Wildest Dreams

5. Kendall

KENDALL

I t’s a slow Monday. May is always quiet; all I have to work on is payroll stuff for some local businesses. Patsy comes in with coffee, asks me if I’ve heard from Pierre (I haven’t), puts her Taylor Swift playlist on our office Bluetooth speaker, and sits at the front desk to do her nails.

Then my cell phone rings.

No one ever calls me, so Patsy immediately turns the music down and runs to my open office door.

I look at the number. It’s a California area code, so it has to be Pierre or his assistant. I didn’t save either of their numbers and I’m not sure which one it is, but they’re the only California people I know.

I look up at Patsy, wide-eyed.

“Answer it!” she says, impatient.

“Hello?” I answer, trying to sound natural but bordering on shrill.

“Hi, Kendall?”

Oh my god. It’s Pierre. My heart stops.

“Pierre? Hi!”

Patsy starts jumping up and down and has to cover her own mouth to keep from screaming. I motion for her to get out of my office, but she shakes her head and tries to calm herself.

He clears his throat. “How are you?” he asks, sounding a little nervous, which is baffling.

“I’m okay. Is something wrong? I hope Bertha?—”

“No, everything is great. I got the rotisserie chickens like you suggested.”

“Great!”

Awkward silence. I rack my brain for something to say to him, but I come up blank. It’s like my mind is completely erased every time I talk to him.

“Uh, listen,” he says, “this may sound a little weird, but I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Sure. How can I help?” Me? What could I possibly do for Pierre Chatham, of all people?

Besides, you know, save him from an alligator.

“Well, I’ve been working on my accent for this movie, and I think it would do me some good to be around some locals to get a feel for it.”

“Um…okay?” I try not to sound confused.

“Is there a place where you guys like to hang out? Like a bar or restaurant or something?”

This is surreal. Anywhere I tell him to go is going to pale in comparison to places he’s probably been to in fancy places like L.A., New York, and Europe.

“Most people go to Cattywampus,” I say.

“Catty what?”

“Cattywampus. It’s a brewery.”

“Great! I love craft beer.”

“Great!” Again, awkward silence. I have no idea what to say to this man.

“Where is it?”

Surely he has a phone to look this up. I’m completely bumfuzzled. “On the river, close to the bridge.”

“Perfect! Are you free Wednesday night?”

I feel like I’ve been hit in the gut by a bowling ball of panic. “Wait. You want me to go with you?”

Patsy’s mouth has hit the floor and her whole body is shaking. I put up my hand to shield my eyes and turn away.

“Of course! I’d feel weird going to a bar alone, and you’re the only person I know in town.”

I think I’m in shock. Is this a date, or does he want a random person to sit with? Doesn’t he have other movie star friends coming to town? What could we possible have to talk about?

“Um, I don’t know.”

Patsy gives me a what-is-your-problem look.

“I don’t mean to make it weird. You were very sweet the other day, and I wanted to get to know you a little better. If you have plans with your boyfriend or whomever?—”

“No, no boyfriend. I’m sorry. I’m being rude. You caught me off guard is all.”

“So is that a yes?”

Holy shit. I’m going out with Pierre Chatham. “Yes. I can meet you at 5:30?”

“Sounds great! See you then.”

I hang up and Patsy squeals.

“Did I hear that right? Do you have a date with Pierre f-ing Chatham?”

“I don’t know?” I know I look completely shell-shocked.

“You’re meeting him for drinks?”

“Yes.”

“Is anyone else going to be there?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s a date!”

“I’m going to be sick,” I say, putting my head down on my desk. I haven’t been on a date since my divorce, nor do I have any plans to start dating anytime soon. The thought of getting close to someone, building this whole new life, then having it disappear out from under me again…it’s too much.

“No, you’re fine. You are going to rock this date and have the time of your f-ing life.” Patsy walks around my desk and kneels beside my chair like she’s comforting a child.

“What am I doing?” I ask her. “He’s only in town for a few weeks. He’s a movie star. Why would a movie star want me?”

“Because you’re beautiful, Kendall! You deserve the hottest guy on the planet, and he just so happens to be living in your house!”

“This is such a bad idea. Where can this even go?”

“Nowhere! That’s the point! He’s the perfect rebound!”

“I feel like the statute of limitations on rebounds has expired. It’s been three years.”

She rolls her eyes. “Imagine what F-er would think if he found out you’re dating Pierre Chatham.”

I have to admit she has a point. Once I show up at Cattywampus with the Hollywood “it guy”, the entire town will know within a day. Tucker’s phone will explode.

So will his head.

“What if I like him? He’s only here for two months, tops.”

“Then you’ll have a great story to tell your grandkids one day! Besides, you already said yes. You can’t get out of it now.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“We only have two days to pick out your outfit. Let’s go upstairs!”

* * *

P atsy vetoes everything in my chifforobe, which serves as my closet since the loft doesn’t have one big enough for anything other than a mop and bucket.

I close the office early and we walk to Cotton Blossoms Boutique. Patsy picks out a strapless green and white gingham dress and white sandals. I used to wear clothes like this all the time, but they ended up in the Goodwill bag when I moved.

“You look amazing!” she says, staring at me in the circle of mirrors in the dressing room. “Like your old self.” Patsy honestly looks like she is about to cry.

I don’t know whether to be touched or annoyed. “My old self was a sap.”

“Come on. This is the perfect outfit for your date.”

I reluctantly agree, buy the dress and shoes, and go back to my loft, where I spend the rest of the evening with the remote and a bag of popcorn.