“What’s bugging you, Evie?”

“I think I’m in love.”

“With Chuck? Juan? Richie Morrow?”

“No, silly, Trent. Trent Foster. He’s simply…wonderful.”

“Oy vey.”

“Don’t you think he’s cute?”

“It’s not that, Evie. He’s way above your skill level. You don’t have the game to play in his league.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He’s real Hollywood, Evie. You have no idea. He dates only super-models. I don’t want you to get hurt, sis.”

“Well, I’m wasting my time thinking about him anyway. First, I’m not going to get the role. After all, I’m not a professional actor. Second, and most importantly, I’m not a woman. I think he’d want someone with a…a—”

“You can have your equipment refitted…”

“That’s not going to happen overnight, Debbie. If at all.”

“I thought you were beginning to convince yourself that you’ve always been a woman. It’s something me and dad have been telling you forever.”

“I’ll admit it’s been fun being perceived as a real woman. A lot of fun. Except for the shoes.”

“Stick with Chuck. He’s a really nice guy. Trust me. Don’t believe Juan. He’s an agent. They make a living off making shit up for publicity’s sake. CAA always tries to hook up their new talent with celebrities like Chuck. He’s only had like one serious relationship in all the time I’ve worked there. And the girl broke up with him. He was moping around the office for weeks.”

“So why haven’t you gone after him yourself?”

“Because…because,” her cheeks turning bright red. “I like Otis,” she said in a whisper.

“I knew it! Sis, what’s the gameplan? Has he hinted anything? Do I hear wedding bells for you in the near future?”

“Well, when we go to swap meets in the valley, he’s always asking me what kind of house design I like. Ranch-style, Craftsman, Victorian, Greek Revival, Colonial, mid-century modern—”

“I’m going to be an aunt before I know it. Or is it a cross-dressing uncle?”

“Stop it, Evie. You are and always have been double X to me.” We hugged and decided to watch the penultimate episode of Silo’s first season before hitting the hay. Debbie’s a big sci-fi fan.

On the way out of the office on Friday afternoon, looking forward to the long weekend ahead leading up to Tuesday, the 4th of July, I literally crashed into Chuck as we rushed into the elevator just as its doors closed. Laughing, we disentangled our briefcases and I innocently brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes with my fingers.

“I guess I should put more product in my hair. Thanks. Say, do you have plans tomorrow morning?”

“Other than sleeping in, no.”

“You looked like you had a decent time surfing last time. Want to get some more reps in?”

“I don’t know, Chuck. I’d just slow you down. I’m in shallow water while you’re out riding the wild surf—”

“You’re athletic enough, Evie. I’m willing to wager you could be tackling 20 footers in no time. It’d be a waste of a really nice wetsuit not to continue the surfing lessons. It’s definitely a good fit.”

“I think you just want to see me in a tight wetsuit.”

“Anything wrong with that?”

“My sister’s in HR or don’t you remember?”

“She’s the one who told me you wanted to try some more surfing—”

“Just like her to set me up like this.”

“So, is it yes? I’ll pick you up at a more civilized time. How about 8AM this time?”

“Alright. As long as you bring coffee and donuts with you.”

“You’re my kind of girl, Evie. You really are.”

When we exited the elevator, Chuck patted me on the shoulder before turning toward the side door leading to the parking lot. “See you bright and early tomorrow!”

I walked out into the still bright, sun-splashed afternoon and crossed the street to wait for the bus that would take me back to our apartment in Alhambra. Seriously, I needed to get myself a car. Especially since Debbie and I don’t ever leave the office at the same time. She’s out promptly at 5 and Otis picks her up in his van. Me, I’m still in my office working on presentations. The only person still in the office most nights when I leave is Mei Ling. No, she’s not a diligent worker. More than once, I’ve crossed paths with Clark Ruskin as he stealthily arrives to pick up Mei Ling, thinking the office is empty.

In between sorties into the surf, Chuck and I sat on a beach blanket, shooting the breeze. I chugged some coconut water from his sport canteen as he told me that our chef Kyle had given notice. He’d scored a sous-chef position at a new restaurant in Silverlake.

“Sucks. Kyle is a really great cook. Misty wants to recommend the chef for the soccer team. Seems she’s not keen on all the travel and all the down time between seasons. Want in on the taste test next week? Misty tells me she’s a whiz at Mexican fusion dishes.”

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’ll find out if you’ve got the role next week. Look at you. I’m sure they’ll choose you. So, how is this going to work?”

“What do you mean?”

Laughing, he took a swig from the canteen. “What do I mean? How are you going to fit in working for us in your shooting schedule?”

“Are you going to fire me?” I asked, timidly.

“No, of course not. That is, if you want to continue with us. You won’t be shooting all year long. Juan told me he thinks principal photography might only take 3 months total. You could be part-time for 3 months and full-time the rest of the year. If the show gets picked up for another season, we’ll adjust your schedule accordingly.”

“What if – and I’m not saying it’s what I want to do – I get other roles? Like feature films, let’s say.”

“Have you asked Juan to put you out there for more work?”

“No, no, not at all. But he’s told me he’s already gotten calls. GlobalNet gets a lot of ink in the business. Everyone’s anticipating this series because of Trent and, well, if I get cast in it—”

“They’ll want the hot new actress in town. Yeah, I guess that’s how it works. It’s your life, Evie. I can’t tell you how to live it. It’d be disappointing if you had to quit. And personally…”

“I…I’d like to stay friends. If…if I had to leave. I mean, how am I ever going to tackle those 20 footers if you’re not there to keep giving me lessons?”

“It’s a deal.” We stared at each other for a good minute before Chuck jumped up and retrieved his surfboard. “Want to hit the surf again?”

“I’m still pooped, Chuck. You can do this round solo. Catch me on the turnaround, o.k.?”

He trotted into the strandline, holding the board above his head with both hands. I was still thirsty. After taking a last swig of coconut water, I lay back on the blanket and closed my eyes. Someone cleared their throat rather loudly. I opened my eyes and was startled to see Trent Foster looming above me.

He wasn’t dressed for the beach. Standing on the sand in his bare feet, wearing a white shirt with rolled up sleeves and faded jeans, a jacket tossed over one shoulder, he pointed the sneakers that he held in his free hand at me.

“Funny meeting you here, Evie. Danny wasn’t kidding when he said you were an actual surfer girl. Who’s the dude?”

“I didn’t know you were a part-time beachcomber as well as being a matinee idol, Trent. Well, that dude is my boss, Chuck Connors. He’s been giving me surfing lessons.”

He knelt down beside the blanket.

“You look good in that wetsuit.”

“A fashion critic as well. You’re multi-talented.”

“I sing and play a mean guitar too. But enough about me. I live around the corner. Right by the golf course.” He nodded behind him and to his left. “Your sister told me you were on the beach this morning. She wasn’t that cordial. Her friend, this goofy-looking guy, wouldn’t even let me in the door.”

“You probably caught her at a bad time. Anyway, what’s up?”

“It’s kind of a favor I need. It’s almost 11:30. How about we talk about it over lunch? There’s a place down Balboa that makes a great open cheese sandwich. And mojitos to weep over.”

“I don’t think so, Trent. I’m here with Chuck. I can’t just up and leave to have lunch without him. Why don’t you just tell me what favor you need?”

At that moment, serendipitously, Chuck trudged up the beach toward us.

“Evie, who’s this?”

“What’s good, Chuck? I’m Trent Foster.” He extended his hand.

Shaking Trent’s hand, Chuck asked me, “Rested up, Evie? Time to get in the last round. They’re closing off the beach any minute now.”

“I need to speak with Evie about the show. I live nearby and her sister…Debbie, right...she told me she was surfing here at The Wedge. I was going to take her to lunch to go over the details.”

I shot Trent a look. He shrugged his shoulders. Neither of these gestures eluded Chuck.

“Evie, why don’t you see what Trent needs to go over with you?” Turning to Trent. “I take it, it’s a foregone conclusion they’re casting Evie in the show.”

“Oh, absolutely. There was never a question after she aced the screen test. Danny was in seventh heaven. Alastair couldn’t believe you’d never taken acting classes.”

“Well, since the two of you have already decided for me, I guess I’ll take you up on that lunch invite, Trent.” I picked up my bag and swiped away the sand on my legs. “Trent, can Chuck come along?”

“Oh no, Evie. You and Trent don’t need me as a third wheel. Show biz stuff is kind of over my head anyway. You kids have fun. I’ll pack up and go home. I’ll text you before the 4th. See you in the office next week.”

Trent walked me over to the showers to rinse the sand off my wetsuit.

The patio of the restaurant overlooked the beach and as the waves noisily crashed onto the shore, we ate and drank. Trent never once mentioned the “favor” he needed to ask of me. I learned a great deal about his childhood in the wilds of suburban Pacific Palisades. His house was two blocks down from where Carol Serling, Rod’s widow, had lived until she passed in 2020, and a half a mile away from North Rockingham Avenue in Brentwood, O.J. Simpson’s former address. His father is a corporate attorney. His mother, a retired tennis instructor. An only child, he took piano lessons and worked as a catalog model from the age of 5 until he underwent puberty. He asked very few questions about my background. He did compliment me on my looks and my acting skills…repeatedly. Normally, I’d be rather impatient by this time, feeling my time being wasted. But his eyes were simply…mesmerizing. I examined his lips closely as he spoke but only half of what he said sank in. Trent was one beautiful male specimen.

Finally, as were about to finish off our mojitos, I asked him what the favor was. He laughed, feigning embarrassment, and signaled to the waiter for our check.

“Looking at you made me forget all about it. You really do have a special beauty, Evie. Like nothing I’ve ever seen in a woman.”

“Trent, please.”

“Yeah, well, Pacific Palisades holds an annual 4th of July parade and celebration – with fireworks, music, marching bands, skydiving, etc., etc. – and, wouldn’t you know it, they asked me to be Grand Marshall this year. I guess I’m the latest celebrity to actually come from Pacific Palisades. It’s not The Rose Parade but the whole town turns out for it. I couldn’t turn it down. My mom would kill me. Mom and dad get to ride in the car behind us—”

“Us?”

“You’re not doing anything special on the 4th, are you? As Grand Marshall, I can have someone ride in the lead car with me. I’m not married and I’m not seriously seeing anyone at the moment. When we did the screen test, I knew I wanted you in the seat next to me during the parade. There’s a pre-parade lunch too. And there’s a live band and fireworks in the evening…”

“We hardly know each other, Trent.”

“This might sound corny but I feel like we’ve known each other forever. Maybe in a former life, we were married or lovers.”

“No, it’s not corny. I…I feel the same thing. Not to be insulting but I’d never seen any of your movies or TV shows before we did the screen test. Yet, I feel a strong attraction to you.” I giggled. “Debbie said you were a babe magnet. Right now, I feel like a pile of iron filings.”

“Your sister is right. And you are a babe. So, will you accompany me?”

“Of course…as a favor to you.” We clinked our empty glasses.

“To the 4th!”

The car service dropped me off at The Community Methodist Church on Via de la Paz in Pacific Palisades at 10 past noon. They were holding the VIP luncheon there. The parade would start at 2PM, go up the Via de la Paz, turn right onto Sunset Boulevard, make another right onto Toyopa Drive, and conclude on Ocampo Drive. Trent’s parents greeted me at the front door of the church.

“You must be Evie. I’m Conrad Foster and this is my wife, Trent’s mom, Eloise.”

“She’s a little doll, Conrad! Trent couldn’t stop talking about you all weekend.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Foster.”

“Oh, please, Evie. We’re Conrad and Eloise. I have a feeling we’ll get to know each other very well in time. Won’t we, Conrad?”

Smiling broadly, Trent appeared behind his parents.

“Let Evie breathe, mom and dad. Evie, come over here. I’ll introduce you to some of the VIPs. And they want us to pose for some photos.”

I shook hands with the actor Eugene Levy, Honorary Mayor of Pacific Palisades since 2021, the pastor of the church, two Los Angeles City Councilpersons, members of the Chamber of Commerce, the local Fire Chief, the Police Commanding Officer for West L.A., and Roger, the Fire Department’s mascot Dalmatian. Roger licked my face as well.

It seemed like everyone gave a short speech, toasting each other with glasses of orange juice, cracking jokes that would have made Bob Hope groan. After Trent’s parents and Trent himself spoke, Mayor Levy read a brief bio about me and then invited me up to the dais to say a few words. Unprepared to say the least, I stuttered out some platitudes about the 4th and recounted a short anecdote about the time my dad took us to New York City to view the Macy’s 4th of July Fireworks Spectacular. I said I’m sure that Macy’s pyrotechnic display won’t hold a roman candle to tonight’s festivities in Pacific Palisades. Levy guffawed. He actually guffawed. In summation, I added, “Go Dodgers!” for no apparent reason. I did get a smattering of applause.

Everyone along the parade route knew who Trent was. Their own favorite son. I got a lot of quizzical looks. One boy, around 11 or 12, screamed out to me, “Who are you?” I smiled and executed my, by this point in the parade, well-practiced semi-circular wave of the wrist at him. He stuck his tongue out at me. I returned his gesture with my own raspberry.

After the parade, everyone relocated to Palisades High Stadium, where several bands played live music and the audience had their pick of cuisine from a line of food trucks parked along the perimeter of the field. I was biting my way through an ear of corn, listening to Conrad and Eloise extol the virtues of their boy Trent, when I noticed that Trent had removed himself from our company. That’s when someone on stage announced that we were in for a special treat. Trent Foster was going to team up with the band and sing for us! The crowd hooted and hollered. Eloise put two fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly about two inches from my right ear. The vibrations were enough to compound the pain the studs in my earlobes were already giving me at the moment.

Throughout his performance, even as he roamed the stage, exhorting the audience to sing along, he kept making eye contact with me, visible even in the gloaming of evening. I decided not to mention to him afterwards that a) I’m not a California girl and b) in fact, I’m not a girl. But he certainly made me wish I was a biological woman. At the moment, sitting with my prospective in-laws, having ridden in a parade car down Sunset Boulevard next to him, and treated like a porcelain doll by the elders of his community, I was ready to have his children.

As if following a script from one of those goofy Elvis movies from the ‘60s, Trent’s parents managed to “lose” themselves in the crowd during the fireworks show, allowing their son and I to sit alone on the blanket, peering up to watch the loud, colorful mid-air detonation of explosive payloads. As I followed the arc of a mortar as it burst into a chrysanthemum pattern, my face mushed into Trent’s. We laughed and then Trent took my head in both his hands. Looking into my eyes, he planted a big, wet kiss on my lips. He tried to stick his tongue down my throat but I coughed and spluttered.

“Sorry, I got a little too excited,” Trent said sheepishly.

I replied by taking his head in both hands and returning his wet kiss, probing his mouth with my tongue. He started to simultaneously grope my chest and my buttocks. Now, one of those sectors of my body could stand some groping, the other couldn’t. I decorously pushed his hand away from my putative breasts and interlaced my fingers with his. We continued our French kissing until they played The Star-Spangled Banner. When Trent’s parents returned to our locus on the blanket, Trent shielded me from view as I wiped my face and lips, straightened out my clothing, and raked my fingers through my hair. Smiling, Eloise winked at me.

“I had a wonderful time, Trent. I’m glad I didn’t let the parade pass me by.”

“Evie, you have a way with words. Do you mind if I borrow that line for one of my songs? I need to write another five songs for my next album. It’s kind of a mash-up of EDM, hip hop, and speed metal. The four I’ve finished already are on my Twitch and YouTube channels. You should give it a listen. Tell me what you think.”

I reached for the door handle and turned to say good night. That’s when Trent planted another big, wet kiss on my open mouth. I swooned, despite my resolution to damp down the heat between us. After all, there was no way this could end well. I must implore Trent to remain professional. I will explain to him that the volatility of a romantic relationship between co-workers such as we might become would negatively affect our performance on screen. We should be rational about this. Think of our careers.

“Oh, Trent, I think I’m falling in love with you!” Wait a minute! Who just said that? Stupid girl!

“Evie, I already have. Feel my love, my love.” He placed my hand on his crotch. I jerked my hand back as if receiving an electric shock. Thankfully, my head began to clear. In an even tone, I announced that it was late and I had to go. Turning the door handle, I quickly stepped out of the car and blew Trent a kiss as he drove away.

Upstairs, I tried to tiptoe my way through the unlit living room, trying not to bump into the furniture and wake up Debbie in her bedroom. Relieved that I had successfully crossed the room, I flopped down on the couch.

“Owww! You sat on me, Evie!”

“Debbie! What are you doing on my couch?”

“I fell asleep watching TV, waiting up for you.”

“You’re not our dad, Debbie. There’s no curfew for adults—”

“I was worried that you might let Trent Foster violate you—”

“Debbie! Really? I’m not a helpless innocent. Nothing like that happened. I rode in the parade and we watched the fireworks display. That’s all. He drove me back home. He…he was a perfect gentleman.”

“I was worried more about your behavior. You told me you were in love with him. That’s a dangerous proposition, sis.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not in love with him.”

“Good. You’ve come to your senses.”

“But I wouldn’t mind having his babies.”

“Evie!”