Jill Smolinski - The Next Thing on My List

‘ Late? For what?’

She crossed her arms, which were twisted with muscle. Phyllis terrified me. Between her leathery skin, broad frame, and salt-and-pepper hair that she kept pulled back in a bun, she gave every indication that the rumors that she used to ride with the Hell’ s Angels were true. ‘ The directors meeting started at ten. Everybody’ s already there.’

I was invited to a directors meeting? Me? This sort of thing never happened to anyone here, much less me. If any of my predecessors went to a directors meeting, they never made it out alive because I’ d sure never heard about it.

‘ Nobody told me,’ I attempted to explain as I followed Phyllis’ s confident stride. Then I added nervously, ‘ Any idea why they want me there?’

‘ Beats me,’ she replied before depositing me in Bigwood’ s office without further comment.

I squinted to let my eyes adjust to the dimness. Even though he had a corner office with spectacular views, Bigwood had every curtain drawn, giving the place, for all its size, a cavelike feel. He was there along with Lizbeth, Susan, the head of finance, and Ivan Cohen, aka Dr. Death (no one knew what he did, but pack your bags if he ever called you to his office, because you were headed for either unemployment or some sort of career Siberia).

‘ Nice of you to join us,’ Lizbeth sneered.

Susan cleared off a space next to her, and I mouthed a ‘ Thanks’ in her direction.

Bigwood regarded me curiously. ‘ You look different. What’ s different about you?’

I’ m wearing a bra, perhaps? When I shrugged, Susan widened her eyes at me, as if to say, Give an answer. I quickly understood why: He wasn’ t going to drop it until I did.

‘ Glasses-did you use to wear glasses?’ My mind raced-what could I say? Nail polish color? A brow wax? ‘ Wait-’ He snapped his fingers. ‘ You’ ve gained a few pounds!’

Lizbeth tittered. ‘ You guessed it,’ I replied as gaily as I could manage, given the fact that I had gained a couple of pounds.

‘ Good for you,’ he said. ‘ You look healthy. I admire a woman who isn’ t afraid to eat.’ To delight him further, I took a cookie from a tray in the center of the table.

My interest in being summoned to the inner sanctum soon turned into mind-numbing boredom. How did Susan stand this week after week? Bubba sat at my feet, probably because I was the one who kept feeding him pieces of cookie. They discussed strategies and funding and I don’ t even remember what else, because eventually there weren’ t even any more cookies to keep Bubba interested and me entertained, and as I wondered if winter had yet turned to spring and contemplated crawling across the conference table and begging Dr. Death to put me out of my misery, Bigwood turned to me.

‘ June, I’ m putting you in charge of the gas giveaway promotion. I’ d like to see it happen within the month.’

At last& the reason I was here. Apparently, not only was my project approved, but I’ d been given the lead on it. Over Lizbeth, no less! As delighted as I was, I was smart enough to squelch any show of emotion. ‘ Great,’ I said, trying to sound casual. I dared not look directly at Lizbeth for fear I’ d be turned into a salt pillar on the spot.

‘ Gas giveaway?’ I heard her say. Clearly this was the first she’ d heard about it, and she sounded none too happy to be out of the loop. ‘ Gee, Lou, I don’ t believe that I-’

Bigwood cut her off. ‘ June will fill you in.’

And that was that. He stood to leave, and everyone else followed suit, including Lizbeth-who either respected Bigwood as the final word or was too busy plotting my murder to say anything further.

Cautiously, as one might approach a feral cat, I edged my way over to her. ‘ Let me know when you want me to give you the details. I’ d be happy to,’ I said.

Without so much as glancing at me, she replied frostily, ‘ Oh, I’ m sure you would.’

Chapter 7

T he problem with having a list of things to accomplish like Marissa’ s, I soon discovered, is that you become loath to expend energy on anything that isn’ t directly related to the challenge. It’ s about payoff. Like in high school when a teacher, eyes shining, would tell us about an exciting educational opportunity-a play we could attend or a museum exhibit related to our studies. It may have even sounded remotely interesting. But it came down to what one brave soul would eventually voice for the rest of us: Will we get credit for it?

That’ s how I felt when Sebastian Forbes called to ask me to a party he was throwing for himself. It was to celebrate the success of his book-which currently topped the Los Angeles Times best-seller list and was number five on the New York Times list. Publishers Weekly called it ‘ a darkly comic tour de force.’ ‘ I owe almost none of it to you,’ he chirped happily, ‘ but I want you to come to the party and behold the rat bastards who abandoned me in my time of need.’

‘ So they came back?’

‘ Like moths to the flame.’

He hinted there might be fellow writers and a few actors there as well-there was already talk about turning his novel into a movie. Still, I had to force myself to accept the invitation. All I could think was, Will anyone be giving massages? Will I get on TV? I thought back to the list for other tasks I needed to accomplish: Any chance there’ ll be boogie boarding? Is Buddy Fitch invited?

I eventually caved and took down directions to his home. Before we hung up, he said, ‘ I suppose I should tell you, I’ ve been seeing my doctor.’

‘ Oh& ‘ I wasn’ t sure what to say. It seemed such an intimate thing to confide in me considering we’ d met only recently. Besides, he’ d seemed so healthy.

He caught my hesitation. ‘ No, I’ m seeing my doctor. His name’ s Kip, and he’ s smart and gorgeous, and he’ ll be at the party, so be on your best behavior.’

I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘ So I take it that JJ’ s gone for good?’

‘ JJ who?’

SEBASTIAN LIVED in a Mediterranean-style house in the Hollywood Hills-although a case could be made for calling it a mansion. I let out a whistle of appreciation as I walked into the vast foyer with Susan. (She’ d begged to come along after I mentioned the party to her-she’ d borrowed my copy of One-Woman Man and couldn’ t stop talking about it.) Painted in gold hues, the walls were covered with abstract paintings. I’ m sure they were all of naked people.

‘ So these are the spoils of a best-selling author, eh?’ I said to Sebastian as he collected our coats.

‘ This, the spoils? Hardly,’ he scoffed. ‘ My advance was minuscule. The home is thanks to Grandmum, who died several years ago.’

‘ I’ m sorry& .’

‘ Don’ t be. She was an evil, bitter hag who made everyone miserable.’

‘ I loved your book!’ Susan gushed out of nowhere, making me start.

Sebastian beamed. ‘ And June, who is your lovely friend?’

I made introductions as he escorted us into the main living area. Susan launched into a breathless swoon about how the earthquake metaphor he used to parallel his tumultuous relationship with his mother had brought her to tears.

About a dozen people milled around the room, which had high ceilings, minimal furniture, and-instead of walls-massive windows opening to a sparkling, twinkling city below. The night was clear but nippy. We’ d seen a sky full of stars on the drive over, which-because of the perpetual haze and smog and city lights-is a rare treat around here. From my apartment, I can usually spot only a handful on any given night. It’ s ironic: Los Angeles is the city of stars, but only the kind that are on the ground, attending premieres and getting the best tables at fancy restaurants.