That was the hard part.
After Tom and Doug went out to finish setting up for the party, I worked on the appetizers, waiting for Gerald to come back into the kitchen. I tried so hard not to overthink it, but I was alone in the kitchen, so what else could I do? My mind attempted to tell me stories, to trick me into doubting myself, but I pushed those thoughts away in favor of mentally rehearsing my lines. The worst that could happen was that Gerald would say no, and I’d have gained a little experience asking for what I wanted.
When Gerald finally came in, I didn’t hesitate. I would’ve lost my nerve, if I had. “Hey,” I said as he peered at a sheet of paper on the counter next to the door. “Let me show you something real quick.”
He turned around and rested against the counter. I showed him my phone and the video I’d taken of Tom and Doug learning how to make cookies, the two of them laughing, embarrassed at first, but then displaying true pride in the final results.
“This is great,” he said. “You’re a natural teacher.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I was thinking, in lieu of the catering thing, this is what I’d like to do in the resort, to teach lessons for the owners and guests on how to cook and how to use the ingredients in their pantries, stuff like that. If I can couple the promotional stuff you’d like me to do with more hands-on activities, I think I’d be very happy.” I paused. “I think we both would.”
Gerald reset the video and watched part of it again. After a moment, he smiled. “Very interesting idea. Let’s talk about it in the new year. Call my office.”
After he exited through swinging glass door, I fist pumped, knocking a full tray of cookies to the floor. “Damn it,” I muttered to myself as I crouched down to clean up the mess, but still, I couldn’t stop smiling.
…
Matt
I stood in front of my ancient printer and waited. And waited. I checked my watch. People would be arriving for the premiere party at any minute. But first I had something important to do.
Finally, the old machine started coughing and wheezing and spitting out papers. When it had expelled the full ten pages I needed, I grabbed them and rushed to the door, against which I pressed my ear. The sounds of people rushing around getting ready for the party slammed against my eardrum. It sounded like a circus, not a small, tame event centered around collectively watching a TV show.
If I went down there now, they’d drag me into the melee. I’d have to make decisions about where to set up chairs and when to serve the signature cocktail. I’d officially become part of the party machine, and extracting myself to do what I needed to do would become an impossibility. I couldn’t risk running into anyone.
I cracked open the door and peered into the hallway. The second floor was empty, at least. Keeping my back against the wall, I scurried toward my bedroom, shut that door, and went out on the balcony that ran along the side of the house. All I had to do was make it down to the ground and then run around to the back of the house to find Dani in the kitchen.
The yard stood still. Most of the workers were inside, preparing for the party indoors. I pressed the papers in between my lips and swung onto the trellis next to the balcony that ran down the entire wall to the ground.
Man, it was cold and windy tonight. I should’ve thought to put on a coat before I left, but oh well. Too late now. I had to trust that my adrenaline would warm me.
About halfway down, I clung to the wall just outside the dining room window and peeked in. The crew had crammed the table full of Christmas plates and cups and an array of delicious-looking holiday fare—cookies and finger sandwiches and vegetables, all in a color scheme of reds and greens.
Dani had done a wonderful job. Of course she had.
I clutched the papers tighter in my mouth and lowered myself another rung. That was the point of me slipping out right now. I was about to fix everything, to apologize to Dani for calling her a distraction and to show her how she’d inspired me all this time and continued to do so. I’d gone back and perfected the first scene of the new book, a scene that never would’ve existed without her support and inspiration. I held no illusions that she’d forgive me or jump into my arms—I was the jerk who broke up with her and then tried to make it right by handing her a pile of money—but I had to let her know what she meant to me.
Several feet before I hit the ground, the wind kicked up and ruffled the papers in my jaw. On instinct, I grabbed for them with one hand, lost my grip with the other, and fell backward into the bush below me. My right foot bore the brunt of my weight, and I hollered in pain as the gusting air current scattered the pages of my work across the lawn. I tried to rise, but my ankle couldn’t sustain me. I watched, helpless, as the white pages danced against the wind like massive, rectangular snowflakes.
“Matty!” A voice boomed from the driveway. “Are you okay?” My agent Kevin came running toward me, followed by Brennan, the actor who played Markys on The Saga. The two of them helped me stand, wrapping one of my arms around each of their shoulders. My right foot refused to support me.
“What were you doing?” Brennan asked, his Irish brogue like a lilting song against my eardrums. “Trying to escape?”
“Something like that,” I told them.
The two men walked me toward the front door of my house, and I looked wistfully back at the kitchen. This couldn’t wait. I had to make things right now. “Guys,” I said. “Walk me to the kitchen window.”
With me hopping on one leg between them, the two men walked me over to the kitchen, and I glanced inside. Empty. Dani was gone. I was too late.
“Can we…?” I glanced around the driveway. My car was totally blocked in. “Is that somebody’s motorcycle?” Someone had parked a Harley just outside the garage.
“My rental,” Brennan said.
“You mind taking me somewhere before we go into the party?”
Brennan glanced at Kevin, as if making sure that was okay. I supposed I understood their concern—the writer responsible for the entire series wanting to hop on a hog with a busted ankle after attempting a lattice escape from his own house. Jane would’ve already dragged me into the house by my earlobe.
“We’re not going far,” I said. “Just up the drive, and we’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Kevin nodded his approval, and the two of them helped me over to the motorcycle. Brennan and I slipped on our helmets, and I clutched his waist as he peeled away and headed up the drive.
“What’s this about?” he shouted into the wind.
“Love!” I yelled back.
“Very good,” he said and shifted into a higher gear.
Moments later, he pulled into Dani’s driveway and parked behind her little Honda. She’s home, I told myself giddily. This is really happening.