Page 7 of Fool Me

“Some think so,” Sadie said through a sip of her coffee.

“And he probably has no talent whatsoever,” Ginny said.

“In regular plays he could never remember his lines, but he was okay at improv and physical comedy stuff.”

“Right. So, he’s got the eyes, the butt, the jaw, the smile, the legs, oh—and he’s funny—but other than that, nothing special,” Monique said.

Sadie saw Ginny send Monique a wink. She huffed a breath as she smacked both hands flat on the table. “Come on. You know what I mean. Success is what happens to men like Grant. Life gets handed to them on a freaking platter.”

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and rested her forearms on the table. “You sound like Great Aunt Lydia.”

“Well, in this case, she’s not far off. But Grant’s notsofamous. I looked him up. He’s only been in three films and didn't star in any of them. He’s a B or C-lister. J’s just giving him a role in her next movie because he’s her latest boy toy.” Her voice took on an edge. “But that ends now.”

Ginny pulled her head back in surprise. “What do you mean?”

The frown lines on Sadie’s face rearranged themselves into evil excitement. “I haven’t told you the best part yet about these fake dates. I get to choose what we do, and J’s agent is going to make sure there’s lots of press and social media.”

“So?” Monique asked.

“So, as revenge for my roommates’ broken hearts, I’m going to fix it so those dates show the world who he really is—an entitled, talentless dolt.” She raised her right hand as if swearing an oath. “As Great Aunt Lydia is my witness, I’m going to destroy him.”

5

The following Saturday, Grant pulled up to the address Sadie had given Ronny and put his baby blue Ford Mustang GT convertible into park. He couldn’t believe he was actually here, actually going to spend an afternoon with Sadie Heppner. All week, his stomach tightened whenever his phone dinged. Was it Ronny informing him the fake dates were off? He’d spent hours torturing himself over why Sadie disliked him so much and hours more thinking of ways to ask her about it without making the situation worse.

Part of his plan was to collect her at her door. It was gentlemanly thing to do. Plus, seeing where she lived might give him a better sense of who she was now. To his dismay, she appeared at the railing of the patio walkway connecting the units of her apartment building, waved perfunctorily, and started down the stairs toward him, a hop in her step.

Her lemon yellow, sleeveless crop top and matching, high-waisted shorts were straight out of a vintage movie star pin-up poster, but also way more casual than the dark grey slacks and white button-down he’d selected. Ronny hadn’t given him any information about where they were going on the first date, but since she’d asked to be picked up at noon, he had assumed she had a decent restaurant in mind, maybe followed by a museum or a play. He’d even brought a tie and sport coat, just in case. Given her informal look, they would remain in the trunk.

He was rounding the front bumper to open the car door for her when she snuck past at a near run and let herself in, leaving him standing on the sidewalk like an idiot. Any faint hopes that she might be friendlier to him now that they would be spending time alone together evaporated. If he wanted Sadie Heppner to like him, he had his work cut out for him.

Challenge accepted.

“Let’s go,” he heard her say from under a wide, white and tan straw hat that still barely contained her glistening curls. She wore matching espadrille sandals and carried a woven straw shoulder bag.

“Aren’t you speedy?” he quipped as he walked back around, slid into the driver’s seat, and swiveled to face her. He’d only had this car for a month, and it had never looked so good as now, with Sadie Heppner sitting in it. Her yellow outfit and tan legs gleamed like Easter morning against the cream seats and sky-blue dashboard. His mouth went dry again. “You look like walking sunshine.”

She answered without so much as glancing at him. “Thank you. The forecast is for the upper eighties and, considering where we’re going, I wanted to stay cool.”

“Stay cool? Where are we going?”

“The Indian Festival at the LA Hindu Temple. I hope you like spicy food.” She finally glanced at him when she said this last part, but the smile on her lips did not reach all the way to her eyes.

Growing up in Ohio with parents whose concept of cooking amounted to opening a box or can, his idea of international food didn’t stretch far beyond spaghetti. In particular, he did not like spicy food—unless salt was considered a spice. Sadie must have forgotten this from their college days, but if Sadie liked spicy international food, he would learn to like it. “Sounds great! What’s the address?”

He typed it into his phone’s mapping program and found they’d be there in thirty minutes—the perfect amount of time to begin re-acquainting themselves before they’d have to start performing for Ronny’s photographers.

“Do you hear much from your old roommates?” he asked.

“We chat,” she said.

“Trish was always so funny.”

“Mmm.”

The mapping program spoke up, telling him to take the next exit. As he merged into the outside lane, he searched for a topic other than her old friends. Oddly, their lives didn’t appear to interest her. Sadie had been the glue of that girl group. Was there a falling out?

“How do you like living in that apartment complex? I think it’s got some Hollywood history, doesn’t it?”

---