Lies, Love, and Breakfast at Tiffany's Read online

  Her words wouldn’t have held any effect on me if his absence at the film review hadn’t been sorely felt. His absence in general was sorely felt. And now that his house loomed in front of me, only the dark wood of the door separating us, my stomach fluttered in apprehension.

  Because I was almost considering the idea of asking him out.

  Why not?

  I didn’t work for Mid-Scene Films any more.

  No rules dictated by several sensitivity trainings stood in the way of getting to know Ben on a different level.

  Nothing stood in my way except my own feet that seemed to have forgotten how to move and my own hands that refused to reach for the door handle.

  Emma didn’t rush me. Emma never did. I was the bossier one of the two of us. I rushed her on stuff all the time. But she seemed content to let me sit and stare at Ben’s house while I debated with myself over my actual intentions.

  “I’ll call you later,” I finally said. Putting it off any longer just made it that much later before I would get home, that much later before my head could hit a real pillow. I leaned in quick to give Emma a hug. Then I wrapped my fingers around the handle and pulled.

  Here goes nothing.

  Emma started her car as I walked up the sidewalk, but she didn’t pull away from the curb until light from the open door shone out into the darkness.

  She must have figured I was safe now that Ben had answered the door, and, like a good friend, she wanted to give me some privacy. She must have sensed I planned on putting myself out there with him. Emma usually knew what I was doing before I did.

  What she didn’t know was that it wasn’t Ben who answered the door.

  It was the girl from the club—Alison, Ben’s old film school girlfriend, who had apparently not given up on the idea of reconnecting.

  “I hate girls that giggle all the time.”

  —Sabrina Fairchild, played by Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina

  I think I blinked and stared for a full minute. Well, probably not a full minute, but it certainly felt like one. Questions like “What in the world do you think you’re doing here?” died on my lips. Because that would have been rude.

  It also would have been more her right to demand an answer to that question, since I was the interloper to this party.

  What I actually said was, “Hello. It’s nice to see you again, Alison.” Which wasn’t technically true since I had just decided to ask out her boyfriend apparent. Though she wasn’t spangly any longer in her jeans and tactically fitted T-shirt, her dark hair looked softer and shinier than before. She’d had a shower at some point in the last twenty-four hours.

  Which was more than anyone could say for me.

  “It’s nice to see you, too,” she said, though it was hard to believe her when her eyes took in my rumpled, unwashed appearance. “Your name’s Sara, isn’t it?”

  Thanks a lot, Dean, I thought.

  She seemed confused by my presence, and being that we hadn’t really been introduced the night before, it made sense why she got my name wrong.

  Now that I saw her standing in Ben’s doorway and looking so beautiful, I was confused by my presence as well. “No, actually my name is Silvia—Silvia Bradshaw. I’m here to see Ben. Is he home?”

  Instead of answering my question, she said, “But didn’t your boyfriend call you Sara?”

  “Yes, well, he’s not my boyfriend. And he was intoxicated, so he’s hardly a credible source for information. I don’t actually have a boyfriend.” Why had I slipped that nugget of information in there? My relationship status had nothing to do with anything. I hated being tired. I was such a jerk when I was tired. “Is Ben here?”

  Before she could answer, Ben’s voice called from the back room. “I can’t find it anywhere. It probably got lost in one of the moves.” He came into view from the hallway, and our eyes met over Alison’s shoulder.

  “Silvia.” He halted and blinked in surprise, though he shouldn’t have been too shocked to see me. He did have my car, after all. His face split into a smile, and he lengthened his stride to reach the door, which he pulled open wider. “Come in! I’m sorry I didn’t hear you knock or ring the bell. I was in the closet looking for some things Alison thought I might still have from college. Come in!”

  Alison scooted to the side, finally allowing me access to the house, though she clearly took no pleasure in the action.

  I couldn’t blame her. She was the one having her date railroaded by a member of the unwashed masses. Again.

  “I’d introduce you, but you two already met the other night, I guess.” He took my hand, something that felt so natural and right, and yet also so strange, considering our current setting. He led me to the couch and gave me a nudge, indicating I should sit.

  Alison’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, a tiny crease appearing right above her nose as she watched Ben’s hand release mine. Though she had dismissed me as insignificant the night before, my appearance at her would-be boyfriend’s house and his immediate acceptance of my presence must have changed her opinion of me.

  I was no longer a helpless old coworker with terrible hygiene habits. I’d become a person of interest.

  “So,” Ben said, sitting in the recliner directly across from me. “You had a busy day, right? Christopher and Danny . . . how did it go?”

  With those words, I forgot all about the dark beauty queen in the room. Those words—Christopher and Danny—were like taking an elixir of energy. My spine straightened, my shoulders squared, my lips found the strength to smile.

  Before I could answer Ben’s question, Alison interjected, “Wait, you know Christopher and Danny?”

  Just like that, I’d gone from a person of interest to a person of downright fascination. When those two names were put together, even people in the big studios knew who you meant. They were the up-and-coming duo.

  It was Ben who answered. “Silvia is the assistant editor at Portal Pictures.” He turned to me. “Tell me everything. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

  “Portal Pictures?” Alison latched onto the information that she felt was the most important, but she missed the most important part of what Ben said, the part about how he’d been thinking of me all day. That part filled me with an irrational happiness that summoned what I was sure was a goofy smile on my face.

  Alison was still talking. “That’s a cool studio to be working for. Good for you.” She eyed me with keen interest now, completely ignoring my greasy hair, the disheveled clothing, and the fact that my teeth had yet to see a toothbrush for what felt like a week. As she looked at me, I felt I understood her better.

  Alison was still in that unfortunate position of being a climber. Well, not even a climber yet. She’d gone to film school and was still looking for an in to the business. Not that she could be judged harshly for that. We were all—to some degree or another—climbers and clawers. Climbing up and clawing in. The problem with Hollywood was that most, if not all, relationships were thought about in terms of how they could be manipulated for an advantage. I hated that about the industry.

  Alison being a climber made me frown because it made me wonder: was she interested in Ben as Ben? Or was she interested in Ben as Mid-Scene Films?

  Ben tapped my knee. “You’re killing me, Smalls! We’re talking about the review! How did the review go?”

  Right. Focus on the review, not Alison. “Ben, you—it went so great!” I almost said he’d done so great, but Alison was right there. I’d give proper credit where credit was due at some other time when we were alone. “They loved it. They laughed. They cried in all the right places. They gushed when it was over. There was nothing but praise. It was . . .” I sighed. “It was almost magical.”

  I also didn’t add that the almost was only because he hadn’t been there. I had done good work on the edit, but Ben had filed away the sharp edges.

  �
��Did they ask for any changes?” Ben asked, his face lit up with excitement, the kind I used to see all the time when we worked together. How had I not noticed how much that excitement had been missing from my life over the last four months?

  “Yes. A few. They always ask for changes. But nothing major. It felt like every change they asked for was more because they wanted to be doing their jobs than actually wanting anything changed. They really liked it, Ben. They were so excited to have it ready.”

  “And Dean? How did that go down?”

  “Dean was . . . Dean. You know how it is; he tried to take all the credit, but I had a talk with him, and I think he understands that cutting me out of my work is not going to be allowed.”

  “Wow! So good day, huh?” Alison interjected, apparently feeling left out of the conversation for long enough.

  “Definitely a good day,” I said, my eyes not leaving Ben’s. “Thanks, Ben. I owe it all to you.”

  He nodded and only broke eye contact when Alison sat on the arm of the chair he occupied and put her hand on his shoulder. He glanced up, and the smile he gave her was shaky, less certain, undefinable.

  I wanted it defined, however. I wanted to know why he seemed less confident when he looked at her than when he looked at me. Was it because he felt more comfortable with me because I meant something, or was it because I didn’t mean anything? Why did my life suddenly feel like junior high?

  “So, Sara—I mean . . .”

  She appeared to be experiencing genuine frustration that she couldn’t come up with my real name, now that I was someone worth knowing.

  “It’s Silvia,” I said.

  “Right.” She flushed, but blazed ahead like it wasn’t a big deal. “How long have you been with Portal Pictures?”

  “For the last four months. And what about you?” I asked, not wanting to talk to her about my job, not wanting to be a relationship Alison could use for strategic maneuvering. “What do you do?”

  She seemed surprised by the question and floundered for a moment before saying, “I studied film with Ben at USC, and I have been working to get my hands on some real ­movies ever since, but right now, I’m working at Gem Experience in their marketing department. I make commercials and provide content for their social media.”

  “Gem Experience?”

  She pressed her lips together in a visual display of unease before nodding. “It’s a clothing line for pets.”

  That took me off guard. Considering that Dean threatened to have me out on the street working for some little marketing department somewhere, Alison’s reality sobered me. There was nothing wrong with what she did for a living. It was the kind of job a lot of people would love. But it was evident that Alison had been led down that same rabbit hole I’d gone down. Maybe it hadn’t been because of Audrey Hepburn, but the same passion blazed in her eyes. She wanted to be in the business, and she seemed unhappy about her current circumstances. Her situation could have been mine if it weren’t for a few lucky breaks early on in my career. I would have been unhappy anywhere else, too.

  Ben brought the conversation back to my film. “Is the release date on schedule, then?”

  “Yes. On schedule. The edits they want are so small, I can do it in an afternoon. At least, I could do it in an afternoon after I’ve had enough sleep to allow my brain to function at full capacity.”

  Ben jumped to his feet. “That’s right! I’m so sorry, Sil. You must be exhausted after being up all night. You probably need to get home and get to bed. Let me get your keys.”

  “You have her keys?” Alison didn’t say it with any hint of meanness in her voice, but she clearly wanted an answer because she followed him down the hall toward wherever he’d placed my keys.

  I felt only slightly bad that I had ruined a Friday night date for Alison and Ben, and now I’d ruined a Saturday night date as well. I considered coming back Sunday just for the sake of consistency.

  Okay, so maybe I didn’t feel so bad after all.

  And it wasn’t because I didn’t like Alison. I liked her just fine. I just liked Ben more.

  But, I told myself, she was here first.

  But, I argued, I was here second, and two is a bigger number.

  A soft giggle bubbled up in me at the silly argument inside my own head. Ben had never made any kind of move in my direction, and now he basically had a girlfriend. Did I really want to make things more awkward? The outcome of me behaving badly would be irritating his girlfriend and alienating his friendship. And since I’d only just decided to like him, I could shrug it off and pretend it never happened. Yes. That was what I would do.

  The beauty of the battle being only in my head was that Ben never needed to know that any such battle was ever fought. We could go on as friends, business as usual.

  Whispers came from the back rooms, but I didn’t venture back to take part in the conversation or to even eavesdrop. I stayed on the sofa and let the hiss and hum of the conversation fuzz in my head as I sank deeper into the cushions.

  I woke up to heated whispers—two teakettles hissing at one another. Even though my mind had come to consciousness, my eyes refused to open.

  “I can’t do that! Do you know that one in every one thousand six hundred and sixty-four deaths are because of drowsy driving?”

  More whispers. Female this time.

  Ben’s answer was also a whisper, but I could pick through his words enough to determine what he said.

  They were arguing over me because I’d fallen asleep. I felt incredibly stupid for falling asleep and then guilty that they were arguing about it, but I couldn’t make my eyes open. Not for guilt, not for pride, not for anything.

  “I don’t think she’s slept in days,” Ben said, then their voices faded away as they migrated somewhere else.

  Sometime later, something warm and soft settled gently around me. I snuggled deeper into it and slept on.

  When I awoke again, it was to mostly silence. The lights had all been turned off, and only the hum of a fridge from the kitchen broke the silence. I jolted upright, my senses hyper­alert in the confusion of where I was. A thick, fuzzy blanket slipped down my shoulders and onto the floor.

  I swung my legs off the couch and planted my bare feet on the carpet.

  Where were my shoes?

  Where was I?

  I blinked in the dark several times to try to make shadowy shapes form into something recognizable. A coffee table sat between two recliners opposite the couch. A few more blinks and I was able to pull a memory from my mind. Ben. Ben had sat in the recliner closest to me. His college girlfriend had sat on the arm of the chair.

  Embarrassment flooded me. I’d fallen asleep like some stray. I curled my toes into the plush carpet before realizing I didn’t remember taking off my shoes. Someone else had done that for me. That same someone had removed my socks, too, making me wish I’d taken the time to get an updated pedicure. My nails were chipped and overgrown and probably horrible to look at.

  Had Ben taken off my shoes, or had Alison done that?

  An answer either way horrified me to think about.

  What must Ben think? What kind of person passed out on random couches? Aside from Dean Thomas, I didn’t know of anyone. My fingers fumbled over the floor by my feet until they finally tangled into a shoelace. Success!

  My socks were stuffed into my shoes, and I tugged them over my feet before stuffing my foot into my left shoe without bothering to untie it first. My keys jingled as I pulled my other shoe closer. Ben must have left my keys for me to find. I swept up the keys and stood. I had to leave immediately.

  I didn’t leave immediately. Instead, I pulled out my phone and squinted as it came to life under my fingerprint ID and filled the room with light. The time read 4:27. I’d essentially spent the night at my old boss’s house. It was the stuff scandals were made of.

  I took a
few steps toward the hall, thinking for a moment that maybe I should thank Ben for letting me crash on his couch and inform him I was leaving, but then I halted. Sleeping on his couch was one thing. Heading to his bedroom was another entirely.

  Not wanting things to get more awkward than they already were, I retreated to the couch and stood for several seconds wondering if it would be more rude to leave without letting him know or to send a text that might wake him up. I certainly wasn’t going to talk to him in person, and I absolutely wasn’t staying until morning when he was awake again.

  Besides, what if he had plans with Alison? They were obviously together, which was weird to think about. How could someone like Ben, who loved the ironic and interesting, and who belly laughed as much as I did, be friends with someone who only barely smiled as if she was the Mona Lisa? Honestly, did the woman not know how to give a real smile? Did she never laugh? I hated girls who never laughed.

  In my heart, I knew I was being harsh, likely stemming from my newfound interest in Ben as something more than my friend. Some vague memory of Alison acting pleasant at the club nudged the back of my mind. Alison was a nice person, which meant I needed an appropriate exit strategy.

  In the kitchen, I used my phone as a flashlight and rummaged through Ben’s incredibly tidy drawers to find some scratch paper and a pen. The drawer closest to the fridge had a stack of sticky pads and a tray with pens and pencils in it. I pulled the top sheet from a sticky pad and used the Darth Vader pen to scrawl a quick message thanking Ben for allowing me to crash on his couch. I stuck the note on his fridge next to a picture of him and Mickey Mouse and . . . me?

  Ben had a picture of me on his fridge?

  It was from the Mid-Scene Films company party a couple of years ago when we all went to Disneyland. I made Ben and two of our other coworkers, Jan and Mary, get Mickey Mouse ears with me and pose for a picture. Jan and Mary had been on one side of the mouse. Ben and I had been on the other.

  As far as I could remember, we only had one picture taken, but Jan and Mary weren’t in this picture. Did Ben have them Photoshopped out? I looked closer and realized he’d just cropped the photo when he printed it.