22
Maggie
Boy oh boy,did I read Nancy all wrong. What I sensed as cool indifference was actually numbness. Maybe even spaciness. As soon as we walk away, she pulls a small silver case from her cleavage.
“Want one?” She offers me a small pill.
“No, I took some before we left,” I lie.
“Xanax? Oxy?”
“No, that other one… with the z.”
“Bring any?”
“Not this time.”
The furniture in the sitting area is crushed velvet and gilded wood. A massive piece of art hangs on the wall above the burgundy couches, and the floors are covered in rugs that must be worth hundreds of thousands. A small drinks cart is parked in the corner. That’s where Nancy heads first. She hands me one without asking.
“Your home is beautiful,” I say.
“It’s very nice.” She looks around as though examining it for the first time; no pride of ownership at all. She sits in a tufted fabric chaise lounge chair across from me, her feet up as she leans back to scrutinize me. She’s like a dame in an old film.
“What are you really doing here?”
Thankfully, I expected her seemingly random question. My features remain neutral but my heart is a runaway train. No doubt Zebulund sent her to sniff out information from “the assistant.”
“Just to help set up and take down.”
“Right.” She takes such a long sip as she scrutinizes me and half the drink is gone by the time her glass lowers again. “Are you and Roe an item?”
“No.” I laugh a little, keep it light. See we’re just girlfriends, chatting about boys. Gag me.
“But he’s so gorgeous.”
I suck in my lips. She’s asking it but I don’t think she’s even sure she believes it.
“I’m engaged to someone. A hockey player.”
“That’s nice. That’s gotta be fun.” She finishes her first drink and goes to make another. “Hockey players are delicious.”
“I agree.” It’s risky but I add, “Marty has his charm.” The vomit creeps up the back of my throat.
A delicate eyebrow arches. “Doesn’t he though. A real Hollywood Hero…”
That phrasing. Why is it making my heart slam against my chest?
“That’s a shame about Roe though.” Her eyes drift to the side, like she’s thinking about him. “He’s very nice to look at.”
“Yep.” Must maintain composure. Must get out of this interrogation intact. Must get back to the men.
“I’ve heard Roe is a real hard-ass too.” She shrugs and her eyes take longer to open. Not even two cocktails in and she’s slurring and half asleep in the chair. The shift in tone is obvious. Maybe her work is done.
“He has his moments.” This is taking too long. Roe is waiting.
She finishes her second drink. I haven’t even sipped mine, but I bring it to my mouth when she looks at me.
“I need a drink,” she says through half-lidded eyes, “but he sent all the damn staff away for this.”
