The Lion's Den(18)

As much as I would love to believe that’s true, we both know John would never in a million years stick out his neck for me. “That would be awesome,” I say.

Wendy scoots over next to me. “What are you girls talking about?”

“Just plotting Belle’s imminent success,” Summer says. She grabs our hands and gives them a squeeze. “I’m so glad you guys are here. Now we just need to get you appropriate boyfriends.”

I laugh. “I think our ideas of ‘appropriate’ are a little different.”

“Whatever,” Summer says. “I’m telling you, you’ve gotta stop dating these broke artists and meet a real man who can give you what you deserve.”

“You date who you meet,” I say. “And I meet struggling actors, mostly. Dylan wasn’t, though.” I study her for a reaction, but she’s unreadable.

“You went out with him once,” she laughs. “I wouldn’t exactly call that dating.”

“Because he lives in a different country,” I protest. “But we still message each other sometimes.”

She raises her brows.

“He’s devastated about losing his brother, understandably,” I plow on. I can tell I’m getting under her skin now. “His grandmother lives out here apparently, though? He said he might be visiting, so I told him I’d let him know if we were close.”

“You probably won’t have time to see him this trip,” she shrugs, keeping her cards close to her chest. “And anyway, if you guys were really into each other, you would have found a way to see each other again before now.”

She’s not wrong. “Sorry for bringing it up,” I say. I wonder if we both know how far I’m stretching the truth.

“It’s okay. Just don’t say anything about Eric in front of John.” She looks pointedly at both me and Wendy. “You guys know I’m still messed up over what happened, but the last thing I need is everyone talking about it.”

“What does John know?” I ask.

“Nothing. And I’d like to keep it that way. Okay?”

Wendy and I nod obediently.

Summer pats my knee, softening her tone. “We’ll be having dinner with plenty of John’s friends this trip. Maybe you’ll meet someone; then you won’t have to worry about getting acting parts anymore.”

I laugh, a little offended. “I’m not in it for the money.” But she could never understand that. “And anyway, I’m good being single right now, just having fun.”

“You don’t wanna wait too long or it’ll be too late,” Summer warns. “We’re not getting any younger. Once we reach thirty, it’s over.”

“Oh God, don’t remind me!” Wendy wails.

I’m more worried about my career as I move toward my thirties than my marriage prospects—Hollywood isn’t exactly known for its supply of amazing roles for women who don’t look like teenagers. Nevertheless, I’m interested to hear her reasoning. “Why thirty?”

“Because guys know that girls over thirty want to have babies, like, yesterday.”

“God forbid anyone want a family,” I say.

“I can’t wait to get married,” Wendy sighs. “I’ve had my wedding planned since I was in kindergarten.”

“We know,” says Summer.

“A vineyard, Vera Wang,” I chime in, laughing. “It’ll be beautiful.”

“Unless his family insists on a church, of course,” Wendy adds.

“John has a vineyard,” Summer offers. “And a church.”

“I think Wes is the One,” Wendy says dreamily.

“You’ve thought that about all of them,” Summer ribs.

“Well, of course I did. Or I wouldn’t have wasted my time with them.”

“Just because a relationship doesn’t last forever doesn’t mean it wasn’t successful,” I say.

“Ha! A successful relationship is one that ends in marriage,” Wendy declares.

I nudge her playfully with my shoulder. “I’m sorry, what decade are we living in?” I tease. “I’d say a successful relationship is one you learn from, no matter how it ends.”

“You’re both crazy,” Summer says. “It’s one you gain from. Duh. Qui n’avance pas, recule.”

Well, at least she’s honest about her point of view. I don’t think that’s the intended use of the proverb, but I guess the point of a proverb is that it can apply to many different situations.

“What does that mean?” Wendy asks.

“It literally translates to ‘who does not move forward, recedes,’” I say, then smile at Summer. “Somebody remembers her high school French.”

“It was rusty, trust me, but we spent some time in Paris in the spring, so I was able to brush up.” Summer returns my smile without a hint of acknowledgment of my reference to our shared past.

“I didn’t know you guys could speak French,” Wendy says, impressed.

“We took it together in high school,” I explain. “Though I think we spent more time ogling our teacher than doing conjugations.”

Summer laughs.

“Smile.” Rhonda points a camera at the three of us. We pose, and she clicks.