In Her Arms (Indigo Lounge #4)

1. Cameron

1

CAMERON

T he Indigo Lounge was packed wall-to-wall with vibrant people sipping cocktails, their eyes trained on the stage setup in the corner of the room. Open mic nights had always been a crowd pleaser, but the demand tonight had been nearly overwhelming. They were lucky the bar’s order had come in on time, Cameron thought as she mixed a drink. Otherwise, they would have run short. Esme had only gotten more creative with the specials once the renovations had finished, and that meant getting more creative with the ingredients. This week was no different; Cameron was mixing something called “Cat Named Dog,” a mule made with rhubarb soda named after the Norma Tanega song.

Where does she come up with this stuff? Cameron handed the drink to a customer with a smile. It was clearer than ever that Esme was the driving creative spirit behind the bar ever since she had handed over some of the more technical responsibilities to Nora. She was flourishing and finally able to spend her time whipping up drinks and food with the chefs and making sure the weekly lineup of events kept the community entertained.

Cameron had picked up far more shifts since the grand re-opening than she had over all the months before combined. Being busy was good for her, kept her mind occupied and allowed her to help her friends when they needed her. It didn’t hurt that they had taken on extra staff and the newbies were being trained up. The Lounge may have expanded, but Cameron was grateful that the atmosphere hadn’t changed. It was bigger and better, but the community had expanded instead of being replaced. Cameron had begun recognizing new regulars, and she could always tell when it was somebody’s first time there. They tended to have a wide-eyed excitement about them, taking in every little curated detail.

Esme carried a slab of cans behind Cameron while she kept mixing cocktails, the line at the bar gradually growing shorter. Once the performances started, they would have a minute of quiet. Looking around at the crowd as she mixed, Cameron spotted Holly and Deborah making their way through the crowd. She smiled and gestured for them to sit on the stools while she took care of the remaining orders. Esme appeared over her shoulder, greeted the two women, and then made her way over to the stage area to introduce the emcee for the evening.

“Hello, Indigo Lounge! How is everybody doing tonight? Everybody having a good time?”

The crowd roared back. Cameron thought Esme’s smile was bright enough to power the building. Dressed in a pair of flowy linen pants and a silk shirt, Esme’s hippie-chic, comfort-over-style philosophy was clearly working in her favor. She moved freely around the stage, and Cameron knew that if she called her over to the bar, she would be there in a flash.“I’m glad to hear it! I wanted to thank you all for coming tonight. We have an absolutely incredible lineup of talented artists waiting to perform for you all night. Who’s looking forward to the show?”

Another roar from the crowd. Esme introduced the host of the show, a local drag king, and outlined some acts of the evening. A few major record labels were known to send talent agents around to the Lounge on open mic nights, and some people had even been offered contracts based on performances. It had become a big deal for the local lesbian music scene, which had only existed in scattered areas around L.A. before the Indigo Lounge had opened. The crowd was excited to see the performers, and the performers were excited to play to such a large—and potentially life-changing—crowd. It was a brilliant win-win. While the first act was setting up, the noise died down to the point where Cameron could finally say hello to Deborah and Holly without having to shout.

“How are you two doing?” She leaned over the bar to give them each a one-armed hug.

“I’m doing pretty well. Got some work done today, but Deb’s been in meetings since about nine this morning, haven’t you, honey?” Holly swept her hair behind her shoulder and wrapped an arm around Deborah. Their shared affection was easy, free-flowing, and casual.

“I’ve been crawling up the walls, Cam. I’m sick of boardrooms and execs who don’t know their behinds from their elbows trying to make decisions about what happens with the movies they wanted to buy! Honestly, don’t spend millions on a franchise then complain to me when you realize you don’t know what to do with it.”

Holly looked exasperated. “Could we get her a drink, Cam?”

“Absolutely, two seconds, Hol.”

Cameron chose a small bottle of mezcal, a strong Mexican spirit, from below the bar and reached back for a grapefruit soda and some golden glitter. Grabbing a glass and an ice cube, she poured the soda over the mezcal and stirred in the edible glitter. The drink shimmered as she handed it over.

“What’s this one called, then?” asked Deborah, smiling as she took a sip.

“Golden Paloma,” Cameron replied, laughing as Deborah’s lips puckered at the strong taste.

Deborah was interrupted by her phone buzzing in her pocket, and she sighed, giving Holly a weary, apologetic look.

Holly only laughed, taking the drink from her and nodding toward the door with her head. Deborah reluctantly slouched toward the door.

Holly turned to Cameron again, sneaking a sip of the drink. “How are you doing?”

Cameron shrugged. “I’ve been doing alright, much busier since this place opened back up.”

“Is busy good? For you, I mean.”

“Busy keeps me from getting bored.”

“Ah, well, if you were ever bored, I know some lovely ladies around here who would be more than happy to keep you occupied.”

Cameron rolled her eyes as Holly laughed.

“Though fair warning, most of them have heard about you already.”

“Low blow, Holly!” Cameron raised her hands in mock frustration. The joke was fair game, even if it stung. “You got lucky with Deb; you really did. I just don’t think I’m built for something so…long-term. Not my fault people love to talk so much when things don’t go their way.”

Holly gave her a sideways look, and, okay, maybe it was justified, but Cameron had figured out what worked for her and what didn’t. Didn’t she deserve some credit?

“Long-term relationships may not be your thing, but you’ll show those girls the best night of their lives.”

“Ah,” Cam cut in. “No drinks for you tonight. That’s what you get for making fun of the bartender.”

Holly’s mouth dropped into an “o,” and she gasped, placing one hand, palm up, melodramatically over her forehead. Cameron rolled her eyes again, smiling fondly despite herself.

Deborah appeared at the bar again, phone in hand, with a smile plastered onto her face. Cameron saw the look a mile away, but Holly was the one to point it out.

“Something’s wrong. You have that...face on your face.”

“What face? This is my normal face.”

“No, it isn’t. That’s your crisis mode, everything-is-going-to-hell face you use when you need to ask for help.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“Yes,” responded Cameron immediately. “Deb, what’s going on? Is everything alright?”

Deborah took a second to inhale deeply before starting. In the back of her mind, Cameron made a note to make her a second Paloma; she seemed like she needed another stiff drink.

“So, this stays between the three of us...”

The two women nodded furiously, and Cameron was excited at the prospect of getting insider information, even if it was banal.

“I’m presuming I don’t need to explain to either of you who Goldie Richards is.”

The furious nodding turned into furious head-shaking. Of course they knew who Goldie Richards was. Everybody knew who Goldie Richards was. As one of the world’s best-known actresses, Richards had graced the cover of Vogue France when she was only nineteen years old. She had just won three Emmy awards and was favored to win the Best Supporting Actress award at the following year’s Oscars. You could stop ten different people on the street and ask them to name an actress, and they would all name her, no question. She was everywhere.

“She’s in L.A. filming the next season of Paperweight . Her assistant just walked off set, and the company doesn't have anybody to replace him. Cam?”

“Yeah?” She hoped her expression remained neutral.

“You have experience doing PA work for me, and you’ve done similar work on top of that, right?”

Cameron nodded. Don’t get too excited.

“If I send your contact details over to the agency, would you be able to take over for the last few weeks of filming? I’ll have a contract written up for you, clear it with the union, and make sure you’re paid fairly. This can happen really, really quickly.”

This would be the opportunity of a lifetime; Cameron knew that. Working on such a high-profile set would give her the chance to network with people in the industry, and the experience would give her a boost for future jobs. It would be intimidating, sure, and she knew the hours would be long, but she would never get a chance like this again. There was only one thing...

“Deb, you already know I’d love to, but I’m gonna have to clear it with Ez first. This place is really picking up, and I can’t just ditch her.”

“Who said my name?” asked Esme, having finally made her way back through the crowd. “Hi, honey! Hi, Deb! How are you two doing?”

The three women hugged and made excited small talk as Cameron cleaned some glasses, waiting for a moment she could slip in. She couldn’t just leave Indigo Lounge, leave Esme knowing she was already overwhelmed. She had an obligation to stay, even if it wasn’t contractual, because it was Esme. Fortunately, the situation seemed to resolve itself.

“Cam, I’m not sure if I’ll be needing you around as much over the next few weeks,” Esme said, turning to face her. “Nora’s been interviewing for bar staff— mixologists, that’s what she’s been calling them. They’ll be trained over the next while, but I’ll be able to do that. Do you have other stuff you need to work on in the meantime?”

Cameron smiled. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty to do. Deb needs a hand with something.”

“Goldie Richards is in town!” Deborah added excitedly. “They need a new assistant for her on set.”

So much for secrecy.

After her shift, Cameron returned home to her apartment at around 2 a.m., still buzzing with the energy from the Lounge and the excitement of the new job. She wandered aimlessly for a little while, too restless to sleep, rearranging the dishes in her kitchen cupboards and fluffing the pillows on her sofa. Eventually, she sat on the sofa and filled out the form that Deborah had sent to her on her phone. This wasn’t the first time she had done a favor for Deborah like this; she seemed to be the first choice for any of her friends who needed stuff done—running social media accounts, putting together IKEA furniture, arranging flowers. Over time, she had done lots of odd jobs and had become a bit of a Jack-of-all-trades. This wasn’t the most unusual job, but it was absolutely the most high-profile.

Cameron thought, not for the first time, about Goldie Richards. Her iconic, voluminous blonde hair, golden brown eyes, her style dripping with both self-worth and net worth. She wore designer on the red carpet, had been a guest judge at film festivals all over the country, and held an obvious reverence for film as a medium. She carried herself with an air of sweetness, addressing fans and journalists with respect. She had a reputation as one of Hollywood’s best, an absolute master of her craft with a degree from Julliard that she had earned with honors.

How do I know so much about her? Then she remembered her old habit of falling asleep with late-night talk shows playing in the background. Goldie had been a mainstay on talk television for years and always presented herself very well.

Goldie didn’t have the traditional, soft-spoken voice of a movie star. She could be abrasive, her voice shifting between husky and lilting. The tabloids had a field day with her when she was younger, ripping her apart publicly for what they saw as the cardinal sin of having a personality while speaking. It never seemed to bother Goldie, and she had never taken it upon herself to change her voice, at least publicly. Though she had started out as a staple of raunchy comedies, she had expanded her range as she got older and gained more experience. She had talked extensively about not wanting to confine herself, always gracious but firm about wanting to grow beyond her image. The place she had carved for herself in the industry was impressive by any standard.

Cameron swore she wasn’t obsessed, just good at absorbing and retaining information. She was constantly pulling in random bits of trivia, which she could then pull out in conversation to the surprise of her friends. Being generally chilled out didn’t mean she was brain-dead, she would say, and they’d laugh and carry on. She liked being there, and being there meant she was paying attention, whether she was saying something or not.

The habit of having the television on while she slept wasn’t really detrimental, but loud noises during sitcom reruns would wake her in the dead of night. She had kicked the habit as a result, but she decided a little indulgence tonight wouldn’t hurt.

Pulling up a video of an interview segment from Late Night Friday , she found herself hypnotized by Goldie’s smooth, assured voice. Cam played the interview as she wandered around getting ready to go to sleep, brushing her teeth, taking some medications, and getting into a comfortable pair of pajamas. She ended up falling asleep to another interview, lulled to sleep by that same voice while cocooned in blankets. As Cameron drifted off, she found herself hoping that Goldie would like her, in that juvenile way everybody does when meeting somebody for the first time. She had no idea just how interesting her first day of work would be.