“Your umbrella is a piece of shit,” Greg announced, looking down at his wet pant legs as the wind carried the raindrops past the umbrella and against their bodies.

“Better than being pelted in the face by the icy downpour,” Gina pointed out.

“Looks like I pissed myself. Besides, my socks are getting wet.”

“You’re such a pansy,” Gina laughed.

“Come on, let’s go get out of the rain.” She thought about protesting, making a mad dash for her flat, but his smile made her swallow her words. His arm still around her and both of them still huddling a bit futilely under the umbrella, Greg led Gina down the street into a quiet little pub.

“Ooh, warmth,” Gina breathed as she stepped inside, letting Greg deal with the sopping umbrella. Quickly they found themselves a table and sat nodding at each other, letting their bodies thaw.

“It’s good to see you again,” Greg smiled inanely across the table. “And don’t go reading anything into that statement. Totally platonic.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Gina laughed, “you vain bastard you, always assuming everyone’s in love with you.” She smiled at him. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he sighed. “What’s Paul up to these days?”

“I’m not sure, not much I don’t think. We haven’t seen much of each other since I came here.”

“Christ, I didn’t screw things up between you two, did I?” Greg gasped.

“Oh no, no no,” she assured him. “It was me skipping off to swinging London for this job here, no one seemed willing to take me back in Australia because of my constant skipping out, and Paul was touring with the musical and everything…It was just too hard.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Greg frowned.

“But on the upside, you and your wife, you’re doing well?” Gina asked hopefully.

“Yeah, surprisingly well,” he said, and she couldn’t help but grin at the glowing smile that sprang to his face. He looked genuinely happy.

“What can I get you?” a waitress asked, glancing between the pair.

“Oh, you want something to eat, dinner or something?” Greg asked.

“Not really that hungry,” Gina shrugged.

“Dessert maybe?” he suggested.

“Oh no,” Gina chuckled, “I know about you and desserts, you use them to get into the pants of unsuspecting women.”

“No chocolate for you then,” Greg said, raising his eyebrows.

“Actually, that’s a risk I’d be willing to take,” she perked. “I’ll have a piece of chocolate cake, thanks.”

“So, this is where movie producers hang out,” Paul nodded, looking around the absurd interior of Friday’s.

“This is where movie producers for small, low-budget independent flicks hang out,” Fenny shrugged. “It’s my clientele, I do what I have to.”

“So, what goes on in your little corporate lunch meetings?” Paul asked, fiddling with the salt shaker as they waited for Eddie Bryce to join them at their booth.

“Well, if this is like any of the other meetings I’ve had with movie guys since going freelance, it’ll be some guy in dark glasses, Beverly Hills mentality, feels the need to impress me with his immediacy, when in actuality he’s in a hurry because he doesn’t want to pay for lunch, he’ll drop a packet of info on my lap, guzzle down some bourbon, tell me I’m a fantastic babe and he’ll leave.”

“Sounds like fun,” Paul laughed. “Hey, think that’s Eddie?” he smiled, pointing to a man with absurdly bleached hair and nifty little mirrored shades.

“There is no god,” Fenny mumbled under her breath as a hostess led him their way. “Oozes ‘pretentious bastard,’ doesn’t he?”

“Fenella?” he chirped, flashing a well-rehearsed smile as she reached out to shake his hand. “I’m Eddie.”

“Yeah,” Fenny nodded. “This is Paul, he’s my…associate.”

“Nice meeting you, mate,” Paul said, extending his hand.

“Well, I can’t stay long,” Eddie said, flumping down opposite them. “Here’s our makeshift publicity package,” he slid a manila folder across the table, “synopsis of the flick, schedule of dates, a few headshots of our stars, just the basics. We’re not looking for anything fancy, we’re low budget, but you probably knew that already, didn’t you?” He laughed heartily and Fenny started flicking through the packet. “We’re already behind schedule, I’ve got a busy day ahead of me, we’re still wrapping up the filming. We’ve got a photo session this evening, it’d be great if you were there, the photos you’ll be using. Five o’clock at some studio, the address is in there somewhere. This is really gonna be a great flick, something of a dark, bohemian, romantic comedy. I’m looking forward to seeing your sketches.”

Fenny frowned at him, waiting for him to pause so she could maybe say something.

“Sketches this quick?” Paul gasped, not waiting for a pause. “Four hours to glean inspiration from this shitty pile of facts?”

“Three, accounting for traffic,” Fenny murmured.

“Three hours,” Paul reiterated, scowling at his watch.

“Well, whenever,” Eddie shrugged nervously, and cleared his throat. “Look, I’ve gotta go, behind schedule, like I said, I should get back to the shooting. I’ll see you tonight, um, bring whatever ideas you might have, and I’ll talk to you then. Later.”

“Alright. Bye,” Fenny breathed as Eddie grabbed his things and left. “That was the oddest meeting I’ve ever had,” she announced, brows furrowing under her glasses.

“So, let’s see this synopsis, hey?” Paul grinned, thumbing through the pile of papers. Fenny pulled out the sheet listing the cast and crew, wondering who had recommended her. She’d met quite a few actors during her tenure as an artist and was on friendly terms with a couple character actors.

“Listen to this,” Paul giggled. “ ‘Hapless, lovelorn artist Charlie, played by Scott Jourdain, is sick and tired of taking what he can get and sets out to woo Vanessa, a high society socialite played by Cheryl Pearce. What he doesn’t know is love is right under his nose in the form of Katie (Bethany Kimen), his roommate’s sister.’ Is that not the world’s tiredest plotline?” Paul sighed. “Boy wants absurdly beautiful woman, falls for the girl next door, who’s just as beautiful but wearing glasses.”

“Terrible,” Fenny sighed, running her finger down the list of names.

“Ever heard of any of these actors?” Paul asked, looking over her shoulder.

“No, actually.”

“Wonder who plays the roommate,” Paul mused, noticing that was the only character mentioned in the blurb that didn’t get a credit.

“Fuck.”

“I’d hate to go through life with a name like that,” he laughed.

“What is the most improbable, unwanted, wholly deplorable thing in the world that could happen to me right now?” Fenny asked.

“I’m gonna guess that Brad Sherwood plays the roommate.”

“Nope, Brad plays Dewey, Vanessa’s jealous and eccentric boyfriend.”

“Of course he does,” Paul smirked. A moment of awkward silence dragged by. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna go to the shoot and do my job.” Fenny nodded resolutely to herself.

“Right,” he agreed, knowing her too well to believe her.

“Can I take your drink order?” a waitress chimed.

“Your show was great, by the way,” Gina said between bites of her cake.

“This is your professional opinion?” Greg queried.

“Well, that’s what’s gonna get printed. They don’t need to know I’m biased.” She smiled at him for a moment before scraping some of the frosting off the top of her cake with her fork.

“You’re biased?” he asked.

“I’ve seen you in the nude, that makes me biased,” she chuckled. “So, where’s your next show, and when will you be picking me up?”

“Oh, so you want—”

There was an eruption of shrill, overly loud, obviously forced laughter from a table across the room, and both Gina and Greg turned to face its occupants, watching their interaction for a minute or two. “Give it up, woman,” Gina grumbled.

“What do you mean?” Greg asked.

“She’s trying too hard. She just wants to get laid,” Gina shrugged.

“You really think so?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance. “It looks to me like she’s trying to be polite so she can just go home and get away from the prick.”

“This is what you get paid for?” she scoffed. “Pfft, you don’t know anything about how the female brain works.”

“You’re such a genius with your insights into the mind of the opposite sex then, are you?” he teased.

“I like to think so,” Gina said proudly.

“What’s Mr. Leather Jacket thinking then?” Greg asked, nodding towards the couple in question.

“He’s trying to figure out how to get her in bed,” she announced matter-of-factly.

“What makes you say that?”

“The Y chromosome tucked neatly between his legs.”

“You make a very good point,” he laughed.

“He looks like the kind of guy who would put out if an iguana wearing a skirt and some lipstick came on to him.”

“And she kinda looks like an iguana in a skirt,” he cackled.

“An easy iguana in a skirt,” Gina added. “Actually they look right for each other, a horny bimbette and a self-obsessed stud, just like Barbie and Ken.”

“Ooh, so harsh,” Greg said with mock seriousness. “What about those two?” he asked, pointing to a couple at the bar.

“They’ll be doing the horizontal mambo,” she assured him. “In the next hour. Regardless of whether or not they’re still at the bar.”

“Is there anyone in here that isn’t going to get laid tonight?” Greg asked, bemused by her optimism.

“Apart from you?” she laughed. “Those two over there.” She pointed to a young couple who were sitting across the table from each other, him rubbing his neck uneasily, her picking at her mostly uneaten food.

“Oh, it looks like first date jitters to me,” he said. “They just need to get comfortable with each other.”

“Yeah, and they’re really on their way to getting comfortable, can’t even establish eye contact. I’ll bet it’s a blind date, and whoever set them up will be promptly beaten to a pulp at the next meeting with either of the daters. And I would pay to watch.”

“You so need to guest on Rendez View,” Greg laughed.

“Who the hell cares what I wear,” Fenny grumbled to herself, but still opted for the charcoal slacks instead of jeans. She glanced out the window, knowing she should be more concerned with sketches and ideas than her wardrobe. The fog was rolling in, so she dug through the closet to pull out a bulky black sweater, then paused and pulled out a close-fitting burgundy button up, debating between the two, when the phone rang. “Hello?” she grumbled into the receiver as she cradled it against her shoulder.

“Hey Fen.”

“Paul,” she sighed, “what do you want?”

“Just wondering if you had any ideas for that project of yours.”

“You know damn well I don’t.”

“Eddie won’t be pleased,” he teased.

“Fuck Eddie.”

“What’s this?” Paul gasped. “Is that tension I detect in your voice?”

Fenny took a deep breath. There was no reason for her to be getting so worked up. It was just a photo shoot for a freelance gig. So what if Brad would be there? He was an asshole. She wouldn’t even have to speak to him. She was a liberated woman, well through with his baggage and the emotional torture that went with Mr. Sherwood. She would have nothing more to do with him. “Why don’t you come with me to the shoot?” Fenny pleaded, regardless of the fact they’d already had this discussion on the way to drop Paul off at his hotel earlier.

“What do I know about cameras?” Paul countered. “I’ve only ever been on the other side.”

“Well what do I know about cameras?” Fenny gasped. “My background’s graphics and illustration.”

“I don’t want to be there when you and Brad —”

“I’m just there to work, nothing will happen,” Fenny declared.

“Then why do you need me to be there?” Paul asked.

“Shut up,” she commanded, but couldn’t hide the smile from her voice.

“Just, Fen, please, don’t do anything you’ll regret, ok?”

“Of course not,” she said. “Look, I’m gonna be late, I’ve still gotta get dressed. I’ll talk to you later?”

“You better. Have fun.”

“Bye.”

“Still smoking I see,” Gina announced with raised eyebrows as Greg reached for a pack of cigarettes. “You’re just a bundle of vices, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, cigarettes, booze, drugs, adultery, sometimes all at once,” he shrugged. “You name it I probably did it.”

“And Paul was probably with you at the time,” Gina laughed. “Well, hopefully not for the adultery bit, that conjures up a whole bunch of mental images I really don’t need.”

“Pauly is a very gentle lover,” Greg said in a campy little voice.

“Not like you then,” Gina teased.

“You screamed pretty loud for someone who didn’t like enjoy themselves,” Greg grinned. “Ooh, oh baby, yeah, harder, please, yes, oh—” She kicked him in the shin, laughing in spite of herself. “Ow!” The eyes of most of their fellow diners were fixed on them. “Like something out of When Harry Met Sally, only no one got injured in the movie.”

“Just keeping you from making a fool of yourself,” Gina said innocently. “Remember, you’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Orgasmic screams in the middle of a pub are what my reputation is built on, pumpkin butter.”

“Oh, then by all means, continue.”

“That’s ok, I’m through with my orgasm.”

“Gee, that sounds familiar,” Gina jeered, and collapsed into an inexplicable fit of giggles at the aghast expression Greg gave her in return.

It was so great, Greg thought as he started laughing along with her, being able to be friends with Gina again. Sure the sex and the snippets of romance they had shared had been wonderful, but the inane conversation, the teasing, the constant unsubstantiated abuse, his friendship with Gina was worth so much more. And now, with him in counseling with his wife, there was no worry of any of those romance complications getting in the way again, their forays into love and lust were now simply fodder for more jokes, jabs and gags between the two.

“Ha ha, you were wrong,” Greg announced, nodding his head in the direction of the blind date couple as he pulled off his glasses to wipe them. “I told you they’d warm up to each other.”

Gina turned to see the young couple nuzzled against each other, holding hands under the table. She looked at them, giving them a watery smile as she fought the pangs of…jealousy? Loneliness? Aggravation? Abject misery? She missed Paul.

“Maybe your screams of ecstasy have inspired them,” Gina shrugged.

“That reminds me,” Greg chirped, reaching into his pocket to pay, “I should get back to the hotel, call my wife…”

“I should write up my article,” Gina sighed, disappointed in herself for letting her loneliness encroach on her jovial mood. The night had started so wonderfully with Greg’s show and their unexpected meeting. She was happier than she had been for a long time, being with an old friend, being with Greg, the way they were supposed to be. They stood and regarded each other for a moment.

“Well hey, look, I’m staying in town for a while longer,” Greg began, “you have a phone number or something so we can get together, say, tomorrow?”

“Nope, no phone, I communicate using specially trained budgies,” Gina smiled.

Without warning Greg pulled her into a hug. “I missed you,” he said against the top of her head.

“We went through that once already, Speccy,” Gina grinned, and they stepped away from each other. “Here’s my card, call me or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Let’s just say it involves a pineapple, a bullet proof vest and piano wire.”

“Sounds kinky.”

“It’s not,” she assured him, “unless you’re into the whole sado-masochism thing.”

“I’m up for whatever you can dish out, baby.”

“Let’s go get a taxi,” she laughed.

Fenny opened the door and wandered into the studio. A few people were milling about, the photographer was switching lenses on her camera, and people were draped over various bits of furniture and across the floor. “Fenella!” Eddie yelped.

“Yeah, hi,” she mumbled, almost reflexively taking in inventory of all the floor lamps and pieces of equipment so as to avoid tripping over things.

“This is Jennifer, our photographer.” They nodded at each other as Eddie introduced them, both knowing that the shutterbug community wasn’t entirely pleased with the art director community. Fenny’s face was on at least a couple dart boards in photo labs in town.

“Sorry, I don’t have anything to go on,” Fenny shrugged. “I can work from pretty much anything, whatever you think works. You don’t mind, do you?”

Jennifer shrugged one shoulder and seemed pleased at the revelation that she would not be stifled by the artist.

“Alright everyone, let’s get this started, the sooner we finish, the sooner we can get home,” Eddie announced and a bevy of actors gathered around. “Guys, this is Fenella Grey, she’ll be doing our poster, do what she tells you or the movie will be a flop.”

Fenny rolled her eyes. Advertisement was important, but the grandest poster in the world wouldn’t make up for a bad script. She briefly wondered why Brad would agree to do such a shoddy movie, and she cursed her eyes for scanning through the crowd to find him, and cursed her heart for pounding when her gaze settled on him. He looked exactly the same, not that she was surprised. Fatherhood and Montana seemed to be treating him well.

As if feeling Fenny’s eyes on him, Brad turned to face her. Their eyes met, and while her instinct was to look away, he caught her gaze for a moment until they both looked away nervously. For all of ten seconds. They turned back to each other simultaneously, each with the tiniest hint of a smile playing across their features, both completely oblivious to whatever Eddie was rambling on about. That all too familiar fluttering of her heart, weakness of her knees, and tingling in the back of her neck startled Fenny, and she wrenched her attention from Brad, dropping her eyes to the floor and moving towards the photographer so as to appear busy. She could feel herself melting, and he hadn’t even said a word to her.

This was a bad idea.