Rugged(72)

I don’t like him knowing my body language. It’s too damn intimate.

“Making friends?” I ask, changing the subject. Flint clears his throat, darting glances at the crowd. He doesn’t seem fond of our group. It was a performance, after all.

“Two people gave me their business cards. One’s a producer named Peterman who says I should think about getting into film acting. Then he tried to grab my ass.” Flint grunts. I bet he was very polite in his refusal, but he’s clearly a little flustered.

“If it makes you feel better, hot women in Hollywood have to put up with that seven times a night. Every night.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel sorry for them. It makes me feel gross. Like everyone’s for sale,” he snaps. Rolling his shoulders, he sighs. “And then the other business card was some director’s wife wondering how many affairs I’ve had since I landed. This morning. And she offered to be next in line. I don’t know how you put up with all these vultures.” He scowls, narrowing his eyes at the party.

“This isn’t Los Angeles; it’s Hollywood,” I remind him. I scan the crowd for the offending jerks, but it’s a sea of tanned bullshit artists. Hard to just pick two. “One’s a real place, the other’s a diseased state of mind.”

“If you say so.” He sounds disapproving. Let’s change the subject.

“How are things back home?” I ask, clearing my throat. Keeping my tone professional and detached. “The twins okay? Callie and David?”

“The twins are perfect, as usual. Jessa’s taken up Bikram yoga, and she keeps talking about sweating out the toxins of her past lives. No idea what that means. As for Callie and Dave.” He shrugs. I’m not sure what that means, but I hope it’s not bad. “Everyone’s hoping this show goes well.”

“Well, we can use all the good vibes we can get.” I laugh. See how easy I’m laughing? Showing my teeth and everything. But Flint doesn’t laugh along. Instead, a look I’ve rarely seen on his face before emerges: panic. “What’s wrong?” I murmur.

“Things aren’t great with McKay’s Hardware,” he says. He tightens his grip on his glass. “I’ve been having meetings. The bank, Smith & Warren, potential investors. Nothing is looking solid right now. I literally had to promise my business manager that the promotion will bring people back to our stores. I know I keep saying this, but it’s really no joke. This show can’t be a failure.” He takes a deep swallow of his beer. The entire speech, he never looks at me once. No pressure. Nope. None at all.

“That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about,” I say with way more certainty than I feel. It’s not just for him, of course. I need the reassurance too. If I fall flat today, not only does Flint lose his business, but I look like a moron in front of everybody at the network who matters. It’ll make Brian Sanderson speeding away in someone’s yacht look like a minor career blemish in comparison. “We’re going to be a success.”

“We are?” He glances over at me. Shit. Not we. ‘We’ as in the business we.

“Our show will be, yes,” I clarify. Flint nods, but doesn’t seem to relax.

“I want to believe that,” he says.

“Wanting is half the battle,” I mutter. Here we are, having a drink, loosening up. This’d be a great moment to casually ask ‘How’s Charlotte?’ Just a way of showing that I don’t care, that I’m over it. But the words stick in my throat. First of all, opening up the relationship can of worms is unprofessional, and we’re barely out of awkwardness. Second, Flint’s got other problems right now. Third, it’s like Schrodinger’s relationship: as long as I don’t open the box, he is and is not with Charlotte. I can hold on to some sanity. I wonder if they’ve set a new wedding date yet.

Eventually, we all file into the deluxe screening room, a dimly lit theatre with reclining leather seats—with cup holders!—and an enormous screen. Flint sits next to me on one side, Suze on the other. She takes my hand and squeezes it as the lights start to go down. It’s good to have a friend here. Flint and I accidentally place our arms alongside each other at the same time, and we both pull back like we’ve been bitten. Not too long ago, I might’ve held on to Flint’s hand, even here in public, but those days are gone.

The footage starts, and it’s…good. We open on Flint standing on the mountainside, showing off the blue prints. His easy smile instantly wins over the room; I can actually feel the shift in the air. If the suits are into this, maybe we have a real shot when the show debuts on televisions all across the country. I start to relax in my seat.

“And that’s the basics of leveling your foundation,” Show Flint says, laughing as he looks to the side. “You got it?”

“I caught about five words in there I understood,” Show Me says to him. There I am, laughing as the camera cuts to me. I didn’t know how enormous people on screen are until I was actually one of them. Show Me tugs at my yellow hard hat, trying to get it comfortable. “Let’s see. I understood ‘The,’ ‘a,’ ‘an,’ ‘is,’ and ‘lunch.’ I’d say we’re off to a great start.” The big screen versions of us both laugh at that. Meanwhile, back here in screening room reality, my mouth has come dangerously close to unhinging itself and hitting the floor.