Winter Jacket: Finding Home (9 page)

“I don’t think anyone could be ready for this.” Troian slipped her reflector aviators over her eyes. “By the way,” she noted as we descended a wooden staircase to reach sea level, “if anyone asks—which I doubt they will—you’re twenty-nine years old.”

“Twenty-nine?” I echoed as I continued to follow my friend. “Why?”

“Because no one in this business is older than that.”

I stopped in my tracks and stared when I realized which of the many yachts in the harbor was our final destination. The shadow of the oversized boat was cast across the wooden pier. “Hey, Troi?” I called out. “Is Jane gay?”

Troian regarded me over the top of her sunglasses and smirked. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

If it hadn’t been late August, I would have thought I’d stumbled onto an MTV Spring Break program. It wasn’t so much the thumping bass pouring from the yacht that gave me pause, but rather the dozens of bikini-clad young women I spied spilling over the sides of the triple-decker boat.

“Jane has a husband. But it’s pretty well known in the creative community that he’s her beard,” she informed me. “I think he’s the one with the money though, so why he puts up with her shenanigans, I’ll never know.”

I continued to hesitate on the dock. I was sure my distress was palpable.

“We won’t stay long,” Troian promised. “I just need to find Jane and say hi and then we can go.”

“Okay,” I said, although her words did nothing to ease the discomfort in my stomach.

A nautical-attired female stood at the end of the dock, holding a clipboard. She wore an altered version of the classic boat captain’s uniform—a white miniskirt that accentuated long, bronzed legs and a white fitted jacket whose gold, polished buttons looked ready to pop off her chest if she inhaled too sharply. Her straight, jet-black hair was tucked under a captain’s hat. I suspected she was only working the party, however, and not part of the board’s actual crew.

Ruby red lips smiled at us as we approached. “Names, please?”

Troian pulled her sunglasses off. “Troian Smith and guest.”

The woman’s blue eyes scanned over the names on the clipboard. When she found what she was looking for, she nodded her head. “Welcome aboard, Ms. Smith and Guest.”

The music was louder on the boat than it had been on the dock. The entire vessel seemed to hum and vibrate from the omnipresent bass. Cocktail waitresses buzzed around the first deck, teetering on dangerous skyscraper wedges and wielding serving trays of Jell-O shots and test tubes filled with colorful liquid. Everywhere I looked I saw bikinis tops that struggled to cover silicone-enhanced breasts and swimsuit bottoms precariously aloft too thin of hips. Between the bone-rattling bass and the semi-clothed women, my senses were overwhelmed.

“It’s like I’m on an episode of the
L-Word
,” I spoke directly into Troian’s ear. “Is this real life?”

“No, it’s not. It’s Hollywood,” came her response.

“This is so not my scene,” I muttered under my breath as two women in bikinis walked past us, arm in arm. I did my best not to gawk.

“You think it’s
my
scene?” Troian said for only my ears.

“Then what are we doing here?”

“It’s the job,” she shrugged. “Kissing up to the network and all that.”

I kept close to Troian’s elbow as we explored the multi-levels of the boat in search of the party’s hostess with no luck. I had no idea what Jane looked like, however, so I wasn’t much help.

“I haven’t heard many good things about this Jane person.” I had been on set the entire week and had yet to meet the creative consultant, giving more credibility to Edward and Gloria’s complaints about her.

“The network means well,” Troian defended. “And I get it; I’ve got lots of experience writing screenplays and television scripts, but I’ve never been a showrunner before. That’s where Jane comes in.”

“I’m sure you’d able to figure it out on your own.”

Troian stood on her tiptoes and tried to see over the heads of the party’s crowd. Most people were taller than her on a regular day, but with her in flip-flops, and the bikini glamazons in high-heels, it was more pronounced than usual.

“Will you be okay for a minute?” she asked. “I can probably find Jane faster on my own.”

I must have looked panicked because she clapped her hand on my shoulder. “Of course you’ll be fine,” she answered for me. “Get yourself a drink and enjoy the free eye candy.”

“Okay,” I reluctantly agreed, “but I’m gonna need a cheeseburger after this. I’m getting hungry just looking at these girls.” Some of them looked like if they ate an ice cube you’d be able to see its rectangular outline through their taut skin.

Once Troian abandoned me to hunt for Jane, I felt even more foreign and awkward. I didn’t know anyone else at the party and I had no need for small talk. In lieu of something to do, I stood near the railing on the second level and looked over the edge at the water.

“It’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?”

I turned toward the sound of the voice to see an attractive woman with short brunette hair standing beside me. She wore a bikini top like myself and a loose, flowing maxi skirt that hid the shape of her legs.

I nodded and smiled tightly.

“I had no idea lesbians were so aggressive,” she said, fanning her face. “It’s like a meat market up in here.”

I laughed softly. “Getting hit on a lot?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s flattering.”

“But you’re straight,” I finished for her.

“Right.” She drank a fruity concoction through a red straw.

“Well you don’t have to worry about me,” I said. “I’m very much in love with my girlfriend.”

“Shit. You’re gay, too?”

I arched an eyebrow at her reaction.

“Sorry. That probably sounds super un-evolved.” She shook her head. “Let’s start over.” She passed a hand in front of her face. When her hand cleared her features, her expression had completely changed.  Hi,” she said, sticking out the other hand, chilled from the temperature of her drink. “I’m Lucy. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Lucy. I’m Elle.”

“So, Elle,” Lucy said, returning to her drink, “What brings you to this fine
soiree
?”

“Keeping a friend company. She didn’t want to come alone.”

“I don’t blame her,” Lucy snorted. “My agent told me to come and mingle—network, or whatever, but I’m kind of afraid to make eye contact and make one of these girls think I’m interested.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry. Neanderthal talk again. What do you do?”

“I teach college.” I bit the tip of my tongue when I realized what I’d said. The answer had come as naturally as saying my name. “But, uh, actually I’m writing for a TV show right now.”

“Jane’s show?”

I bit back my knee-jerk reaction. To me it was Troian’s show, but I kept those comments to myself. It wouldn’t have been good etiquette to complain about Jane at her own party. Plus, I’d never met the woman.

“Uh huh. I just started on Monday.”

Lucy nodded her head. “Yeah, I was going to call you out, but now it makes sense why I didn’t recognize you.”

“You work for the show, too?” I asked, turning to appraise her. I hadn’t recognized her either, but that didn’t mean much. I was new to staff and there were a lot of moving parts to make the show happen.

“I’m an actor—small supporting role. Not a big deal,” she dismissed.

“Human or mutant?”

“Mutant,” she laughed. “Apparently I breathe fire if the network ever gives us money for CGI.”

“I hear they’re being pretty tight-fisted with the budget,” I commiserated. Maybe that’s why I was living in a dilapidated apartment.

“Hey, as long as you guys in the writing trailer keep up the good work, we won’t have anything to worry about,” she easy complimented.

I made a face. “But no pressure.”

“Right,” she chuckled. “Listen, it was nice meeting you, but I should probably keep making the rounds.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “If we talk too long, people will say we’re in love.”

I laughed. “
Oklahoma
, right?”

“Not just a pretty face,” she winked at me. “See you around, Elle.”

I watched Lucy wander away, head down, still chewing on the tip of her red straw. Alone again, I returned to leaning against the boat railing, but instead of looking out over the harbor, I inspected the party more closely. Everywhere I looked, my eyes were assaulted with emaciated, laughing women—an endless sea of reed-thin arms, jutting collarbones, and protruding ribcages. A buffet of food dissected the second level of the yacht’s open deck, but no one was going to actually eat. There wasn’t enough room in their bathing suits.

I approached a bikini-wearing woman holding a serving platter of Pabst Blue Ribbon. It was the only beverage I’d seen that looked remotely familiar in my time aboard. I tapped the girl on her bronzed shoulder. “Excuse me. Could I get one of those?”

The server turned, a bored look on her face. But when our eyes met, she broke into a smile. “Elle!”

I blinked a few times. Even though this was supposedly a work party, I hadn’t expected anyone to recognize me, let alone know my name. I focused harder on the girl’s pretty face, which was obscured by oversized sunglasses. My eyes zoned in on her freckle-covered nose.

“Sonja the intern!”

Her grin split wider. “You can just call me Sonja when we’re off the clock.”

I shook my head, embarrassed by my outburst. “Sorry. That was rude of me.”

“Please, if that was the rudest thing I had to endure today I’d consider myself lucky.” Her button nose crinkled endearingly.

“How did you end up being a beer wench?” I asked, regaining my composure. “And what happened to your clothes?” I tried to not openly ogle her tight, bare midriff and the silver piercing in her bellybutton.

She laughed harder and looked down at her minimal ensemble. “Yeah, not quite what I pictured for myself when I moved to Hollywood.”

“Don’t tell me this is all part of your internship,” I said in horror.

“Oh, no. I work part-time for a party service. If you’re worried your event won’t have enough pretty girls, we get the call. This is actually one of the few times I’ve been put to work at an event though; usually we just drink and dance and look pretty.”

“You get paid to go to parties?”

She ducked her head. “It’s embarrassing, I know.”

“They don’t like … expect you to, uh,
entertain
the guests, do they?” I tripped over my question.

Her head dropped even lower. “Some of the girls make extra tips from extra-curricular activities at these things. But I’ve never …” She cleared her throat. “That’s a cute top,” she admired, obviously re-directing the conversation. “That color looks good with your skin tone.”

I self-consciously wrapped my arms around my middle. I considered myself in shape. Years of yoga and Pilates had given me a strong core and lean limbs, but in Hollywood, being in shape looked a lot different than midwestern physical fitness. “Thanks.”

“Are you here with Troian?” She scanned the upper deck as if looking for my friend.

“Mmhm. I haven’t seen her in a while though. She’s supposed to be saying hi to Jane and then we’re taking off.”

“Well you might as well enjoy some free alcohol before you leave.” She removed one of the beer cans from her serving tray and pressed it into my hands. “I’d join you, but I make it a rule not to drink on the job.”

“I admire your willpower,” I said, cracking open the beer and taking an icy first slug.

“It keeps me safe,” she shrugged. “You wouldn’t believe some of the creeps at the parties I work. But it’s not so bad at the lesbian parties—no dirty old men leering at me, and there’s a lot less groping.”

“Lesbians not groping?” I remarked. “That’s a new one.”

“I said
less
groping,” Sonja laughed.

I wanted to continue our conversation, but it was a little uncomfortable when she was wearing nothing more than a bikini top and bottom and I was similarly exposed.  

“Well if anyone hassles you, come find Troian and me,” I recommended. “She might not look it, but Troi’s pretty feisty.”

Sonja grinned. “Thanks. I’ll keep you guys in mind. Enjoy the party, Elle.”

While Sonja continued to make the rounds with her tray of beer cans, I left the second floor deck in search of Troian. The faster I tracked her down, the sooner we could leave. With a beer in hand I felt a little more like myself, but I wasn’t eager to linger longer than necessary at this party.

Climbing the stairs to the third deck and upper deck, I found the culprit behind the insistent pulsing base: the open floor had been turned into a dance party, and a female DJ worked two turntables behind a Plexiglas barrier on an elevated platform. I scanned the dance floor of undulating female forms, but wasn’t surprised that Troian wasn’t among the throng of female flesh.

Behind the DJ’s station was the wheelhouse where the boat’s controls were held. The door was ajar, so I poked my head in. I heard the soft grunt before my eyes came into focus.