A cheek-to-cheek smile spreads across her face. “You were too. Thanks for writing such an incredible script.”
I think that may be the best compliment I’ve ever received from a fellow cast member. In writing the script, I learned the power of words. How each one can make a significant difference. Orgasmic elation sweeps over me.
Kellie reels me in. “Are Kurt and Mel going to get a happily ever after?”
A sudden cloud of doubt falls over me, shrouding the euphoria.
“I don’t know.” My voice wavers. I really don’t know.
Before I can say another word, the congratulatory crew surrounds us. I help Kellie to her feet as we both stand up. My shirt is completely soaked with fake blood.
Our ecstatic Executive Producer, Doug DeMille, offers to take everyone out for drinks at a nearby Mexican cantina.
Shrugging off my shirt, I politely decline.
I just want to celebrate with my inspiration.
The woman whose heart eludes me.
My Zoey. Zoey Hart.
Zoey
The next few weeks are the happiest I’ve ever seen Brandon. That’s when I see him. He spends long hours on the set, shooting the season finale of Kurt Kussler. It’s a closed set, so no one but the cast and crew are allowed on it. To my further dismay, I can’t even help him with his lines because the storyline is top-secret. I’m dying to know how the season ends, but Brandon is tight-lipped about it. Everyone’s working overtime to get the two-hour feature-length episode shot and edited in time for MIP. It’s going to be shown at the convention to an exclusive group of international broadcasters. Brandon’s traveling to Cannes along with network production chief, Blake Burns, the producers, and the rest of the cast to participate in a Q&A panel discussion following the screening. He’s flying to France via the Conquest Broadcasting private jet and staying in a suite at the 5-star Carlton Hotel. Lucky for me, I don’t need to set up his flight or accommodations; it’s all been handled by the Conquest travel department. Unlucky for me, Katrina’s probably tagging along. I can’t imagine her missing a red carpet opportunity.
After the shoot, I see Brandon even less. He spends long hours in editing, rising early and coming home at ungodly hours. I’ve never seen him so involved with an episode. I miss seeing him. But I don’t miss seeing him with Katrina. To her frustration, Brandon, with his crazy hours, has had no time to deal with all the wedding details. It’s taking place a few weeks after he returns from Cannes. I’m besieged with nasty emails from her, insisting I get Brandon to focus. After I forward some of these emails to him, he tells me to just agree to all her demands. I reluctantly obey his orders. Each time I reply to her, I feel a pin prick my heart.
In every email, she rubs it in that the wedding is going to be a live televised spectacle—a special edition of her reality series, America’s It Girl. I wish I could forget, but that’s been next to impossible. Promotions for it are everywhere—from billboards on Sunset to backs of busses. The whole world will be watching the two of them exchange their forever vows. While I promised Brandon I’d be there, I still don’t think I can stomach it. Whenever I have my doubts or a down moment, I turn to the inspirational words his mentor, Bella Stadler (yes, it was her for sure!), shared with me at the wellness spa about leading and landing your dreams. Maybe I’ll go and, just before they exchange their “I do’s,” work up the courage to object. The thought of doing that on national TV scares the hell out of me.
Just about the only time I see Brandon is in the early morning—after his daily swim. Not only do I bring him his regular iced Grande Caffè Americano, but also an iced vanilla blended to drink at the editing sessions. The episode is being edited at a nearby Hollywood facility.
“How’s it going?” I ask him about two weeks in after he sits down next to me at a patio table.
Fresh out of the pool and dripping wet, he takes a sip of his iced coffee. My eyes stay fixed on his glistening well-formed bicep that flexes as he holds the cup to his luscious mouth. Oh, those exquisite long fingers! And then, my gaze shifts to his gorgeous face as he imbibes the chilled dark brew through a straw. His violet eyes twinkle like two morning stars while he sensuously licks his upper lip. Tingles fly through me like glitter as he meets my moonstruck gaze.
“Do you have a passport?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You’re coming to Cannes with me.”
The words spin around in my head like a pinwheel in the wind.
“Come again,” I stutter, my jaw slackening.
“You heard me. I want you to come to Cannes with me.”
My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. I’ve never left the country except for a daytrip to Tijuana with my brother Jeffrey. My souvenir—a major case of Montezuma’s Revenge. Setting the coffee on the table, Brandon continues.