One More Time(15)

I’m so overwhelmed, I barely register the next thing she says.

“I know,” Jenna coos, “I love you too. Bye.”

Before, he was a hypothetical. Now I have a name for the bastard. A stupid name, too. Walter. She loves a guy named Walter.

I clench and unclench my fists. I automatically hate him.

Except, that’s not true. It’s me that I hate. I hate myself for trying to make peace with Jenna. I hate myself for caring about who she’s dating.

But most of all, I hate myself for ever letting her go in the first place.





Jenna





There are times when you are kissing someone else, pressing your lips against them, and hoping they respond in kind. There are times when someone is kissing you, them in charge, you passively receptive.

And then there are those magical moments when two people are kissing each other. Where you explore and claim, act and react, sharing your breath in perfect rhythm.

That is what it was like kissing Tanner today. How had I forgotten about that? About how even a simple kiss, the most basic expression of affection between two people, could feel more intimate than sex?

I remember now, that it had always been like that with us. His mouth had always known just what to do against mine, and vice versa.

The barest brush of his lips had always left me hungry for more.

That would be acceptable, barely, on its own. I could come back here to my trailer, pull up my dress, and satisfy the aching want by myself. I could pretend that it was just the physical perfection of today’s scene that had me in a tizzy.

But it isn’t just the memory of his body weight settling between my legs that’s been stirred up. It’s my longing for the things that went along with perfect kisses. It’s the hand-holding, the late-night phone calls that went on until night disappeared into morning or we fell asleep with phones pressed between cheek and the pillow.

It’s the overwhelming urge I have to skip the rest of my solo scenes today and run to Tanner’s trailer.

It’s the realization that I’m not over him, and never will be.

I need to talk to someone, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be Tanner. So far, I’ve hidden the pain this entire venture has caused me, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to expose it now. Why would you offer a weapon to the person who used it on you before?

There’s only one person in my life that I trust to honestly and compassionately give me some advice. I reach for my phone and hit my number one speed dial.

“Girl,” comes the answer after only two rings, “what happened?”

Walter Harris – fashion designer and best friend extraordinaire—reading my mind before I even say a word.

Walter and I met almost ten years ago, when I judged a fashion design reality show for a season. He didn’t win, but it was the producers, not the judges, who made that decision. I felt so bad, I hired him on the spot to design a gown for the Met Gala. All of three minutes into draping, we were giggling together so hard I ruined the pattern.

I’ve been the face and body of every W. Harris line ever since, and Walter has been my bestie and personal designer. It kills me that the world hasn’t gone as gaga for his designs as they should, but I know Walter is one Vogue review away from fame, and I am doing everything in my power to make it happen, including a contractual obligation to use one of his looks for a huge scene in this movie.

Carrie thought I should have asked for more money, but I put my foot down. If I only get one diva moment in film, it’s going to be beneficial for someone other than me.

“We did a kissing scene today,” is all I have to say, and he groans as loudly as the springs on the bed I can hear him flopping down on. We’ve had a lot of gossip sessions snuggled up in his bed, eating popcorn and bitching about fashion.

One of the first things we bonded over, though, was heartbreak. Right around the same time Tanner was publicly humiliating me, a man named Roger was doing the same to Walter. Roger was his boss, to make matters even worse, and so Walter not only lost his relationship, he lost his job. Hence ending up on a reality show, instead of in an atelier like he should have been.

Every single Fashion Week and tons of events and parties involve Walter and Roger pointedly ignoring each other, at least until the champagne starts flowing along with the insults. I once heard that following them is Anna Wintour’s favorite pastime.

He’s always been envious of my ability to avoid Tanner, and so he was completely horrified that I was voluntarily doing this movie. After reading me the riot act, though, he’d hardly stopped for a breath before plunking a mug of tea in my hand and starting work on my first-day speech.

Granted, he warned me it would take more than one speech to survive this shoot, but I also thought it would take more than one kiss to destroy me.

“How bad is it? If I had to kiss Roger in front of cameras, they’d probably also get a porn and then a snuff film out of it.”

“Who would be doing the snuffing?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. Suffice it to say, that’s about the same predicament I’m in.”

“Jenna, my love. There are going to be mixed emotions and confusing signs and a few quivers in your… lady parts during this shoot. The most important thing for you to remember is that this is a job, and you are a professional. It’s just like that speech we wrote for you to slay Tanner with on day one. That is your first focus.”