Yikes. “I’m with your mom on talking during movies,” Jack said, aiming to derail this line of interrogation, which he felt certain should not unfold in front of him. “I hate it when people ask questions about what’s going to happen. I don’t know, maybe watch and see? Find out when we all find out?”
“Yes!” Blair said.
His deflection worked. They talked a little more but about benign things. Esme matter-of-factly told Blair about a “stupid assignment” she was enduring and breathlessly told Blair about having discovered a local band she loved while Blair stirred a pot of what he assumed, based on the conversation he’d overheard, were grits. Feeling like an idiot standing there while she did all the work, Jack held up the bottle of wine he’d brought and raised his eyebrows. She nodded and pointed to a cupboard that housed the wineglasses, both the objectionably large ones and the stemless ones. He filled two of the reasonably sized ones.
“Jack!” Esme called, and he went back over and peered at the screen. “I hope you’re keeping my mom from moping around the house.”
Blair didn’t strike him as the sort to mope. Though Tiffany had said yesterday that she was glad he was keeping Blair company. Hmm.
“It’s not his job to babysit me,” Blair said. “And I’m not moping.”
Jack took the wine to the living room. He paused when he heard something about a tabloid article Esme had read. “Don’t believe everything you read,” Blair said.
“Yeah, but there werepictures, Mom.”
Jack unpaused himself. Enough eavesdropping. He settled in with Morticia, and as he sipped his wine, he thought about what Blair had said. That he’d humiliated her.
He wasn’t proud of that.
Chapter 9
The Rebel Deb
“Who Wore It Better?”
Celebrity Daily, November 1, 2024
Superproducer Reggie Johnston was caught hand in hand with his new ladylove, actress Perla Hammerstein, leaving the premiere of Johnston’s new blockbuster, the cyberthrillerShift-Alt-Delete. Eagle-eyed readers will note the red Versace gown worn by Hammerstein is the same one Johnston’s ex-wife, actress-turned-producer Blair Kellermoon, wore to the 2019 Academy Awards.
Blair took a moment to gather herself after she and Esme hung up—and to furtively google the article Esme had referenced. Esme had flustered her. Or Jack had. One or the other of them, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to be flustered by Reggie’s new “ladylove.” What was up with the wordladylove, anyway? What other kind of love was her very heterosexual ex supposed to have? If one of these tabloids ran a picture of Reggie Johnston and his new “ladlove,”thatwould be newsworthy.
She only allowed herself to look at the side-by-side pics for a nanosecond. It didn’t matter who wore it better, because Blair had worn that dress first. And hers was in her closet right now. So either thenew ladylove was trolling Blair, or it was a coincidence and she had good taste.
And again with the “actress-turned-producer”! Why wasn’t Reggie a “lawyer-turned-producer”?
Blair took a clarifying breath as she dished up the grits. She told herself to let the pot soak in the sink. She could wash it later.
She hesitated.
Let the pot soak in the sink.
She picked up the bowls.
Let the pot soak in the sink.
“Sorry about Esme,” she said as she crossed to the living area and set their bowls on the coffee table.
“Don’t apologize. I’m the interloper here.”
“Well, how about an apology for the fact that your dinner is literally just a bowl of grits with store-bought chicken on top? I intended to make a salad, but…”
“There appear to be green onions on top, so close enough.” Jack lifted his wineglass, and after they toasted, he said, “Sounds like your daughter is into music.”
“She is. More and more. Dance used to be her big thing, but she seems to have cooled on it in favor of music.” Blair wasn’t sure what had happened. It felt like a blink of an eye ago she had been driving back and forth to dance lessons and recitals. “Esme and I usually go to Coachella, but I only ever know the big names. Lately, she seems like she knows everything about everyone. I try to listen to her bands, but…” She shrugged. “I’m not cool.” Whatever. She didn’t care.
Except when she did. Except when she had to face the fact that she couldn’t go see a cool local band if she wanted to, on account of the cyclone.
Jack took a bite of the grits and hummed his satisfaction. “This is so good.”
