Page 12 of Snow Place Like LA
“I mean, if I’m being honest, I don’t really think any good movies were made beforeIron Man 3.”
My brain made a record-scratching sound. “I’m going to go ahead and rewind back to thirty seconds ago when those cursed words had yet to leave your mouth.” I pulled out my phone and searched on YouTube for the iconic scene. “Scoot over a little closer.”
She obeyed and I hit play. We watched as the deeply early ’90s saleswomen refused to tell Vivian the price of the dress she was looking at, and then told her to leave the store. I paused the video.
“Look at her,” I said. “Vivian is so vulnerable at this moment. These shopkeepers have no idea how important this singular event is in the story of her life. To them, she’s just another customer. To Vivian, this is a make-or-break moment.”
I pressed my gauze-wrapped hand to my chest, wishing I could massage away the sudden ache there.Ihad been Vivian so many times before—not the least when I fell in love with an artsy boy who clearly saw me as someone only fit for a good time in Vermont before pursuing his computer animation dreams with his porn star ex.
Tale as old as time.
And like Vivian, I wasn’t taking the world’s cruel nonsense lying down. Angel could tell me all the French-flavored excuses he wanted, but that didn’t mean I was ready to forgive or forget. Pas de pardon!
“We need Mackenzie in five!” someone called from the other side of the door.
I looked down at my bandaged hands. “I hope you can work a zipper on your own,” I told her, doubting the possibility as the words left my mouth.
Mackenzie looked at me with doe eyes.
“Need any help?” Angel asked as he poked his head in through the door. Today he wore a sleeveless black turtleneck with jeans, boots, and a few gold rings on his fingers. The collar of the turtleneck emphasized the long arch of his throat, and the sleeveless cut revealed the tightly toned swells of his biceps and shoulders. They were lean muscles, but so lickable I could die looking at them.
No. He’s the enemy.
No licking the enemy.
“How are you with zippers?” I asked.
Angel grinned and trotted into the room, unzipping the garment bag with Mackenzie’s white puffy-sleeved dress with large buttons marching down the middle. I hadn’t updated the look a whole lot, since it was so iconic, but I had sharpened up the tailoring to give it more structure and a slightly more contemporary vibe.
“How are your hands feeling?” Angel asked as he helped with the zip on the back of her dress.
“Traumatized. In complete agony.” Although that wasn’t entirely true. Other than not being able to jack off or make my own cup of coffee, I’d been fine. It was when the bandages were off that I could feel the sting of every little cut, as I had in the shower last night before clumsily rebandaging them myself.
He frowned as he continued to help Mackenzie, who truly did not seem to understand how clothing worked.
Just then, Blake walked in, already beginning to shed his clothing. “Is this my suit?” he asked as he unnecessarily slid his belt out of his loops. “Yo, Kenz, you look like a lady.”
She curtsied. “Thanks, Blakey.”
“Angel, hey,” Blake said, with a dimpled bro smile that almost even worked onme. Gah! Curse his symmetrical, suntanned features!
Angel gave him a friendly smile back, and I wanted to smash up the room with my gauze paws. But no. I must havecomposure. I was above such petty emotions as jealousy.
“If you need any help with your zippers, Angel is here to assist you,” I told him. I was very proud of how well I nailed my 1940s movie starlet tone. Aloof and biting. I didn’t even care that Angel’s ex was about to get naked and fuck in front of us all. Why would I care?
But then Angel glared at me, and I had to admit to myself that I quite enjoyed that.
Maybe I cared a little.
Blake was oblivious to the tension he’d caused by walking into the room with his horribly muscular body. “I hope these pants have more stretch than yesterday’s,” he complained. “I’m already rocking a semi.”
Mackenzie shimmied as Angel finally worked the zipper up to her neck, and she gave a littlewee-sounding shriek. “Isn’t he such a professional?” she asked me, beaming at Blake. “Do you know how many hours of my life I’ve spent waiting for my costars to get hard?”
“I’m guessing more hours than you’ve spent watchingPretty Woman.”
Blake, by some strange porn magic, was already mostly in his suit and buttoning up his shirt. Mackenzie slid on her gloves as Angel placed a wide-brimmed black hat on her head. With her pearl earrings and low heels, she almost sold the look. Once the curlers came out and her low ponytail was fluffed, she’d be the perfect porn facsimile of Vivian on Rodeo Drive.
“I need help with the tie,” Blake announced. “I don’t normally wear these things. Too stuffy.”
