Based On A True Story (brooke miller) Page 3
Note to self: Must go home immediately and burn this entire outfit. And then murder my ex-boyfriend.
«I. Am. Not. Pregnant.»
«Oh, man,» he says, arms falling down to his sides as he releases his grip on me. «Are you sure?»
«Oh, yes,» I say. «I'm sure. Not pregnant, just bloated.»
«I don't know what to say, Brooke.»
And with that, those old feelings are gone.
«Get out,» I say, and Trip finally leaves my office.
Chapter Five
“What’s great about this film is that I don’t have to lose weight for the part,” Ava says to Rachel Star of Entertainment Now . “In fact, they’re encouraging me to gain more!”
Rachel Star nods back knowingly. I can just picture the two of them out to dinner now-I can have even more edamame?! And I can actually leave the rice on my sushi rolls?! Oh, happy day!
“Now, that sounds like my kind of shoot!” Lara says and she and Ava break out in giggles.
My ex-boyfriend’s wife is on Entertainment Now to talk about the new movie she’s starring in. That my ex-boyfriend wrote. About my life. Yes, my ex-boyfriend has taken the single most humiliating moment of my life-attending his wedding-and is turning it into a major motion picture, set for release next summer.
You can catch it when it comes out on the big screen, but please just do me a favor and don’t tell me if you go.
Oh, please. As if you’re not dying to go and see it now that I’ve told you all about it.
I roll my eyes at my best friend, Vanessa. She rolls back and takes a handful of popcorn. We both rushed home from work tonight to watch Ava’s appearance together. We’re at Vanessa’s apartment in comfy sweatpants, with a huge bowl of popcorn between us and a pitcher of margaritas to help wash it down. The pain, that is. Not the popcorn. (But it works on the popcorn, too.)
“Obviously they’re not talking about you,” Vanessa says. “They probably just want Ava to look more like a real woman. Not the stick figure that she is.”
Since Vanessa is a bit of a stick figure herself, this is not exactly a compelling argument from her.
But Vanessa’s right. It’s not actually all about me, since Trip doesn’t know the whole story involved with my coming to his wedding. He thinks it’s just your normal girl-goes-to-her-ex-boyfriend’s-wedding kind of situation. Thankfully, he doesn’t know about the part where Douglas broke up with me mere minutes before the wedding, forcing me to drag my friend Jack-complete with the kilt and faux accent-in his place. I even wore a fake engagement ring to really sell it.
“Thanks,” I say to Vanessa and we both look at the television. I take a big swig of my margarita. Maybe we should have cut to the chase and just had shots of tequila before watching this?
“So,” Rachel says, putting on a serious expression, “tell us more about the film.”
“Well,” Ava says. “It’s the story of a woman who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding.”
“Wow,” Rachel says, “that sure sounds like quite a story!”
“It is, Rachel,” Ava says, leaning in to Rachel as if they’re sorority sisters or something. “It is. And lots of single women everywhere can relate to it.”
“I don’t know about that,” Rachel says with a laugh. “You couldn’t pay me enough to go to an ex’s wedding.”
“It’s going to be a funny movie,” Ava says. “I can personally guarantee lots of laughs. And maybe even a tear or two.”
“They’re going to be lining up in droves to see this movie!” Rachel says.
And she’s probably right. Why couldn’t they be making a small art house film about my life that no one would ever see? Why must it be the movie that’s slated to be the biggest blockbuster of the summer? Why, oh why, must my life be so darned interesting that a major motion picture studio has green lighted a production about it?
“Is it a concern,” Rachel says, putting a grave expression onto her face, “that people won’t think that the story is believable? I mean, what woman in her right mind would actually go to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding?”
“That’s the great thing, Rachel,” Ava says, eyes sparkling, clearly ready for this question to have been asked. “It really did happen! To my husband’s ex-girlfriend.”
“You mean to tell me that your husband’s ex-girlfriend actually came to your wedding?” Rachel says and gives the camera a look of shock. Oh, please. As if this whole interview wasn’t pre-rehearsed. Who does she think she’s kidding?
“Yes!” Ava says. “She’s actually an attorney right here in Manhattan. And she’s very nice.”
“Nice or not, I can’t believe you let one of your husband’s exes come to your wedding!” Rachel says, still doing the shocked expression thing. I mean, doesn’t Rachel have any other expressions in her arsenal? What does she do when she interviews someone who actually reveals shocking things? I guess this is why they pre-record all of their shows.
Ava nods in response. Yes, I am so wonderful that I allowed my husband’s ex to come to our wedding. I also do all sorts of other types of charity work.
“They’re making me sound like a stalker,” I say to Vanessa and she shhhes me. I finish my margarita and lean over to the pitcher to re-fill my glass.
“But,” Rachel quickly says, “it’s not as if a woman like you has to worry about any sort of competition. What man would ever choose another woman over you?”
“Oh, God,” I say, “is that what everyone’s going to be saying at the premiere? Why would he want to be with her when he could be with Ava?”
“Oh, don’t be silly, sweetie,” Vanessa says, looking at me. “We’re not going to be invited to the premiere.”
On the TV, Ava continues. “My husband, Trip, was so inspired by the story of his ex coming to the wedding that he decided that it would make a great movie.” That Ava doesn’t answer Rachel’s question and begins posturing makes me think that maybe Trip gave her a script for this interview. “She came with her gorgeous Scottish fiancé, so everything worked out in the end. It’s a story about love and friendship. And life’s special moments.”
“This is beginning to sound like a tampon commercial,” Vanessa says, taking a ladylike sip of her margarita. She’s still on her first of the night. I’m already pouring number three.
“This is so humiliating,” I say, “I can never leave my apartment again.”
“No one’s even going to see the stupid movie,” Vanessa says, “don’t be ridiculous. This whole thing will blow over in minutes.”
“Maybe the movie will be bad,” I say. “Maybe no one will see it!”
“I’m sure no one will,” she says, and clicks the television off. “And it will be forgotten before you can even say ‘straight to DVD.’”
“Really?” I ask. “You really think that?”
“Sure,” Vanessa says, filling up my margarita glass, “of course I do.”
“I guess I should be looking on the bright side,” I say, taking a handful of popcorn. “My one saving grace is that Douglas hasn’t found out. It’s bad enough that I’ve been humiliated in front of Jack. In fact, this whole thing has actually been a test of how much he truly loves me.”
“And he still wants to marry you after all this. He passed,” Vanessa says. “With flying colors.”
“True,” I say. “But if Douglas found out about this whole mess… Well, let’s just say that Douglas doesn’t have as good of a sense of humor about things. He would really torture me about this.”
“You don’t have to remind me about how awful Douglas was,” Vanessa says. “I remember.”
“Well, then, can I remind you about how wonderful Jack is?”
“Let’s just make a toast,” Vanessa says, and raises her margarita glass. “To Douglas never finding out about all of this.
“Here, here,” I say.
So, now all I need is for Douglas to never watch Entertainment Now or deign to go see a chick flick. Piece of cake, right?
Chapter Six
“No, I don’t think so,” I say with a smile. Normally, New Yorkers don’t talk to each other on the street, but I wouldn’t want to be rude. And it’s not just because he’s good looking-I’m not superficial like that. You see, I would speak to a stranger even if he wasn’t attractive. I just so happen to be the exception to that New York rule.
Well, okay, I wouldn’t speak to a stranger if he looked like he was deranged or something. I mean, that could be dangerous. But a stranger who was average looking? Yes, I would definitely talk to that stranger. If he was handsome and wearing a great suit and had a really really, really nice smile, well, that would just be a bonus. A big, gorgeous, well-dressed bonus. But I digress.
“I’m sure it’s for you,” he insists and I can’t help but laugh, as I continue walking into the building.
“Sorry,” I say, pushing through the big double doors of my law firm’s building, “but I’m engaged.”
How much do I love saying that?! But how typical is this? The second you’re attached, you’ve got random hotties approaching you in the street. And since you’re already involved, you can’t do a thing about it. When I was single, this sort of thing never happened to me. Life can be so unfair sometimes.
“Aren’t you Brooke Miller?” the hottie says to me as he follows me into the building. Did he just call me by my name? Um, how does he know my name?! Okay, so, now I’ve got random hotties stalking me in the street. I’m strangely conflicted about this.
“How do you know my name?” I ask, edging my way towards the security desk. In a split second, I formulate a positively brilliant plan for getting away from hottie/stalker, should things go awry. I will simply throw my briefcase at his chest and distract him momentarily so that I can run to the safety of the security guard. I don’t think that the guards are real cops or anything, but they’re still pretty darn imposing. Especially Margie Ann. That woman will put the fear of God into you with just one look. Now, if hottie/stalker actually catches my briefcase instead of getting distracted by it, my plan will be pretty much blown.
The whole plan becomes moot when he says: “Yes, I thought it was you. Brooke Miller,” he says, reaching into his briefcase. “You’ve been served.”
***
“I don’t get it,” Trip says, walking into my office unannounced (it’s like there’s just no point in actually having an assistant in the first place). “I thought that Douglas was cool with all of this. He seemed fine when I told him the other night about the movie we were making about a girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding. We had that great dinner all together at Pastis. But now, this.”
“You mean the movie you’re making about my life,” I said.
“No,” he says with a nervous laugh. “I thought we already established this. It’s my story about getting married and then inviting my ex-girlfriend to come to the wedding.”
“You say tomato,” I say, under my breath as I roll my eyes at Trip. Then, in my sensible lawyerly voice, without the eye roll: “I don’t get it, either. Let me give him a call and I’ll call you as soon as I hear back from him.”
Trip settles into one of my visitor chairs, clearly ready to watch as I make my phone call, which confuses me. If he thinks that I’m about to call my fiancé to ask him why he’s suing me, does he really think that I want my ex-boyfriend here to watch? Trip can be such a moron sometimes. Which reminds me…
“Trip, I thought you told me that I couldn’t sue you for making a movie out of my life?” I ask.
“Didn’t you get an A in torts?” Trip asks. “I got a C, but I still remembered that a private citizen can sue for their rights of privacy.”
“I knew you were wrong!” I said. “I just had too much wine and got confused.”
“Or maybe,” he says, “it’s just that you’re not really a better lawyer than me after all.”
I think but don’t say: “No. I still am.”
“That’s why I took you guys out to Pastis that night,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I thought I had your consent. And Douglas’s, too.”
“I never consented to anything,” I say, my hand involuntarily flying up to my chest. “But I thought it was strange that you were hounding me to go out for dinner.”
“It was my assistant who called you,” Trip points out.
“Whatever,” I say under my breath.
“The strange thing here,” Trip says, “is that you’re a named party in this lawsuit, too. Which means that your fiancé has just served you a lawsuit.”
“I know,” I say, trying to formulate a reason why my fiancé might be suing me. Maybe it has to do with the fact that the real Douglas wasn’t actually at that dinner. It was Jack. Pretending to be Douglas. “So, why don’t you let me call him?”
“Yes,” he says, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. “Please do.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding my head towards the door. Trip doesn’t take the hint. “Okay, so I’ll call you later after I’ve had a chance to sort all of this out.”
Trip nods enthusiastically, still not getting the hint.
“So,” I say, “you should leave now.”
“Oh, yes,” he says, “of course.”
Trip finally leaves my office and I prepare to call “Douglas.”
Instead I call Jack.
“Ohmigod! Douglas is suing me!”
“Who is this?” Jack says. I’m pretty sure I can tell that he’s smiling broadly on the other end of the line.
“Can you please be serious for a second?” I say, jumping up from my desk and closing my office door shut with my foot. “I’m being sued !”
“Well, first of all,” Jack says. “For a lawyer, you don’t react very well to conflict. Or to potential litigation. Where’s the fight in you, Brooke?”
“Jack, I am being serious here. What am I going to do? I’ve never been sued before!”
“But you’ve been involved in tons of lawsuits before. So you know that most lawsuits end up settling. He must be looking for money. How much is he suing for?”
“Two million dollars.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jack says letting out a huge sigh.
“Um, okay, not helping.”
“I can give you a really big discount on my fees if you want me to represent you,” Jack says, still smiling. Okay, I know I can’t see if he’s smiling, but I just know.
“Still not helping.”
“Well, you’re going to need a lawyer,” Jack says. “Actually, should I be billing you right now?”
“Not! Helping!”
“Okay,” he says. “Then how’s this: Let me make a few calls and try to find you a lawyer-one who’s not actually involved in this whole thing-and in the meantime, maybe you should go speak to Douglas. Maybe if you tell him what happened, he’ll drop the lawsuit.”
“You’ve met Douglas,” I say, “haven’t you? He’s not exactly the kind, understanding type.”
“Well,” Jack says, “then the other option would be to go and tell Trip the truth. That you and Douglas broke up on the eve of his wedding so you brought me instead and made me wear a kilt and speak with a Scottish accent in an effort to pretend I was Douglas. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, maybe that would be best. If you explain it to him now, he’ll realize this whole thing was just a big misunderstanding. And ultimately, if you can get him on your side instead of Douglas’s, it’ll make Trip a lot less likely to counter-sue you for making misrepresentations to him. If you and Trip can stay aligned, you have a much better chance of fighting Douglas. Just call Trip.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay, you’re going to talk to Trip? That was easy.”
“What?” I ask, beginning to shut my computer down. “Oh, God, no. I’m going to go and yell at Douglas.”
Chapter Seven
“Well, this i
s unexpected,” my ex-boyfriend Douglas says, and he’s right. The last time we saw each other, I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t want to marry him and that I never wanted to see him again. So, under normal circumstances, it would be curious that I’m here.
But under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have to be here. Up until one day ago, I was one-hundred percent sure that I’d be keeping my promise-I had no intention of ever seeing Douglas again.
“How is this unexpected?” I ask through gritted teeth. “You’re suing me!” He doesn’t get up from his desk like he normally would when a lady enters a room. He stays planted behind it, using it as a shield.
The coward.
“You broke up with me and refused to talk to me,” Douglas says matter-of-factly, picking a pen up from his desk and then examining it. He’s calm, cool. Which has the effect of making me even more angry than I was when I marched in. (And, yes, you read that correctly, I didn’t walk in, I marched .)
“No, you broke up with me by getting engaged to another woman!” I say, voice rising higher and higher with each word that comes out of my mouth. “It was only after you tried to humiliate me at my ex-boyfriend’s wedding that you even wanted me back.”
“That’s not true,” he says. “That’s not true at all. I realized that you were the one and so I came to the wedding as a romantic gesture.”
“If only that were true,” I say. “After I said ‘no,’ did you get back together with Beryl?”
Yes, Douglas broke up with me and got engaged to a woman named Beryl. I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he was cheating on me, or the fact that it was with a woman named Beryl.
“Right,” he says.
“Right,” I say back.
“Right.”
“Right,” I say, but then realize I have no idea what we’re even saying “right” to anymore. In fact, I think that he’s saying “right” to something completely different than what I’m saying “right” to. And clearly, you want your “rights” to be right. Right? “Wait? What are we even talking about here? Why are you suing me?!”