Nine Women, One Dress(32)

My BFF Natalie and I met at Teterboro at four to board a private plane. She was so excited when she saw me that she leaped into my arms and wrapped her legs around my waist. She loved the private plane—her first time. She loved that the destination was a surprise. And at the first sight of the breathtaking coastline of Turks and Caicos her eyes almost popped out of her head. She thanked me more on that plane ride and on the way to the resort than my ex had in our entire relationship. I made a mental note to stop comparing her to my ex and start comparing her to Mitchell Grabow, my best friend at Camp Olympus.

When we went to check in I asked for two different casitas, one for each of us.

Natalie quickly jumped in: “We’re not staying in the same room?” She likes me?

“I just thought, well, what if your Brad Pitt is roaming around? You need to have a place to take him.”

She laughed. “If either of us finds our Brad Pitt, we can just go to his room!”

What the hell was she talking about? What would I want with Brad Pitt? Although actually I would love to meet Brad Pitt. He made the transition from twentysomething heartthrob to real grownup actor perfectly. She knows me better in a few weeks than my fiancée did after a year.

She shook my shoulder and said pretty seriously, “Jeremy, I want to spend every minute with you. I haven’t felt this close to anyone this quickly since Lisa Rogell moved next door in the sixth grade!”

…likes me the way she liked Lisa Rogell.

“One casita, please.” For me and my bestie.

Our houseboy drove us to our room in a golf cart and showed us everything we would need to know. The place was perfect—simple but luxuriously comfortable. The bedroom was a glass-walled room jutting out onto the rocks overlooking the ocean. It was very minimalist. Just a sumptuous white king-sized bed, two walk-in closets, and a bathroom fit for a king.

Within minutes Natalie was quite minimalist herself, in her string bikini, her beautiful smile, and a sheer beaded sarong. It wasn’t just her beauty that attracted me, the lines of her face and curves of her body; it was her whole being. Her aura. She was somehow both engaging and unobtainable. I threw on a suit and a T-shirt and we headed down to the beach.

Once we were there, a cabana boy approached to set us up. Natalie pointed to a secluded sunbed near the ocean and asked if it was available.

“For you, of course,” he answered.

“Is that okay with you?” she asked me.

“Whatever makes you happy,” I answered. She smiled. My ex would have turned that into a twenty-minute argument about me not clearly stating my needs or giving her what she wanted just to win points. She was always talking about points for her side and points for my side. I was doing it again, comparing Natalie to my ex. I tried thinking of her as Mitch Grabow, but the glow of her skin was making it really difficult.

The cabana boy set us up with towels and ice water and Natalie ordered us two pi?a coladas. She lay down right next to me. Not touching me, but so close that her legs would occasionally brush up against mine. She sat up. “Are you bored?” I wasn’t. I was happy just lying there wondering when her leg was going to brush up against mine again. She rooted around in her bag and pulled out the two scripts I was supposed to read—I had charged her with making me—and sunscreen. “We should definitely put this on now,” she said, gesturing for me to turn over onto my stomach. She proceeded to put sunscreen on my back, then asked that I return the favor. Mitch Grabow, Mitch Grabow, I thought, but as I rubbed the soft white cream over her shoulders, I knew I was a goner. When I reached the two dimples that sat like the gates to Disney World on the top of her bum, I knew I couldn’t take any more. “All done!” I said, trying not to sound as turned on as I was.

“Which script do you want to read first?” she asked, holding one up on either side of her happy face.

“Neither!” I laughed.

“Come on, I’ll read it to you. I’ll even do the voices.” This was exactly what I needed to take my mind off Hank and Albert and the press.

“Here.” I tapped on the lighter one. It was a romantic comedy. Hank thought that after my last two action films I should do something sexy and funny and overtly heterosexual. This film was shooting next month, and they were looking to replace the lead at the last minute—rumor was that the original lead had entered rehab. Hank was begging me to take it. Maybe a happy ending onscreen would rub off on my personal life.

She began.

“Fade In. EXT.” She stopped, the cutest frown wrinkling her forehead. “What’s EXT?” she asked.

I went over the notations with her. “EXT means exterior—it means the scene is outside.” I flipped a few pages in and pointed. “INT means interior—the scene is inside. Sometimes it says INT/EXT, which would be looking inside from outside, like through a window. Get it?”

“Yes. This is so cool!”

“For you maybe. You know how many scripts I have to read before I find the right one? Or more often the wrong one.”

“Well, I’m gonna read this one, so keep explaining,” she instructed.

“Okay. It’s pretty simple. After that we have the scene description in all caps, under that the action, and then the dialogue. The dialogue is always written under the characters’ names.” I handed the script back to her. “Here, try it.” It was great having it read to me so I could just lie in the sun and listen and try to picture it.