Someone Exactly Like Me by Debbie Cromack

6

Destiny

Around nine-thirty the next morning, Candi and I wake up, feeling the effects of last night. Before I bring her back to her studio where her car is, we go to Justina’s for breakfast. Though we both throw on leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, and toss our hair into messy buns, Candi somehow manages to look adorable while my red eyes and puffy under-eye pockets make me look fifty instead of thirty.

As we open the door to Justina’s, we’re greeted by the familiar scents of coffee, bacon, and freshly made baked goods. Reminiscent of a French country bakery, Justina’s oozes of charm and has become our favorite place to get breakfast on a Saturday morning when Candi’s in town. We’re quickly seated at one of the small wooden tables near the back next to a window where the sun filters in, kissing the small arrangement of billowy ivory roses brimming out the top of a little galvanized pitcher.

Pencil cradled behind her ear and dark hair tucked into a bun, Vivian approaches our table. “Good morning, ladies,” she says with familiarity and a bright smile. “Coffees?” We’ve been coming here so long, she knows the answer, but routinely asks.

“Yes, please,” we say in unison.

She places menus in front of us and goes on her way. There’s nothing new, but we don’t mind because we love everything they have. Vivian comes back with our coffees and we both order our usuals.

“Okay, I was very lit last night,” Candi confesses, leaning forward. “I know we had fun and I know we danced, but I’m gonna need you to tell me again about this deal you made with Nicco, and was that a kiss out on your porch?”

“No,” I emphasize, then whisper, “it wasn’t a kiss.” I insist, then return my voice to a normal volume. “He was doing that Italian thing where they kiss on the cheek. It was nothing more than that, I assure you.”

“I don’t know, Des, from what I saw, there was some lingering in there and I know my heart would’ve been hiccupping.” She cocks her head to the side and smiles as she grabs two sugar packets out of the rectangular ivory ceramic container.

“Okay, I admit it.” I hold my hand up in defense. “For a second, in my drunken head, I thought he was going to kiss me. I mean, his gorgeous face was inches from mine and his lips were right there.” I shake my hands in front of my lips. “I’ve had dreams about a hot moment like that. I think I stopped breathing.” I laugh. “Then I realized, of course, that he was doing that polite Italian kiss-on-the-cheek thing.” I blow an exhale. “How do you not end up sleeping with these extremely hot men you’re surrounded by all the time?”

“One hard rule: never, ever sleep with clients. You know how much I love my job. I’d never do anything to jeopardize it.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“Anyway, as hot as Nicco is, no one stood a chance with him, at least not last night. There was only one person he had his eye on and that was you.” She points her finger at me.

I grab three packets of sugar. “It wasn’t like that. I’m telling you,” I say, opening the packets and pouring them into my coffee. Picking up my spoon, I swirl the coffee and add milk from the small silver pitcher. “We just made this deal, to help each other, that’s all. Besides, I have no interest in becoming another notch in his belt.”

“I know that, honey.” She makes a pout with her lips then reaches over and rubs the top of my hand. “It would be the hottest sex of your life though.” She draws back her hand and winks at me. “Maybe you’d finally give Henry the heave-ho if you let yourself experience the hotness and passion of a man like Nicco.”

“Oh, Henry.” I chuckle. “Nope. Not happening. Besides, you know I won’t stoop to playboy-level, no matter how incredible the sex would be. I’ll never be in the same bed with that man.”

“Okay, okay.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “So, about this deal. How exactly are the two of you going to help each other?”

“Well, he’s looking for connections here in L.A. He wants to transition his career to Hollywood. You know my mom’s crazy connected so I’m going to put him in touch with her. Then they’ll take it from there.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it. He fully acknowledges that I have no other responsibility after that and the rest is on him and his talent.”

She shrugs and the corners of her mouth turn down a bit. “Hmh, okay. That seems pretty easy. And what’s your side of the deal?”

I can’t hold back a grimace as I cringe. “I get to interview him and make him, as himself, the hero of my next book. Then he’ll promote me to his followers.”

Her eyes open wide, crinkling her forehead. “Des, really?”

“I know, I know. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. I was drinking stupid martinis and I was out of my mind. I think I even winked at him at one point. Me. Winking at Niccolo Mancini. What?” I shake my head and hang it toward my lap in disgust.

“Actually, I think it’s a fantastic idea.”

“You do?” Now I’m surprised.

“Yeah. Do you know the kind of reach he has? And it’s the perfect audience for your books. This could be just the thing to get you out of your slump.”

“I don’t know if I can go through with it. I mean, I was all bold and sassy last night.” I waggle my head with attitude. “But, who the heck am I, thinking I can write a book about him? What if it’s awful. I can’t put something awful out there? I wouldn’t do that to him. What have I gotten myself into?” Leaning forward, placing my elbows on the table, I press my fingers into my temples.

“Hey, take a breath. You can totally do this. You’re an amazing writer. Set up your interview, ask your questions, and write your book. Let yourself have fun with it.”

Vivian brings over our plates. “I have strawberry blintzes with a side of bacon,” she announces, putting the plate down in front of me. “And a bacon, egg, and cheese bagel,” she says putting the plate in front of Candi.

We each thank her and she smiles and heads off.

“Fun? How am I supposed to have fun when, without alcohol pulsing through me, I’ll be a sweaty, jittery disaster?” I cut a piece of my strawberry blintz and shove it in my mouth as though already defeated. “Maybe he’s forgotten.”

“I doubt it. You’re about to help him set the course for his future. He’s not likely to forget that.”

“Then I’ll follow through on my end and tell him to forget about his side of the deal.”

“Here’s the thing. I don’t know him intimately obviously, but I know him well enough to know that he’s not the kind of guy to back out of something he’s committed to. It’s not his style.” She takes a big bite of her breakfast bagel.

“But he won’t be backing out. I’ll just be letting him off the hook. Besides, I have a good start with the stuff I jotted down yesterday while you were shooting.” I wiggle a little in my chair and match the wiggle with my eyebrows.

“Ooo, let me see, let me see.” She wipes her hands on her napkin. “Do you have it with you?” She reaches out, clapping her fingers and thumbs together.

I finish chewing my bite. “I do,” I say happily as I reach into my purse. I move around my wallet, my sunglasses, my hand lotion — nothing. My chest caves in. My pages are gone. I lift my head slowly and look at her, my heart races in my chest.

“Des, what’s wrong?”

“They’re gone. They’re not here. My pages. I put them in my purse when we left your studio.”

“Oh shit.” Her eyes open wide.

“I can’t think of when they might’ve fallen out. Other than when I left my purse with you, I had it with me the whole time. Oh my gosh. What if someone found them. That’s my work.” My pulse thumps in my ears as my stomach churns.

“Is your name on them?”

“No. I wouldn’t put my name on them. And now they’re probably either in the trash at the club or in someone’s hands who they don’t belong to.” I’m frantic.

“Deep breaths. Even if someone found them and picked them up, chances are they’re not an author and have no intention of stealing your work. They probably threw them out, not knowing what they were.”

“Ugh.” I cover my face with my hands, my stomach still churning. “I can’t believe I lost them. I wrote a few really good scenes too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Well, you had me all tangled up with Nicco. I mean, I do have a good imagination. And he’s easy to write about.” I fan myself.

“So, you’ll write them again. And now you’ll have him in real life as your muse.” A shit-eating grin spreads across her face.

I take a bite of my blintz, so mad at myself for losing my pages. As Candi scarfs down her bagel, I try to trace my steps from the night before and figure out when and how I lost my pages.

My phone chimes with a text message and I get my phone out of my purse. Looking at the name on the screen, I freeze and turn my phone to Candi.

“Open it,” she encourages.

I tilt back my head, tracing the grain of the wood-beamed ceiling. “I’m not ready to talk to him.”

She waves her hand at me. “Open it.”

I open his message and clutch my phone tightly. My heart drops to my stomach as I suck in a gasp of air.

“Des, you’re as white as a ghost. What’s it say?”

“It says, I think these may have fallen out of your purse in my car last night. I found them on the floor in the back seat.” I turn my phone to face her and show her the picture of my folded pages.

Her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh shit.”

Leaning back in my chair, I hold the sides of my head. “How? How does he have my pages?”

She gasps. “I know what happened. They must’ve fallen out when he had to slam on his brakes and our purses fell on the floor.”

My heart races. “He’s probably read them. He’s read my thoughts. My thoughts about him.”

She finishes a bite of her bagel sandwich. “They were good, right?” she asks with a smirk.

“Candi.” I bug my eyes out at her. “They’re my raw, unedited private thoughts, about him. They’re basically a fantasy I scribbled on paper until I create a story around them.” The sinking feeling in my stomach makes me stop eating. “Oh no. This is bad. This is so bad. I can’t face him. Not knowing what he’s read.”

“You don’t know that he read them.”

“He said he wanted to read my work before we do the interview. Of course he read them.”

“You have no proof of that.”

I blow a puff of air out my mouth. “I’ll call my mom to fill her in and let her know to expect his call. Then I’ll text him her number. I’ll have fulfilled my part of our deal and I can just walk away.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“You don’t even want to talk to him?”

“No,” I bark. It comes out harsher than I mean it to. “Honestly, what do I say to him? Hey, thanks for feeding my fantasies, I hope you don’t mind that I got off while writing about your tongue dancing across my flesh? Ugh.” I sigh. “I can’t believe he read the intimate things I wrote about him.”

“I still say you don’t know that for a fact. I think you should respond to him.”

As the words come out of her mouth, my phone chimes again.

Nicco:I’d like to get your pages back to you and set up our interview.

I stare at the message.

“What’d he say?”

I look up from my phone. “He wants to give me my pages and set up our interview.”

Candi’s shoulders drop. “Des. Just as much as you’re giving him a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make his dreams come true, he could very well be giving you the same chance for your life.” She reaches her hand across the table, placing it on top of mine. “Don’t miss out on this.” There’s a pleading behind her eyes.

“I promise to seriously consider it.”

“You better.” She winks at me.

We finish our breakfast and I drive us to her studio.

When she gets out, she shouts, “Call him! I love you!” and blows me a kiss.

I wave, blow her a kiss, and head home. Call him, huh? I have no idea what to even say. Do I come right out and ask him if he read my pages? He could easily lie and I won’t even be able to see his face to see if he’s lying. Do I ignore the whole thing? Ugh, I’m beyond frustrated.

I drive mindlessly along Pacific Coast Highway toward home, creating different scenarios in my head of how awful the conversation will go. I do want my pages back. They were the start of something I felt inspired to write and I haven’t felt inspired in so long. I settle on meeting up with him to get my pages, give him Mom’s phone number, and release him from our deal.

I call Mom to brief her on Nicco and his desire to come to Hollywood.

“Hi, my birthday girl. How was your night out with Candi?”

“Oh, you know. Drinking, dancing, very Candi. I did have fun though.”

“Good, I’m glad you had fun. Are you still coming over tonight for your birthday dinner?”

“Yup, I am. I’m just calling quickly because I have a favor to ask you.”

“Okay.”

“I met a nice man last night. He was part of Candi’s shoot and he came out with us. We got to know each other a little and…”

“I like the sound of this already.”

“Mom, focus please. He’s an Italian actor and he’s looking to transition his career here and move here. I’d like to help him out. Is it okay for me to give him your number so you can help him get a few connections?”

“Oh.” Her excitement shifts to disappointment. “That’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it,” I say, dousing her hopes that there was anything more between us.

“Of course I’ll help him.”

“Thanks Mom. I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

When I get home, I get my phone out to text Nicco. My heart pounds in my chest. Relax, you’re not talking to him, you’re texting him. I send the text with Mom’s number and let him know she’s expecting his call. I also wish him luck.

Before I can put down my phone, it rings in my hand. “Nicco” lights on the screen. My heart resumes its pounding and my phone nearly slips out of my clammy hand. I take a deep breath, exhale, and slide the bar on my phone.

“Hi, Nicco. I thought you’d be calling my mom.”

“Hi. Yes, I will. I’ll call her soon. Thank you so much for giving me her number. Now I’m ready to fulfill my part of our deal.” Hearing his deep voice again triggers the flash of his face lingering inches from mine last night.

“You know, I was thinking about that. You really don’t need to. I wasn’t thinking clearly last night when we made our deal. I want to earn my audience based on my writing and my marketing efforts, not sponge off of you and everything you’ve worked so hard for. Besides, I can do research online. It’ll be fine. But thank you for being willing. I’m sure you’re very busy. I would like my pages back though.” Words sputter out of me and I have to remind myself to take a breath.

“Research online? Why would you waste your time researching online when I can give you exactly what you want?” The way he phrases it shoots a shiver run up my spine to the base of my neck.

“It’s okay, really. I’m sure you have a very busy schedule.”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t right now. I’m staying here in L.A. for two weeks and taking some time off. I was actually calling to see what you’re doing this afternoon.”

Blood runs hot through my veins. “This afternoon? I’m — I’m planning to do some writing.” What would possibly interest him about my afternoon?

“I have an idea. How about we get together so I can give you back your pages and you can show me a good place to have lunch? I want to spend some time getting to know my way around here. And, I can buy you lunch to thank you for connecting me to your mom.”

“That’s really not necessary, especially after everything you did last night.”

“Last night was for your birthday. This is different.” He pauses. “You’re not comfortable with people doing things for you.” While he’s not wrong, his bluntness surprises me.

“No, it’s not that. I just don’t want to be a burden on people. I can take care of myself.” I straighten my posture.

“Yes, that’s very clear. Let me put it to you this way, I’d like your help in familiarizing myself with L.A. and I would enjoy your company over lunch. I can also give you back your pages.” As he says, “your pages,” heat rushes to my face. “Will you help me?”

Oh my gosh. The gorgeous man I’ve been fantasizing about for months is inviting me to lunch with him. This is crazy.

“Um, I suppose I have time. And I do need those pages to continue my writing.”

“Perfect. Tell me when and where to meet you.”

“I just came back from a late breakfast with Candi. Do you mind meeting around one?”

“That works for me.”

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Well, I’m Italian so I’d love some good Italian food.” He chuckles.

“Okay, I’ll text you the address of Pane Carasau and see you there at one.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.” He pauses. “Ciao, mia dolce ragazza.” The timbre of his soft, deep voice is so damn sexy.

I have no idea what he said, but goose bumps pop all over my body. “Bye. Ciao.”

I hop in the shower and get ready for my lunch with Niccolo Mancini.

Oh boy.