What? I wouldn't want to keep the paparazzi waiting.

Chapter Two

“You had your make-up done, too?” my fiancé, Jack, asks as I slide into the Town Car. “How much did getting ready for this dinner set you back?”

“I just wanted to look beautiful for you,” I say, giving him a peck on the lips.

“Well,” he says, “I’m just glad to see that this has nothing to do with the fact that we’re having dinner with your ex-boyfriend and his movie-star wife.”

“No,” I say, laughing, “of course not!”

“Yes,” he says, putting his hand on my leg, “of course.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re down in the Meatpacking District, pulling up to Pastis. Ah, Pastis-a restaurant which would be considered a casual French bistro if it was not for the fact that it is a huge celebrity hangout and has a three month waiting list for a reservation.

The second my foot hits the cobblestone street, I hear my ex-boyfriend, Trip, call out my name. He and his wife, Ava, are already ensconced at one of the outside tables. Getting a reservation at Pastis is hard enough, but getting an outside table is nearly impossible. Of course, within the first five minutes of conversation, Trip drops the fact that this is their regular table.

You know those celebrities who go out to restaurants at odd hours and take tables in the corner, facing inside, desperate not to be seen or recognized? Trip and Ava are not those kind of celebrities.

“So, I said to DiCaprio,” Trip says, making no effort at all to lower his voice, reveling in the fact that this causes all of the nearby tables to turn and look at him, “if you don’t do it, you’re insane!” To which he and Ava laugh hysterically and Jack and I merely smile politely.

Eating with Trip and Ava is incredibly difficult. Every so often, you see the flash of a bulb go off and you just know that a papparrazo somewhere out there has just taken your picture. You feel the constant glare of camera phones on you as you try to take a bite of your steak sandwich. I’m desperately trying to eat in an attractive way, which is no easy feat, I assure you.

I guess this is why Ava is so thin.

“That crazy DiCaprio,” Jack says in a Scottish accent.

Okay, so you remember the funny story about Trip’s wedding? Just your typical girl-gets-invited-to-her-ex-boyfriend’s-wedding-only-to-be-broken-up-with-by-her-awful-cad-of-a-Scottish-boyfriend-mere-minutes-before-the-wedding-forcing-girl-to-drag-her-best-friend-Jack-in-his-place-and-make-him-wear-a-kilt-and-speak-with-a-Scottish-accent-in-a-desperate-attempt-to-keep-her-dignity-ever-so-slightly-intact sort of story. Well, Trip kinda, sorta still doesn’t know that Jack was posing as Douglas. So they still think Jack is Douglas. Which means he still has to fake the accent.

And I have to pretend that that day was perfectly normal, that I was just like any other woman who goes to her ex’s wedding. Okay, so I understand that most women don’t get invited to their ex-boyfriend’s weddings. And I realize that most women don’t RSVP “yes” to their ex-boyfriend’s weddings because they are dating gorgeous hunky Scotsmen and they want to show up to their exes. And, okay, most women, when then broken up with by their hunky Scotsmen, don’t recruit their friends to take his place and pretend to be him. And pretend to be engaged to said faux-Scotsman. But, then again, I’m not most girls.

And therein lies my charm. I think. I’m pretty sure Jack told me that once. Or at least I think he did. Didn’t he? Anyway, the point is, I’m not most girls. And Jack, luckily for me, is not most guys.

And I’m lucky that he’s not. Since going to Trip’s wedding as a fake couple, Jack and I have actually become a real couple. Which was an easy transition since we were the best of friends before the wedding. It just took a trip to LA and seeing Jack in a kilt for me to realize that he was the one for me. And now that I have, I have no intention of ever going back to being just friends again. Because Jack is amazing. As evidenced by the fact that he’s dressed up as a Scotsman once again, phony accent and all, just to save my pride. And he even remembered to bring me the fake engagement ring I wore to Trip’s wedding, which I swapped out for my real one when Jack picked me up in the cab.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. How can she go on like this? It’s easy, really. You see, I don’t plan to see Trip and Ava ever again after tonight. And, I’m sure, after having to feign a Scottish accent for an entire evening, by tomorrow, Jack will be of a similar mind. Maybe even later tonight. We’re only here in the first place to be polite (that, and the fact that I was unsuccessful in dodging Trip’s calls. He had his assistant call me seven times. Yes, seven! I wonder how many times he had to call Leo to get him on the phone…).

Trip’s assistant assured me that there was something that Trip just had to tell me. And I just had to know what it was. Trip and I always had a very competitive relationship, even back when we were an item in law school, but now I can’t imagine there’s much left for him to say to me. Still, curiosity got the best of me. But, really, what could he possibly be here to announce? I mean, he’s won, hasn’t he? He was married first and to an Oscar-nominated star, at that. It’s really not much of a contest. I get it.

Why am I at this dinner again?

“So, did he say yes?” I ask. I don’t want to ask, but Trip so clearly wants me to ask more about his silly little Leonardo DiCaprio story. The man is so starved for attention. Trip, I mean. Not Leonardo DiCaprio. I’ve never met Leonardo DiCaprio, but I’m sure that he’s very well adjusted and nice. Although he was a child star (who didn’t love him on Growing Pains ?!), so maybe he’s not as nice as he seems, even though he does feel passionate about the environment. But I digress….

“As a matter of fact, Brooke,” he said, “he did. Leo’s going to be starring in Ava’s next picture.”

It drives me insane that Trip calls movies “pictures” as if he’s Orson Welles or something. He’s not even her director. He’s just her agent. Isn’t there some sort of confidentiality thing he’s violating here? Note to self: write a note to the bar association to determine confidentiality implications of an agent being romantically involved with the actress he’s representing.

“Great,” Jack says, “Jolly good.”

I don’t think that Scots say things like “jolly good,” but I let it slide since Jack’s being so great by pretending to be a Scotsman on a weeknight. Anyway, the industry talk is probably the only saving grace for Jack this evening. Jack always wanted to be an actor but never really made a go of it. He’s like a lot of litigators-frustrated thespians who use their dramatic flair in the courtroom instead of on the stage.

“And Ava will be playing the lead,” Trip continues, as the waiter begins clearing out plates. I say a tiny prayer that Trip and Ava won’t want to order dessert and that Jack and I can get out of here. “DiCaprio will be the ex-boyfriend whose wedding Ava attends.”

Suddenly, time begins moving in slow motion.

“Excuse me?” I ask. Surely, I must have misheard Trip.

“Oh, did I forget to mention that?” Trip asks, a tiny smirk creeping onto his lips. “The picture is about a woman who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding.”

This story is beginning to sound alarmingly familiar.

“Let me get this straight,” I say, “Ava’s next movie is about a girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding?”

“Yeah,” Trip says with a laugh. “You inspired me to write it!”

“You wrote it?” I ask. Back in law school Trip couldn’t write to save his life. Or his GPA.

“Well,” he says, “I’m in the process of writing it. But we already have a deal in place. And now, we’ve got our stars attached!”

“Who’s going to play Jack?” Jack asks, Scottish accent all but gone.

“Who’s Jack?” Trip asks.

“Douglas,” I say, correcting Jack. “He means Douglas. Who’s going to play Douglas?”

“It’s hard to find someone who can do a convincing Scottish accent,” Ava says. “That’s the real obstacle we’re having now.”

“You really just need someone who can fake a Scottish accent,” Jack offers and I grab at his knee under the table. Unfortunately for me, this does not have the intended effect. He thinks I’m flirting, and so he grabs at my waist. Sometimes it’s a real curse to be so darned irresistible.

“Is the point of this dinner to ask me if you can make a movie about me?” I ask. “Because you can’t. I mean, I’d prefer it if you didn’t do that.” After all, I know my rights. And the second I get home, I will log onto my computer to find out just exactly what they are.

“I don’t have to ask your permission to write a movie about you,” Trip says. “Remember, I went to law school, too, and so I know that I don’t have to ask your permission for this. You’re not famous.”

Thank you, Trip, for reminding me of that very, very obvious fact.

“Well, how do you know I won’t sue you?” I ask.

“You’re not going to sue me,” he says, laughing at the mere thought of it, “but anyway, even if you do, the studio has a team of lawyers.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” I say. “Because it sounds like you could have a lawsuit or two on your hands.”

“Well, I thank you for your concern, Brooke,” Trip says. “But what I’d really love to do is to interview you. Get some more background information for the script. Whaddya say? For old times sake?”

“Um,” I eek out. “No, thank you.”

And really, I don’t want to do it. And it’s not just because Trip is my ex-boyfriend. And it’s not just because Trip doesn’t know the whole story behind my attendance at his wedding. Actually, those are pretty good reasons in of themselves, aren’t they? Yes, they definitely are….