closest friends.
I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten on the list. Darla had sent me the invitation through the actual mail. A neat black envelope with gold cursive. The invitation inside matched. I’d stared at it after I opened it, wondering if every one of Fletcher’s biological children had gotten an invitation, or if it was just his illegitimate one who got the fancy cardstock.
They’d just gotten phone calls or texts, I decided. Maybe they’d been told over family brunch. I hadn’t planned to go, but for some strange reason, my pen had slipped over to the box marked I’ll be there!
I couldn’t imagine why now. It was one of those nights in my apartment, curled up on the couch with Camper, feeling hideously lonely. My mom was out with the singer she was dating, my friends were out drinking, and Julian was probably wrapped around Shelly Monroe. And here was this one invitation–not one I wanted, necessarily, but the only one I had.
Stupid. An invitation didn’t mean I was wanted. It meant Darla had felt obligated to invite me, and Darla had exquisite manners. Amazing that she never managed to impress them on Tiffany and the boys. They’d gotten too much of Fletcher. His bluntness, his crassness, his brilliance. Darla’s social graces had been overruled by Fletcher’s top dog energy in their genetics.
But I’d said I’d be there, so even though it was the last thing I felt like doing, I put on a little black dress, slipped my tired feet into high heels, and drove to the James Estate. Not just a gated community, but a gated estate with a guard shack at the entrance to the long, winding driveway. It was a monstrosity of stone complete with turrets at either end of the wings and gargoyles in the eaves. All it needed was a moat filled with crocodiles to complete the look. Fletcher had bought it when Darla was in Europe one summer. I suspected she hated it. The inside was a complete contrast to the outside–subtle, elegant, and classy. Her style hidden inside Fletcher’s lack thereof.
I climbed the wide front steps that led to a door so tall it made me feel like Alice in Wonderland after she drank the shrinking potion. Their butler answered the door and ushered me into the small salon, the one used for entertaining at Thanksgiving and Christmas. There was a larger one at the other end of the house for their bigger affairs.
Insecurity used to dog my footsteps when I walked into a James family gathering. Who would I talk to? Rather, who would talk to me? Since the answer was so often only Darla, and sometimes Fletcher, I hadn’t been to many of them. None in the last eight years. Now I was back, but the insecurity wasn’t. My only companion was a weary sort of apathy.
As usual, everyone was already there. Tiffany and Darla were in unspeakably elegant designer dresses and looked more like sisters than mother daughter. The boys were in their usual black suits, highball glasses in hand, bored expressions on their faces. Fletcher was standing in front of the broad picture window, gesturing broadly as he made conversation with two men I vaguely recognized as being his cousins.
“Hello, darling,” Darla said, making her way to my side. She’d lost Tiffany along the way–she’d split off to stand with the boys. The trio of heirs standing shoulder to shoulder. I could have laughed at how obvious their message was—and how unnecessary. I didn’t want to be part of their inner circle. Not anymore.
“Hi, Darla.” I leaned into her ephemeral embrace, the one where she seemed to hug you, but you barely felt the whisper of her limbs before she was pulling away, leaving only the lingering scent of French perfume. I used to long for one of her real hugs, but then I realized this was it. Tiffany and the boys got the same glancing, shadow of affection. But she was truly kind. Better than Fletcher deserved.