He takes the chair next to mine. Jeffrey fills him in on my spa vacation after ordering iced teas for all of us from our waiter. The chilled beverages come quickly, and I take a sip of mine while Jeffrey blabbers on. Chaz is all ears.
“Zoeykins, you need a whole new wardrobe. You absolutely must come down to the showroom and pick some things out.”
He’s right. My clothes are all baggy on me. While I’m definitely still not the perfect Size 6 (nor will I ever be), I’ve definitely dropped a size from my normal Size 12.
“Wow! I’d love to—that is, if I can get away long enough from the tyrant.” Who, thanks to his amnesia, hasn’t noticed my new trimmer body, I add silently.
“How’s Mr. Beautiful and Bossy doing?” asks Jeffrey, who’s heard all my horror stories.
I roll my eyes. “You don’t want to know. It’s worse than before. I think he’s bi-polar. Plus, now I have to contend with barbs from his stuck up fiancée.”
“You should slap that rude bitch,” quips Chaz.
My eyes widen. “You know Katrina?”
“Spare me, yes. That bitch tried to stop my friend Jennifer from marrying Blake Burns.”
“The network Blake Burns?” Who Brandon is having lunch with this very minute.
Chaz nods. “Yup. That one.”
“Holy guacamole!” I exclaim after he tells me how she stalked and drugged him and then had the audacity to show up at their wedding and object to their nuptials. Yikes! She’s not just any bitch. She’s a veritable psycho bitch. Devious and toxic. Does Brandon know this? Should I tell him?
Jeffrey takes a sip of his iced tea. “If you ask me, honey, your psycho boss and the bitch are a perfect match. Don’t you just love that name—Bratrina?”
We all burst out in laughter. Maybe Jeffrey’s right.
The waiter returns and takes our orders. Wanting to keep my weight down, I ask for a half-order Chinese Chicken salad with the dressing on the side.
“Zoester, go for the full-size,” insists Jeffrey. “I promise you won’t gain a pound.”
He doesn’t have to twist my arm. I’m starving. I go for it.
Over a sinful piece of double fudge chocolate cake, which we share (I can’t resist), I mention that Brandon has amnesia. I got so caught up with all the Katrina dirt I forgot to share that.
“I know,” says Jeffrey.
I gulp down my mouthful of chocolate sin. “You do?”
“Pops told me.” Jeffrey’s dad, Pete, who we both call Pops, is a homicide detective for the LAPD. In addition to being my loving surrogate dad, he was the one assigned to investigate my mother’s brutal murder. The senseless death of his beloved twin sister enraged him. He swore he would hunt the gunman down and personally give him his due. No matter how hard Pops worked the case or close he came, Mama’s killer was never found. To this day, it haunts me that he’s probably still out there. My stomach churns. I can still see his face. For a split second, I’m five again and he’s pointing a gun at me. I shudder. Jeffrey’s voice hurls me out of the terrifying memory.
“He’s investigating Brandon’s hit and run accident. Given that he’s a huge star, there’s a possibility some crazy stalker tried to deliberately run him over.”
A shiver slithers down my spine. “You mean like a m-murder?” The word is hard for me to say.
Biting into another serving of the chocolate cake, he nods and then swallows. “He may want to talk to you.”
“Ooh!” coos Chaz, a total gossip hound.
There’s one last chunk of the cake remaining; Jeffrey insists it’s mine. I politely decline. I’ve lost my appetite. The thought of someone trying to kill Brandon, my Kurt Kussler, sickens me.
Brandon
The Conquest Broadcasting Executive Dining Room is a formal restaurant filled with tables draped in white linen and Hollywood types, mostly men, dressed in either expensive designer jeans or suits. Blake Burns, whom I recognize thanks to Zoey, is impeccably dressed in the latter. He could be a movie star himself with his dashing good looks and athletic build. I’m shown to his table by the maître d’; along the way many people reach out their hands to shake mine and welcome me back. It’s hard to believe an asshole like me is so well liked.
Blake rises as I approach his table and then rounds it to give me a man hug. “Welcome back, man. You gave us a fucking scare. How’re you doing?”
Taking facing seats, I tell him I’m doing well. I decided on the way here that I wasn’t going to tell him about the amnesia. What point would that serve? I found out enough about him and Conquest Broadcasting from the file Zoey put together to fake an intelligent conversation, something that shouldn’t be too hard to do since I’m an actor. About my age, Blake, I learned, is the heir apparent to heading up all of Conquest Broadcasting after his father retires. He began his career as a male model, did some acting, and then decided he preferred being behind the camera. Upon joining his father’s company, he started up a successful porn channel, SIN-TV, which was spun off into an even more successful women’s erotica channel by his talented colleague and wife, Jennifer. The woman whose life he saved. Blake Burns, unlike Kurt Kussler, is a real life action hero.
A silver-haired waiter, in the standard white jacket and black bow tie uniform, brings us menus. “Good to see you back, Mr. Taylor¸” he says warmly as he hands me mine. I guess I’m a regular around this place. Blake and I peruse the menus and order, each deciding on the Conquest Club Sandwich with a side of potato salad and some Cokes. I’m hungry as a bear. The sodas, in old-fashioned Coca Cola bottles, arrive quickly.
“Everyone was freaking out we were going to lose our number one star,” begins Blake.
“Nah, I’m the man of steel. Invincible,” I counter with a chuckle.
“That’s what I tell my wife and she actually believes me.”
I laugh again. I like Blake. He’s a real guy. A straight shooter.
He takes a chug of his Coke. “We honestly didn’t think you’d make it to the Golden Globes. Congratulations on your nomination. We’re all rooting for you.”
Thank God, I googled myself. I would have had no idea that I was nominated for Best Performance by an Actor in a Dramatic Series. I humbly thank Blake.
He takes another swig of the soda. “Are you ready to get back on the set? It was quite a challenge writing you out of the show. We almost had to shut down production. Run a couple of repeats.”
“Can’t wait. It’s a killer episode. I’ve got my lines down.” I don’t tell him that I’m still trying to figure out my character and the show. And that I haven’t finished reading the most recent script, let alone rehearsed it.
“Awesome.”
Our lunch arrives. Blake and I both dig into the overstuffed sandwiches.
“Hope you can come to the focus groups tonight,” he comments, after swallowing a biteful.
I saw those on my schedule, but forgot to ask Zoey what they were all about.
“Definitely.”
“Great. We’re testing out the idea you had for the season finale. We want to make sure it works. It’s quite a twist.”
My stomach bunches. I have no idea what it is. I’m eager to find out.
“By the way, we want to show the season finale at MIP.”
MIP? “Cool.”
“We think it’ll generate a lot excitement with our international broadcasters and licensors. You know, you’ve become a commodity…a brand.”
“And what would that be?”
“Hot sexy action hero. Women love you and men want to be you. Your Q-Score is through the roof.”
“What’s a Q-Score?”
“Remember?”
No.
“Your popularity rating. You are the number one actor in the world. You’re even more popular than Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise.”