I needed to handle the contract; I knew that. I needed to have a professional review it; I knew that. It was worth paying an attorney; it was smart to pay an attorney. And I had one, one who had known me my entire life, one who would watch out for my best interests and do it for free.
I picked the phone back up off the base, took a deep breath, and called Scott Thompson. My attorney. My ex.
CHAPTER 46
Cocky seemed lonely. Cole sat next to the bathtub, in workout shorts and tennis shoes, and watched him. The baby rooster scratched at the Quincy newspaper and looked up at Cole. Tilted his head and opened his beak. Chirped out a tiny sound. Cole had turned the bathtub into his new home, the lamp plugged in and sitting at the left end, three layers of newspaper lining the bottom, the tub four times the size of Summer’s pathetic creation. He was bigger this week, his legs long with giant knobby knees halfway up. Early that morning, he had puffed his chest, white down fluffing out and strutted. Cole had laughed, his toothbrush in his mouth, mid-brush, and pulled out his phone. Tried to catch video of the action but failed.
Now, he pushed off the floor and bent over the tub. Scooped up the bird and held him to his chest, the bird’s feet kicking against his chest. Walking out the bathroom and thru the backdoor he set him carefully on the back porch. Stepping down the back steps, he looked back and saw the bird carefully follow ’til he got to the edge of the first step and stop, wobbling, his head tilting down at the fall, then back up at Cole.
“You can do it.” Cole patted his leg for encouragement, then felt stupid. He crouched down and clucked. The chick squatted, then hopped.
It turned out Cocky couldn’t do it. When he landed, his baby feet stumbled against the step, his head tipping down, hitting the step before he sat back, shaking himself out, his feathers poofing. Cole hurried to his side, lifting him up and whispering apologies, moving him safely down to the bottom, where the chicken ran into the grass.
100 pushups. His palms flat on the ground, the grass tickled his nose with every down pause. Everything was in place, everything on time, ready for next week. This moment of cohesion would be ruined the moment the crew and cast set foot in town. From that moment on, it would be pure, expensive chaos. That was the nature of the beast. A beast he loved, a beast that fed him. This would be the first time it would be a beast he paid, and not the other way around. But that was a temporary situation. Because once it hit screens, then his financial future would be set. The stakes were always high, but this was truly the movie that would define him. Success or failure. Billionaire or just another LA rich guy.
He finished the set and took a deep breath, resting on one palm, then the other. He switched his weight to his fist, then started a second set. It felt so odd, being alone. Here in Quincy was one thing; it was a hundred transitions in itself. Back home would be different. Back home—he paused on his seventieth rep. He didn’t even have a home anymore; Nadia had moved out of the hotel and was back, in their bed, no doubt with that prick beside her, on his sheets, in his shower, in her fucking arms. He finished the hundredth rep with a groan and rolled over, the grass warm and soft underneath his back.
He had to stop thinking. What was funny was that the one thing he wasn’t really thinking about was Nadia. And when he was thinking of Nadia, it was only to distract himself from thinking about the blonde and her stupid chicken. He felt an unsteady weight against his shin and looked down to see Cocky, wobbling in his steps, walking along his shin. He laughed and dropped his head back against the grass.
He didn’t have time for this. He should be on sit-ups now, then burpees, then a long run, preferably up and down some hills. He sat up, his hands quick to catch the bird’s fall, and set him carefully to the side, taking a moment to scratch a spot just alongside his neck. He had read online that they liked that. Had felt a little proud when he’d found the fact himself. He’d gotten too dependent on others, on Justin.
Watching Cocky, the bird pecking at the ground in response, he started the first of two hundred sit-ups.
CHAPTER 47
I knew, my fingernails tapping against the side of the phone, that I was making a mistake. Dialing Scott was opening a door that I had taken great pains to superglue shut. But I did trust him. Even if I hated him.
“Summer.” His voice was surprised, and that made me happy. At least I’d never been that desperate ex, the one who gets drunk and calls in the middle of the night, the one who leaves long and sad voicemails that only further cement the relationship’s death. No, I hadn’t been that ex; he’d been. I’d been the one to listen to his voicemails, tears streaming down my cheeks, his name a long and vile curse from my lips as I stabbed the button to delete his bullshit.
“Hey Scott.” I played with the edge of the FedEx envelope. I didn’t want to go see him. In the last three years, the only times that I felt regret over not marrying him was when I saw him. I’d spent countless hours since then carefully arranging my life to avoid as many Scott sightings as possible. And now, here I was. Chasing down the man to save a few dollars on legal fees.
He coughed into the phone, and I could picture him clear as day, pulling at the knot of his tie, his eyes dropping to the side as he tried to think of what to say. Maybe his eyes dropped to the framed picture on his desk of his new wife and their little baby. I’m not bitter. He was the hottest property in Quincy. I wasn’t surprised then, and I’m not now, that he was forgiven quickly and snatched up. They bought the Lonner place when the old man passed. They were also one of the few families in Quincy that Ben and I didn’t call. I just couldn’t.
“I have a contract that I’d like you to review. It’s all Greek to me. I just want to understand what I am signing and have you point out anything that looks bad.”
“Okay. I can do that.” He sounded eager, ready to please. Some things hadn’t changed. “Send it to Shelley, my assistant. She’ll make sure I get to it today.”
“I know who Shelley is.” My blood heated below my skin. Shelley had been a bridesmaid, one of the fateful seven. She hadn’t ended up in the hospital that night. Lucky girl.
“Of course you do. I just—it’s something I’m used to saying.”
“Of course it is.” I didn’t want to mock him, but the words came out that way. Bitter. Sounding bitter hadn’t been part of the plan, and I bit my lip.
He said nothing, and I said nothing. Next would come an excuse to get off the phone. He was never good in a fight. Preferred to sleep off the anger and pretend that everything was fine in the morning.
I spoke before he had a chance. “It’s a talent contract. They want me to be in the new movie.” I hadn’t planned on telling him. I’d planned on the contract sideswiping him, his brow furrowing higher and higher as he sorted through the lines of the contract, his head snapping up at the figure—$500,000.00—and at the description: a leading role in The Fortune Bottle. His stomach would roll with a mixture of pride for me and regret at his loss.
“Really?” It was a mild question, just enough interest in the word to validate a response from me.
“Yes. Cole wants me for the lead.” It was a foolish, prideful thing to say—completely unnecessary for our business relationship, yet completely necessary for my ego. I wanted to prance my success before him with the exuberance of the Quincy High marching band.